Caption Pic: Heavy Metal Mama (Patreon)

I've been wanting to do this one for a while, but took me some time to figure out the exact angle. Just gets rebellious and wild around her guilty pleasure of death metal rather than outright slutty. I also know borderline nothing about heavy metal or grunge metal or death metal or thrash metal, etc. besides Metalocalypse and Brutal Legend (both pretty amazing), so while I grabbed real bands and songs, feel free to punch any holes in the story.

People at work say I’m shy. The kids say that I’m boring. My husband says that I’m his quiet little cuddle cow. Nobody knows about that other side of me. They think I’m just the doting wife and mother or a soft spoken office worker.

They don’t hear me in the car when I’m blasting Slayer and screaming so loud it makes my titties shake and my panties wet. They don’t see me wearing my slutty limited edition Behemoth thong under my work clothes. I don’t have the matching set anymore because I threw my bra on stage while they were playing live. They don’t know I was in a mosh pit two weeks ago where I broke somebodies nose with my fist while roaring along with Dethklok.

Those concerts are the best… the ones where I tell my husband I’m off to spend the night at my sister’s. She’s known me long enough to know to cover for me if he calls. At the concerts, no one knows who I am and no one cares. People stare at first, but once I’m headbanging and my neatly combed curls start whipping around like a fucking nightmare kraken, I could give a shit. Nobody would even think I have those thoughts let alone know all the words to Fucked With A Knife! Nobody expects a mother of two to get so caught up in a Mastodon song that she makes out with the pink-haired girl that was just on the other side of that glory hole in the middle of the crowd. Nobody imagines me sharing a bottle of god knows what with a girl with a shaved head as we wait to get our nipples pierced.

And there’s nothing that gets me hornier when those speakers are vibrating through my bones, surrounded by other sweaty, pumped up fans that would do such fucked up things to me that my husband would never look at me the same again. I always go with some mace in my cleavage (there’s plenty of room next to the sweaty bunch of bills), but, of course, that’s only for the ones I don’t like. I keep a few spare condoms in there for the other lucky guys. Either way, my husband never knows why I’m so unstoppably “in the mood” when I get home.