Over the Edge

"Do it," she squeaked, barely audibly.

"You can stop now," I whispered. "You don't have to go through with it."

"I can't stop," she said, her voice strained and small, "I'm over the edge. Do it. Cut my pantyhose off. Cut everything off."

"But Veronica..." I stammered, "What if you regret it later?"

"Just do it!" she hissed.

I knew I couldn't cut everything off -- it appeared we were only allowed to cut one thing at a time -- but I had to do something. Resigned to my task, I knelt in front of her. That's when I noticed the faintest hint of the smell of pussy. It reminded me of the time I was fingering a girlfriend in a dark movie theater. Suddenly, we were enveloped in a cloud of fishy air. Veronica didn't smell fishy, but she didn't smell like body wash either. It was in between, sort of a dark musty oder with a twist of vanilla.

Breathing deeply now, I lifted a pinch of her left stocking over by her hip and slid the scissors into the gap. She stiffened. I snipped a few inches, continuing to move up her hip towards the waistband, pinching the fabric up off her body so the scissors wouldn't scratch her freckled white skin. I could see her sweat beaded in her cleavage and on her forehead. I felt bad for her, but also strangely excited. Obviously, with a pink nipple inches from my face, I had reason to be excited, but there was more to it than that. It was as if she and I were in our own little world, and the audience was a million miles away.

When the scissors sliced through the waistband of the pantyhose, they sprung open, making us both jump. There was a murmur from the audience. Emboldened now, I did the same on the other side. With the last slice, her pantyhose slithered down into her lap, revealing her white panties. As I knelt to put the scissors down, they slipped out of my hand and clattered on the floor. I returned to my seat, my face burning, as everyone in the audience watched with disapproving eyes.

Back in my seat, I slouched down low, wishing I could just disappear. But then a woman mounted the stage and without a whisper or a caress, went around behind Veronica's back and sliced her bra. It slithered down off her left tit, dangling by the remaining strap on her right shoulder. Not satisfied with the damage, the woman also sliced the one remaining shoulder strap and the bra fluttered down her chest to mingle with the useless pantyhose in her lap. As the woman came back around front, she snatched the bra out of Veronica's lap and took it with her back to her seat.

Suddenly, Veronica looked vulnerable, scared. I think it was the way her hands were cuffed behind her back. You don't usually see that when a woman is almost naked, unless you're surfing a BDSM website, but Veronica didn't strike me as the BDSM type. I did have to admit, with her bare breasts thrust forward, she looked like a skinny version of one of those maidens that adorns the front of a pirate ship. Her pink nipples appeared stiff, puckered, her pointed breasts quivering ever so slightly as she breathed in and out. At this point I was certain Veronica would end the performance, but she didn't. She just sat there.

In the silence, I noticed the couple sitting in front of me had their hands in each other's laps. I could see the woman gently kneading the guy's hard-on through his pants. I couldn't see his hand over in her lap, but the rhythmic motion of his forearm was undeniable. They were masturbating each other. By this time, my hard-on was undeniable. It was throbbing. Aching. Tingling. I scrunched forward trying to make room for it in my pants, but it was hopeless. I had a steel shaft between my legs and there was nothing I could do about it.

Finally, Miranda appeared from back stage, knelt behind Veronica, and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Veronica seemed to lean back into her as Miranda whispered in her ear while her hand slithered around on Veronica's bare back. Her other hand snaked around front and cleared away the cloth remnants collecting in Veronica's lap. Veronica opened her legs to facilitate this, and they remained open while Miranda slid her hand back up her thigh. Then, like magic, Miranada produced another pair of scissors, smaller, with rounded tips, and slid them down towards the panties. Veronica's eyes seemed to bug out as her gaze shifted to watch what would happen next.

Miranda tucked the scissors under the waistband of the hip-hugger panties and waited. It seemed like everyone in the place was holding their breath. Miranda's scissors slipped deeper into the panties, over by the edge of her hip, and then there was an audible slicing sound. It was like nails on a chalkboard. As if in slow motion, Veronica's panties poofed open on the left side, the front flap draping down to reveal the edge of her tightly trimmed chestnut bush. I had to press down on my hard-on, which was starting to throb.

Still kneeling behind her, Miranda moved the scissors to the other side, her free hand gently caressing Veronica, up and down, from the top of her hip down her thigh and then back up again, sliding around to the inside of her thigh, almost touching her pubic hair. Veronica's breathing seemed to be in sync with Miranda's rhythm, and so was mine. Watching Miranda's hand caressing Veronica, it was as if it was also stroking my cock, getting me closer and closer to cumming. I needed to close my eyes to make the arousal stop, but I couldn't. I had to see what happened next.

The scissors were now poised to cut the other side of the panties. Veronica's breathing seemed to quicken. Miranda waited... and waited. Finally, with an unexpectedly swift movement, she sliced the panties and they slithered open, revealing the rest of Veronica's bush and the top of her slit.

Again, the crowd gasped, as did Veronica. She looked down at her exposed area, she looked out at the crowd, she looked down again, and let out a raspy sigh. At that point, several people got up to leave, shaking their heads in disgust, but the rest of us were glued to our seats.

Now Miranda was reaching around from behind Veronica, with both hands on Veronica's hips, sliding them down slowly to find the cut edges of the panties. Grasping the cut edges, she pulled them up as if she was going to hide Veronica's crotch from view, but that wasn't her plan. With the panties snug against Veronica's labia, Miranda gave them a gentle tug upwards, as if she was going to pull them off by dragging them up from between her legs. Because of the lighting, Veronica's camel-toe appeared in full relief, the puffy edges framing a deep cleft in the middle.

Veronica gasped, her mouth hanging open, he eyelids fluttering. Miranda waited a few moments, and then she tugged again, pulling the cloth perhaps a half inch higher. Veronica let out a silent moan. Miranda tugged again, eliciting a raspy whine from the poor girl. By now her legs were wide open, her hips almost quivering with anticipation.

Veronica was panting now, her mouth hanging open, a sliver of drool dripping out of the corner of her mouth. With the panties snug up against her pussy, a wet spot had appeared right in the middle. The crowd remained hushed as the spectacle continued, Miranda tugging, Veronica whimpering as the tension built.

Finally, Miranda changed her technique to a series of tiny little jerks, twitching the panties up a quarter inch at a time. She was slow, persistent, determined. After a few moments, Veronica closed her eyes, threw her head back, and let loose with a raspy whimper. A second later, her whole body shook, her tits quivering, her tummy spasming. Miranda kept tugging, and Veronica kept cumming, gasping, shaking her head back and forth, twitching her hips frantically.

Watching her orgasm, I couldn't help it. I could already feel semen easing up my shaft. This hadn't happened to me since my senior year of high school, making out with my first girlfriend in the front seat of her daddy's car. I pinched down hard, smashing my dick with my hand, but it was too late. With a silent grunt, I let loose, shooting two weeks worth of jizz into my shorts. I hunched over, trying to make it stop, but I didn't want it to stop. I wanted it to continue forever because it was proof of my undying devotion for my new lover Veronica. It wasn't till I was done that I realized the girl in front of me had actually reached down inside the guy's pants to make him cum, and also catch the mess. I wasn't so lucky. My hot jizz had already made an apple-sized wet spot on my jeans, and it was still growing.

Looking up at the stage, Veronica's orgasm had finally wound down and her panties were gone. She sat there panting in her chair, legs spread open, eyes closed, her pussy looking like a pulsating wet peach. Miranda stayed with her, cuddled, caressing, whispering in her ear. It was touching, so tender, so... intimate. It was as if there was no audience, just the two of them lost in a private moment of bliss.

Suddenly, I felt sick. Not only did I now have a wet spot on my jeans, but the girl I had fallen for was unattainable. A lesbian. Or maybe she wasn't a lesbian, maybe she was just bi. I could work with that, or so I told myself. I suppose if a person could be both dejected and elated at the same time, that would have been me at that moment.

Finally, Miranda produced the handcuff key and freed her hands. Perhaps forgetting she was naked in front of 60 people, Veronica grabbed her breasts and squeezed out a couple more spasms to finish off her orgasm. Then Miranda stood up and pointed at Veronica the way a Las Vegas singer points at the band after a hot number. Instantly, the crowd erupted in applause. Within moments, the applause turned into a standing ovation.

Veronica pushed herself up out of her chair, sloughed off what was left of her tattered garments, and took a bow. Then she stepped up to the mic.

"First," she said wearily, wiping the sweat off her forehead, "I'd like to apologize. I had no idea this was going to happen. But it did. I sincerely hope no one was offended." She looked down, and sort of nonchalantly let one hand dangle in front of her swollen pussy. The wetness between her legs was still visible, but at this point, what did it matter?

"Um... if you have any questions or comments, you're welcome to come back stage after I get dressed." Then she looked down at her bare breasts. "Oh Jesus, I'm naked. Miranda?"

Miranda handed her a remnant of the slip, which Veronica held up in front of her chest. Than she addressed the crowd while Veronica nonchalantly hid behind her.

"That concludes tonights performance. There is a donation box in the lobby. Veronica is going to be needing a new dress after tonight. And new underwear." As the crowd chuckled, she paused to glance adoringly at her young protégé. She continued. "Thank you very much for coming, and please visit the Bright House Gallery. We'll definitely be doing more of these performance art pieces in the future, and you don't want to miss out. You can also go to our website and get on the mailing list. Thank you, and good night."

Once again, applause filled the room as the two women padded off towards stage left. Veronica looked exceedingly pitiful holding the scrap of cloth up agains her killer tits, but the sight of her bare ass was inspiring, making me wish I could get hard again. The fact that Miranda's hand was on that ass was a bit demoralizing, but I tried to remain positive, reminding myself that every guy's dream is to have a bisexual girlfriend.

As the audience filtered out of the theater, I just sat in my seat, wondering what the hell to do with my wet spot. It was as obvious as if I'd peed my pants. Then I spotted a collapsed popcorn box on the floor, so I grabbed that and positioned it to hide my "accident."

The crowd was abuzz as I ambled out to the lobby. I could hear "I can't believe she.." and "that was so hot..." and "Oh my God, did you see those tits?" but I wasn't listening. I was just hoping I could make it out to my car without someone noticing the wet spot on my jeans.

Safely ensconced in the front seat of my Nissan, I unzipped my jeans and grabbed an old McDonalds napkin to clean up what was left of the mess in my shorts. Dejected, humiliated, I was certain my adventure with Veronica was over. How could I compete with Miranda, who obviously had a whole lifetime of experience giving women orgasms in ways men have never even dreamed of?

I was zipping up my jeans when my phone chimed. I checked the message. It was from Veronica:

"Sorry. I had no idea. Please don't be mad."

I texted back: "Not mad. U were gr8."

She replied "Pervert!" followed by, "Where r u?"

"In my car."

"Come back stage. Have more wine."

"Can't. Had an accident.

"OMG! R U OK?

"Spilled wine on my pants. Looks bad."

There was a pause, longer than the previous pauses, but I wasn't worried. The fact she was even texting me in the midst of her backstage meet-and-greet meant I was important to her. That eased my mind. Finally, she hit me back.

"Wine? That's cool. My friends won't mind."

Oh crap. What do I do now? I decided, what the hell, I may as well be honest. I texted her back: "Not wine. Semen."

She hit me back within thirty seconds. "OMG! U came 2? That is so hot!"

I breathed a sigh of relief, but I still wasn't sure about the situation. I had to ask. "What about Miranda. Is she ur lover?"

Another long pause. My heart sank. I waited. I zipped up my pants. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. I looked out at the streetlights, wondering why I had allowed myself to fall in love with a freakin' lesbian.

Finally, my phone chimed. "No silly. U R. Meet me by the stage door in 20 minutes and take me home. I want you to have another accident, but in my pussy this time."

So I did.