This, despite the way it sounds, was not the way things were supposed to be.
She was in the last act of final dress rehearsal. The play was edgy, more risqué than anything she had personally acted in before, but not really out of the ordinary for the Fringe Festival.
There were only two actors in the play. Herself and David. He was new. The play was a modern look at a relationship in crisis. The first act was slow, introducing their characters, their history, unfolding in snippets of conversation between the two of them, reliving their first meeting, the conflict that eventually unfolded, and in the final act, reconciliation, and a dramatic love scene that was meant to leave the audience wondering about the true nature of love.
But it was, after all, acting.
They followed a script. The script did not call for there to be actual nudity. And yet her counterpart appeared to be taking his method acting to a new, more serious level. As he slid into the bed and spooned behind her, Karen was sure that something was missing. He was supposed to be wearing a small, flesh colored thong, yet what she felt pressing against her thigh was not any kind of fabric. She knew David was something of a kidder, though, and for the moment decided to just continue with the rehearsal, as if everything was normal.
"What are you doing?" she asked, keeping to script. David's arm slid around her waist, over the sheet, his hand resting on her stomach.
"I think you know." His voice betrayed nothing, but Karen felt something different in his touch. This part of the play always raised the level of tension, for both actors and audience, but there was an added factor now, that the director and handful of people watching could not suspect.
David's lips touched her shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin in an almost biting kiss. Karen could feel something pressing into the back of her panties. Something very, very warm.
"No. Tell me. What is it you want from me?" There were layers to the question, meaning wrapped in the context of what had been unveiled through their story. She kept her back to him, not responding to the touch.
A measured silence. Karen could feel David's hips press a little tighter to her ass. He was larger now. He was moving slightly. Finally he spoke his next line.
"I want things to be the way they were." His hand, previously on her stomach, moved up, slipped beneath the sheet, around, now cupping her breast.
Karen swallowed. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She scrambled for her next line, remembered, but was surprised. Not at his touch. But at the fact that his fingers found her nipple erect. She hadn't even realized. She felt, more than heard, his intake of breath. Evidently he'd been surprised by her response, too.
"I don't think that can happen." Her words were steady. His hand caressed her, two fingers sliding around her now distended nipple, then squeezing lightly. He kissed her, the back of her neck, near her ear. Kept kissing her.
"I think it can." His voice was roughening. Husky. A hungry sound. He pulled her back, down, onto her back, and slid between her legs in one movement. Now he was pressing against her cleft, only the thin layer of her panty separating them. Her part called for her to resist him, to try to push him away. She did.
"No. Not like this." She resisted him, but the slap she delivered held no strength. He recoiled slightly, as if it did, still in character. But now his hips were moving against hers. His legs pressed against her thighs, widening them, and he pressed closer. She could feel his shaft, now full erect, resting between her pussy lips, sawing, up, and back down. A low, heavy feeling had been growing in her, and now that feeling bloomed into a heat. His lips attacked hers, his kiss fierce, almost angry. Hers felt swollen, mirroring those below. All this in seconds. She fought back again, playing the script.
"Please, no," but the please was all he heard. And all she really spoke. Her hips jerked, his hand tearing away the fragment of barrier between his flesh and hers, again her hands pushed against his chest, her hips twisting, but one hand slid down, grasping his length, feeling the hard, veined shaft, guiding. He paused, then, for just a moment. His eyes suddenly looked bluer than she had ever seen them, brighter. On fire. She pressed him down, slowly swiping his crown between her now gaping lips, teasing her wetness over him, then stopping. Held. At her entrance. The tip of him, poised, slipping free, released. Locking him into the mouth of her cleft. Her hands slid back up his chest, again the feigned resistance. Her head shaking. One last "Please", a near sob.
His lips parted. Karen could feel his heart pounding beneath her palm. Then he pressed, and her hips tilted to meet the thrust. David began spreading her open, filling her. The retreat, the returning thrust, deeper this time. Again, again, and now she could feel her pubic bone meet his. He was fully, completely, deeply buried in her, and her legs came up, her heels sliding up the back of his legs, her feet resting on his calves as she pressed back, rolling against him, opening herself fully. His hairs, matted now with her slickness, rubbed against her clit, teasing, and Karen knew something more was happening. She couldn't believe it was happening here, now, but she could not deny the tingle, the building, low feeling, her nerves beginning to sing in response to the movement the two of them were now producing. David kissed her again, and she trapped his lower lip between her teeth, a faux bite. He responded as he was supposed to, roaring in mock anger, pressing her down to the bed with his full weight, only now beneath the sheet his hips slammed into hers in an increasing staccato rhythm, his strokes long, deep, almost leaving her before sliding back inside again, a roll, a twist, her clit registering every collision, every brush, every thrust.
"Please." His line, this time. She opened her eyes, saw his, locked to her own. David's voice was very rough now. But his eyes were glistening. Questioning. She nodded, very slightly, her heels sliding higher, pressing into his ass, pulling him now, unspoken permission. He kissed her, then, rough, yet soft. At that touch Karen's orgasm triggered, sudden, again surprising her. She stifled her gasp as best she could, biting into his shoulder, trapping her cry of release. He felt her spasm around him, but could not stop; he was too close himself, and the script must be followed. He rode through her orgasm, and then she felt his muscles stiffen, watched as David's eyes closed, that look of pleasure near pain flooding his face, and Karen felt him throb inside her, again, and again, as a new heat began to spread within. She felt him empty himself inside her, a different slickness from her own, yet complimenting it. He remained completely hilted in her depths, until Karen felt him slow, finally stop. His lips found hers, once more. And the lights fell dark.
Silence.
Broken by a clap. Then another. Applause burst forth, snapping them both back into the reality of the now. And the fact that they are not alone.
"Excellent! Both of you!" The voice of the director. "Karen, a little more effort in the slap, if we can, but I think we're ready for opening night! Good work!"
No one noticed the two actors remained in place, much, much longer than required.
Dress Rehearsal
by
his_response
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Fri, 2nd April, 2010
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