Chapter 5
Rumor had it that a couple of the angels, those people who back the show with their money, were going to appear at rehearsal today. I decided to dress a little more professionally, selecting a white blouse with a big floppy bow at the neck and a full, navy blue skirt. I topped it off with a matching, navy blue, summer-weight jacket. Smart, and conservatively stylish.
Everyone at the rehearsal greeted me with compliments and shocked looks. There was even a wolf whistle or two. They were so used to seeing me in jeans, they were taken completely by surprise.
The morning was spent reviewing the refining the dance number between the characters Tulsa and Gypsy. Tulsa was played by Blayne Billings, one of the chorus boys with a fleshy, hair-covered butt. His light brown hair and green eyes dominated his clean shaven, boy-next-door good looks. I'd been watching him, trying to decide if he was gay or straight. He was so charmingly handsome, he could have easily gone either way. I think one of the wolf whistles had come from his lips and assumed him straight, my eyes scanning him with keener interest.
I kept my fingers crossed that the rehearsal would run smoothly and Carla wouldn't throw one of her temper tantrums. As this was a review and not a learning session Carla breezed right through.
Throughout the morning, Blayne played everything to me, his audience. At least I presumed that's what he was doing at the time. When we broke for lunch, his intentions turned out to be more than expected.
"Sandy, wait up," Blayne yelled, a towel slung around his neck to catch the perspiration dripping form his face. "A couple of us are going over to The Joint for lunch. Will you join us?"
His green eyes sparkled and his beckoning smile deepened the dimples in his cheeks. His invitation was hard to resist. The angels hadn't shown up and they certainly wouldn't at lunch time, so there was no reason to hang around the hall.
"I'd love to."
"Great. Give me a minute to change and clean up a bit and we're off."
Blayne sauntered off towards his clothes, peeling his leotard from his broad shoulders. I watched him remove his tights, eager for another look at his bare buns. His morning workout plastered the hairs flat against his smooth ass as the black tights revealed white skin. I bit my lower lip as he pulled off his dance belt, stripped himself in front of me and everyone else in the room.
He kept his back to me. My pussy begged him to turn around, to let me get a look at his manhood. He didn't turn and didn't stand up before stepping into his under-wear. The mirror he faced only showed me a dark crotch, and his thighs never parted to allow me a glance between his legs. The rise of his underwear was swift, only offering me a fleeting glimpse of white skin nestled in a mound of darkness, too quick to even guess at the size of his cock. With his beautiful buns now covered, with hopes of seeing his dick fading into the distance, I let out a disappointed sigh.
When he stood up to don his shirt, he faced the mirror and I discovered he was one of those guys who was hairy only from the waist down. His chest was almost hairless except for a sparse, broad based triangle that pointed between his pecs. The hair began again just below his navel, a thin line that I assumed exploded once below his waistline. But I wasn't going to find out today.
Blayne headed for the bathroom and I straightened my skirt over my pounding pussy, allowed my hand a quick jab between my legs in a vain attempt to calm myself. But my cunt had a mind of its own, remained locked on Blayne's naked image. Desire grew. My mind suddenly flung itself in the gutter and I imagined Blayne doing all sorts of wonderfully nasty things to my body. But I had to pull myself back to reality or I'd never make it through lunch. And that's all that had been offered.
Blayne emerged from the bathroom, his face dry, his hair combed, and hooked his arm in mine. "Ready?"
"For anything."
Blayne just chuckled as we met the rest of the group and headed for The Joint. The Joint was more bar than restaurant, but they had some of the best sandwiches around at lunch time. At night, the place was alive with strippers and dirty old men (some dirty young men, too). But by day, it was more of a hangout for the locals and the theatrical types who happened to be in various rehearsals at the moment.
The place was dimly lit and we all crowded into a booth, one of those half circle kinds, fully padded and covered in red plastic to simulate leather. It was a tight fit and Blayne's body was firmly pressed into mine. I had no idea who sat on my other side, the focus of my attention squarely on Blayne.
The place was full, unusually so, and we soon learned the reason why. A sexy female voice floated through the speaker system, announced the beginning of the lingerie show. A steady stream of bosomy young ladies strutted across the stage and into the audience. They went from table to table, seductively describing their attire, playing the lights to best advantage.
We gave our orders to the waitress and settled back to watch the show. While gazing upon an intriguing, black lace negligee I felt a hand slip onto my knee. I looked at Blayne, but his eyes were locked on the lace, a grin locked on his lips. My first thought was to politely remove his hand, but I was curious to know exactly how far this would go. I left it where it was, tried to ignore it, but my cunt would have none of that. It reacted positively at his first touch.
"Do you like that?" Blayne asked, his eyes still on the model.
"It's nice. As far as it goes."
"What do you mean?"
"It's a tad low," I said, watching for Blayne's reaction. Finding none, I added," The hemline. It should be raised, expose a little more leg to increase the level of desire in both wearer and viewer."
Blayne took the hint, skimmed his hand up my pantyhose to raise the hem of my skirt to mid-thigh.
"Good point. I see what you mean," Blayne said, his hand gently squeezing my leg, his eyes following the model's swinging hips as she left the table.
The next model wore a more risque outfit, something to tantalize and provoke. Everything was done in pink with white lace trim. Her bra lifted and separated her ample breasts as though offering them on a silver platter. Yet Blayne's eyes lounged elsewhere. Her black, net stockings were secured by a pink garter belt above ruffle panties. The outfit combined an aura of innocence with torrid temptress devilry. Blayne must have like what he saw because his hand clinked up my leg like an inching spider, nearing my hot, tingling cunt.
"Do you ever wear garter belts?" Blayne asked, his voice deep and husky, his mind apparently dwelling in some erotic fantasy.
"No. They're uncomfortable and impractical for daily wear." What a stupid thing to say. That would never continue the seduction so pleasantly underway. I quickly added," They're for private showing. I could never parade around in public like that. That model has a lot more guts than I have. Why don't you give the lady a hand."
Blayne turned to face me as his hand travelled to the top of my leg, bunched my skirt across my lap. I suddenly became aware of the others at the table, felt exposed. I looked around but they all seemed lost in their own conversations or glued their eyes onto the model. I relaxed as thoughts of Blayne and I blurred the rest of the room, and my pussy slipped closer to his fingers.
Just as his hand pressed nylon between my sex lips, our food arrived. His hand vacated my snatch, returned to the table, left my pussy open and panting.
I was halfway through my pastrami on rye when his hand returned. The models came and went but I barely saw what they wore, my mind holding his touch in sweet memory. His hand returned my thoughts to the now, to life in all its unfolding adventure.
His right hand flew to my stomach, sought the top of my pantyhose, while his left held his sandwich. I stretched myself up to help him. He was swiftly inside both nylons and panties, gliding smoothly down to the object of his desire.
"How's your meat?" I asked to keep up the ruse of friendly conversation.
"Hard. Like a rock. Tough. Like a pounding boxer." He savagely bit into his sandwich, his forgers plowing into my box to part my lips. "Hows yours?"
"Hot. Like a steaming volcano. Tender. Like a fresh orchid."
"I love orchids. I love their smell, the gentle way they open to let you see their intimate parts, their feel against my skin. Orchids. The stamen is the best part," he said, his fingers pressed firmly against my clit.
His pressure raised me from my seat. His hand stretched out the fabric between my legs and it slipped around my butt. The booth was cold against my bare ass as I settled in to enjoy Blayne's manipulation of my delicate flower.
His hand swiftly returned to my bare cunt, his fingers diving between my lips, spreading them wide. I parted my legs for him, wanted his hand to have free and easy access to my quivering twat.
Toying with my lips, investigating the folds of my petals, he finally landed on my soft and fleshy clit, taking it between his fingers.
"You're right about your meat," he said," it is hot and tender."
He squeezed and I damn near choked on my sandwich. A tingle raced up from my cunt, exploded in my brain in a hail of blazing fireworks. Blood rushed into my protruding nub, strengthened it, swelled it into a throbbing erection between his clamping fingers.
His fingers raced up and down its length, frigged it gently before sending his hand further into my slit. The heel of his hand rested against my pulsing clit as his middle finger slipped up my hole. I barely felt the intrusion, had too little to grasp onto. Carla's dildo and the guys last night made it mandatory that I have more than a single finger.
I didn't react to the slender probe and Blayne gave me more. Still no reaction, even though I sensed a presence inside my dark interior.
"Don't you care for finger sandwiches?" Blayne asked, his voice tinged with surprise.
"It takes a lot of cucumber to make a good one." Blayne was quick, caught on right away, and became more aggressive. My muscles still didn't have to stretch, but my hole finally knew the comfort of holding some-thing within its chewing grip.
He pumped his fingers with the expertise of a seasoned lover and I began to juice for him, my pussy squishing nectar around his in riding finger.
"Next time, I order my sandwich au just" he said through a smirk. "Though you don't seem to be having any problem."
"No. Plenty moist over here. Even though a long, firm sausage produces a lot more, once you get a good solid bite on it."
"I'll have to remember that. Maybe next time. We'll have to have lunch again so I can test your theory."
"It's not a theory, it's a fact. I can prove it to you. Next time, like you said. I'll show you how to milk it so it spurts on the first bite. Right now, I could do with a little more attention to the hard facts concerning a certain piece of red meat."
Blayne seemed puzzled, his fingers still working my cunt in a steady drive. Then his eyes brightened and the smile returned to his lips. His fingers extracted them-selves and trailed dew up to my clit. He knew what I wanted, willingly obliged.
He rubbed my tiny length to guarantee it was as hard as it could be before taking it between his fingers. He rolled and massaged, twisted and turned, increased the mounting fever in my breasts. My legs opened and closed, my lips squeezing around his gentle fingers in loving kisses and adoring embraces.
He had soon built an orgasm around my trembling clit, a small one, but an orgasm is an orgasm, appreciated no matter what its size. I was actually a little thankful that it wouldn't be a mammoth blast. After all, we were in the middle of a restaurant, surrounded by near strangers. It would be hard to conceal a monumental release with its almost necessary scream of wild excitement. No, this would do me just fine.
The closer it came to a head, the more little bites I took of my sandwich, bites to help squelch the squeaks and squeals produced by the handling of my reaction. My insides churned beneath his manipulation, my body wanting to writhe and jiggle. But I managed to hold myself still, my, hips already plastered between two warm bodies seated on either side of me. Being so locked in place, my body stifled in its mobility, all action centered in my pussy. It loved the attention, gloried in its selfishness, relished not having to share with the rest of my being.
Blayne worked magic, my clit a tower of sensitivity. I wanted to cry out, to scream at the top of my lungs. My cunt danced a wild jig while I struggled to maintain some sense of dignity, fought to keep the balance of my body under control. My ass slid along the plastic, my warm liquids slipping from my slit, making my seat a slippery slide. I tried not to squirm, but it was hopeless. My orgasm was near, was taking over all thoughts of propriety. I suddenly didn't care where I was, who was seated next to me, my excitement all consuming, Blayne's hand commander of my ready-to-explode cunt.
I wasn't prepared when Blayne splayed his fingers and ran up and down my screaming crack. I jammed the rest of my sandwich into my mouth, a startled scream about to attract every eye in the room. My mouth was full, my cunt just as full of my own trapped fire. And Blayne's hand slammed my clit forcefully into my burning flesh, his fingers again inside me, wriggling and jiggling.
My mouth chewed and chewed in furious chomps to keep my cry within me, to lock away an embarrassing outburst. I felt my body would implode, collapse upon itself as it drained into my plugged pussy.
Blayne's fingers remained where they were, his hand idle, refusing to budge from its warm home. He held it there, then oozed his fingertips around inside me, gathering the honey.
"Do you want dessert? the asshole asked with a wink, knowing perfectly well I had already had all the dessert I could handle.
I didn't grace him with an answer, but squeezed around his hand instead.
"No? Well, I'd like some."
He slowly removed his fingers, formed his hand into a fist. He pulled away and exposed my cunt to cold air, quite a shock after the hot encounter. His hand appeared above the table and he sucked on his fingers, his lips caressing each one in long, slow enjoyment, tasting me, savoring the best of all possible desserts.
My hands latched onto the edge of the table as I slowly calmed down, returned to a state of normality. Lunch was over and it was not one I'd soon forget.
"Creamy," Blayne said, a napkin removing what his mouth was unable to. "We'll definitely have to do this again. I just love dessert, you know."
"Me, too. Next time, though, I think I'll have an eclair, something filled with thick custard that melts on the tongue."
"I think that can be arranged. I know this wonderful bakery that would just love to have you shop around. And I hear they give free samples, something to nibble on before making your final selection. A very exclusive place that not many know. And very private."
"Does it have nuts? I love nuts."
"Only two varieties, but plenty of each. I could show you around except I think it's time to get back to work. I know you're enjoying lunch, but you'd better pull yourself back together, if you know what I mean."
I got back into my panties and pantyhose and tried my best not to raise any suspicions. I straightened the fabric over my knees and silently prayed there wouldn't be any evidence of Blayne's dessert on the back of my skirt. I had no idea what I might be sitting in.
The angels never showed up at rehearsals, but I thanked them anyway. Blayne would never have gotten dessert had I been wearing jeans. At least I don't think he would have. At any rate, it would have been a lot more difficult if not impossible.
I watched Blayne through the rest of the day with a greater appreciation of his talents. I still hadn't seen his cock, this afternoon devoted to dialogue which did not require him to change. Now I eagerly looked forward to another lunch. Another lunch when it would be my turn, when I could at least get a feel of his member with my hand and claim my own succulent dessert. That's the best part anyway. Looking is nice, can be a real turn-on, but hands-on experience is the only way to go.
I ignored Carla the rest of the day and concentrated solely on Blayne. My mind was filled with extravagant fantasies to see me through the lonely night ahead. I had hoped for an invitation to dinner, or to his apartment, something, but no offer came. I considered extending my own invitation, but something told me Blayne would be a lunch time lover and nothing more. Call it intuition or a hunch, but I had the distinct feeling that Blayne kept his life outside the theater very much to himself. Whatever the reason, I went home alone.
The next few days passed very quickly. I had a lot to do, checking on every aspect of the show to be ready for the rapidly approaching first full dress rehearsal. Blayne really didn't have a chance to invite me to lunch. I was so busy I usually grabbed something on the go as I flitted from the rehearsal hall, to the costume shop, to the theater. Everything was coming together at a furious pace, and it looked like all the pieces were actually going to fit. Even Carla seemed on her best behavior.
I didn't have a lot of time for personal thoughts, although my pussy reminded me from time to time that it didn't understand this sudden change. It pouted beneath me, longed to return those three days of what seemed like uninterrupted sex, from Randy to Martin, from Carla to Joe and Brian, and finally Blayne. I'd get back to those days, eventually, but more pressing matters demanded my total attention.