Chapter Thirty Four

Why had the heavens cursed Megan with a pack of functional retards for her crew? The Director seethed, watching them bumble their lines and perform with all the gusto of grade-schoolers.

“No, no, no!” Spittle flew as she stormed the stage, fighting the urge to fly off the handle. “We’re a day away from raising curtains and I’m not feeling the passion from any of you. It’s supposed to be romantic, not a couple of teenagers pawing at each other after prom!”

Her cast shied away, as well they should. Megan was ready to blow a gasket.

The stage was arranged into a fairy bower for the love scene, a late addition to the script–bold and risque, certain to evoke an emotional response from the audience. A four-post bed hung with garlands of paper flowers sat center-stage, where Julianna and that reprobate Brodie paused mid-makeout session.

His uniform was unbuttoned, displaying a rather defined torso, and the white-blonde leading lady wore little more than jewelry and scraps of black silk, but everything else was entirely lacking.

“Miss Director?” Kira inquired, standing to the side with Drew sniveling in her shadow. The silent wretch appeared emaciated in his tattered costume. “Please instruct us so we can do better.”

The once-lean athlete nearly overflowed her frilly pixie dress–reworked seams and attached ribbons strained to contain so many prodigious curves. Glittering ivory flesh bulged through the open front and sides of the skimpy garment like rising dough, and any hint of a tan was wiped away.

Thick thighs clad in torn fishnets emerged from the tutu-like skirts that barely concealed her panties, and a wide ebony bow cinched her waspish waist, tied like a birthday present above the girl’s peachy posterior.

She looked like those fucking Fae strumpets parading around campus in their outrageous outfits.

At least her wig was correctly pinned. The dark cascading curls softened her sharper features.

“Shut up, hoe. If I wanted your fucking input, you’d be reading it off cue cards.”

Startled gasps and scattered laughter came from the stagehands, only stoking Megan’s temper. Kira flushed and released a quiet moan.

“Ms Miller?” Julianna arched a plucked brow, ever the imperious prima donna. “Do you take issue with my performance?”

“Not you, dear. Him.” Megan jabbed a crooked finger at Brodie. “This little prick has been half-assing his way through the production since I brought him onboard. Perhaps I should toss him back into the heaping pile of shit where I found him.”

“Me? I’ve never acted a day in my life. You’re the one who insisted on dragging me into this.” The ungrateful bastard had the stones to leer at her. Reclining back on his elbows with an obvious erection tenting his jeans. “Can’t blame a guy for lacking experience.”

She fumed internally, imagining gouts of steam vented from her ears. The shameless asshole wielded his ignorance like a shield.

Well, she’d disabuse him of that notion the old fashion way...

“Out of bed, both of you. Now!” Megan snapped. “Time for a crash course in seduction.”

They complied, if reluctantly. The set was dead silent when she let down her tight bun of rich, chocolate hair and stripped off her business jacket. She was left in a thin pencil skirt and heels with no shirt or blouse, only a black balconette bra preserved her modesty.

Someone in the wings wolf-whistled at the sight.

“They’re just tits, people.” She reprimanded, grabbing them instructively. They felt firmer and fuller. Proper hooters. Smudges of gold dusted her cleavage. “They haven’t changed since you were infants. Grow up. As for you, come here.”

Brodie stepped forward, the lump in his pants leading the charge. The Director tried to ignore it, even as she painted her mature form onto the younger man’s front. This was purely for the sake of the performance. Simply acting, no matter how her lonely pussy twinged at it’s stiff proximity.

“Hey there.” He stared directly at her chest. She rested gentle hands on his surprisingly broad shoulders.

“Lesson one; body language,” Megan said. “Don’t just grab the guy and start necking. Caress him. Entice him. Let the audience read the tension building between you in every touch. Play it up for those squinting from the back row.”

Fingers quested beneath his open shirt, tracing muscles as she hooked a shapely calf behind his knee and pulled him close. A couple's pose borrowed from the tango. Brodie’s arm looped the small of her back, holding her upright.

He was stronger than she’d anticipated and smelled… manly. Musky with notes of clean sweat. His hardness nudged her hip through their clothing, daringly close to her humming womanhood.

Megan's fingers ran up his torso again to link behind his neck as she slowly leaned in for a kiss. The cocky bastard lowered his head to meet her when she turned away at the last second.

“Lesson two; eye contact.” She flicked her chocolate tresses in his stupid face. “Pay attention. This is purely performative but the audience has to buy the act. They’re watching your expressions more than anything else. Make them believe you yearn for one another.”

Meeting his stare, she took on a sultry look. Her eyes smoldering and gnawing her plump bottom lip before parting them with a heartbreaking sigh. His cock prodded insistently as she drank in his boyish charms.

He wasn’t unattractive. Had that been the impetus behind nabbing him off the street? He possessed a solid jawline, straight teeth and a clear complexion. Brimming with the energy and vitality of youth, she envied in her students.

Ready to make rash decisions and take even rasher actions…

Like groping her butt in front of the cast.

Megan could have heard a pin drop on the hushed stage. She didn’t stop him though, angling her hips slightly until he was grinding against her sweet spot. Nobody had touched her that way in years. Lava dripped in her core as she inhaled his scent.

“How am I doing?” Brodie’s whisper was a low rumble that tickled her spine.

“Lesson… three; the tease.” She struggled to keep cool. Proffessional. In control. Moisture gathered below. “Like the old tune says, ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it.’ Every Broadway showgirl comprehends this and the principle is a truism in theatre also.”

Abruptly, Megan tore the younger man’s shirt off. Already unbuttoned, she managed to drag it off his shoulders before it caught on his elbows, exposing the toned pecs and abdominals she’d explored.

The delinquent had a bod, who knew?

His answering smirk was infuriating, but didn’t dampen the rising ardor, just her panties.

She wanted to slap the not-so-little punk. Wanted to trail her tongue across those hard ridges. Needed to push him down on the bed and vent her wrath on him with her aching cunt.

He always acted so fucking smug, like he knew something she didn’t.

“Unzip me.” Megan ordered, matching his micro-thrusts. Exercising her authority over him. Snarling when he took three tries to find the skirt’s zipper. “Stop fumbling and undress me like a fucking man!”

She reached down and grabbed his rigid bulge, planning to give it a painful pinch, moaning instead at the hefty package filling her palm.

He was goddamn huge!

“Shit, hang on. There we go.” Brodie pulled the slim-fitting garment down to a puddle on the floor, leaving Megan in her unmentionables. “Damn, you’re one fine-looking lady.”

The mature brunette wasn’t listening, preoccupied with judging how big he actually was through his jeans. Jerking and stroking the denim-covered length. Searching for his fly to release the beast…

“Um, Director? Do you, ah, want us to leave?” Kira’s tremulous voice snapped Megan back to reality.

Everyone was watching with mixed expressions of unease and interest. She was centerstage, basically dry-humping a male student in her underwear, and everyone was watching.

Her lust-riddled mind raced, searching for an excuse–anything to explain the situation.

The slutty pixie looked embarrassed, though her cheeks burned and thighs churned together. Drew had averted his gaze to examine the ceiling. Juliana appeared aloof and uncaring though the stiff nipples peaking through her scandalous costume betrayed the haughty blonde.

The stagehands began jeering and hooting like a troop of baboons.

Fortunately, salvation arrived in the unlikely form of Tammy, walking into the disaster while munching on a jumbo bag of Freetos.

“Huh, what’s going on? Am I late for rehearsals? Sozzles, had an epic attack of the munchies.”

The fool girl had either packed on weight or worked a miracle with her wardrobe and make-up. She seemed… bigger, somehow. Taller. More muscular. The cheap costume armor that hung from her underdeveloped frame days ago was snug to the point of bursting. Her bra stuffed fuller than a Thanksgiving turkey.

Whatever, Megan took the proffered lifeline and swam for shore.

“No, we were giving our leading man pointers to refine his stagecraft.” She stepped away from Brodie, empty pussy throbbing like a bass drum. “Spend the rest of today memorizing your new lines and practicing my lessons. I’ll be in my office.”

Chin held high; the Director stalked into the wings, leaving her skirt and jacket forgotten on the stage.

She had more pressing issues.

Namely, a blazing need that an hour of vigorous diddling under the desk failed to relieve.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Thanks for all the likes, comments and support. Ya'll have been a fantastic audience to write for. Here's to a happy new year filled with good health, success and more silly smut!