Message-ID: <15215eli$9809110200@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Harry Tasker" Subject: Theatre of the Flesh - Part Three Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <01bdda78$ce236a00$0100007f@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 Three Some of the single men were still whooping with satisfaction when the footlights came back up. Immediately, they became silent. The black phallus had disappeared from centre stage, to be replaced by an expansive futon. An ebony-coloured mattress lay atop a raised pedestal, three feet above the stage. Each of the pedestal's legs was a carved, graphic representation of a man and a woman coupled in the act of love. At the centre of the futon lay the supine form of a girl. She wore a jade caftan of silken material, the shade of which contrasted ferociously with her mane of copper. Her stillness was striking after the energy of the last performance. >From behind the satin backdrop two men emerged, one white, one black. They wore thigh length leather skirts, similar in appearance to those worn centuries ago by Roman soldiers. A single gold earring dangled from the left earlobe of both men. Ropes of heavy muscle sheathed the two masculine forms. They moved lightly, delicately, for men of their size, seeming to prowl rather than walk. Louise's eyes drank in how their muscles bulged and contracted, admired the shortness of their adornments. She could not help wondering how big they were beneath the skirts. Both men took up a position at the head of the futon, the black man moving to the woman's left, the white man to her right. The flame-haired woman made no acknowledgement of their presence, remaining absolutely motionless. The audience waited hungrily for what was to follow. The black man reached forward and took hold of the left side of the neckline of the caftan; the white man simultaneously gripped the right side hem. Then with a sudden violence that made Louise shiver against her seat, both men tore the soft material down the full length of the woman's body, and discarded the halves on the stage. The red head's flesh seemed even paler than the sultry girl's before her did. Her nipples were very pink, and already stiffening before the caress of the warm air. Her pubic mound was sparse, but Louise could see her thatch was the same bright shade as her hair. Still the woman did not move. As if by unseen signal, both men reached for the waists of their skirts. Concealed fastenings were released, and the skirts slid down their prominent thighs to join the caftan on the floor. Louise leant forward slightly. Never had she seen such men. Both exhibited two heavy slabs of flesh that hung at least six inches down the insides of their respective thighs. She marvelled at how they might appear once enflamed. As if to answer, the flame-haired woman finally moved. She reached behind her with her left hand, and grasped the black man's manhood. Her tiny palm seemed barely able to encircle the heavy shaft. She stroked it gently. Then she reached with her right hand for his white partner. She caressed him too, pausing occasionally to stir the heavy sacks that hung between their thighs. Both men remained impassive, arms hanging limply by their sides. Their members, however, began to show signs of life: thickening, stiffening, lifting proudly into the air. Louise's eyes widened. None her encounters, not even her wildest imaginings, had prepared her for this. Beside her, Louise heard the blonde say, "Oh, darling. They are magnificent; so big." The Frenchman's voice was respectful. "Yes, they are." "But then so are you," sighed the blonde. Some nuance in the blonde's voice lured Louise's eyes from the where the red head was pleasuring her fellow performers. The blonde eased apart both sides of her husband's fly with the delicacy of someone unwrapping an expensive gift. She reached inside, and pulled out the Frenchman's cock. Louise could only gape as the blond began to stroke her husband's thick shaft in time with the red head's actions on stage. The Frenchman's right hand appeared equally active beneath the hem of his wife's dress. Louise reluctantly turned back to the show. Instead of the disgust she might have expected to feel, she felt only restless and aroused. Her own sex throbbed, aching for someone's touch. She looked to her husband, but Chris remained engrossed in the three people on stage. She desperately wanted him to touch her, wanted to touch him. She began to reach for his groin, then pulled back her hand, uncertain of his reaction. On stage the white man had moved to the end of the futon. Positioning himself between the red head's thighs, he began to rain kisses down on her inner thighs. The red head drew the black man towards her. Greedily, she suckled her pale lips around the bulbous end of his cock. The black man leant forward over her, kissing her breasts and her nipples. A man's sharp gasp beside her drew Louise's attention once more. Seemingly oblivious to the people around her, the blonde had leant over in her seat, and was kissing her husband's cock. Louise watched the blonde's tongue swirl slowly around the enflamed head. The blond looked up, her eyes finding Louise's. Holding her gaze, the blonde lowered her head, taking the thick shaft deep into her mouth. The floorshow eclipsed, Louise watched the blonde perform languid oral upon her husband. Her eyes never left Louise's for a moment, as the thick cock appeared and disappeared, appeared and disappeared, between her full, rouged lips. Louise turned her head, trance-like, towards the Frenchman's face. His confident smile made her giddy, and she barely noticed his hand slip beneath her arm and press her thigh. Unable to draw her eyes away from his, she felt his fingers slide down across her stockinged thigh. His fingertips caressed her knee for a moment, then began to glide inevitably upwards. There was a rustle of material as he pushed the edge of her dress upwards, out of his way. A slight loss of sensation signalled his fingers had reached the tops of her stockings, and then, suddenly, a jolt of electricity charged through her body as he found her naked flesh. His fingers were scant millimetres from her sex. She could feel their tips grazing the lacy material of her panties. She arched herself towards his hand, desperate to feel his fingers on her, in her. His hand pressed against her; Louise knew he could feel how damp she was. She wondered what Chris would think, would do, if he looked at her now. How must she look? Head back, lips parted, body trembling in anticipation of ecstasy, with another man's hand caressing her most intimate self. To her surprise, she found part of her didn't care. The Frenchman's fingers were lifting the edge of her panties. The responsible part of her psyche screamed at her. This must stop! She knew the moment to halt this would soon be lost. Once he touched her, she wouldn't care anymore, whatever the circumstances, whatever the consequences. On stage the red head writhed in passion, and Louise's mind took in that the white man was now going down on her. The black man's ebony lance was still thrusting in and out of her willing mouth. Louise closed her eyes in indecision, the warm air feeling delicious against her exposed sex. She looked back at the blonde. Her mouth was still full of cock, but her eyes remained riveted on Louise. Very slowly, she reached for Louise's hand. Louise, unable to resist, watched the blonde close it around the Frenchman's shaft. And as his cock touched her palm, the Frenchman's fingers slipped between her swollen labia, and raked down her moist furrow. Louise bit her lip to still her gasp of pleasure. The room swam in and out of focus, as the Frenchman slipped first one finger, then another inside her. He began to fuck her with his fingers, his palm resting over her mound. Louise urged herself against him, and he pressed his hand hard against her clitoris. On stage the white man steadily licked the red head towards her orgasm. Thighs forced wide apart by his shoulders, her creamy buttocks cradled in his hands, she ground her sex against his darting tongue. She reached behind the black man and, grabbing a firm buttock in each hand, urged him to fuck her mouth with ever-increasing passion. His face began to contort with his own approaching come. The blonde hastened her motions, matching her pace with that of the red head. She concentrated on the bulging head of her husband's cock, taking only the first inch or so inside her mouth. At the same time she wrapped her hand over Louise's, and began to slide it up and down the throbbing shaft. For a moment, her blue eyes implored Louise. Then she took her hand away. Slowly, Louise began to stroke the Frenchman's cock unbidden. It was difficult to comprehend all that was happening. On stage, the writhing, gasping forms of the black man and the red head were rapidly approaching orgasm. At the same time, Louise could feel the cock in her hand beginning to swell and stiffen and jerk in that timeless fashion. "Oui," the Frenchman breathed huskily. "Bon." He began to bounce his hips to meet his wife's mouth. Louise quickened her pace of her strokes. The Frenchman's fingers slipped out of her, and began rubbing up and down on either side of her clitoris, tugging at the sensitive organ mercilessly. She sensed her own orgasm screaming towards her in the semi-darkness. My God! she thought I think we're all going to come together! On stage the red head's hips bucked and twisted in the white man's grip, as her orgasm burst through her. Her grip on the black man's thrusting buttocks fell away. Withdrawing from her mouth, he stroked himself rapidly, until strings of hot, white cream spurted across her face, throat, breasts and belly. A primitive scream forced its way between his contorted lips. Unbelievable passion began to radiate out from Louise's loins, into her entire body. She tightened her grip on the Frenchman's cock, desperate to help make him come inside his wife's mouth. As her orgasm exploded, Louise felt the shaft in her hand begin to twitch and jerk. She turned to watch. The blonde woman's throat convulsed as she swallowed the Frenchman's come. Louise wished that she could taste it herself. A thick ooze of spunk dribbled out from the side of the blonde's mouth, coating Louise's fingers. Louise glanced to her left, certain that Chris would be staring at her incredulously. She breathed silent thanks. Chris still gazed at the stage, where the red head trailed her fingers through the sperm that coated her breasts, while the white man pistoned his cock into her sex. Louise watched him for a moment, part of her daring her husband to behold her, a stranger's fingers stirring idly inside her panties, and his come-slicked cock in her hand. Her own hand still moved easily, instinctively, in the Frenchman's lap. The blonde finished licking come from the crimson head, and then lifted her eyes and fastened a lecherous gaze upon Louise. She gently pried Louise's hand from the flaccid tool; her tongue flickered out, lapping the warm cream from each of Louise's fingers. Louise felt a sharp thrill as the blonde's tongue progressed along her hand. Before, she could never have envisaged herself with another woman, taking sensation from another woman. Now she felt herself drowning in the blonde's cool blue gaze, and as she did, a myriad of unfamiliar images flickered enticingly through her mind, hungering her further. The blonde finished her cleansing task. As Louise reclaimed her own hand, the Frenchman's slipped out of her panties; with a brief squeeze of her thigh, it returned to his own lap. She mourned its loss, still disturbed by her behaviour and by her reactions, and yet eager for more. Louise tugged innocuously at her dress, smoothing it back across her legs. Her hand remained slightly damp from the blonde's ministrations. She raised it to her face: a confused aroma of come and Channel assailed her nostrils. She inhaled it greedily, anxious for sensation. On stage, the red head had assumed a more dominant role: the white man now lay prone in her place upon the futon, whilst she straddled his thighs, impaled upon him. The black man, furious erection returned, climbed onto the futon and squatted behind the red head's proffered buttocks, stroking his shaft. Inching forward on the balls of his feet, he pressed the ebony head of his cock against the red head's tight anus. To the palpable pleasure of both the red head and the crowd, he steadily impelled himself inside her. Louise gasped as one with the red head, as both men began to work their cocks in and out of her. Alternating like the pistons of some carnally obsessed engine, the two cocks stoked the red head's rapture, driving scream after scream of passion from her lips. Louise felt fresh moisture bead the lips of her still swollen sex, as her mind tried to grasp the sensations of being so completely filled. To her right the Frenchman and his wife were straightening their clothes, preparing to leave. The feeling of disappointment that flooded Louise was immense. She watched them, knowing how obvious her look of frustration was. The Frenchman tensed, ready to stand. The blonde whispered something to her husband. The Frenchman listened, nodded once, decisively. He turned towards Louise, and stared pointedly at where Chris sat engrossed in the performers. Then he leant towards Louise, a fierce smile playing across his lips. "We are returning to our hotel now." His voice was warm and soft. "We would like you to come with us." Louise's composure almost collapsed at his words. Panicked, she looked round at her husband, as though for support, positive he must have heard the invitation. The Frenchman shook his head softly. "He will not miss you. He certainly does not need you right now." Again he stared accusingly at Chris, then turned his animal gaze back upon her. "And you, my rose, definitely do not need him." The Frenchman stood up, and helped his wife to her feet. They excused themselves past the audience. At the exit, the blonde turned back. For a few seconds her eyes were full of yearning and urging. Then the couple disappeared into the foyer. Louise hesitated for a moment. She turned to Chris. "I'm going to head back to the hotel." Chris spun around, too quickly. "What the hell for?" "I've got a terrible migraine coming on. If I stay any longer, I'll be sick." Her husband's expression softened, concern replacing anger. "Er…I'd better come back with you then." "No, don't!" Chris seemed surprised by her fervour. She smiled calmingly. "I don't want to waste the end of your evening as well. I'll get a taxi back to the hotel. And you can tell me about the rest of the show in the morning." Chris looked doubtful. "I 'm not sure you going back by yourself is a good idea." "I'll be fine. There are taxis right outside the entrance. Nothing's going to happen to me." He looked at her dubiously; his eyes flickering back to the stage show where the performance was reaching another crescendo. It seemed to make his decision for him. "Okay. But be careful." "I will," she said, bitter tears stinging her vision as she turned her cheek for him to kiss. By the time she had stood up, his attention had already refocused on the performers. Bastard! Louise strode to the exit without looking back. As she reached the top step at the theatre's entrance, the Frenchman was assisting his wife into the back seat of the taxi. The Frenchman saw the smile form across his wife's lips, and turned. His face glowed with satisfaction and anticipation. His outstretched hand was simultaneously an invitation to betrayal and ecstasy. Louise hesitated, then carefully walked down the steps, surrendering to that night's destiny. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----