I lightly tickled the rigid shaft, trailing my fingernails over the sensitive head as he laid a pattern of nibbling bites along my neck. He balanced himself on one arm, his free hand first guiding one of my taut nipples to his mouth, then slipping down to feel my exposed cunt. I had just shaved, so I was slick and smooth, almost slippery with my hot wetness sliding past my smooth pussylips to the crack of my ass. He moaned a bit against my nipple as he touched me, pushing one finger in my cunt and wiggling gently, causing my hand to clench convulsively at his thick hard penis.
He brought his mouth up to kiss me again, working his cock closer to my pussy, then into me as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He started out slow, with long deep strokes that made me come almost instantly, but with each orgasm, my cunt muscles grabbed his cock harder, and before too long the force of his strokes drove me into the seat of the police car. I leaned forward to nibble on his chest and neck when he suddenly exploded, spilling his thick hot cum into me and sending me on another round of delicious orgasms. We lay there a moment, his warm weight atop me as we quietly nuzzled each other.
His head was buried against my neck when I opened my eyes and saw bright blue and brilliant red splashed in strobes across the inside of the police car. I nudged my boyfriend gently, “Did you leave the lights on?” He shook his head, then peeked up to take a look around. Suddenly a bright white light pinpointed his face, and there was the sound of several people applauding, whistling and hooting. One actually called out, “Come out with your hands up! Or are you just cumming?” He didn’t know wether to laugh or get embarrassed, so he made the best of it by tucking himself back in and crawling out of the car to face his fellow officers, leaving me to get myself tidied up. At least the seat wasn’t cold any longer.
“I can save you, traitor,” the Princess hissed. “My father wants to believe in
you and I can persuade him.” She paused and gave her prisoner an inviting look.
“There is a condition. You must renounce Aida and marry me.” A fierce,
determined gleam in Theresa’s eyes spoke volumes. She slammed her notebook down
on the table for emphasis. Silence let the noise echo.
“I cannot,” Scott replied weakly, unprepared to offer up the noble surrender of
his life. He looked up at the woman. “Never. I love her.” The emotion in his
voice trembled.
“Good,” shouted the director enthusiastically. “Perfect, Theresa. Scott, you need
to speak with more courage and conviction. But I think you two have the right
idea. Let’s break for lunch and when we get back we’ll do some more improv on
the scene. Think about what has happened in the script and what will happen
next. I want each of you to understand your characters completely before we
start singing.
“Actors,” grumbled Scott as he stepped off stage.
“C’mon,” said Theresa, taking his hand and pulling him behind her. Scott
followed, a little disturbed to be submitting to the demanding mezzo-soprano in
front of the rest of the cast, but not quite daring a fit of independence so
early in the production. Once they’d escaped the curious eyes of their fellows,
he accepted her command with a ready eagerness. Theresa opened the door to her
dressing room and showing him in, she locked the door behind them.
“I had the caterers bring some trays back here. I thought we could discuss our
scenes while we ate. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I think it’s a marvelous idea,” said Scott, sitting on a loveseat.
“Good. I’d hoped you would accomodate my flights of fancy. I am so anxious that
this production go well, and with you as our tenor, I think our show will be
delicious.” Theresa twirled and sat beside her leading man.
“Thank you,” said Scott, reaching for a sandwich. “I meant to thank you before.
I know you’re the reason I’m here.”
“Nonsense,” said Theresa, laughing. “You deserved the role. Who else could play
the passionate general with so much strength, so much virve, so much voice? I
don’t think there was ever any choice.”
“Still, with you father producing the opera, I mean. You . . .”
“Daddy’s indulged me in choosing the role, but he wouldn’t throw away money, even
for me. Only the best were chosen for this show.”
“And you chose Amneris? I mean, why didn’t you take Aida’s role.”
“Don’t kid me, Scott. I’ll be lucky to hit the B flat. Don’t even dream about
me hitting high C without a whole lot of orchestra drowning that screech out.
Besides, I think I can understand the spoiled daughter role better than most.”
Scott sputtered a heart-felt laugh, choking back the sandwich and his fear of
offending the lady.
“Fair enough. I’m going to be struggling myself. Maybe you can get the caterer
to bring us an extra bottle of brandy before the show to loosen our chords.”
“Hmmm,” said Theresa, putting her china-like hands on Scott’s shoulder,
playfully. “I wouldn’t want us getting too drunk to control ourselves.” Scott
smiled with a twinge of anxiety and took a bite of his thick hunk of Italian
bread.
“No,” he said, his mouth still full, “I wouldn’t think more than a sip would be
necessary.”
“Still,” said Theresa, her hands moving down the tenor’s chest, “we don’t have to
maintain too much control.”
Scott felt himself draw away from the aggressive touch of his companion, anxious
to keep her good grace and yet unprepared to give himself up so easily. Her
hands fell down to tease his thigh, and he stood up suddenly.
“Do you have anything to drink?” he asked.
“Sure, mon general. Let me pour you some of my favorite wine.” She leaned over
to retrieve the bottle from beneath the serving trays. Ice water dripped from the
French label. “Could you open it, please? I’m all thumbs with corkscrews.”
Scott nodded shyly and took the bottle from her hands. He turned the metal
spiral into the cork. Theresa’s rubbed an unashamed hand over the crotch of his
trousers. Scott blushed and pulled at the cork. Theresa unzipped his fly.
“Mmmm,” she said. “I’m going to like working with you.”
“Theresa,” he said, putting the bottle down and turning away slightly. She took
hold of his hips and drew him closer.
“Pour some wine,” she instructed him, boldly fishing in the darkness of his
pants. His cock fell softly into her eager fingers. “Hmmm,” she murmured.
Scott reached awkwardly for the glasses. Theresa pulled his thickening member
from the confines of cloth. Scott poured the wine. Theresa suckled his prick.
“Oh,” he said nervously, feeling the rush of adrenalin and unbidden excitement in
his blood. She pushed the stiffening rod deep into her mouth. He put a hand
through her silky hair.
He thought for a second of Andrea. She would never forgive this.
As Theresa slipped her tongue wet over the length of his prick, the mezzo-soprano
began to hum. “Theresa,” the tenor moaned. “Don’t,” he said, his voice trailing
softly as she sucked to the first line of their impassioned duet. She continued
to play and lightly sing. Scott found himself gently intoning his lines as they
arose in the succession of rhythm and fevered emotion. Theresa suckled and sang
and fondled and played. Scott felt the heat rising in his neck and his head. As
her notes rose higher, pleading passionately for him to forsake his love, to
live, to survive, he felt his excitement bubble. He was Radames. He would
triumph. Amneris would make him king. She swallowed the fountain of lust.
She licked her lips with a smile. Scott again offered her a glass of wine and
this time she took a sip. Scott poured another glass and tossed it back in a
gulp. He tried to look at her, but felt deflated and ashamed.
“Mmmm,” Theresa said energetically, paying his reluctance no mind. “A good
rehersal, wouldn’t you say?”
“Um, yes. Theresa?”
“Scott?”
“Thanks. I mean. Thanks.” A knock came at the door.
“Back on stage, please.” a voice spoke.
“C’mon, lover. Let’s show them how this scene should be done.”
“Yeah,” said Scott, weakly, “with courage and conviction.”
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