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From: "Harry Tasker" <harry-tasker@harry-tasker.demon.co.uk>
Subject: Theatre of the Flesh - Part Three
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*******       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 Three


Some of the single men were still whooping with satisfaction when the
footlights came back up. Immediately, they became silent. 

The black phallus had disappeared from centre stage, to be replaced by an
expansive futon. An ebony-coloured mattress lay atop a raised pedestal,
three feet above the stage. Each of the pedestal's legs was a carved,
graphic representation of a man and a woman coupled in the act of love.

At the centre of the futon lay the supine form of a girl. She wore a jade
caftan of silken material, the shade of which contrasted ferociously with
her mane of copper. Her stillness was striking after the energy of the last
performance.

>From behind the satin backdrop two men emerged, one white, one black. They
wore thigh length leather skirts, similar in appearance to those worn
centuries ago by Roman soldiers. A single gold earring dangled from the
left earlobe of both men. Ropes of heavy muscle sheathed the two masculine
forms. They moved lightly, delicately, for men of their size, seeming to
prowl rather than walk. 

Louise's eyes drank in how their muscles bulged and contracted, admired the
shortness of their adornments. She could not help wondering how big they
were beneath the skirts.

Both men took up a position at the head of the futon, the black man moving
to the woman's left, the white man to her right. The flame-haired woman
made no acknowledgement of their presence, remaining absolutely motionless.
The audience waited hungrily for what was to follow.

The black man reached forward and took hold of the left side of the
neckline of the caftan; the white man simultaneously gripped the right side
hem. Then with a sudden violence that made Louise shiver against her seat,
both men tore the soft material down the full length of the woman's body,
and discarded the halves on the stage.

The red head's flesh seemed even paler than the sultry girl's before her
did. Her nipples were very pink, and already stiffening before the caress
of the warm air. Her pubic mound was sparse, but Louise could see her
thatch was the same bright shade as her hair. 

Still the woman did not move.

As if by unseen signal, both men reached for the waists of their skirts. 
Concealed fastenings were released, and the skirts slid down their
prominent thighs to join the caftan on the floor. 

Louise leant forward slightly. Never had she seen such men. Both exhibited
two heavy slabs of flesh that hung at least six inches down the insides of
their respective thighs. She marvelled at how they might appear once
enflamed.

As if to answer, the flame-haired woman finally moved. She reached behind
her with her left hand, and grasped the black man's manhood. Her tiny palm
seemed barely able to encircle the heavy shaft. She stroked it gently. Then
she reached with her right hand for his white partner. She caressed him
too, pausing occasionally to stir the heavy sacks that hung between their
thighs.

Both men remained impassive, arms hanging limply by their sides. Their
members, however, began to show signs of life: thickening, stiffening,
lifting proudly into the air. Louise's eyes widened. None her encounters,
not even her wildest imaginings, had prepared her for this.

Beside her, Louise heard the blonde say, "Oh, darling. They are
magnificent; so big."

The Frenchman's voice was respectful. "Yes, they are."

"But then so are you," sighed the blonde. 
 
Some nuance in the blonde's voice lured Louise's eyes from the where the
red head was pleasuring her fellow performers. 

The blonde eased apart both sides of her husband's fly with the delicacy of
someone unwrapping an expensive gift. She reached inside, and pulled out
the Frenchman's cock. Louise could only gape as the blond began to stroke
her husband's thick shaft in time with the red head's actions on stage. The
Frenchman's right hand appeared equally active beneath the hem of his
wife's dress.

Louise reluctantly turned back to the show. Instead of the disgust she
might have expected to feel, she felt only restless and aroused. Her own
sex throbbed, aching for someone's touch. She looked to her husband, but
Chris remained engrossed in the three people on stage. She desperately
wanted him to touch her, wanted to touch him. She began to reach for his
groin, then pulled back her hand, uncertain of his reaction. 

On stage the white man had moved to the end of the futon. Positioning
himself between the red head's thighs, he began to rain kisses down on her
inner thighs. The red head drew the black man towards her. Greedily, she
suckled her pale lips around the bulbous end of his cock. The black man
leant forward over her, kissing her breasts and her nipples.

A man's sharp gasp beside her drew Louise's attention once more. 
Seemingly oblivious to the people around her, the blonde had leant over in
her seat, and was kissing her husband's cock. Louise watched the blonde's
tongue swirl slowly around the enflamed head. The blond looked up, her eyes
finding Louise's. Holding her gaze, the blonde lowered her head, taking the
thick shaft deep into her mouth.

The floorshow eclipsed, Louise watched the blonde perform languid oral upon
her husband. Her eyes never left Louise's for a moment, as the thick cock
appeared and disappeared, appeared and disappeared, between her full,
rouged lips. 

Louise turned her head, trance-like, towards the Frenchman's face. His
confident smile made her giddy, and she barely noticed his hand slip
beneath her arm and press her thigh. 

Unable to draw her eyes away from his, she felt his fingers slide down
across her stockinged thigh. His fingertips caressed her knee for a moment,
then began to glide inevitably upwards. There was a rustle of material as
he pushed the edge of her dress upwards, out of his way.

A slight loss of sensation signalled his fingers had reached the tops of
her stockings, and then, suddenly, a jolt of electricity charged through
her body as he found her naked flesh.

His fingers were scant millimetres from her sex. She could feel their tips
grazing the lacy material of her panties. She arched herself towards his
hand, desperate to feel his fingers on her, in her. 

His hand pressed against her; Louise knew he could feel how damp she was.
She wondered what Chris would think, would do, if he looked at her now. How
must she look? Head back, lips parted, body trembling in anticipation of
ecstasy, with another man's hand caressing her most intimate self. To her
surprise, she found part of her didn't care. 

The Frenchman's fingers were lifting the edge of her panties.

The responsible part of her psyche screamed at her. This must stop! She
knew the moment to halt this would soon be lost. Once he touched her, she
wouldn't care anymore, whatever the circumstances, whatever the
consequences. 

On stage the red head writhed in passion, and Louise's mind took in that
the white man was now going down on her. The black man's ebony lance was
still thrusting in and out of her willing mouth.

Louise closed her eyes in indecision, the warm air feeling delicious
against her exposed sex. She looked back at the blonde. Her mouth was still
full of cock, but her eyes remained riveted on Louise. Very slowly, she
reached for Louise's hand. Louise, unable to resist, watched the blonde
close it around the Frenchman's shaft. And as his cock touched her palm,
the Frenchman's fingers slipped between her swollen labia, and raked down
her moist furrow.

Louise bit her lip to still her gasp of pleasure. The room swam in and out
of focus, as the Frenchman slipped first one finger, then another inside
her. He began to fuck her with his fingers, his palm resting over her
mound. Louise urged herself against him, and he pressed his hand hard
against her clitoris.

On stage the white man steadily licked the red head towards her orgasm.
Thighs forced wide apart by his shoulders, her creamy buttocks cradled in
his hands, she ground her sex against his darting tongue. She reached
behind the black man and, grabbing a firm buttock in each hand, urged him
to fuck her mouth with ever-increasing passion. His face began to contort
with his own approaching come.

The blonde hastened her motions, matching her pace with that of the red
head. She concentrated on the bulging head of her husband's cock, taking
only the first inch or so inside her mouth. At the same time she wrapped
her hand over Louise's, and began to slide it up and down the throbbing
shaft. 

For a moment, her blue eyes implored Louise. Then she took her hand away. 

Slowly, Louise began to stroke the Frenchman's cock unbidden.

It was difficult to comprehend all that was happening. On stage, the
writhing, gasping forms of the black man and the red head were rapidly
approaching orgasm. At the same time, Louise could feel the cock in her
hand beginning to swell and stiffen and jerk in that timeless fashion.

"Oui," the Frenchman breathed huskily. "Bon." He began to bounce his hips
to meet his wife's mouth. Louise quickened her pace of her strokes.
 
The Frenchman's fingers slipped out of her, and began rubbing up and down
on either side of her clitoris, tugging at the sensitive organ mercilessly.
She sensed her own orgasm screaming towards her in the semi-darkness.

My God! she thought I think we're all going to come together!

On stage the red head's hips bucked and twisted in the white man's grip, as
her orgasm burst through her. Her grip on the black man's thrusting
buttocks fell away. Withdrawing from her mouth, he stroked himself rapidly,
until strings of hot, white cream spurted across her face, throat, breasts
and belly. A primitive scream forced its way between his contorted lips.

Unbelievable passion began to radiate out from Louise's loins, into her
entire body. She tightened her grip on the Frenchman's cock, desperate to
help make him come inside his wife's mouth. 

As her orgasm exploded, Louise felt the shaft in her hand begin to twitch
and jerk. She turned to watch. The blonde woman's throat convulsed as she
swallowed the Frenchman's come. Louise wished that she could taste it
herself. A thick ooze of spunk dribbled out from the side of the blonde's
mouth, coating Louise's fingers. 

Louise glanced to her left, certain that Chris would be staring at her
incredulously. 

She breathed silent thanks. Chris still gazed at the stage, where the red
head  trailed her fingers through the sperm that coated her breasts, while
the white man pistoned his cock into her sex. Louise watched him for a
moment, part of her daring her husband to behold her, a stranger's fingers
stirring idly inside her panties, and his come-slicked cock in her hand.

Her own hand still moved easily, instinctively, in the Frenchman's lap. The
blonde finished licking come from the crimson head, and then lifted her
eyes and fastened a lecherous gaze upon Louise. She gently pried Louise's
hand from the flaccid tool; her tongue flickered out, lapping the warm
cream from each of Louise's fingers.

Louise felt a sharp thrill as the blonde's tongue progressed along her
hand. Before, she could never have envisaged herself with another woman,
taking sensation from another woman. Now she felt herself drowning in the
blonde's cool blue gaze, and as she did, a myriad of unfamiliar images
flickered enticingly through her mind, hungering her further.

The blonde finished her cleansing task. As Louise reclaimed her own hand,
the Frenchman's slipped out of her panties; with a brief squeeze of her
thigh, it returned to his own lap. She mourned its loss, still disturbed by
her behaviour and by her reactions, and yet eager for more.

Louise tugged innocuously at her dress, smoothing it back across her legs.
Her hand remained slightly damp from the blonde's ministrations. She raised
it to her face: a confused aroma of come and Channel assailed her nostrils.
She inhaled it greedily, anxious for sensation.

On stage, the red head had assumed a more dominant role: the white man now
lay prone in her place upon the futon, whilst she straddled his thighs,
impaled upon him. 

The black man, furious erection returned, climbed onto the futon and
squatted behind the red head's proffered buttocks, stroking his shaft.
Inching forward on the balls of his feet, he pressed the ebony head of his
cock against the red head's tight anus. To the palpable pleasure of both
the red head and the crowd, he steadily impelled himself inside her.

Louise gasped as one with the red head, as both men began to work their
cocks in and out of her. Alternating like the pistons of some carnally
obsessed engine, the two cocks stoked the red head's rapture, driving
scream after scream of passion from her lips. Louise felt fresh moisture
bead the lips of her still swollen sex, as her mind tried to grasp the
sensations of being so completely filled.

To her right the Frenchman and his wife were straightening their clothes,
preparing to leave. The feeling of disappointment that flooded Louise was
immense. She watched them, knowing how obvious her look of frustration 
was.

The Frenchman tensed, ready to stand. The blonde whispered something to her
husband. The Frenchman listened, nodded once, decisively. He turned towards
Louise, and stared pointedly at where Chris sat engrossed in the
performers. Then he leant towards Louise, a fierce smile playing across his
lips.

"We are returning to our hotel now." His voice was warm and soft. "We would
like you to come with us."

Louise's composure almost collapsed at his words. Panicked, she looked
round at her husband, as though for support, positive he must have heard
the invitation.

The Frenchman shook his head softly. "He will not miss you. He certainly
does not need you right now."  Again he stared accusingly at Chris, then
turned his animal gaze back upon her. "And you, my rose, definitely do not
need him."

The Frenchman stood up, and helped his wife to her feet. They excused
themselves past the audience. At the exit, the blonde turned back. For a
few seconds her eyes were full of yearning and urging. Then the couple
disappeared into the foyer.

Louise hesitated for a moment. She turned to Chris. "I'm going to head back
to the hotel."

Chris spun around, too quickly. "What the hell for?"

"I've got a terrible migraine coming on. If I stay any longer, I'll be
sick."

Her husband's expression softened, concern replacing anger. "Er…I'd better
come back with you then."

"No, don't!" Chris seemed surprised by her fervour. She smiled calmingly.
"I don't want to waste the end of your evening as well. I'll get a taxi
back to the hotel. And you can tell me about the rest of the show in the
morning."

Chris looked doubtful. "I 'm not sure you going back by yourself is a good
idea."

"I'll be fine. There are taxis right outside the entrance. Nothing's going
to happen to me."

He looked at her dubiously; his eyes flickering back to the stage show
where the performance was reaching another crescendo. It seemed to make his
decision for him. "Okay. But be careful."

"I will," she said, bitter tears stinging her vision as she turned her
cheek for him to kiss. By the time she had stood up, his attention had
already refocused on the performers. 

Bastard! 

Louise strode to the exit without looking back.

As she reached the top step at the theatre's entrance, the Frenchman was
assisting his wife into the back seat of the taxi. The Frenchman saw the
smile form across his wife's lips, and turned. His face glowed with
satisfaction and anticipation. His outstretched hand was simultaneously an
invitation to betrayal and ecstasy. 

Louise hesitated, then carefully walked down the steps, surrendering to
that night's destiny.


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