Read ‘A Night at the Theatre’ — an erotic fiction

“Good book?” The voice made me jump.

I strained my eyes down the dark corridor and saw the outline of a large man walking towards me. He was dressed in a dark uniform that could have been military or police. The buckles on his shirt twinkled in the lone light above my head.

He was an actor, albeit much taller than the usual sort who crossed my path — and hotter. Just as my vision adjusted to how hot, he was beside my usher’s chair. And I remembered he had asked me a question. “It’s okay. Though, I prefer the early Rebus.”

The man looked over my shoulder at the book and I had the distinct impression he didn’t give a fuck about its contents. I looked up at his face. “How’s the play going?”

“Okay. I’ve got a few scenes before I’m on again.”

He looked towards door five to listen to where the actors were. As he did, I admired him. The man’s strong jaw and face bristles were far more interesting to focus on than the lines in the play I’d heard so many times before.

“You fuck! You think you are going to get away with that?”

There was a muffled bang from the stage.

He looked at me again and I saw uncertainty in his eyes. “Got the court case now, which goes on for ages,” he said.

Was it my imagination, or did I hear a catch in his voice? Was he nervous?

My usher’s chair was high and my feet were on a bar a foot above the ground, which made it impossible for me to move away unless I jumped down. I should have felt threatened by his closeness but, truthfully, I liked it.

After a moment of silence, he asked, “Do you like your job?”

Oh. We were going to pretend his proximity to me was normal, were we? “It has perks. But the artistic director is a bit of a knob.”

He laughed and it was a nice sound.

“Tell me what you really think!”

“He takes photos during performances. Hard to tell the audience not to do something when they see the boss doing it. And too many Christian plays. This one is shit.”

“Just an acting gig for me. Are you a student?”

I laughed. How could I tell this stranger I was a dominatrix?

“No. I just love the theatre,” and I wondered why my lips were sticking to each other as I spoke. Why the fuck was I nervous? Although we were playing a game I usually excelled at, I recognised a feeling within myself that I hadn’t felt in years. He made me feel submissive. He made me want to unzip his trousers and drop to my knees. He made me want him to put me over his knee and spank me. I felt my cheeks redden as I visualised the scenes. I needed to regain control of myself and the situation, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. The air felt thick in the corridor and for a second I wondered how I could breathe. I inhaled deeply, and saw him look as my chest rose up. In my uniform, I couldn’t have looked less sexy, but I could have sworn I saw movement in his trousers. If one of us didn’t make a move, the chance would pass. So I reached up towards his face.

“Hair,” I said, as I brushed his cheek. He made a noise at the back of his throat and then he cupped my hand with his own. He kissed me. A beautiful, soft-lipped kiss that caused a strange feeling inside my head. I felt a pull that I remembered from years before. And with it came the inevitability that we were going to fuck.

He put one hand under my T-shirt and squeezed my breasts gently. Then he released each breast from my bra. My nipples grazed the rough fabric, getting hard; he lifted my T-shirt and gently kissed and licked them. I moaned quietly and parted my legs.

He moved between my legs and I could feel his hard cock pressing against me. I reached down and pulled the Velcro fastener open. Thank you, costume department for actors’ trousers designed for quick changes. His cock emerged and it was beautiful. I wanted it inside me.

My trousers, alas, were not ready for quick access. I kicked my shoes off and then unbuttoned. I lifted myself up enough so he could pull my trousers off. Then he was inside me fast. We knew we only had a small amount of time before he had to be back on stage. There was also a chance an audience member would walk through the door and find us.

I used the bar under my feet to lift myself up further so he could get deeper. But as he thrust more, I wrapped my legs around him; I wanted to be closer to him. My head was somewhere else entirely, and even if that door had opened I wouldn’t have cared. The sex was urgent, and as I felt his body begin to lose its rhythm and jerk, I knew I wouldn’t come.

“Stop,” I ordered. And he did, a little confused.

“Lick me.” He dropped to his knees and began to lick my clit. It only took a few seconds, as I knew it would, until I was arching my back and moaning.

“Now,” I gasped with my last wave of orgasm and the large man stood and fucked me again. This time I let him finish and he did, gently groaning and shuddering into my arms.

There was a pause as we held each other. He touched my face gently and we looked into each other’s eyes. Then we remembered where we were. We listened to the actors on the stage to see how much we had missed.

“Fuck!” he said, as he pulled up his trousers and ran back down the corridor.

I pulled up mine, too, straightened my T-shirt and retrieved my book from the floor. And as I began reading, I could still feel my skin tingling.

Eve Smith is the author of How Was It For You?: The Lives and Loves of a Sex Worker, which is out now and available in paperback, audiobook, and ebook.