The Big Performance

"You're such an exhibitionist," he said in a fond voice, smiling at me. I smiled back as he nudged my cheek with his nose and whispered in my ear,

"You'd like it if we had an audience for this, too, wouldn't you?" I nodded fractionally, a sigh escaping me at the thought.

"It'd turn you on if a group of big, burly men were all standing there, in the shadows of the auditorium, watching you, naked on a public stage as I fuck you. Wouldn't it?" I nodded again, his words coursing through me like whisky down a dry throat.

"Well," he said, moving his hips to position his cock at the entrance to my aching pussy, "keep looking out there, because the lighting crew said they'd be here for 11 and it's nearly quarter past."

He thrust forwards as he said those words, timing it so that the meaning of what he said registered in my consciousness at the same moment as the sensation of him inside me.

My head snapped to the left, even as my body rose in an arc to allow him to enter more deeply. Were there people standing out there, watching me being fucked? I strained my eyes into the darkness to try and distinguish any figure. Perhaps that dark spot over there was a person -- perhaps that click was someone taking a photograph on their mobile phone.

My mind was panicking as I pictured all these unknown men standing out in the theatre watching us, but my body only responded the more eagerly. A moan escaped me, then grunts as he drove into me harder and harder.

"You're looking for them, aren't you? Don't you believe me? I texted them when I saw you getting yourself off on stage and told them to meet me in here instead of the foyer. You seemed to be enjoying your audience of one so much I couldn't deny you a larger audience."

My breath came in pants and gasps. Every fibre of my body strained to reach that elusive zenith of pleasure as the friction of his cock increased. I slid my hand in between our bucking bodies and started to stroke the burning, hungry point above his cock.

I could feel orgasm building now: was I being watched? Was this wanton, slutty behaviour being observed? I couldn't see anybody, but his suggestions had taken root in my imagination and as far as I was concerned I was the star of an on-stage porn show.

I could feel momentum building now, every muscle in my body was tensed and straining to attain that heady peak. My legs quivered with the tension and I pulled my stomach in, tightening myself to get there faster. It started to happen then; that first flicker of spasm, followed by a deeper fluttering, then that sucking, pulling, all-over concentration of your awareness into the physical sensation.

I must have cried out as I came, because my throat was raw for hours afterwards and I know that my body heaved and bucked, because I remember fighting against his weight as he subsided on top of me, his own satisfaction reached.

I have maybe had better sex in the past, as far as technicalities go, but that was the hottest, most raw and sexy sex I have ever had. I gave over control and dominance to him and revelled in the physical sensations gained by the mental submission.

We lay like that for a while, my body suffused with heat and feeling limp. He, too, was limp which made him heavy; crushing my chest and breathing hot pants of air against my neck.

In a daze I struggled to stand up, every muscle crying out as I did so. I pushed him off me and let him lie on the rostra, tucking himself back into his jeans while I gathered up my clothes from the stage.

Bizarrely I felt more uncomfortable about dressing on stage than I had undressing. I don't know whether it was the post-coital anti-climax kicking in or whether it really did seem that much more personal to get dressed in public, but I took all my clothes into the wings to put them back on again.

I wiped myself down as best I could with some tissues, then slowly and thoughtfully started dressing. Obviously he'd just said that there were people watching because he knew it got me off. I watched him getting up and walking to the front of stage. Would this go any further? I hoped so... he was a sexy man and obviously had some of the same kinks as me, but whether it would go beyond sex was another matter. I knew nothing about him.

I finished pulling my top over my head and tried to smooth my hair down with my fingers. I could hear voices now, gruff, male voices. Thank God we'd finished when we had or we really would have had an audience. I smiled smugly to myself and ran my fingers under my eyes to remove any smudged mascara.

Feeling vaguely presentable I walked out onto the stage again with my best attempt as confidence and insouciance.

"Hi." I said, trying not to overdo it lest they guessed something was up.

"Alright love," said one of them with a grin, while the others stood around avoiding my glance. "That was quite a performance you gave. Shame this Valentine's malarkey isn't going to be something more like that."

He smirked at me while some of the younger men tittered. My face flamed with a sudden blush. I had been watched after all. All these men who I now had to work with had been watching me naked and squirming, being fucked by... one of their co-workers? Their boss? Christ -- hadn't I heard a camera? Did one of them have photographs?

I looked for my partner in crime, but he was going over the lighting plan, and wasn't standing with the technical crew. His face was hidden by his hand, but I could see that he was smiling.

There was nothing for it, I was going to have to tough it out or I wouldn't be able to work with them any more.

"I know," I said, my voice shaking a little, "better than some schmaltzy fucking poetry, wasn't it?" I felt stronger now, some of them were looking a bit wrong-footed and that gave me the confidence to finish what I was saying.

"Now we've finished fucking about maybe we can get down to some work. If you do it well perhaps you'll get a repeat performance."

The dark-haired man jerked his head up and looked at me in shock. I wasn't sure if I meant it or not, but it put me back in control and ensured they'd all work their bollocks off for the rest of the run. They all stared at me as I calmly ran through what we had to do that day, but I just ignored it and kept talking.

As they dispersed, whispering amongst themselves, I realised someone was still staring at me. It was Mr. Blue-shirt and his eyes held a question. I smiled mysteriously to myself before walking away and ignoring him.

Yes I was embarrassed, but the prospect of more fucking like that with him was a far more intriguing Valentine's prospect than the usual 'anonymous' card you know was sent by your slightly obsessive ex, or, even worse, nothing at all. Fuck a day of romance, perhaps what everyone needed was a day of fucking fucking!

Perhaps I'd wear a skirt to work tomorrow. With stockings...