Shakespeare's Valentine Pt. 06

Cherri came. Hard. Her body shook, and her torso tried to snap forward, but I was pressed up against her, and she really had nowhere to go. I felt her tremors against my chest as she bucked and quivered. At the beginning, she screamed once: an open-mouthed howl that might have begun as "FUCK!" but the word was lost in the violence of her orgasm. She buried her face in the side of my throat, and panted and sobbed as her body shook. I managed to hold onto her throughout, but as her spasms weakened and eventually passed off, her body became limp and heavy, and I lowered her to the floor, my cock sliding out of her pussy.

168.

For a few seconds we sat on the floor. I'd somehow managed to land Cherri on her cast off robe, so she wasn't sitting bare-ass naked on the threadbare, not particularly clean carpet. I'd pulled my t-shirt over to use as a pillow. I had dressier-and warmer-clothes to wear to the party, but I was going to need another shower.

My Lady leaned against the wall, eyes closed, catching her breath. Her hair was everywhere. Her face was flushed and sweaty. She was beautiful.

Her eyes opened slightly; a flash of green. She saw me sitting close to her; smiled. "This is what happens."

I knew exactly what she was talking about. "1.5a?"

"Yup." She giggled. "Nice to pretend that we make it to our bedchamber, but we don't."

I was laughing too. "I'm not sure we make it out of the room I find you in."

"Jesus, think about it. This is us after three days, and we've been falling asleep together..."

"Naked, arms around each other."

Her eyes were closed again, and she was grinning. "Mm hmm..."

"Fuck! What would we be like after months apart?"

"Well, if what just happened is any indication, you'd slam me up against a wall and fuck me unconscious. Then..." she leaned forward and reached for my cock, which had softened somewhat, deprived of her wet heat. She gripped my shaft gently, and began to stroke me slowly up and down. "I guess you'd have to carry me, naked, back to our chamber, past any servants who happened to be...doing whatever medieval Scottish servants do..." my dick was stiffening in her hands, "and lay me on my back on our bed, and spread my legs, and...um, finish up in my unconscious body..."

"Huh," her hand felt wonderful and warm as her stroking slowed. I was fully hard again. "That doesn't sound like much fun..."

"Fortunately," she got to her knees, pulled the robe out from under her, and laid it on the floor behind me. She pushed me down so that I was lying flat on my back, frowned, and then bunched my t-shirt behind my head, and straddled me. "This time, I'm still awake, so I can just sort of..." she grabbed my cock, and positioned the head at her opening, and... "sit down...ooooh, yeah...that's better! Now..."

I slid inside her quickly, and felt my whole body relax as the warmth and wetness of her pussy surrounded my dick. I looked up into her face as she settled herself astride me: lovely green eyes half closed with pleasure, full lips parted slightly as her breath quickened, cheeks flushed. "So beautiful..." I hadn't actually meant to say it out loud.

She smiled down at me. Then I felt the muscles of her vagina gripping my shaft, squeezing me as her body rose along my cock. "I know," she whispered, "your eyes tell me so every time you look at me." She started riding me, slowly at first. "Now, why don't you look into my eyes and see what they're saying to you." She picked up the pace slightly, rising and falling, gripping and releasing, never taking her eyes from mine. "And when you've figured it out, why don't you cum inside me?"

I looked up into her eyes. Reading her mind was complicated by the fact that her every movement was making whole body feel so good. But the message wasn't that hard to decipher, and it made me feel even better.

Still, I fought against immediately granting her last request. I'd been close when I'd had her against the wall, and now, I could feel the cum building up at the base of my cock, could feel the tingling at the tip. I grabbed her hips and held her down on me. If either of us moved...

Cherri's smile widened. Her pussy tightened around the base of my shaft, and in spite of my grip, her hips rolled forward.

169.

My turn. And just like Cherri, I came hard. Without moving, which was strange. It was as if her body drew my stuff straight up my shaft. And the pleasure was...beyond intense; like burning from the inside, but such an exquisite, vibrant burning! At first, I just lay there feeling our bodies combining, unsure where one ended and the other began. Then, as the flow began to slacken-and that magical sensation with it-I thrust up into my Lady with my entire body, nearly knocking her off of me, once more...twice, three times...four. She yelped and threw her arms around my neck, pressing her body against mine, riding out my thrashing and groaning until I lay beneath her, silent and still once again, half unconscious from the force of my orgasm, and reveling in the warmth of her breasts against my chest, and her breath against my shoulder.

170.

We stayed still for a bit. On the floor. My back half on Cherri's discarded robe, and half on the carpet, and Cherri's warm body on top of me, my arms now wrapped around the small of her back, and my softening cock still warm inside of her.

After a few minutes I murmured: "Duncan comes here tonight."

Cherri giggled. "Tell him to check into the fucking Hilton." She raised her head and looked down at me. Her hair framed our faces. "Wooof, that was intense!" She kissed me gently, then cooed: "And I've been fantasizing about it since our first rehearsal."

"About what?"

"About you picking me up, impaling me on your cock, and fucking me up against a wall until you almost break me in half."

My cock stiffened slightly inside of her. "Jesus, woman!"

She pressed down with her hips, forcing me deeper. We both moaned softly, and then Cherri sighed.

"Dai, Sweetie, I think we have to get cleaned up and go to this fucking party."

171.

I suggested we shower together. Dressing Room #1 had the biggest shower in the building. There was even a little bench along one wall, but Cherri was having none of it.

"My Thane, just the thought of you running your big, soapy hands all over my warm, wet, naked body..."

"Well, hell, my Lady! One more thing to fantasize about while making inane small talk and snarfing canapes in a deserted brew pub at one-oh-fuck-if-I-know in the morning!"

Cherri stole a look at her phone. "Oh Christ, almost midnight. Dai, babe, we've got to get moving!" She gave me a quick kiss. "Sucks to postpone the afterglow, but we both need showers. This place smells like a porn set."

"No, it doesn't. I've actually been on one, and..."

"Wait, what?"

"On a set, not in a movie. It's not much of a story, but I'll tell you in bed tonight, if we can stay conscious." I pulled my now bathrobe-clad co-star to me, kissed her in turn. "I love you, and I'll see you at the front in ten minutes!" Then I ran for my dressing room.

"I love you too, you goofball..." I just caught her last word, as I yanked open the door.

172.

We made it to the reception around 12:15. Maybe we were a little later than we should have been. Maybe there were a few knowing smiles on a few faces, but maybe not. In retrospect, I think our reputations-such as they were-were saved by the fact that this particular shindig hadn't been all that great an idea to begin with.

The intentions were good. Cynthia wanted opening night celebrations for both shows, but somehow the lateness of the hour, the grimness of the play, and the fact that the brew pub-improbably named The Red Baron, by the way, because of some distant connection between the owner and the World War I flying ace-wasn't really suited for a wine and cheese function made the whole event a little...unfocused?

People had been coming and going since maybe half an hour after the show had come down, so Cherri and I managed to slip in without drawing much attention. I'd wondered if Cherri would want to make an entrance. She'd certainly earned it, and it seemed like something she'd enjoy. But when I returned with drinks-Champagne (adjacent) for my Lady and bourbon for me-I found her chatting with Mac and Andi in a booth off to the side of the front room. At the bar, I'd been collared for a pleasant few minutes by Joanne Cameron, the Chairwoman of the Oak Ridge Shakespeare Company's Board, and one of its most generous patrons.

"Mr. Brenner, thank you for your wonderful work!"

"That's very kind of you, Mrs...."

"I have overseen no fewer than three Macbeths during my time at Oak Ridge, and I've attended productions in Britain, in Canada, and all over the United States. In fact, I think I've seen Macbeth more often than any other Shakespeare play...

"Well,"--with Mrs. Cameron, you have to watch for the indrawn breath, if you want to get your bit in-"it does get done a lot. I mean..."

I paused for a second, thinking about what I intended to say next, which meant I never got a chance to say it.

"Not like that it doesn't! That production was superb! Finest I've ever seen! And you and Cherri were magnificent! I've never cared so much about the Macbeths as a couple before. Usually the play's an examination of moral decay, if the actor's any good, and a crashing bore if he's not. And she's almost always a harridan or a nymphomaniac, or sometimes a pure neurotic, I suppose. Carolyn, our last Lady M-well-she was very well spoken, but-oh, anyway you and Cherri were so...devoted to one another that I found myself invested in the connection, and when it was finally broken, you both seemed so...lost. I think this may have been the first time I was moved by the Macbeths as well as terrified, because I was that too, of course. Gil did a magnificent job with the play as a whole..."

173.

"There you are!" said my Lady, when I eventually made it back with the drinks. "A girl could die of thirst. Best not give up the acting, Darling. I'm afraid you just don't have what it takes to be a waiter."

"Go ahead, crush my dreams."

Andi snorted. "Cherri, cut the man a little slack," drawled Mac, who always managed to sound a little like a cowboy even though she'd grown up in Vancouver, "Joanne tracked him down. Didn't you see? He's lucky to escape with his virtue intact, never mind your sparkling riesling, or whatever they've got pretending to be Champagne."

I stared at Mac for a few seconds. Was she grumpy about something? Seemed out of character, although I didn't know her that well. Maybe she was a closet wine snob.

"I think it's prosecco, and I don't think anybody's pretending. Mac, you okay?"

Andi didn't say much as a rule, although they could be chatty around Mac, who was a friend, mentor, and rumored occasional lover. "She's fine. Just a little bent out of shape because Joanne was over here gushing about the play, and she did say something kind of snarky about the fight choreo."

"What?" Mac's fights were superb. If there was a problem it was in the execution, not the design. I thought we'd been doing pretty well, but maybe... "Was there a problem with one of the fights tonight? I thought ours"--Andi was Young Siward, and I killed them towards the end of the play-"went pretty well, at any rate."

"The fights were fine," sighed Mac. "Kal may still be coming in a little heavy on his cut 5's, but distance was good, and you're finally keeping your blade up. There was some minor stuff. Nothing Andi can't handle once I'm gone. No, it's just...it's stupid. The last guy who played Macbeth here-and this is six, seven years ago-was a guy I was with at the time. I did the fights; my first time with the Festival. It was Macbeth and Two Gents, so broadswords in the tragedy and attempted rape in the comedy. I fuckin' hate that play. Anyway, this guy, my ex-Jason-was a seriously kick-ass fighter. And he was...an okay actor; solid Tybalt, Cassio, and he was the Thurio in Two Gents, but Macbeth was just not...I mean he wasn't close. And because we were together, and because I knew he wasn't...really up to it, I gave him lots of really involved physical stuff to sort of keep up his confidence. I mean the fights were too long, and I knew it, but it was what he could do, you know?. Anyway, Joanne was talking about how great this current production is-and it absolutely is-and how great you two are in the roles-and you absolutely are-and she was all: "Finally, a Macbeth that isn't just about sword fights!" I mean you know Joanne. Or wait, maybe you don't..."

"I've known her for years," said Cherri. "Nice lady, generous lady, and about as tactful as a hand grenade. And, by the way, she loves your fights. Wouldn't shut up about them on Richard III, remember?"

"Yeah..." Mac considered: "Well, the Richard-what was his name?--was another guy who fought better than he acted. You and Regina were the best things about that production. Oh, and you know what? Kal was pretty great as Edward and Tyrell."

I nodded. "I'll bet he was." Edward IV, the House of York's 6'4" golden boy: vain, clever, irresistible to women; Kal could play him in his sleep. "And I know Joanne from last summer. She's great, unless your idea of a conversation involves both people talking."

"Be nice," said Mac, trying to suppress a smile, "you're talking about the lady who mentioned the two of you as Antony and Cleopatra as a possibility for next summer."

I turned to stare at Cherri. "Seriously?"

Mac: "She's talking about it. Oak Ridge has never done it before."

Cherri: "More likely to be you and Regina."

Me: "Or you and Kal. Or Kal and Regina."

Mac: "I don't know. You two are pretty fucking hot as the Macbeths, and by the way, neither of you is my type, so..."

"I think you two would be perfect," said Andi.

174.

It was a measure of how little Andi spoke about anything not involving stage combat that we all shut up and stared at them. "A&C the play is about all kinds of things: constructed versus actual narrative, public versus private existence, and to what extent public figures are even allowed a private existence..."

"Jesus, Andi!" Cherri was impressed, "what'd you do, write a book on the damn thing?"

"Pretty close," Andi grinned. "Antony and Cleopatra: Personality and Privacy: my dissertation."

Mac grinned too. I just stared at Andi; I'd thought they were just out of college. "You've got a PhD?" I wondered if my surprise sounded insulting.

"All but. I had a first draft of the dis ready to go when my advisor retired. He offered to co-advise with another prof, but I decided I'd rather starve fighting than writing. Anyhow the new guy was fine, but I'd gone to grad school specifically to work with my advisor, and...I just never got around to finishing."

"Who was your guy?"

"Sacchio at Dartmouth."

"Wait, Peter Sacchio? Shakespeare's English Kings Peter Sacchio?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"I don't know him. I've read him. He's brilliant! But hasn't he been gone since..."

"2006."

"Andi,"--I knew I was being rude; couldn't help myself-"how the fuck old are you?"

"I turn 40 in September."

Mac was chuckling. Cherri and I were goggling at our fight captain like a couple of dead carps.

174.

Eventually I said: "So somewhere there must be a portrait of you that looks like hell."

Andi smiled. "Thanks, I guess."

Something in her tone. "Not a fan of Dorian Gray?"

"Not really. I was in a truly terrible production of it a few years ago in Boston."

Cherri: "Wait a minute, back up. What were you going to say about Antony being a play about...?

"Oh, yeah. I was just going to say the play is about all kinds of things, but the key to casting the leads is chemistry. You have to love and admire them from the start because they both spend so much of the play acting like idiots. But more to the point, you have to believe that these two people love each other enough to not only trash everything they've accomplished, but to spend their last days...sort of rewriting their life stories around their love for each other. Ah...I'm not being clear, but the point is...is what's so original about your Macbeths...that everything they do comes out of this consuming love for each other, and the audience totally buys that, and identifies with that, that's just a really good place from which to start building an Antony and Cleopatra. And frankly I've never seen it happen this way. Actors fall into bed with each other..."

Mac looked uncomfortable. "Hey, Andi, maybe don't..."

But Cherri put a hand on her arm. "It's okay. I mean, they're not wrong." She grinned at me. "Is that what we did? Fall into bed together?"

I grinned back: "That's a polite way of putting it."

Mac: "Jesus!"

Cherri: "Not like it's some big secret."

Andi: "Actors...begin having intimate relations..."

Mac: "That's not better..."

Me: "Christ, Mac, you gotta let them finish, or I'm going to pass out on the table."

Andi: "Actors who become lovers during rehearsal..." (pauses, stares at Mac, who ostentatiously zips her lips,) "...usually kill any chemistry they have onstage. The two of you, for some reason...I don't know, it's like their sexuality is an extension of their love for each other, the Macbeths, I mean."

For the first time it occurred to me that Andi might be a little drunk. They were talking a lot.

"It's super compelling to watch, and I'll say this: after 1.5 tonight-and I was watching from the vom-I bet there wasn't a dry seat in the house!"

175.

We walked back to the rooms with Mac and Andi, Regina, Marcus and a few others. We'd left the pub around 2:15, and the walk home was windy and very cold, which was the only reason our clothes were still on at 2:50 am, fully five minutes after we'd walked into Cherri's apartment. Tired, and weirdly amped, as we were, neither of us had yet taken off our long coats. The building was heated, and Cherri goosed the unit in the room as soon as we closed the door.

"That was...more fun than I thought it was going to be." I unbuttoned my coat and turned to hang it on a hook on the back of the door. "By the way, was Andi drunk?"

I turned back to see my Lady unzipping her long white puffer coat. She hadn't taken it off in the pub, so I hadn't seen that she'd been wearing that same tight, gray-green mock turtleneck she'd had on the afternoon I'd... It was as tight as I remembered it. Maybe she was even wearing the same bright red bra. Her nipples made the same little bumps against the cashmere. Instead of the slacks, she'd opted for a long wool skirt. I assumed she was wearing long johns under it. I was certainly wearing them under my jeans, but still...

"This is my favorite sweater." Cherri had a beautiful speaking voice at all times, but when she was feeling sexy, it dropped a few notes, becoming the most erotic of melodies. "I was wearing it the day...this happened." She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her puffer, scrolled for a second and sent a text. My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out, checked the text: a picture of Cherri smiling, her face covered in cum, cupping her naked breasts. Underneath the text read: "Look at the mess you made!"

176.

I recognized the picture. Hell, I'd taken the picture, with Cherri's phone, but...

"Fuck, Cher! You look...fuck! I really don't wanna delete this."

"Then don't."

Wait. "What? Seriously? You're okay with me having this on my phone?"

"Well, that depends. Are you going to show it to anybody?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Are you going to look at it when I'm not around?"

I looked up from the phone. My Lady was smiling. I said: "Maybe..."