The email came from him, and it just said "Invitation to a Private Screening."
She had been emailing with him for weeks. They started out innocent enough, just getting to know each other and killing time. She has responded to an ad he posted online, and they had been intrigued by each other from the start. True, she was young. But she was worldly and wise and not interested in boys her age. He was in his early 40s and looked good.
When their emails got more personal, she learned that he was a writer. He had written several movies and as she was an aspiring actress, he seemed like a good guy to get to know. Their talk about movies had been very professional, and it was only later that their talk turned intimate.
She had initiated the turn toward the sexual. She alluded to naughty pictures and he was unable to resist asking to see them. She sent one, then more, and their conversations took on an entirely different character. They still had regular conversations too, but there was an undercurrent of sex to lots of their dialogue. She knew it, he knew it. Neither pretended it wasn't there, and it secretly thrilled them both.
But they never took steps to meet. It was discussed and joked about, but nothing concrete came of it. At first he was reluctant, later she was. She was nervous because she liked him and wanted to maintain the fantasy of him in her head. But she knew that, at some point, a flawed man beat a perfect fantasy. Fantasies couldn't provide the sexual release she so desperately needed.
So when the invitation arrived, her heart almost stopped. Here it was. A specific place and time when they would meet.
The invitation was to a private screening of the new movie he had written. It was premiering the following week, but the invitation said there would be a private screening at the Living Room Theaters downtown. A private screening sounded safe. There would be people around, which was important because she didn't trust herself. She knew he was a gentleman who would take "no" for an answer. She just wasn't sure she could give that answer.
When the evening of the screening arrived, she spent a long time getting ready. She tried on everything in her closet, and settled on a pair of heels, skin-tight jeans and a low-cut black top. Her long red hair was spilling over her shoulders. She knew her breasts were small but perfectly formed, and her cleavage (courtesy of Victoria's Secret) looked amazing. On a scale of 1 to 10, she looked about a 14, but she was self-critical and would have said only an 8.
She arrived at the Theaters ten minutes before the screening, and saw a line of people waiting. She assumed they were there for the screening as well, and she went to the back of the line. After only a few seconds, a man approached her.
"Miss? I believe you're here for the screening of Lone Wolf?"
"Yes, I am."
"Then you don't need to wait in this line. Please follow me."
She felt like a princess and was smiling broadly (and blushing a little) as the usher led her around the crowd. The women in the crowd gave her dirty looks for skipping the line. The men in the crowd wanted to, but couldn't help but smile at the beautiful face, amazing boobs and perfect ass that sauntered by.
The usher led her through the lobby to one of the theaters, which had a sign out front that announced it was hosting a private screening. He opened the door for her and then led her in to the main theater space. While the room was filled with couches and easy chairs, there were no people. None. She looked at him quizzically.
"Your host will be here shortly. He can explain."
The usher led her to the couch in the very center of the room. It was a plush, purple couch, amazingly comfortable. She sat down and saw, on the table next to her, a bottle of water, a diet Coke and a small popcorn. Exactly what she had once told him she always got at the movies. She smiled and felt a slight chill down her spine.
While she looked at the scrolling ads on the screen, she didn't hear the door open and close. The next thing she knew, there was a gentle hand on her shoulder from the back of the couch. She started slightly, but wasn't afraid.
"I'm so glad you could come."
"Thank you for inviting me. Where are the other people?"
"I didn't think we needed other people. I just wanted you to see my movie."
He came around the couch and stood before her. He looked fit and trim, and was dressed in jeans that hugged his athletic frame , a button down shirt and a zip-up sweater. All stylish, all expensive, all well suited to him. She looked him up and down, almost inadvertently, and sighed. Just what she had dreamed of.
"I hope you aren't disappointed?" he asked.
"Not one bit. It's so good to finally see you. In the flesh."
He sat down next to her, a little closer than necessary but not closer than was welcome. Their legs touched as he settled in. As the lights dimmed and the movie began to play, he reached for her hand.
Part 2
The movie was good from the beginning. It was a thriller, with a strong chemistry between the male and female leads. While they dodged in and out of danger, traveling the world in search of a stolen van Gogh masterpiece, the heat between them grew. Just as it did on the couch in the theater.
With every tense moment, her heart rose and fell. She was an expressive movie watcher, and he could see the whole film reflected in her reactions. He didn't need to watch the movie, after all, and it was much more entertaining for him to watch her. Occasionally, she glanced over to see that he was watching her, but eventually she became comfortable being the film for him while she watched the film on screen.
All the while, her hand was in his hand. His leg was against hers. They were shoulder to shoulder and could feel each others' breathing. It was intensely personal.
When the hero and heroine finally slept together, it was tremendously erotic. They were in a hotel room in Paris, with the Eiffel Tower out their window. They had just come back from a dinner filled with sexual tension. When the door to the room closed, the hero started to walk toward his room of the two-room suite. The heroine just grabbed his hand and pulled him into a long, slow, deep kiss.
Back on the couch, she held her breath as they walked in the room. She nearly cried out when they kissed. She was incredibly aroused, from both the film and the closeness, and her panties were soaked. More importantly, she was on an erotic edge, waiting for something to happen both on screen and to her.
While the couple on screen got undressed and began to make love, she felt his kisses on her hand. Then on her arm, leading up to her neck. When his kisses reached the sensitive spot at the base of her neck, she closed her eyes. But he was watching her.
"Open your eyes," he whispered. "You don't want to miss the climax of the movie."
She kept her eyes open with increasing difficulty. She just wanted to shut her eyes, moan and lay back on the couch. His kisses had made her feverish, and his hand was now on her leg, creeping toward what she knew was the hot, wet center of her being. If she was thinking at all, she was thinking that she wanted the movie to be over, even though she had enjoyed it very much. She also was thinking she didn't want the movie to end and the lights to come back on.
Over the last ten minutes of the movie, while the painting was recovered and the bad guys caught, his hands were on her. He touched her arms, her legs, her neck, her back. Everywhere except her breasts and her pussy. The areas she most needed touched. Her nipples were aching from the need, and her pussy got wetter and wetter as he massaged her into a state of excruciating, blissful agony. At one point, she tried to spin around so his hand would be on her left breast, but he saw the move coming. She couldn't get satisfaction, but nor could she concentrate on anything else.