The Female Lead

"See you tomorrow," he says, his blue eyes sparkling under his blonde bangs. His shirt is damp with sweat and sprinkled with sawdust, his muscles press against it. He smells like work and wood. He looks at me and smiles, and my panties immediately melt. Unfortunately, he's not speaking directly to me, he's speaking to all of the cast members who are leaving through the workshop.

"He" is Mr. Jordan, Bradford Jordan, Brad to those who know him, 'The DILF' to all of the theater girls. He's the dad who is leading the technical team for our high school theater production, building sets, and painting; anything that requires physical labor or engineering expertise is his domain. About a dozen students help him, learning about the backstage work of theater. There is a Mrs. Jordan, Julia, who acts as his second. All the kids call her JJ. She is drop-dead gorgeous, a petite brunette with blue eyes that gleam under the shop lights. Together, they are a beautiful couple, the envy of many. Their daughter, Annie, is a member of the cast.

Count me among the envious. I'm envious of Julia because she is the one who feels his touch at night, curls next to him, and sleeps in his bed, and she is the one he pleasures when they are alone. It's not unusual to see them flirting with each other backstage. What they have makes me jealous. Does he know how I feel? His toned body, his mop of blonde hair, his piercing blue eyes, and his sure hands that look like they know what to do to drive a woman wild--oh yes, I want him, I want him bad. Ever since I turned eighteen my hormones have been in overdrive and he is constantly on my mind.

I suppose I've been fortunate to have known him for over half of my life. He works at the same company as my parents, and they've been in his orbit. His name sometimes comes up at home, and he's been there a few times to drop off work-related things. I see him most often at the local hamburger joint where I work, and I always make an effort to speak to him and Julia; same with the choir concerts at school. If I can't have him, then I can at least flirt innocently.

I'm confident that I could rock his world if he gave me the opportunity. I've caught him watching me when he thinks no one is looking. I've seen the way his eyes rove over my body. Not to be vain, but I'm quite attractive. Large breasts, a narrow waist, curvy hips, full lips, wavy brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes. My blouse and pants are always just tight enough, and if I wear a dress, it's always a touch too short; don't ask if I'm wearing panties.

If I had my way, I'd let him have me, center stage under a spotlight with a full house. We'd bring the audience to their feet when we erupt in simultaneous orgasm. But I'll never have him. He's too intelligent to let that happen. That fact can't deter my fantasies. After graduation, I'll be going away to college, and I'll miss seeing him so often. This year I'm the female lead in our production, and I'm taking lots of photographs, capturing memories. Since it's set on a tropical island, I get to wear shorts and thin tops. In some scenes, I'm in a bikini. I've been hanging out in the workshop more than usual, taking photos of the technical team working, and of him. There are lots of photos of him. I even talked him into taking selfies together. It's obvious that he's attracted to me, and when he pulls me close for one of those selfies when I'm in my bikini, I feel his fingertips on the side of my breast. You can see my hard nipples if you look closely at the photo.

Pomp and Circumstance, and then he's gone. All I have of him are the photographs and the occasional chance meeting on the street when I'm home. Well, and my fantasies, of course.

And then, two years later, here he is in my college hang-out bar, across campus from my apartment. Damn, he is a sight for sore eyes, and he looks F-I-N-E. I stand there behind him for a moment, just taking him in, drinking him up with my eyes. He's changed his hairstyle, let it grow a little longer. I like it a lot, and I momentarily imagine running my fingers through his blonde locks, pulling him close for a kiss. He is sitting at the bar talking with a college-age guy, a senior by my guesstimate. It's early and the bar isn't too busy, so I can hear his baritone voice, it seems they're talking about the company he works for. I remember that there is a job fair on campus today and tomorrow. He must be one of the recruiters.

I smooth my dress, and I'm suddenly happier that I chose it to wear. Short-sleeved and short, it's Navy blue with white stripes running vertically. I like it because the pattern makes me look taller than my five-foot-four height, and the color draws out my eyes. It buttons all the way down, and though I'd left the top three buttons undone, I reach up and unbutton another. Now the top button holding it closed is between my nipples. There is plenty of opportunity to show off some cleavage. I finally step up to the bar, leaving a couple of empty stools between us, and order a beer just a bit louder than necessary. I have to make sure that he hears my voice, and I wonder if he'll recognize it. 

I needn't have wondered.

"Sabrina?" He turns to look at me, his mouth agape. Oh, yes. He recognizes me, and his eyes immediately scan my body, drinking me in. Now I'm even happier that I wore this dress.

"Brad!" I exclaim, pretending at first to be shocked, then letting out a squeal of joy at seeing him. I move past the empty stools and wrap my arms around him in a tight hug. I take the liberty of kissing his cheek while we're this close. I've never done that before. I take a deep breath. He smells amazing, and the feel of him against my lips sends a zing between my legs. 

"What are you doing here? Wait, wait, that's not right. I should say, 'Of all the crappy college beer joints in all the towns in all the world, you walk into mine'. How's that?" I chuckle, still holding him in my arms. Yeah, I'm not letting go soon.

"Casablanca, that was always one of your favorite movies," and there's that million-dollar smile. Heaven help me if my knees give out. Then I realize his hands are on my hips. I'm taken aback that he recalls my favorite movie, and I briefly wonder what other minor details about me he has filed away. I quickly push the thought aside; he's here, and I want to be fully in this moment.

"Oh, I'm just looking for a college girl to bed," he chuckles, "but seriously, I'm here as a recruiter at the job fair. I'm putting the moves on James here to get him interested in working for us." He nods toward the guy sitting next to him.

"Don't let me interrupt business, but come find me before you leave. Okay?"

"Actually, James and I were just wrapping up. Why don't we get a table?"

"Great!" I croak. Damn, what happened to my voice? I'll tell you what happened: my heart choked me; it clawed its way up my throat and strangled the air from my words. My fantasy man just invited me to have a drink with him. I get to sit across the table, look into his eyes, and lose myself. He quickly finishes with James, and then we take a nearby table.

"So," he asks, "what has the fantabulous Miss Sabrina been up to? Tell me about school."

We sit and talk for nearly an hour and have another round of drinks. We fall into an easy conversation about school, the job fair, his work, things going on back home, and his family. Somewhere mid-conversation, I realize that I've never talked with him this much, and I like it. No, I love it; I'm smitten. He has a genuine interest in me, and...is he flirting? No, it can't be.

My two roommates wander into the bar. I ask if he would mind if they join us, and when he takes one look, he says he wouldn't mind. Of course not; they're beautiful. Hopefully, he doesn't have a preference for blondes. I wave them over, and they take the other two seats at the table. He motions for the waitress, who has been more attentive than I've ever noted. He tells her to put their drinks on his tab. I scowl at her as she flirts with him before leaving the table to get our drinks.

I get up to go to the ladies' room, and when I return, there's another friend in my seat. This is not good, there are three women at the table, none of whom are me, and they're in full flirt mode. Arrgggghhhh! I stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and look at the new arrival across the table.

"Looks like someone crapped in my seat," I say with a scowl, then looking at Brad with a sweet smile on my lips, I ask, "Is this lap taken?"

He nearly chokes on his beer, and I laugh inside. Gotcha!

"N--, n--, no, it's not," he stutters as he pushes away from the table.

I plant myself across his lap and wrap an arm around his shoulders. I'd rather straddle him and go for a ride, but that's not for here. I sip my beer and smile at him, our faces only inches apart now. I can see flecks of green and gold in his eyes, the lace of his irises. Lord, I could lose myself in there.

"Best seat in the house," I quip sweetly, saying it loud enough that Lacey, the interloper, can hear me, then turning to her, "Thanks for joining us, Lacey."

He wraps his arm around my waist, and I feel the heat of his touch. His hand on my hip causes my skin to tingle and burn, a delicious feeling I don't mind.

He engages the other girls in conversation; damn, he's smooth. Soon they're falling under his spell, and I start to get jealous, even though I'm the one on his lap. Then he places his other hand on my knee; my bare knee. We all continue talking, and the other girls are bombarding him with questions. Each one is trying to seem more interested in him than the others.

It's been a few hours since I entered the bar, and it's getting busy. We have to speak loudly to hear each other. I realize that when I speak to the girls, I'm leaning over the table, rocking back and forth on his lap. I finally realize what I'm doing when I sit up straight and drink the last of my beer. He's hard under my thigh. I nearly choke on the final drops of warm brew as I realize what's happened. My face flushes in embarrassment, and I try to shift my weight off his erection, but my movements only serve to grind my hip against him more.

I notice his hand has gradually crept up my thigh, and I look down. His fingertips are under the hem of my dress. My heart begins to race, and I briefly close my eyes, imagining his fingers exploring my sex seam and probing inside me. My heart races and my breathing becomes ragged. I gradually part my legs.

"Calm down," he whispers in my ear, snapping me out of my trance, "This is what you want, isn't it?"

I sigh and look at him. "Yes," I whisper, "but what about Julia?"

"I won't do anything that Julia would disapprove of, but you'd be surprised what that might include."

I sat there, looking into his eyes, losing myself. I'm desperate to kiss him.

"Should we leave?" he asks, "Take this somewhere more private?"

I bite my lower lip. I am aching to feel his lips on mine, feel his hands roaming over my body, and feel him inside me. Yet I am torn between my desire for him and my feelings of guilt about leading him to cheat. My heart is still racing as I deny him.

"We shouldn't," I hear myself say, and my heart drops into my stomach. He senses my inner turmoil.

"Trust me, Sabrina, Julia won't mind. I have her permission to--enjoy myself--when I'm out of town."

The look on my face caused him to chuckle. My heart skipped more than one beat when I realized what he was saying. I could be with him, and he wants to be with me.

"I came here, to this bar, because I know from your Instagram posts that you frequent this place," he said, looking deeply into my eyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Sabrina? I'm here because I want you. I've wanted you for years."

My breath catches. All those times that he took liberties with his eyes, watching me during rehearsals, exploring my shape. I flashed back to all those times that I felt the brief heat of his gaze.

"I feel your heat, Sabrina." His hand was now fully up my dress; his fingertips must have been able to feel the dampness between my thighs. He breathes deeply through his nose, "and I smell your desire."

I don't understand how the girls at our table aren't noticing us. They're unaware that he's almost fingering me right here at the table. I look over at them and see them engaged in an animated conversation, arguing about which professor is hotter. Their words are slurred, and they talk a bit too loud for such a conversation. Then he touches my seam, and I flinch and gasp.

"I'm staying at the hotel in the Union Building, let me take you there and enjoy you like I've wanted to for so many years, Sabrina. I know that's what you want; you're wet with anticipation. Don't fight your desire."

With a whimper that formed his name, I fall into his mouth right there in front of my friends. Our lips mash together, and I open my mouth. He accepts the invitation, and his tongue invades me as one finger parts my seam; probing my wetness. I moan and soar on a wave of pleasure. So much so that I forget to be embarrassed, even though the conversation at our table is suddenly silent. My entire focus is on his mouth and his invading digit. There is no doubt he's enjoying this, and his passion takes my breath away, making me a bit dizzy, but who cares? Air is an overrated commodity, and besides, this is the hottest kiss of my life.

Lacey's words snap me out of my swoon, "Holy fuck, Sabrina!"

I retract from him, still not embarrassed. I smile and look deep into his eyes, we're the only two in my small world.

"Take me there," I whisper.

He casually retracts his hand from under my dress and puts the tip of his finger in his mouth, licking my nectar from it. I hear the girls all gasp as he pulls the finger out of his mouth and licks his lips.

I stand and smooth my dress, then turn to the girls. "Don't wait up for me; I won't be home tonight."

He throws a wad of cash on the table and says with a huge grin, "This should cover all of our drinks, and another round if you want. It was a pleasure to meet you all." Their mouths are all shaped in perfect 'Os' as I take his hand and lead him out of the bar.

The Union is only nine blocks away, and he had left his car there, the walk gave us time to talk. I was mostly curious about the relationship between him and Julia, curious and concerned. I was astonished at how openly he discussed it, even telling me about a few of the women he's been with. It seems that his sex drive outpaces Julia's by a wide margin, and to keep him happy, she allows him to roam. It amazes me that Julia expects him to recount his liaisons when he returns home, which leads to some astonishing sex between them. Then I'm shocked when he tells me about Julia watching him with other women when they travel together. They've made whole vacations around indulging both of their secret desires.

"So, you're going to tell her about us?"

"Yes, that's our agreement. I have to tell her everything: what your lips feel like, how you taste, how it feels to enter you, everything. But don't worry, since she knows you, I won't use your real name. That would just be awkward the next time you see her. Your middle name is Marie, right?"

There was another surprising little detail that he remembered about me. "Yes, Marie. And trust me, the next time I see her, it's going to be awkward anyway."

We reach the Union and enter through the campus-side doors rather than the street-side doors. I am thankful for that since students sometimes work at the desk, and this route allows us to reach the elevators without passing it. After the elevator doors close, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. My heart skips again as I look into his eyes and feel his cock against my body. He's still hard, even after walking from the bar. Whether his erection is from me or the conversation is irrelevant, he's ready to take me.

"After all I've told you, do you still want this, Sabrina? Do you want to give yourself to me and satisfy all those fantasies you've had?"

By way of an answer, I offer my lips to him. Our lips meet, they part, and our tongues dance in the space between. All the air gets sucked out of the small space, and once again, I swoon in his arms. I place my hand against his bulge and caress him. A million thoughts run through my head. I think about how experienced he is, the different women he's pleasured, and the conversation he will have with Julia. I wonder how he'll describe sex with me. What adjectives will he use? Will he compare me with others? Heaven forbid, will he rate me against his other conquests? The elevator reaches his floor, and the doors open, allowing air to fill the space. He breaks our kiss, and I take a deep, ragged breath. My heart is racing.

"Yes," I breathlessly respond, "I want this."

We practically crash through the door to his room, and as soon as the door clicks closed behind us, we are undressing each other. Soon my dress is on the floor, along with my bra. I stand naked before him. I love the way his hands feel on me--controlling, authoritative--as he runs them over my breasts and takes my nipples between his fingers. I gasp and moan as he roughly rolls and pinches them. I can smell my scent as a bead of excitement trickles down my inner thigh.

He's not the only one with roaming hands. I've stripped his shirt off, and mine are roaming his torso as I kiss his chest. His scent fills my lungs, and once again, I'm dizzy. I claw at his back as I pull us together. He moans, "Yes." I bite and suck his clavicle, leaving my mark on him. For a moment, I wonder what Julia will think, but I push that thought from my mind as I grasp his belt and unbuckle it. It's time for him to be as undressed as I am, and he agrees, kicking off his shoes. His pants drop around his ankles, and I kneel before him, ready to worship the cock of my fantasies. His manhood strains against his briefs, and my hands tug at the waistband, freeing him.

I finally have him in my hands, and he's more than my fantasies. He's hard, save for his velvety head that is leaking with excitement. I milk him, running my hand up his veiny shaft, my thumb pressing the underside. A drop of precum escapes his slit, and I lick it, drawing a sound like a thunderstorm from somewhere deep inside him. I want to devour him, take his shaft deep in my throat, drain him of his seed, buckle his knees, and bring him to a boneless heap here next to me on the floor.

I circle his crown with my tongue and then envelope him in my willing mouth. His shaft slides along my tongue as I drive my lips to his root. In my excitement, my gag reflex is numbed, and I feel his head at the back of my throat. I spread my feet, now sitting on the floor, to get a better angle, and I grasp his tight ass. I hold my breath and take his head into my throat as deeply as I can. The thunder rumbles from him again before he quickly steps back, and drool spills over my bottom lip and onto my tits.

"I don't want to cum yet," he pants, then grabs me under my arms and tosses me onto the bed like I'm a feather. I squeal and giggle. He steps out of his pants and drops to his knees at the edge of the bed. His lips meet my inner knees, planting damp kisses. He breathes deeply and growls.

"Now it's your turn for sweet torture, precious one."

I sigh as I lay there looking at the ceiling while his lips trail up my inner thighs. Precious one; I like it. I reach down and grab his hair, tugging and hurrying him along toward my sopping-wet sex. And then he's there, his lips nibbling on mine. They're engorged and prominent from all the excitement, and he sucks each one in turn into his mouth, teasing me. He places the tip of his nose at my entrance and slides it up toward my clit; his flattened tongue follows, and I moan his name. My fantasies are playing out in real time, and I silently pray that we can explore them all. I want to feel his heat spill inside me, but how quickly can he recover tonight? I also want to swallow his seed and taste the brininess as it pools on my tongue. I want him over and over, and I fear tonight will not be enough for me.