Off-Screen Action (original version)

by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons
Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In
jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United
States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to
Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are
explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission
note must remain attached.

Abstract: A couple and a single guy move from the chat room to reality and the
movie is the least of the plot complications

Wendy and her husband John sipped their drinks, listening to the jazz on the
coffee shop speakers and glancing toward the door whenever it opened. John's
body, tall and slender, shifted in quick, tense jumps punctuating his
conversation. Wendy in contrast was relaxed, vivacious, a dash of color
brightening her cheeks. She wore a wraparound red skirt and a pink blouse, and
her sleek black hair was pulled back in a ponytail making her look like one of
the "fast girls" from high school.

The object of their interest arrived while Wendy was getting a refill. He was a
man of medium build with sandy brown hair in a buzz cut, and his eyes cast
about the coffee shop nervously. The rectangular parking badge clipped to his
collar identified him to John, who waved in a friendly greeting. The man made
his way to the table, getting there just as Wendy returned with her drink, and
he held the chair for her chivalrously.

"Michael Grayson," he said by way of introduction. Wendy and John completed the
circle of welcomes as he took a seat at their table. They chatted for a bit,
small talk, news of the day, before John broached the subject that had brought
them together.

"So, Michael, you sounded quite taken with Wendy in the chatroom." Michael
nodded in response, his comfort level visibly disappearing. "Perhaps the two of
you should talk a little bit about what you expected for a first meeting. I
believe that you and my wife already had some discussions to that effect." John
smiled as the other man shifted in his chair, and Wendy took the lead by
standing up and wiggling a finger for Michael to follow suit. She led him off
toward the rear of the coffee shop, the skirt framing her hips and her heels
emphasizing her calves for more than one pair of eyes.

Wendy held the restroom door open and looked inside. With a giggle, she went on
in. "Come on, Michael, there's nobody else here -- I'm anxious to see that
present you promised me!" Michael couldn't tell whether she was glad or
disappointed at their privacy; from some of the stories she had related on
line, it could have been either. He took a quick look behind and quickly
entered the ladies room, pulling the door behind him. Wendy walked briskly back
to the row of stalls and swung one door open without waiting to see if Michael
were following. By the time he got in and locked the stall door, Wendy was
already unwrapping her skirt. She beamed at him with a wide red-lipped smile as
her bare thighs and lightly-fringed vee came into view. "Come on, now, I showed
you mine, you have to show me yours -- that was our deal!"

He blushed -- Wendy found that oddly endearing -- and unzipped his slacks to
pull them down to his knees. As per their agreement, he had no underwear on
either. His erection bobbed up and down, long and swollen, a visible salute to
Wendy. She pulled a condom from her purse and deftly rolled it down his length,
then turned around with her full cheeks pressing against him. "I just know
you're going to feel sooooo goooood inside me, Michael!" He slid his hands
around her curves hesitantly, then as if realizing how little time they might
have he grabbed his cock and pressed it between her thighs. Wendy was more than
ready, and he bit his lip to keep from moaning out loud as her muscles gripped
and massaged his length. Their coupling was intense but brief, already primed
to the ragged edge from their mutual anticipation.

Wendy's wriggle reminded him to let go, and she cleaned them up before flushing
the toilet and leading him out. Luck was still with them; they didn't meet
another customer until they were safely past the men's room door as well.

By the time they arrived back at the table, John had three fresh cups of coffee
waiting. He glanced at the other two -- Michael with a flushed face and a
slightly abashed look, Wendy preening like the cat who ate the canary, and
picked up his drink to take a thoughtful sip. "I gather you came to a mutual
understanding," he said with the hint of a grin.

"You could say that," his wife responded. She tasted her coffee also, then
picked up the entertainment section of the newspaper that was folded on the
table. "What do you think, the political thriller or the horror film?"

"I'd say horror," said John. "It's not like we'll be paying enough attention
for politics, and besides the horror movies usually have dimmer lighting. He
turned to Michael, who had remained conspicuously quiet since returning. "What
do you think, Mike, are you up ... for a horror film?"

The emphasis and pause were not lost on the other man, and he looked into his
coffee before lifting his face to answer. He was smiling now, as if past some
inner argument. "Horror works for me. Like you say, it's not the plot that's
important but the company."

Wendy set her cup down and refolded the paper. "Then we'd best be on our way;
the Dunvale 24 has a show at ten, that will give us enough time to get popcorn
with butter. She looked up and caught Michael's eyes, licking her lips. "I like
*lots* of butter," she said, grinning. The three rose from the table and headed
out to the parking lot, agreeing that Wendy would drive her car and John would
ride with Michael to keep them from getting separated.

They made it to the multiplex without incident, and true to her word Wendy
claimed the extra-large tub of buttered popcorn as Paul and Michael carried the
drinks into their theatre. The film had been out long enough that there were
plenty of empty rows, and the three took seats in the back with Wendy sitting
between the two men. The overhead lights dropped as the previews began for
autumn films -- loud, bright and flashy, the usual kinds of Oscar hopefuls --
and they waited impatiently for the feature to begin.

Finally the opening credits rolled and the surrounding light dimmed further as
the director and star listing gave way to a gloomy rain-sodden scene. It was a
dark and stormy night. Four teenagers drove down a spooky back road, flashes of
lightning occasionally illuminating the passenger compartment. Suddenly a shot
rang out! No, it wasn't a shot, it was a flat tire. Luckily, there was a creepy
farmhouse not far off the road where the two young men and two young women
could find shelter and help, arriving rain-soaked with their clothes clinging
to their skin.

All of which was lost in the back row, as Wendy had opened her skirt and both
Michael and John were busily playing tag between her thighs mixing the butter
from the popcorn with her own kind of stickiness. She leaned her head back
against the theatre wall and purred quietly to herself as the two men found a
cooperative rhythm that worked for them. It worked even better for Wendy, and
she bit her lower lip as her legs clamped together sending popcorn into all
three laps. The two men slowed their teasing, letting her find a comfortable
plateau as they took their turns retrieving their juice-covered fingers to
savor the mixture of flavors.

After moving the remainder of the popcorn, John quietly encouraged Michael to
take the lead for a second round until Wendy was once more wriggling and
thrashing in her seat. She finally pushed his hand away, and the men returned
their attention to the movie as Wendy caught her breath. When her heartbeat
returned to normal, she brushed their hands away and covered her thighs,
getting up to find the ladies room and clean herself.

When she returned, she tagged Michael on the shoulder and traded places with
him. In the dimly flickering light reflected from the movie screen, she could
see the eager look on his face. She settled into her seat and took a few
swallows from her soda. From the looks of things on the screen, she had missed
one death; she also wondered briefly how the brunette wound up running through
the corn stalks wearing only her bra and panties.

There was a more interesting subject nearer to hand, however. Wendy wriggled
her hand on Michael's leg, then worked it up crab-fashion to his front button
and zipper. With his help she soon had the upper part of his pants pulled down
and had possession of his erection. It was warm and alive in her hand, and
Michael was anything but still in his seat. She rubbed her thighs together;
this was nice but it was a poor substitute for what she really wanted.

Michael leaned back and sighed as the cool fingers explored his balls and
teased the taut skin beneath. For all of his bravado in the chat room, this was
the only time he had ever met an internet person in real life and the reality
was far past his imagination. First the scene with Wendy in the ladies room,
and now this! Lips wrapped around his cockhead, and he closed his eyes both to
focus on the sensation and to try and keep from exploding too soon. He was far
from a virgin; there were any number of professionals working the city, and
Michael had used their services on occasion. But somehow this was a thousand
times as intense, slow, rasping suction as fingers stroked and teased him. His
breathing sounded loud in his ears and his fingers squeezed hard on the
armrests as the stimulation increased. The pleasure was growing, deliberately
and inexorably until his body gave him no choice, his bottom lifting off the
cushioned seat as his balls cut loose in waves of pure pleasure.

Panting, feeling both emotionally and physically drained, he looked down and
saw John's smiling face lifting from his lap, Wendy's lips meeting her
husband's in an active kiss that left both partners' lips smeared with white.

Afterward, nobody could say precisely how everything happened, but in short
order Wendy and John were left to watch the movie by themselves. John moved
into the vacated seat and continued their interrupted kiss, one hand stroking
over the curves of his wife's breasts until she pushed him away with ragged
breathing.

"Take me home and fuck me hard," she said in a frustration-laced voice. Taking
her husband's hand, she rose to her feet and practically dragged him out of the
theater and toward the parking lot.

"Damn, and I so wanted the both of you in a sandwich tonight," she said in a
frustration-laced voice. Taking her husband's hand, she rose to her feet and
practically dragged him out of the theater and toward the parking lot. She
beeped the car unlocked and flipped him the car keys as she slid into the
passenger side, pulling her skirt off in one fluid motion. "Take me home, John,
and fuck me till I can't stand straight!"

John started the engine and quickly put the car into gear. The last time his
wife had used that tone of voice, they hadn't made it anywhere near their
house. Michael's loss would be his gain tonight. As the car sped onto the city
streets he steered with one hand and buried his fingers inside his wife.
"Whatever you say, Wendy, darling."

/END/

Endnote: Story published at Ruthie's Club on 8/20/2007 with some editorial
changes