A Classy Night OutbyLWeaver©
Lizzie had the taxi drop her off in front of the place. Her heart was thumping and she nervously clawed the purse with bright, pointy nails as her heels clopped on the sidewalk.
A theater. Seriously?
It was usually a nondescript apartment, or a middling hotel. A few clients had tried to lure her into cheap motels but she always declined -- Lizzie was a high class girl, after all.
But a theater?
Maybe it was one of those guys who wanted her to be their girlfriend for one day. A pretend fiancée, to trick his family and friends and coworkers into thinking he's got the gambler's kind of sex life, the one where you pay upfront and hope the magic will happen a few dinners and movies and nights down the line.
He never did specify, though.
All she had was a time and a place and a note to look for a certain gentleman.
And that time, and that place, was the premiere of Maestro Mancini's latest Violin Concerto at Morius Theater.
And that certain gentleman was to be wearing a suit and a white flower in his pocket: she saw him right away, standing idly by the entrance. She introduced herself with just a little stutter and he smiled. He was a little older than she'd pictured, but not so old that it became disgusting.
The man smiled at her and gestured to follow him. Without a second's hesitation she did, and they were soon making their way through the creamy yellow halls and red curtains of the theater.
After all, the place was too crowded for a serial killer and hey: in case he was a creep, at least she could listen to some good music as she finished him off.
Last but not least, she'd never been offered that many zeroes.
Lizzie was a professional, and she was determined to give this caller his money's worth. She tied her long, blond hair in a chignon, applied just enough make up to make her blue eyes sparkle and her lips enticing. She wore a tight dark red dress that showed off the black choker around her slim neck, just a hint of cleavage, and enough legs to keep walking for weeks around a man's head. On her feet were high-heeled sandals, in black leather, with a white flower on top. As she tied a black belt around her waist, looking herself over in a mirror, all she thought was, "perfect".
A few flights of stairs and a long corridor later, the man stopped in front of one of many small wooden doors that lead to a loge, a private box with just a few seats set high up on the theater wall opposite the stage. He opened it for her. As Lizzie entered the dark room, she heard him wishing a good evening and shutting the door.
At first, she thought it was a prank. Had he locked her in? The balcony was supposed to be facing the stage but the heavy curtains were shut and there was barely enough light to make out the two velvet couches in front of her.
Confused, she went to open the curtains when a dark, deep voice ordered her to stop. She did, with a gasp, and dropped her purse. She went to pick it up, but the voice said, "leave it", and she did.
She realized someone was sitting on the couch right beside her, but she couldn't make out his features. She remained still for an eternity, until he said:
"Take off everything."
She closed her eyes and a small giggle escaped her lips.
All that hype, all that wondering, and he was just another normal client with control fantasies and sexual frustration.
She calmed down instantly and undressed slowly, getting into her best "scared innocent girl" character. In her experience, that was the one these clients liked best.
There wasn't that much to take off, really.
The belt whistled away after a single, smooth gesture, and the buckle thumped on the soft floor. She slowly undid the zipper on her back and deliberately took her time sliding it off her sweet curves, teasing with smooth hip movements.
In the end, the red dress found the floor and she stepped out of it, covering up her full, proud breasts with one arm and her shaved mound with one hand, in a fake display of modesty.
"Shoes, too." The man commanded.
Was he a fetishist, or what? She sighed quietly, then she sat down, her knees tight against each other, so she could unlatch her sandals without showing anything.
Soon enough she felt the carpet under her bare feet; her mind wondered how dirty it had to be.
She was about to ask, "what next?", when the man's soft, deep voice ordered "undo your hair."
She turned aside her head so she could pull apart her chignon with her arm still clutching at her breasts; a few shakes did the rest.
Sensing a pattern, Lizzie began taking off her choker, too, but the man's firm "no" left it there.
She asked herself how he even knew it was there, then she realized that her eyes, too, were getting used to the dark. He'd been in that room far longer, so he could probably see every sweet, delicate curve of her young body.
She focused, trying to make out the man's features through that last layer of darkness, but he thwarted her plans yet again with another firm command: "put your hands on the wall."
Lizzie slowly made her way to the wall, bare feet shuffling on the carpet, and her palms found it cold, and hard.
She made a big show out of uncovering herself, milking the fake shy girl act for all its worth, but in the end she took her position, leaning forward, hands on the wall, blond hair falling over by the side, leaving all her slick back exposed.
Her butt pointed towards the man on the couch, firm and tight and lovely. She stood on her tiptoes, so her legs looked even more supple and perfect.
A draft blew past the curtains on her right, and Lizzie shook in a quiet shiver. She heard the audience gathering outside, and realized how exposed she was, and how close other people were: she could hear the chattering in adjacent loges!
She felt a slight warmth building up inside her, and she wanted to disbelieve how much she was actually enjoying this weird situation.
A hand grabbed her shoulder; the skin was rough, but the gesture delicate. She gasped nonetheless at the unexpected contact. He shushed her and put his other hand around her waist, pulling her close. She felt something hard poking at her back, and acted out a moan.
He pulled her, this time strongly, sinking fingers into her side and wrapping a thick arm around her neck, choking out a scream. "Don't lie to me", he whispered, "and don't be loud. They will hear you." Instinctively, Lizzie's hands went out grasping at the man's grab; he expected nothing less, and took advantage by pushing her into the wall.
With a slap, her breasts flattened against the marble; pink, hardy nipples tried hard to stand but couldn't. The wind blown out of her, she let out a scared moan. He kept her quiet, wrapping a hand around her mouth as the other slid between her legs.
Overpowered and helpless, stuck to the wall by a man twice her size, Lizzie actually found his hand on her most private of places quite comforting: it reminded her that he was just yet another client, anxious to rush through her services. She'd had rough clients before and knew how to deal with them, so she slid back into her character and let him keep the lead.
The room got even darker and the audience went entirely silent just as the man's fingers found her clitoris. He was actually quite good, but she wasn't going to let this get personal, so she pushed back into his hard rod, with the quietest moan she could muster, to shift positions and disrupt the rubbing.
That got him mad.
He tightened his grip on her mouth, rammed her against the wall and pinched her clitoris at the same time, hard enough to make her whimper through serrated lips; Lizzie heard a woman in the adjacent loge asking "what was that?", and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
The man whispered, again, "don't lie to me".
Lizzie was mad, more than scared: if he wanted rough sex, he just had to ask. She resolved to let him do as he pleased, grab the money, and just chalk it up to yet another shitty client.
The man freed her mouth, resting the hand on her chin and neck, as the other hand started rubbing the clitoris yet again.
Damn, was he good.
His fingers went in little circles, rubbing her just the right way. The warmth she already felt grew into a tingling sensation and her hands instinctively reached behind to feel the man's strong body.
They freed his member, big and hard as a rock.
The violin started playing on the stage, sweet and delicate and not entirely loud enough to cover the screams that were begging to get out of Lizzie.
Building up his rhythm on her pleasure button, as her breath grew more and more like a pant, he asked her, "you like anal?"
"N-no..." she stuttered.
During the quietest moment in the music, Lizzie felt two fingers finding their way inside her; she moaned, surprised, not realizing how wet she already was.
The same woman from before asked, "did you hear that?"
The man's fingers, rough and big, twisted around inside her, then came to a stop, pushing hard against her g-spot.
"I am going to repeat my question. If you lie again, I am going to hurt you for real this time. Do you like anal?"
With those fingers pushing into her most sensitive spot, a barreled chest flattening her breasts and nipples against the cold stone wall, her voice trembled, her pitch out of control: "I... I didn't lie... I don't do anal on the job... That's for my boyfriend only..."
She realized her bare feet were resting on the man's shoes. When did that come to happen?
The rock hard penis pushed against her butt cheeks. She clenched and gritted her teeth, determined not to let him in.
He grabbed her choker, pulling her back off the wall and into his embrace. He wrapped his arm around her breasts; she relished the warmth after all that cold.
The fingers inside her resumed their dance and she could only breathe in sync with it.
"I think you could make an exception for me." She shook her head, as any talking would have let out far too much noise.
"Don't I pay you enough?"
"It's not about th-" He closed her mouth as she was mere instants into the scream; nonetheless, the annoying nearby woman reprimanded: "would you please be quiet?!"
Lizzie flushed over with embarrassment as she realized the people in adjacent loges just had to know what they were up to by now.
The man insisted, "Don't you like me?" sticking three fingers in, as deep as they would get, rubbing hard on the g-spot as the thumb slapped her swollen clitoris.
The loud, wet sound was only superseded by her loudest moan yet, escaped through her lips as he let her free to speak.
The annoyed woman kept complaining, but Lizzie didn't mind her anymore.
If anything, all her embarrassment and shame had turned into excitement by now, and she was losing her mind to the attention, the violin music, and the fingers driving her insane.
He pushed her over the couch and threw her naked body over its back; she was bent over it, ass in full display and cheeks spread apart. She protested with a groan but it caught yet again the attention of the other guests, so she kept quiet as the man worked his fingers into her...
As three fingers made their way into her pussy, she felt one slick, lonely finger poking at her anus. Try as she might not to think about it, the truth was that she wanted it, she wanted it bad.
She relaxed and let it in as the violin built up momentum.
Cold drops of lube found their way into her as the finger kept slowly teasing and loosening up the most private hole. Lizzie flushed and gasped as the man dug into her and everything went warm.
When the probing finger left her she braced herself: she knew what was coming next.
She cried in pain as the man pushed into her parted buttcheeks. His firm hands kept her sides in check even as her legs kicked around.
"That's it" said the neighbouring lady "I'm calling security."
But Lizzie didn't care. She bit into the cushion, lost in her storm of pain and pleasure. The man got deeper and deeper with every push, moving her whole body back and forth.
Her nipples, hard as rocks, chafed against the couch's rough texture. Her feet burned as they slid on the carpet, looking for balance. She tasted the bitter cushion on her tongue as her teeth bit down ever harder. Her ass stretched open as far as it would go, the man probing her most sensitive depths.
She had a moment of realization, of shame: not just because of the level of intimacy she'd allowed herself to reach in such a public place, but also because she felt like she was cheating.
Anal sex was something she'd always saved up for her boyfriend, and him alone. In her mind, this kept the physical part of their relationship special despite her day job.
But now, writhing around this stranger's rod, heavily breathing only in sync with his every push, all of that fell apart.
She asked herself how to feel about this, what to think, what to say, but all her mind could focus on was that this felt so damn good.
She gasped. Propping herself up on her arms, she pushed back into the stranger. Mouth smiling agape, face all red, eyes shut; she moaned and gasped in uncaring ecstasy as the orgasm built up in her stomach.
She was close, so close... And the stranger pulled out.
She groaned, frustrated, and turned around with a scowl; she found her man was distracted, facing the door: only then did she realize someone was knocking on it.
Panicked, Lizzie started looking around for her clothes. She'd never felt so exposed, wearing just a choker on her hot, sweating body, still wet and reddened by all the pleasure and abuse.
She tried to move too quickly, however, and fell on her knees. The thump alerted the man standing outside, who asked, "What's going on in there?"
Her fall also recaptured the stranger's attention.
He grabbed her by the hair and, despite her protests, dragged her all the way in front of the door. There, kneeling behind her, he pushed her face and breasts down on the rug, so that her back was wide open and in full display.
The stranger said "Why don't you tell him, Lizzie?" as his big hand found her privates once again "Tell him what we're up to."
His every caress sent shivers down her spine; fear of being caught, shame at having anal sex so close to strangers. She mouthed an objection but it sank in her throat as the stranger's hand once again entered her.
Her orgasm hadn't faded at all.
His fingers, digging in both of her holes, enkindled its flame. She pushed into him and wiggled her waist, but fingers alone could never give her release.
"Tell him" the stranger insisted "tell him what you're up to... And I will let you have your orgasm."
Hearing that deep voice say orgasm blew away any remnant of rationality her mind still clung onto.
She needed that, at any cost. The stranger lifted her head by the hair. She was now facing the door, no more than ten inches away.
"I... I am..." She stuttered. The hand slid out of her.
"Louder" he commanded.
She obeyed "I am... I am having..."
She felt the tip of his penis, big and hard and wet, pushing against her loosened anus. "I am..." The tip got in. She gasped "I'm being fucked!"
It got all the way in, touching her deepest recess. Her whole stomach warmed up, her pussy tingled, her clitoris burned. She felt it all the way to her nipples, spreading pleasure and joy. Her limbs tensed up as she cried: "He's fucking me in the ass, and I love it!".
Finally, release. Her body shook with pleasure as the orgasm exploded, and she squirmed, satisfied, all along. The stranger also groaned as he came inside of her. His warm seed flooded her whimpering figure and they embraced, warm and perfect.
When it was finally over, Lizzie found herself lying on the warm moquette, sweaty, exhausted and glowing.
Strangely enough, nobody had opened the door yet.
Suddenly, the lights came on in the loge. She instinctively sat up and hugged her knees to her chest to cover herself, then grimaced as she felt the warm seed oozing out of her back and onto the floor.
"The guy wasn't expecting a locked door" the stranger said, throwing Lizzie's dress at her. "If we're quick enough, we can leave before he gets back with the master key."
Lizzie didn't catch the dress, and it flew past her naked figure. She was too shocked to react: she'd seen the stranger's face and all she could do was blubber "You...!"
The stranger smiled. "Happy anniversary, hon."