Amy Ch. 18byParis Waterman©
John gave Amy a couple minutes head start on the shower, then still nude he followed her, entering the steamy bathroom and opening the glass door he stepped in next to her.
She was working up a thick lather in her hair when he abruptly kissed her on the mouth. Amy dropped her arms to embrace him as John's hands slid down to her soapy hips and cupped the cheeks of her ass as her hard tipped nipples rubbed against his chest. She clung to him as the kiss grew hotter; eventually the shampoo sluiced off her head and trickled down to cover her breasts and stiffened nipples. The foamy shampoo remained there until John's chest rubbed against her breasts causing it to dissolve.
When John finally broke the kiss, Amy's tongue tried to cling to his, but he spun her around leaving her licking at the empty air in front of her. His hands left her ass and went to her slick breasts, cupping them, then thumbing her hardened nipples until she found it almost unbearable and moaned, asking him to stop.
He obliged her, but only left the nipples to yearn for more as he mauled her breasts, kneading and squeezing them while at the same time nudging his half-hardened cock into the crevice of her ass.
This brought about an instant moan of pleasure as Amy recalled her first anal experience only a few minutes earlier.
John continued to arouse her even more by using his hands to titillate her flesh, caressing, rubbing, kneading; always something different. Always touching her precisely where and how she wanted to be touched.
The timbre of her moans told him when to move downward to the wet tangle of matted fur just above her pussy.
Amy shivered with delight, loving his touch, wanting his hardness between her legs once more and wondering just how many times they would wind up doing it this wonderful, magical night.
John gave her a hint of what was to come as his soapy hand gently massaged her mons while the other slid up and down the crack of her ass.
Resting her head against his chest, Amy sighed deeply and spread her legs a bit,
opening herself to his hands.
"Please, finger me," she moaned.
"Finger me in both places," she said and trembled in anticipation.
John nodded in understanding, and then carefully rinsed off each hand. Making certain they were free of any soap then he returned each hand to its former position.
Carefully the one hand caressed the outer folds of her cunt; the other deftly circled the puckered starfish of her ass, eliciting a long, highly aroused moan from her throat.
Each time the finger skirted the closed eye of her rectum he felt her react by tightening her buttocks and then relaxing as the finger moved away.
He pried her outer folds open and ran a finger up and down her slit and for the first time was able to discern between the water from the shower that still cascaded down her body and over her pussy and her juices; her juices being decidedly slicker than the water.
Amy's knees buckled and were it not for having her hands around his neck she would have sunk to the shower floor, for John made no move to prevent her falling.
He was committed to fingering her fore and aft. She had asked for it and it was her responsibility to remain standing, at least for the present. Satisfied that she would remain upright, he started sucking and kissing her on the neck; slowly working his way to her mouth. Amy was now at a fever pitch, just waiting for him to give her the signal to come.
They're tongues commingled --- and they took turns swallowing each other's saliva. John worked a finger into her ass, moaning as her anal muscles contracted, bringing a light, firm pressure to bear on the finger.
The kiss ended abruptly as both gasped for air. Then as Amy's body shook with delight, he sent a finger into her slippery slit and found her "G" spot and brought her another step closer to her impending explosion.
"I'm gonna come big, aren't I?" she asked with a shudder.
He did not reply.
"Huh?" she asked again, but this time with a dreamy, sex crazed lilt.
His finger left her pussy and she groaned at the loss, then moaned hotly as he massaged the entire surface of her cunt with the palm of his hand, adroitly averting direct contact with her clit.
She grunted with satisfaction.
He rubbed faster and she grunted again and her knees started to cave, this time John caught her.
"Put your arms around my neck and hold on. I need the use of my hands to make you come. You want to come don't you?"
She was supporting herself by using her right arm to hold around his neck while her left hand gripped a soap dish set into the tiled wall.
He took her right breast and lifted it to his mouth. As he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly, Amy hissed and shook.
"Hold on damn it!" John said chastising her. Regretting it instantly as he felt her cringing against him.
He said nothing further, but redeemed himself immediately in her eyes, by taking her engorged nipple between his teeth and nibbling on it, bringing a long series of satisfied moans from her throat. He then tongued the stiffened bud and found himself growing hard as he listened to Amy's rapid, shallow breathing, knowing he was the cause of her excited state.
John remained on her teat for a long time; licking, sucking, and sometimes taking delicate nips with his teeth. He watched her face from the corner of his eye; listened to her breathing, carefully noting what gave her the most pleasure. Her groans and sighs and her fingers digging into his shoulder told him about the waves of pleasure that continuously radiated from her rock-hard nipple stems and her overly sensitive, tiny pimpled areola. Assuming the timing was right; he repeated the slow assault on her other breast.
Amy was helpless; moaning continuously -- a long, low croon of expressionless heat. One hand fiercely held to a clump of his hair, the other gripped the soap dish more firmly than before.
Abandoning her nipples, John sent his palm back to her mons, cupped it and squeezed.
Amy had a short, sweet orgasm.
"You came did you?" He asked.
"Um, a little," she moaned, still trapped in a sexual haze.
He massaged the area again and gauged the level of her responding moan.
Satisfied he had more leeway left to him before her major climax overwhelmed her, he teased her clit, then sent three fingers inside the opening of her cunt, careful not to penetrate any distance. His other hand retraced its way to her starfish pucker and finding it, pressed inward.
"Ugh! Ugh!" She grunted and ceased supporting herself as she slowly sank to her hands and knees in the shower.
Amy was crying at the loss of his precious fingers from both her holes, but no words came from her mouth.
His fingers found her cuntal opening and returned, this time penetrating to the second knuckle and finally John began the end game, extracting his fingers and placing his palm against her inner lips, then increasing the pressure of his palm against her pussy and speeding its slight up and down movement.
Amy tensed, knowing the explosion was coming, and her hip thrusts became as regular as a metronome. All he heard were her gasps and moans and then, Amy was shouting.
"Ohhh, I'm gonna come in a minute!"
"Ohhhh, I'm coming now, I'm coming NOW!"
She clamped her thighs tightly around his hand so that he could hardly move it, but he thought it wonderful to feel her cunt making such fast contractions around his fingers.
Amy's body shook and heaved as the spasms wracked her.
"Oh, my God, it's wonderful!" she groaned.
"I'm so fucking horny. I think . . . I think . . . Oh shit! I can't help . . . it!"
"What is it?" He asked concerned something had gone terribly wrong.
"I'm pissing . . . pissing on your hand!"
And he felt it; a warm, golden stream washing over his palm and wrist with a hissing, sizzling sound. He was amazed. Amy really was pissing on him! He didn't mind, not really, but he was startled by her action. He watched the shower drain and the gurgling yellow fluid swirling round and round as it spilled into the drain and finally vanished from sight.
As aroused as was possible, John hoisted Amy to her feet and entered her. His strokes were sure and deep. Her moans of pleasure were regular and growing louder, and she began to regain her composure, occasionally thrusting her hips forward, trying to ensure that his driving cock would touch her clit at some point during its expeditions in and out of her churning cunt.
He increased his pace.
Her head lolled, sometimes forward, sometimes back and her knees sagged as even more of her weight fell onto the arm draped across his shoulders. Then suddenly, Amy threw her head back and crested with a deep, prolonged moan of ecstasy, digging her fingers into his shoulder so hard John knew he'd have bruises. Amy's knees buckled slightly, then she caught herself and stood on quivering legs, her orgasm continuing unabated.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"
She muttered incoherently; her hips jerking convulsively as she struggled to stay on her feet. Her face was lifted towards John's; her eyes closed --- mouth slightly open, twisted with pleasure.
He was hammering into her, on the brink of a fantastic orgasm of his own.
Her breath was sapped from her lungs from this onslaught --- this jack hammering cock that was seemingly pulverizing her cunt to pieces.
A fresh orgasm seized her whole body, more powerful than the one before. Her hips jerked involuntarily, and a long howl escaped her wide open mouth.
Her whole body convulsed as Amy simultaneously tried to thrust her pussy against his pummeling prick and he managed to work a finger its full length up her ass.
Her knees buckled and Amy collapsed, pulling him down as he struggled to keep her filled in front and behind. They fell into a tangle over the shower drain, and came apart. The warm water beat down upon them --- unnoticed, as he reinserted his member and renewed his thrusting, and she her moans. John's impetus was now slower, more deliberate. His finger moved back along the crack of her ass, searching for her puckered opening and finding it --- sent his finger back into her as she moaned in gratitude.
Amy's neck arched backward, her mouth fell open and emitted a continuous grunting sound: "UGH! UGH! UGH!"
Her breasts quivered, nipples pointing east and west from the shock waves that were slamming through her body.
John's body went rigid --- and he finally came --- filling her with a gigantic load.
They lay in the shower for another ten minutes. Until Amy's quivering and twitching subsided and she lay slack in his arms, with only the occasional twitch to show that she was still alive. Finally, his shrunken penis slipped from her cunt. One last time, he sank the finger into her ass, caused another tremor to vibrate through Amy's body and then withdrew it with a soft pop.
Groaning with the effort, he reached up with one hand and shoved the shower handle down, turning off the water.
Eyes closed, Amy whispered, "Now I know how it feels to die from pleasure."
It took her a long time to get out of the shower, dry off and fix her hair. She was so spent John thought she might have fallen asleep in front of the bathroom mirror had he permitted her to do so. But at his insistence she tottered into the bedroom and lay down. Within a minute Amy was dead to the world, but wearing a satisfied smile as she recreated her experiences in the most delightful dream she had ever had.
The following day, a remarkably refreshed Amy worked through Act 1 scene 2 and found it fascinating to see how differently people work. She found that Anna and Anthony had most of their lines memorized. For that matter, Amy had hers down too --- although to a somewhat lesser extent.
But on the second run through, Amy realized that Anthony Spano had a totally different way of working in that while Anna and Amy held pages of the script in their hands, Anthony went without --- he simply asked the stage manager to give him the line if he faltered. Amy did note that he only made the request twice and assumed that he knew his lines well enough, but using a great deal of energy may have caused the occasional lapse mentally. Nobody seemed to mind either way since they were all working towards the same goal.
Amy also had a dream fulfilled in that she had a lovely chat with Anna about working with Stella Adler early on in her career. In fact it involved her first performance in class for Stella. Anna had chosen a scene from "Boom Boom Girls" and spent a few weeks getting up the nerve, signing up on the performing sheet and then crossing her name off . . . until finally her time came. As she told Amy, "Stella required each person to costume themselves for class and that meant right down to your underwear. Adler believed that what you wore was an integral part of your character.
So Anna dressed the part, high boots, fishnet stockings, hot pants, etc. The first words out of Stella's mouth were, "Whores, whores! Desdemona, Juliet, Queens, it doesn't seem to matter. They all want to play whores."
Anna grinned wryly at Amy and said, "I had set the scene up to play with a male partner, but when she motioned him to get up and do something he just shook his head, 'no'. So I swallowed hard and laid out my props --- this was a requirement, Stella allowed no miming in her class.
"Almost immediately, she started on me," Anna said. Amy was riveted to every word. She had longed for this conversation every since she could remember.
"Look at her, she's common," Adler yelled.
"Why is she here?" Adler gestured outwardly to the members of the class who sat in two rows of folding chairs watching in horror, hoping they wouldn't be the next to be singled out.
"Look at me!" Stella yelled, "Well I certainly did."
"She's nothing," She said, turning sideways to look at the class.
"Now, I didn't know it, but this was common practice in Stella's class. She required total commitment from her students and absolutely no fear. If you were the least bit intimidated by her she would kick your ass off the stage. And I don't mean in a nice way. It was just her style. "I'll give her that. This business requires courage and you needed all you had, almost every day to survive in her classes."
"Anyway, I got so frazzled; so humiliated, I mean, who wouldn't? I started the scene because I had nowhere else to hide. That's right; I hid myself in the part."
"Now, Amy I doubt you ever saw the play I'm talking about. Perhaps you've never even heard of it. But the scene in question consisted of confronting my mother and father about the past. Brazenly, (at least that's what the others said later, but right then I had all I could do to keep from peeing in my pants from the fear Adler had instilled in me) I substituted Stella for my mother in the scene and directed all the dialogue to her. I went so far as to walk up to the chair that Stella was sitting in (Stella always sat in a huge chair in the center of the room like a throne) and tugged on her sleeves with tears rolling down my face as I spoke my lines. Can you imagine my surprise when halfway through the scene I discovered Stella was crying along with me?"
Amy's mouth hung open.
"Oh, yeah," Anna said ending the story, "I ended the scene face to face with Stella both of us bawling like babies."
"Then Stella wiped the tears away and said, "I have nothing to say." Then she turned away from me and wiping her eyes spoke to the class. "There stands an actress!" Then she turned back to confront me, and speaking in a quiet, but audible voice said, "Don't ever do that to me again."
Later that same day Amy was still working with Anna and Anthony on another scene from Act 1. Kathleen Sullivan, the director and choreographer watched intently as Amy ran through her number. When Amy finished she trotted off the stage and headed for the Coke machine.
Ms. Sullivan turned to Yves Tolbur one of the main producers and said, "Care to critique their performances Yves?"
"Sure," he said, carelessly running a hand through his thick mane of hair.
After listening to the three of them I'd venture to say that Anna has just the right low rounded tone one would expect from Maria. Of course, Anna has always had that slightly nasal quality but over-rides it with the quiet dignity in her speech and bearing. She may be a better Maria than the original. Only time will tell."
"And what of Amy?" Sullivan asked, arching her eyebrow.
"Ah, Miss Prentice. She has such a high pitched, fluty quality to her voice and has an endearing little girl quality to her persona." He smiled at Ms. Sullivan. "I find it difficult to believe she's just out of high school. I mean, I've seen her dance and in that capacity she is an original. Her voice is fine for the limited use she'll be put to use it in the play. But her dancing . . . in a word, superb!"
"I rather like her too," Ms. Sullivan said, "and for much the same reasons. What of our Mr. Spano?"
"Ah yes, Anthony has a rumbling, blustery quality to his voice; louder than the ladies and more animated. Anna is focused, precise and thinks through each scene with an eye toward the reality of it. Amy maintains that little girl quality but shows definite signs of having done her homework as well. Which I am hard put to understand how in hell she can manage it. I'll just say that if she continues to impress us her star will definitely rise."
But Mr. Spano, I'm not sure. It's difficult to tell with him right now because he relies quite heavily on the stage manager giving him the lines as he works through. On the other hand, he is a pro. I fully expect him to hold the audience spellbound when the time comes."
Yves called the actors over and they formed a circle around him and Ms. Sullivan as they exchanged various aspects of each moment for each character in the scene. They talked openly about what felt 'right' and 'comfortable' and what didn't. Even Amy offered her opinion and to her surprise found them nodding acceptance of her views.
Kathleen Sullivan went off on a tangent. "Years ago I did a production in which a famous choreographer redirected a famous show originally done by a famous director."
"Yeah, just like this version of West Side Story. The problem was that the new direction became about choreographed movements having nothing to do with the original intention of the director. These exercises you ran through today constitute the same problem. Nearly every one of these exercises is about producing a physical commitment to the movement; the more intense the commitment --- the greater the result. That, ladies and gentleman of the jury, is part one of a great performance --- COMMITMENT!"
Ms. Sullivan chose that moment to stare at Amy.
"Except for some very unusual circumstances, it's no accident that the best performers are older. The combination of theatre experience and life experience are unbelievably important. Why? Because if you haven't lived to experience enough of life and it's complex emotional states then its damn near impossible to reproduce them on stage."
"Mind you, reproducing is NOT re-experiencing! There is a huge gulf between these two processes. The teaching of acting has been split between them since the days of Stanislavski."
Everyone was giving her their undivided attention. Amy was surprised at this, having thought that with their combined stage experience both Anthony and Anna knew this. Yet they too were mesmerized by Sullivan's lecture.
"To demonstrate physical reality," Ms. Sullivan continued, "you must begin with three things:
1. Understanding. That means you must not only know the emotional state of the character you're portraying but also you must know everything about the character himself, or herself, including circumstance and time period. Not to mention the dirty word --- subtext, which is often the opposite of the text. On a lighter level, that's what sarcasm is --- the words saying one thing when the meaning is the opposite.