Message-ID: <15214eli$9809110159@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Harry Tasker" Subject: Theatre of the Flesh - Part Two Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <01bdda6c$acbafa60$0dc4edc1@harry-tasker> ******* PLEASE NOTE ******* This story remains the *******sole******* property of the author. It is acceptable for any person in the public domain to re-distribute it on any medium, provided it is done so in an UNALTERED state, and the author's identity is neither altered nor deleted. This material is not for distribution on any commercial or profit-making site. This srory contains scenes that graphically depict sexual acts. If it is illegal for you to view such material, whether by age or geographical location, please make the informed decision to delete this file now. Rather than swamp ASSM with one masive file, I have taken the liberty of breaking the story down into (what I hope are) logical, bite-sized pieces. Subsequent parts will be distributed very shortly, as the story is already complete. As yet there is no corresponding web-site for this author's work. However, sensible comments on its validity and appeal are very welcome by e-mail. THEATRE OF THE FLESH (c) Harry Tasker 1998 Part Two The theatre did not meet Louise's expectations. The first surprise she experienced, as she followed the Frenchman and his wife towards their seats, was the smell. Not the sour stench of aged lust her senses had anticipated, but a subtle evocation of the tropics: cinnamon, jasmine and musk, sensuously intertwined. Louise inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring unconsciously with satisfaction. Her second surprise was the building itself. Concealed spotlights bathed the theatre's dimensions in warm hues of scarlet and jade, giving it the appearance of an opulent cocoon, and yet, at once, somehow deceiving the eye into believing it existed on a far grander scale. The auditorium comprised about a hundred seats, arranged in a half-circle around an elevated stage. Dimmed footlights studded the platform's edge, their meagre glow barely touching upon its varnished surface. Behind the stage, an expanse of swooping satins, layer upon layer, formed an impenetrable backdrop to the arena. Louise pushed down the base of her sprung seat, identical to those in a formal theatre. The cushions were deep and comfortable, the luxurious velour covering easily discernible through the black silk stockings that sheathed her legs. She glanced down at herself, and snorted silently. Chris had begged her to 'dress sexily'. She still did not know why. She tugged awkwardly at the hem of her red dress, affording her legs a few millimetres extra coverage. Even so, most of her thighs were exposed to anyone caring to look. She knew instinctively that the Frenchman's eyes were pouring over her from the next seat. He smiled warmly at her, unconcerned by her discovery of his voyeurism. Louise twisted in her seat to regard other members of the audience. As she had expected, there were some solitary men, others in groups of two and three. But her third surprise was that couples and groups of women made up the majority of the audience. It was difficult to comprehend the number of females present. Initially, their presence made Louise feel more relaxed, but as she examined their serene expressions, she began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. These women seemed neither nervous nor repulsed. They chatted happily with their friends, with their partners. Their looks of anticipation were obvious. Louise glanced to her right. The Frenchman's wife, a leggy, voluptuous blonde resplendent in a tight, black velvet dress as short as her own, appeared to share her husband's enthusiasm for the coming entertainment. Louise stared blankly at the satin backdrop. Was she the only female present feeling unnerved by the prospect of the night ahead? What was she afraid of? Faint movement in her periphery caught her attention. Louise's eyes dropped, and watched the Frenchman's large hand casually stroking the top of his wife's leg. The blonde pressed her hand over her husband's, and slipped it between her slightly parted thighs. The Frenchman drew the hem of her dress slightly upwards, until Louise could see his fingers drawing lazy trails along the creamy flesh just above her knees. The blonde turned to say something to her husband, and immediately noticed their observer. She held Louise with an unwavering gaze. The tip of her tongue emerged from between her ruby lips, and traced a pattern that glistened in the half-light. Then with a lascivious wink, she leant towards her husband's ear and whispered something. Louise's eyes darted back to the stage. She felt guilty and perplexed. Was she unearthing a hidden taste for voyeurism? Such things had never interested her before, yet twice tonight she had found herself enthralled in other people's sexuality. And there was no point in denying her enthralment. She had felt herself becoming moist at the sight of the Frenchman's strong fingers probing the blonde's thigh. For a fleeting moment, her mind had conjured the image of those fingers against her own thigh. Firm, unrelenting fingers, exploring ever higher……. Chris leaned towards her. "Should be starting soon," he whispered. "How do you know?" There was a disconcerting tremor in her voice, one she hoped the chatter amongst the audience would mask. Chris did not notice. "The theatre's full now. So unless they're planning on letting people sit on the floor…" Before Louise could reply, the lights dimmed and extinguished, plunging them into darkness. A low voice, speaking correct but slightly accented English, surrounded the audience, projected from speakers all around the theatre. "Ladies and gentlemen." A tense pause. "Welcome to The Theatre of the Flesh." The small footlights edging the stage flared into brilliance, picking out the wooden surface in a dazzling blaze. At the centre of the platform stood an exactly sculpted effigy of an erect human phallus, upholstered in matt black leather. Mounted on a low, square base, the phallus stretched out towards the audience at an angle just short of vertical. Its tip towered seven feet above the stage. By squinting, Louise could make out the heavy stitching that bound it together. Calypso drums began to beat across the theatre, in a deep, pulse-like rhythm. Louise turned to speak to Chris, but he did not answer, already rapt in the scene before him. To her right, the French couple seemed as absorbed as Chris. Louise wondered what was to come. The backdrop to the stage shimmered, and a glistening, shadowy figure slipped through some hidden gap in the draped satin. With a strutting jerk of belly and limbs, a tall, sultry girl, her raven hair laced into a ponytail that reached to her buttocks, entered into the light. Her body, completely naked, but for a gold chain wrapped once about her waist, and shining with oil, contrasted starkly against the black phallus. She began to circle the phallus, her body twisting and writhing to the beat to the drums. As she moved, she caressed the outstretched member with her hands and arms. Very quickly, the matt leather began to shine with the oil from her body. To Louise's right came the tiniest moan, barely audible above the calypso beat. Her eyes were drawn automatically, hypnotically by the sound. The Frenchman's hand had disappeared beneath the hem of his wife's dress. The blonde's gaze was wide, almost vacant, immersed in the floorshow, but her body was alive to her husband's ministrations. She ground her hips back to meet his hand, also in time with the drums. Small sighs and groans escaped her pursed lips. As Louise watched, the blonde's hand crept into her husband's lap, squeezing and stroking him through his trousers. The girl on stage, her back to the audience, reached high over her head, her hands caressing the tip of the monstrous phallus. She paused, seeming to hang from its end. Then she swooned towards the organ, her hands sweeping along its sides. She stroked the phallus up and down using the insides of her arms, in a bizarre parody of masturbation. Suddenly spinning around, the girl high kicked one leg towards the front of the stage, fleetingly exposing her sex to the breathless spectators. She entwined one café crème-coloured thigh around the front of the phallus, and began to raise and lower herself, sliding her sex against the slick leather. The drum beat began to rise towards crescendo. Louise looked down at Chris' lap. The bulge in his groin was unmistakable. She felt a nearly overwhelming urge to seize him in her hand, to feel him hardening against her palm. Another faint, but unmistakable noise drew her attention back to the French couple. The blonde finished unzipping her husband's fly, and Louise watched her slender hand snake inside his trousers. The Frenchman groaned deeply, and muttered something Louise did not understand. The girl on stage was riding the phallus in abandoned fashion, arms and thighs wrapped about its thickness, her frenzied loins sweeping back and forth across the leather. Her gasps of pleasure were becoming loud enough for the audience to discern. Louise felt surprised, disjointed, by the credibility of the performer's abandon, and by the effect it was having on her. Her sex felt hot and itchy, desperate to escape from behind its cloying prison. The soft cotton of her panties chafed her swelling labia, making her want to rub herself for relief. She could feel the moisture within her sex; the crotch of her panties already felt damp with her juices. The girl collapsed back onto the stage, dragging the phallus down with her. Louise, together with many of the audience, gasped, in certain fear that the girl would be crushed. But the phallus was light enough for the girl to control. She snaked along its length, until she had the tip poised before the entrance of her sex. The girl entwined her thighs about the oversized head, and in a final ecstasy of undulating flesh, climaxed against the leather. Her scream of orgasm was as convincing as her performance. The drums ceased abruptly, and the theatre plunged into darkness once more. For a moment, silence reigned; then, from somewhere behind Louise, someone began to clap. Quickly joined by a second person, then a third, the auditorium was soon alive with applause. Chris turned to her. Beads of sweat dotted his brow, and he wiped at them carelessly with a handkerchief. "Something else," he said, shaking his head. It was difficult to hear him above the crowd's excited clamour. Louise nodded dumbly. The opening spectacle had been beyond everything she had visualised outside. She could never have predicted how dramatically it would affect her. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----