Message-ID: <15208eli$9809110151@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15208.txt> From: "Harry Tasker" <harry-tasker@harry-tasker.demon.co.uk> Subject: Theatre of the Flesh - Part One Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <01bdd9cf$c383e2e0$0dc4edc1@harry-tasker> ******* PLEASE NOTE ******* This story remains the *******sole******* property of the author. It is acceptable for any person in the public domain to re-distribute it on any medium, provided it is done so in an UNALTERED state, and the author's identity is neither altered nor deleted. This material is not for distribution on any commercial or profit-making site. This srory contains scenes that graphically depict sexual acts. If it is illegal for you to view such material, whether by age or geographical location, please make the informed decision to delete this file now. Rather than swamp ASSM with one masive file, I have taken the liberty of breaking the story down into (what I hope are) logical, bite-sized pieces. Subsequent parts will be distributed very shortly, as the story is already complete. As yet there is no corresponding web-site for this author's work. However, sensible comments on its validity and appeal are very welcome by e-mail. THEATRE OF THE FLESH (c) Harry Tasker 1998 Part One Louise pulled the two halves of her heavy wool coat tighter across her chest, and tried to disguise her shivering with a yawn. The wind's gusto had increased markedly since midnight, chilling the acrid air by what felt like ten degrees. Maddening goose bumps prickled the skin of her arms, almost bluffing her into rubbing them violently. But she resisted. She did not want to ruin the evening's mood by appearing weak. Beside her, Chris shuffled his heavy boots on the damp pavement. He craned his neck over the handsome middle-aged French couple in front of them, eyes prowling for sign of movement at the head of the queue. After a few seconds he turned to Louise, favouring her with another of his dazzling smiles that tonight both warmed and repulsed her. It had been Chris' idea to come, and though she had not openly opposed it, she was certain he knew she did not want to be here. Something inside her goaded bitterly. Still brought you though, didn't he! Louise bit her top lip savagely, to still her trembling jaw, and the voices that had jabbered inside her head since Chris first mentioned his 'idea'. She glanced away, contempt for her enduring inability to defend her own convictions bitter in her throat. Light from the neon signs on the canal's far bank flickered across the dismal water. The hollow sound of footsteps drew Louise's eyes to the other side of the canal. A broad man, face bowed and shoulders hunched before the March wind, that each year scythes down Amsterdam's exposed waterways, clumped along the cobbled surface towards her. He spared no regard for the two dozen people gathered at the brightly lit entrance across from him. Louise watched him tighten the collar of his long overcoat about his neck. Someone spoke to her. "What?" she asked, her voice distracted, careless. "He's selecting his purchase." Chris nodded towards the broad man, a wry grin rising over his lips. "Can't fault his taste." Directly opposite to where they stood, the broad man had paused before one of the many tall, ground-level windows that lined his side of the canal. A cramped room stretched away from the glass, back into the depths of the building. Louise's eyes took in the high-backed chair, the wash basin, the narrow bed. The bulb in the ceiling light stained the walls scarlet. At the centre of the window, a near-naked girl posed for the night. She stroked her slender limbs with practised fluidity, leaning forward from the waist to accentuate the bountiful cleavage captured between the cups of her undersized brassiere. Her fingertips lingered across her flat belly, traced the outline of her diminutive panties, and then beckoned to the spectator. The white lingerie glowed vividly in the light of the ultra-violet fluorescent strips fixed on either side of the window. The image transfixed Louise. The contrast of the woman's olive skin, the deep red walls behind her, and the psychedelic shade of her underwear was hypnotically seductive. Her mouth felt damp, and she realised she was tracing her lips with the tip of her tongue. She shuddered, almost in revulsion at herself. The woman opened a small door at the side of the window. She spoke with the broad man, her face radiant with the sweeping smile of the professional seductress. He glanced warily about his surroundings, and for a startling instant his eyes locked with Louise's. Then he stepped through the narrow threshold, swallowed by the heavy curtains that instantly locked out the prying gaze of outsiders. Louise returned her attention to the backs of the middle aged French couple. Beside her, Chris clapped his hands against the cold. "Lucky bastard," he said. "Out of this wind, and all that warm, beautiful flesh to smother himself with." "Why don't you join him?" Louise's tone was snide. It was the first deliberate indication of her displeasure with Chris' plans. Her husband's eyes crawled over the other windows that gazed at them from across the canal. Each was a portal into a tiny cubicle, each cubicle resplendent with shades similar to the one which had swallowed the broad man. Before the centre of each window stood a woman. Louise's mind quickly reckoned: at least thirty women, of different ages, different races, different sizes. All in various states of provocative undress. All of them beckoning, offering. Chris completed his scrutiny. "Not a bad idea, Lou," he said, leering at her sullen expression. "Will you wait for me here?" He raised a satiric eyebrow. "Or would you prefer to come with me and watch?" Louise felt her cheeks burn, despite the chill. A bitter reply, that would undoubtedly spark off an angry confrontation, bubbled behind her lips, and then the French couple moved forward a few feet. Chris clapped his hands again, in celebration. "At last." The French man turned and smiled warmly at them both. "It will be good to get out of this wind, no?" "Yes," Chris answered. "And just as good to see the cabaret." The Frenchman's eyebrows raised a fraction. "Quite." He studied Chris' face for a moment, and the deep creases at the corners of his eyes deepened mischievously. "Please, forgive my surprise; no insult was intended." He waved an expansive hand towards the entrance. "I did not realise that the English were connoisseurs of such…….diversions." Chris returned the man's roguish smile. "I am happy to report not all of us are dead to the pleasures of the flesh, monsieur." And he glanced pointedly down at Louise. The Frenchman's even teeth flashed again. "That is very good to know." His grey eyes followed Chris' and locked upon Louise. His patient gaze made two studious sweeps of her body. In reality, the moment lasted little more than a few strokes of her Pulsar's second hand, but it seemed to distort, dilating into an eon. Louise could see waves of hunger emanating from the Frenchman. Small jolts coursed up and down her spine, as she pictured her clothes being torn apart, her nakedness revealed in a frenzy, by this stranger's imagination. Unable to mask her maddening blush, Louise turned towards her husband. When she looked back, the Frenchman was once again absorbed in soft Gallic conversation with his wife. Confusion gripped. She did not want to be here, queuing to watch bored professionals copulating on a stage for the entertainment of others. To her, that was neither sensual, nor erotic. It was lewd, depraved. Base. Yet the sight of a prostitute offering her services to a stranger had somehow captivated her. A stranger had mentally ravaged her as she stood at her husband's side, and here she was, seemingly regretting the moment's passing. What's wrong with you tonight? The queue moved forward again. Chris slipped an easy arm around her shoulders, squeezing her to him. "Nearly there," he said unnecessarily. She answered with a strained smile, and looked up at the huge overhead sign that lit their way: THEATRE OF THE FLESH Above the name, a long, stockinged, female leg stretched its stiletto-heeled foot towards the night sky. It was a dramatic beacon, and given the reputation for this part of the city, a tasteful one. The building frontage possessed an air of class lacking from some of its competitors. It gave Louise some relief from the foreboding that had plagued her since the moment Chris found the Theatre's entry in their hotel's guide to the city. his is something we could never experience at home, Lou. Imagine how exciting, how decadent it would be. Do you really think something like that would be for us? Why wouldn't it be? To watch another couple, listen to another couple making love, right in front of us. It's only natural. Surely something like that would be better on tape. Besides, it's probably very expensive… Is that important? Live now, not later. This could be just what we do need. Think how passionate it will make you feel. Make us feel. He was so obviously thrilled by the prospect. The trip had been her idea; a birthday present for him, a chance for them to rediscover the closeness they had lost. She hesitated, and lost the nerve to refuse him. The queue moved forward. The French man reached inside his jacket for his wallet. Soon, Chris would reach for his money too, and it would be too late for her to refuse. She could taste the abhorrence for what she might see, feel putrid disavowal swelling in her chest, ripe to burst. And all too clearly, she could picture his wrathful face, hear the bitter recriminations. Chris stared suspiciously at her. "Are you ready?" She balled her fists, closed her eyes. A hundred different screams clamoured for her mind. "Louise?" Chris' voice was louder; anger not very far away. She opened her eyes. The French couple paused in the doorway, waiting for her reaction. "Pay the man," she said. +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html> -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>