CENTRE STAGE
(c) Carrie Kingsley

	Renee looked down at the man between her legs as he gave her a bombastic 
	smile after making yet another unsavoury joke about tuna. She was the star 
	of a new Broadway play, a regular smokescreen and weird lighting affair, 
	and the man who was currently giggling like a schoolgirl into her crotch 
	was Lance Platter. It was a shame he was so ruggedly good looking, because 
	Renee couldn't stand him.

	This had better be worth it, Renee thought to herself, as the rest of the 
	cast collapsed into laughter around them and she smiled stiffly as she 
	buttoned up her blouse. Renee knew she shouldn't feel so nervous, in a few 
	other scenes some women were completely naked; but this was her perfectly 
	waxed crotch the crowd would be getting a look at, and terror had a new best 
	friend.

	The play was called "A Cherry For Her Pie", a simple story about a virgin 
	who falls in love, and her man allowing her to keep her virginity. Renee only 
	knew this after the director had explained it all to her, initially she was 
	so confused reading the script she almost didn't audition for it. But he was 
	the Tarantino of Broadway; this part would make her a star.

	The scene they were rehearsing was near the end, where Lance's character 
	can't stand it any longer and he ravishes her. It was Renee's big moment; 
	fear and excitement both consumed her each time they went through the motions. 
	Even now, once rehearsal after rehearsal had been done, she wasn't sure she 
	could go through with it in front of hundreds of people. Renee had told her 
	parents to stay away.

	I can do this, this is no big deal. She was saying that to herself a lot 
	lately.

	"Are you sure you don't want some of that one-on-one rehearsal time freckles?" 
	Lance sidled up to her next to the coffee machine backstage. He was only a 
	little taller than Renee, with Keith Urban hair and Brad Pitt eyes. "Maybe we 
	could give it a go without the silicone cover, if you know what I'm saying." 
	Lance stuck his tongue out and waggled it at her, and despite hating him all 
	the more, Renee felt a slight tingling where she shouldn't have.

	"Thank you Lance, that won't be necessary," Renee answered as she walked to 
	where she'd left her bag. "I already know enough about handling a man on his 
	knees." Picking up her bag, she smiled to herself as she walked out the door, 
	leaving Lance scowling behind her.

	* * *

	The huge red curtain pulled up, and opening night was underway. A crazy techno 
	beat started up, and Renee watched from the side of the stage as Lance recited 
	one of the most bizarre pieces of poetry ever written while three girls in 
	ridiculously skimpy dresses danced around him. She smoothed her own perfectly 
	ironed fifties style dress with her left hand as she nibbled on a stick of 
	celery that was in her right, rolling her eyes at one of the crew.

		"Three trees they did stand alone;
		But together.
		Though leaves fall from their branches,
		The wind it makes their dances end;
		Still together."

	At that, Lance and the three girls simulated group sex on the dance floor, the 
	music getting louder; then the lights faded along with the beat, and they came 
	backstage. The scene was to depict Lance's character as a sex-crazy playboy. No 
	acting required, Renee thought with a snort.

	"Hope that got you ready for Scene Five, freckles," Lance winked at her in 
	passing, and Renee groaned inwardly. She hadn't been worried before, but 
	suddenly her nerves were on edge; the celery suddenly tasted like cardboard, her 
	senses heightened, she could smell the sweat now on the palms of her hands. 
	Renee also caught the tenuous musky scent of something lower, and she gulped 
	down her water before readying herself to go on stage. Lance lounged in the 
	corner, happy with himself, a not-so-obvious bulge in his tight leather pants. 
	Renee sighed, and stepped into the limelight.

	The crowd rose in front of her, as Renee pranced around the stage like a teenager, 
	giggling and looking for her friends. She had got the part for her knockout body, 
	but also because she had the deadly combination of innocence and sex siren. Had 
	Renee been acting at a younger age, the role of Lolita would have been handed to 
	her on a silver platter.

	Scenes Three and Four went smoothly, Renee's character meeting Lance, falling in 
	love amid ribbons falling around them and every light on them bright pink. Their 
	first kiss; Lance stuck his tongue in, Renee didn't really mind. He was an amazing 
	kisser, even if he was a pain in the arse.

	Scene Five. Renee had almost forgotten to be nervous, after losing herself in the 
	previous scenes. She changed backstage, into a cream coloured blouse and short navy 
	blue skirt. It flounced as she walked, to show maximum amount of skin. Waiting 
	backstage, her heart was ready to pound through her chest. Lance came up to her 
	and breathed in her ear as they watched the prop guys work behind the curtain. 
	"You ready to orgasm, freckles?" Renee glared at him, then caught herself as the 
	curtain went up again, Lance gently pushing her out onto the stage.

	Quiet, David Bowie-esque music started up, and Renee walked across the stage in her 
	stilettos to the single chair that sat front and centre. The smoke machine churned 
	out it's mist, swirling it around her ankles like a miniature storm as she sat in 
	the chair; she crossed and uncrossed her legs a couple of times, giving the audience 
	a perfect view of her once very private parts.

	Lance strode onto the stage like an animal in heat. They'd sprayed sweat onto him, 
	and he stood behind her, breathing heavily as he recited another ridiculous poem.

		"A cherry for your pie, my love;
		Apples just won't do.
		Sugar is sweet, as sweet as rhubarb;
		But not as sticky as you."

	A spotlight shone on Renee as the rest of the stage went dark, the backdrop 
	a night sky filled with stars. Lance's hands were on her shoulders sooner 
	than she expected, and she gasped. They ran over the front of her, then 
	unbuttoned her blouse, pulling it off her shoulders; her breasts now 
	completely bare, Renee had no trouble keeping in character as a nervous 
	virgin. Her nipples went hard as Lance's hands brushed over them, and then he 
	was on his knees in front of her; kissing her lips, her neck, between her 
	breasts. The crowd had already been subjected to various forms of nudity that 
	night, so they probably weren't so shocked by it all; until Lance spread 
	Renee's legs and she threw her head back, moaning. The air in the theatre 
	was electric with the sound of Renee's voice, floating to everyone's ears, 
	making them all tingle in their secret places. She had a sexy, husky voice 
	that sounded as if it were created just to turn people on. Her primly ironed 
	blouse now lay crumpled on the floor, her knees rose in the air as she 
	groaned her climax; and the stage went dark. 

	They all got rave reviews, and Renee couldn't help but feel a little 
	smug that her risk had paid off.

	"Hey freckles, would you care to join me for dinner to celebrate our 
	cunnilingual success?" Lance leaned on the doorway in front of her. "I 
	think you've seen enough of me for one night, as have all of Manhattan," 
	she replied beaming, and went home for an early night.

	* * *

	Scene Four, three nights later. Lance again stood in the doorway of 
	Renee's dressing room as she frantically looked for her silicone cover. 
	It was a protocol to wear it, for hygiene and professionalism. It was 
	gone.

	"You don't need the stupid thing," Lance licked his lips. "I'll give 
	you a cover like you've never had before."

	"Shut up, Lance, I'm not in the mood." Renee ran back towards the side 
	of the stage, giving up on her search. She would just have to go without 
	it tonight. She wasn't really worried, Lance had surprisingly been very 
	proficient in his acting, not even coming an inch closer than necessary 
	to simulate the act. But still...

	The curtain went up and she pouted at the audience, smouldering, making 
	her way to the chair while her skirt flipped up now and then, flashing 
	her perfect arse.

	Lance appeared behind her, and Renee stifled the giggle she always had at 
	the poetry. Then quite suddenly, he put his arms around her, and ripped 
	her shirt open, exposing her ivory skin. Kissing Renee's neck, Lance ran 
	his hands over her breasts and cupped them, rubbing his thumbs over her 
	nipples as they sprang to life. Taking her nipples between his thumb and 
	forefinger, he pinched them, twisting them slightly, rubbing his rough 
	palms over them in small circles. Renee's breathing got heavier, her 
	pussy got wetter, her back arched; everyone watched, transfixed.

	Then Lance came around in front of her, and kneeling in front of her did 
	another totally unscripted move - he kissed her breast. Then, as if on 
	impulse, he licked it, long and lusciously, from underneath the voluptuous 
	curve to the very erect nipple. His hand reached for Renee's other breast 
	as he put his mouth over her nipple, sucking on it, sitting it between his
	teeth and running his tongue around it.

	"What are you doing!" Renee screeched at him as quietly as she could through 
	gritted teeth. 

	Lance came up as if to kiss her and said, "I'm giving you cover, freckles." 
	Renee jolted slightly as she felt his hands on her thighs, spreading her legs. 
	He lifted her skirt, baring her crotch, which was by now so wet there was 
	moisture on the chair. Starting with his lips on her knee, Lance worked his 
	way up; Renee held her breath, not believing what was happening, and loving 
	every second of it at the same time. A long, low moan escaped her lips as 
	she felt his tongue on the lips of her vulva. Without the silicone cover, 
	he now had full access, and the theatre was deafeningly silent, even the 
	occasional awkward cough had stopped. Renee wondered if they somehow knew 
	this was different from the other nights, as the usual static in the air had 
	reached fever pitch.

        Lance's tongue traced up and down the crack of her wet pussy, and as he put 
	his hands on each of her knees, he lifted her legs slightly, her pussy opening 
	before him. He slipped his tongue into her and she arched her back, almost 
	lifting herself off the chair. Her groans got louder, as Lance put his lips 
	around her clit and sucked gently, his tongue circling it; a finger slipped 
	inside of her, pumping in and out as his tongue worked furiously on her, giving 
	her the tongue-fuck of her life. She came with a loud sigh, her orgasm rocking 
	every muscle in her body; the audience was spellbound.
        
        The stage went dark, and Lance quickly used Renee's skirt to wipe his wet chin. 
	He chuckled as he went offstage, leaving her to go back to her dressing room 
	with wobbly knees, a bruised ego, and an unexpected desire to do it all again. 
	Renee flopped into a chair as someone knocked on her door.
        
        "Come on in," she yelled, and took a few gulps of water. It was the director, 
	who was so incredibly impressed by her and Lance's performance tonight, she 
	was giving them a pay rise.
        
        "You make it all look so real, I'll never trust another woman in bed again," 
	he told her with a twinkle in his eye, and after he'd closed the door behind 
	him Renee burst out laughing.
        
        "Freckles, I think you owe me that dinner now," Lance came bursting in seconds 
	later, without bothering to knock. Renee looked up at him and smiled. "Lance, 
	just because you made me orgasm on stage in front of hundreds of people does 
	not mean I owe you dinner." She gathered her things and walked towards the door, 
	turning around to say, "I told you I knew how to handle a man on his knees."

        And she walked out the door, laughing to herself.


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If you are interested in reading more, please contact carefulapathy@hotmail.com 
Disclaimer: All characters are fictional and any similarity to any person real or fictional
is purely coincidental.

