Arena Stage Ch. 05


From the harmony of grunts and groans and moanings, I felt assured that Sean was passing his audition into Cersenka's dance troupe.

There was nothing I could do here. I knew that it was Sean's dream to dance for Cersenka. And I knew that Sean was aware of what was required to do that. Masters may have thought this was just another indignity being forced on Sean for his own amusement and yet another manifestation of his control over Sean, but I saw it as more than that—I saw it as the start of Sean's liberation from Masters.

I could have turned and left. I should have turned and left. But I didn't. I leaned back against the wall, unzipped my jeans, pulled out my cock, and pumped it in the rhythm of the audition fuck, joining their coupling to the extent that I could. I was finished and gone before they were done.

* * * *

My plan to give Sean a bit of relief came three days later. The rich-bitch backers of the production were gathering for a lunch at the Willard Hotel, where they expected to see the director, playwright, and dance master they were paying such a lot of cash for on display. Not only were these guys out of our way for three hours in the middle of what was an unseasonably warm and gorgeous day, but neither Sean nor I had been invited to the party.

So, I decided to make a party of our own.

I had a luncheon basket made up at the Gangplank restaurant, secured the use of Jack's Mustang convertible, and told Sean about the outing at the last possible minute, not entertaining any demur or indecision, Then we were off, using the suggestions Jack had made to me on the quickest route to scenic—and private—beauty, over a Potomac bridge and onto the George Washington Parkway, headed west. When we hit the Beltway, I jagged off onto route 193, a winding road, where the lush trees met over the roadway, and multimillionaire mansions peeked out behind dogwood and oak trees at two-hundred foot intervals. This route, which put us instantly into the rolling Virginia countryside, led out to Great Falls, a network of rapids on the Potomac River above the capital city of Washington, D.C. The river itself wasn't navigable higher than this in anything but a teacup. In the early years of the American republic, a consortium headed by George Washington himself had dug a canal on the Maryland side of these rapids to give access by boat to the upper Potomac. But that canal was a dry bed now.

The most glorious thing about Great Falls Park was the foliage and the rocks and the many very private nooks and crannies tucked alongside the trails and the river gorge itself.

The great weather had not been predicted, so we almost had the park to ourselves alone. I searched until I found the perfect spot. Close enough to the river to hear the dull roar of the rapids and see glimpses of rushing water between the trees, but off the walking path, in a small, moss-covered dell surrounded by protecting granite outcroppings and verdant tree coverage.

I had no trouble discerning that I had guess completely correctly—that Sean had been yearning to get out of the theater environment. To relax and enjoy something different.

I hadn't actually intended on making love to him here, but I guess I was just fooling myself. He was relaxed and happy and vocal, and he only objected mildly and only at first, when, after we'd eaten the box lunches while sprawled out on a blanket and drunk the beers I'd brought along, I embraced him and we began to kiss.

He murmured his "we shouldn't be doing this" objections while I slowly unclothed him, covering all revealed flesh liberally with kisses. But he just lay there, panting, and looking up at me all wide-eyed and shuddering as I stood over him and stripped down, showing him how much I wanted him, how much I had to give to him.

And then, surprising even myself, I showed myself how much farther beyond just protector and brief fling I thought our relationship was moving by coming down to him and covering his face and neck and nipples and belly with kisses and then voluntarily lowering my mouth yet farther and making love to his cock and balls and channel entrance with my lips and teeth and tongue until, writhing and groaning and moaning and sighing under me, begging for what I would eventually bury deep inside him, he released his hot, milky nectar for me to devour.

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