Off-Screen Action - version published at Ruthie's Club on 8/20/2007

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 wrap-around 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
nervously about the coffee shop. The rectangular parking badge clipped to his
collar identified him. John waved in a friendly greeting. The man made his way
to the table, getting there just as Wendy returned with her drink. He
chivalrously held the chair for her.

"Michael Grayson," he said by way of introduction. Wendy and John completed the
circle of welcomes as he took a seat. 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.

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
in. "Come on, Michael, there’s nobody else here. I’m eager to see that present
you promised me!"

Michael couldn’t know if 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
closed behind him. Wendy walked briskly to the row of stalls and swung one door
open without waiting to see if Michael followed. 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 push
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 soooo good inside me, Michael!"

He hesitantly slid his hands around her curves and 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. He bit his lip to keep from moaning aloud as
her muscles gripped and massaged his length. Their coupling was brief but
intense, 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 and 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, licking her lips, and caught Michael’s eyes. "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 John and Michael carried the
drinks into their theater. 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 kind of stickiness. She leaned her head back against
the theater wall and purred quietly to herself as the two men found a
cooperative rhythm that worked for them. It worked even better for Wendy. 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 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, and 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 chatroom, 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 cock-head, and he closed his eyes 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 more intense.

Hands 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. 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 until 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/