You head over to find out.

Watching your fearless sex kitten go down on a pop star in the middle of a concert makes you feel proud of yourself, but the warm and fuzzy feeling doesn't last. You suddenly realize that if Emma ends up getting arrested, a definite possibility, she'll probably have to take a few **** tests. With the amount of Slave4U you've been doling out to her, you're justifiably paranoid that the charges may make their way back to you. But beyond your moment of panicked selfishness, you also feel a growing sort of sentimentality. She is still your girlfriend, your Emma, and you want to protect her, take care of her, help her live as happily as she can along with you. You're not just concerned about yourself, you're concerned about her ending up in prison for loving too much and too openly.

You give yourself a smack in the face. No time for sappy thoughts, you need to find your lady and sort things out before the cops get involved. You exit the crowd as directly as you can, shoving your way past (and in some cases, between) an ever-growing number of amateur pornstars, all getting free screentime on Instagram and Twitter. At least security will probably have their hands full in a bit, you think to yourself as you try to nonchalantly make your way backstage.

You get stopped by a chunky fellow in a staff T-shirt, with a walkie talkie on his belt. He gives you a disapproving look as you try to spin a proper alibi in your head. Eventually you run out of ideas and decide to just tell it like it is.

"Dude, you need to let me back there. That girl on-stage? She's my girlfriend, and I don't know what's gotten into her. I swear I don't know, but I need to see that she's okay and she's not sick or, or, hurt, or anything like that." You start to stumble over your words a bit near the end. It's dawning on you that this is probably going to be where you start facing the consequences for everything you've set Emma up with. You're about to cough up a whole new pile of pleas, when the guy rolls his eyes and pushes you back with a flat palm.

"If you're with her, I need to see some proof. You're not the first guy who's tried to get backstage with that line." He's expecting either to see you slink off, defeated, or have to manhandle you back outside. He gets a bemused look when you pull out your phone and pull up a picture of you and Emma. You have to scroll for a bit to find one of you where she's in any way decent, since most of these were taken after your relationship turned into the sex tornado it is today. But you find one of the two of you, enjoying a candlelit dinner a few months back, one where both of your faces are clear and she looks especially dignified. You're almost surprised yourself, looking at how she carries herself then vs. now. The crewman examines the photo and your face, before pulling up his walkie talkie.

"Yeah, this is Phil. I've got a guy up here at the gate, says he's the chick's boyfriend. He's got pictures, they look real. What do you guys think?" There's a delay, you presume that somebody on the other end of the line is deliberating. A garbled voice shoots back through the speaker that you can't quite understand, but Phil doesn't seem puzzled.

"Alright, yeah, copy. I'll send him up." Phil puts away his walkie and gives you some quick directions. Backstage, it's a whole mess of cords, equipment crates, burnt-out lights, and stagehands zipping around with their hands full. Taylor Swift's set is over and they're high-tailing it to get ready for the next act. But your concern for Emma is giving you focus, keeping you from getting lost in the bustle. You whip past a couple of corners and turn around, before you see another security guy waving you over. You really stand out with your sandals and swim trunks, it seems. As you get close, he holds up a thumb to direct you behind a stack of speakers. He grins and wags his eyebrows as you pass.

Leaning against the speakers, biting her lip, skirt off, is Taylor Swift. And clamped between her thighs, diligently chowing down on her slit is your darling Emma, still naked from head to toe. Neither of them notices you, and you stand dumbstruck for a minute as your stress melts from your shoulders. You take a second to breathe easy, and as you let out a deep sigh of relief, Taylor wakes from her blissful trance and sees you standing like a fool. She releases her grip and points you out to Emma. Your girlfriend leaps to her feet and bounds over to you, giving you a big hug and a wet kiss, tasting like hot pussy.

She explains how Taylor has always wanted someone to finally come up and fuck her on stage, and that it's a major turn-on for her, but nobody's been brave enough to try it before. Evidently spending all your time trying to be a fantasy for young men the world over and strutting your stuff on stage in front of them leads to some unorthodox cravings. Taylor told security to keep Emma safe and secure backstage while she finished her set, and then immediately came back for more before the mood left her. Emma has been talking you up to Taylor non-stop, saying what a good boyfriend you are and how much you also love Taylor's music, and of course bringing up what a powerful, forceful lover you are.

"I know!" she offers, "we should both suck you off! You need to try this dick out, Taylor, it's the tastiest I've ever had."