Playing To An Audience 1

This is my first venture into the Exhibitionist & Voyeur category - I hope you enjoy this small offering.

****

The main bar of the Fletcher's Arms pub at 6 six o'clock on a Friday evening is no place for the faint-hearted. Hundreds of London's office workers, desperate for that first well-deserved drink of the weekend, jostle for the best position to attract the attention of the over-stretched bar staff. Some guy with a fucking ponytail keeps raising his arm in front of my face to wave a fifty around whenever the barmaid closest to us finishes serving a customer, and I'm starting to toy with the idea of giving him an elbow to the ribs when the barmaid looks past him and catches my eye.

'Pint of Estrella and a large Sauvignon Blanc, please.'

She nods and is away to fetch them. Ponytail-guy looks at me and I give him my best "if you've got it, you've got it" kind of look. Twat.

I pay for my drinks and elbow my way back through the crowd to my little group of workmates. Most of them somehow managed to get away a little earlier than I did, and Lucy and I are a little late to the party.

'I was about to send out a search party for you, Tom,' Lucy says as I hand her the glass of wine.

'And I was starting to wish you had. But only if they still use those St Bernard dogs with a little barrel of brandy tied to their collar. I could really have used one of those.'

I have a slightly peculiar relationship with Lucy. From the day I started at the company, we've been good mates. I'd briefly hoped for more; she's funny, and clever, and we get all of each other's pop culture references, which is one of my absolute deal-breakers in a girlfriend. Oh yeah, and she's absolutely fucking gorgeous. She's got the whole blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect skin, fantastic body thing going for her. But she's married. Of course she fucking is. I've met the guy, and annoyingly, he's great too. I'd really been wishing he would turn out to be a complete bastard, so it would be easier to hate him, but no such luck.

Despite the whole married-to-a-really-nice-guy thing, it's not uncommon for Lucy to flirt with me, sometimes pretty outrageously. Let me think of an example. Here we go; Valentines Day last year. At the end of the day, after everyone else had buggered off home, Lucy decides to let me in on her plans for the evening. In glorious, erection-causing detail. Even lifted her skirt a little to show me the new red lingerie she's wearing for the occasion.

That's not to say I don't give as good as I get. There have been more than a few Monday lunchtimes, in the park with our packed lunches, where I've filled her in with my activities from the past weekend. She especially liked the story of the time I screwed this girl knowing full well that her flatmate was spying on us through a crack in the door. I've had to recount that one to Lucy, at her request, more than a couple of times.

'What are you doing this weekend, then?' she asks me now. 'Or should I say, who are you doing this weekend?'

'Actually, I've not got much planned at all,' I reply. 'Might head to the pub tomorrow to watch the football. See the folks on Sunday.'

'What a truly inspirational life you lead,' she replies, drily. I wonder if she's disappointed that I won't have any new smutty stories for her on Monday.

'Oh, fuck off,' I say. It's not the wittiest of comebacks, but it'll do. 'What about you, then? Scaling the north face of K2, I hope.'

'Drinks with a friend from pilates this evening. Play it by ear after that.'

'Wow, sounds great. I'll call the newspapers,' I deadpan. I give an over-exaggerated wince when she lightly punches me on the arm.

'I was going to introduce you to her, but just for that I don't think I'll bother.'

'Oh, don't be like that. What's her name?'

'Emma. She's a legal secretary, works somewhere over near Fleet Street. I would tell you that she's single and completely stunning, but I don't suppose it matters, now that you're never going to meet her.'

'Stunning? Yeah, sure. And she has nothing better to do than spend her Friday evening listening to your tales of domestic bliss?'

Lucy looks away from me, stroking her chin as if musing to herself. 'Maybe I'll have to take her home and let my Sean give her the fucking I think she really needs, since you're too rude for me to even think about introducing to her. He'll like that, I think.'

I laugh. 'Your Sean would never sleep with another woman, even with your permission. He's smart enough to know not to rock the boat, I think.'

Lucy's about to reply when her phone lights up in her hand, and she turns away to respond to the text she's just received. I'm distracted by a discussion next to me about the latest injury to Arsenal's midfield. We're deep in discussion about Martin Odegaard's ankle when I see a young black woman coming into the pub. She's not a regular -- I'd certainly know it if she was. She has long, dark hair that falls in waves past her chest and is wearing a pair of black-framed spectacles which do nothing to disguise the fact that she is at least on a par with the best-looking woman in the building (that would be Lucy). I'm not the only guy in the place to stop what he's doing and take a good long look.

'Beautiful, isn't she?' Lucy whispers in my ear, before brushing past me on her way to the door. 'Thanks for the drink. I'll see you on Monday,' she calls over her shoulder.

Fuck. That will be Emma, then.

I watch as Lucy joins her friend and gives her a brief hug. She points back at me and waves. I wave back and feel a little self-conscious when the two women giggle. Lucy motions to the door and moments later they are gone.

****

I stay for a couple more drinks, then head for home. I pick up a Chinese takeaway on the way, and by nine o'clock I'm pleasantly full and halfway through some appalling Netflix original film that seems to consist entirely of Ryan Reynolds being alternately chirpy and confused. My phone beeps; it's a message from an unrecognised number.

I open the message to see a photo of the top of a dark-skinned thigh, wearing a black silk stocking.

What the fuck?

Then I get another message, this time from Lucy.

"Emma says hi! xxx"

I message Lucy back immediately.

"Give her my address...?"

I can see that it's been delivered and read, but it takes forever to receive Lucy's response.

"Nope. Girls' night. Sleep tight! xxx"

Huh. Well, that sucks. Why send me a sexy photo and then not give me the chance to follow up? It's fair to say I finish the evening in a fairly bad mood, despite Ryan Reynolds' best efforts.

I take my phone, and the photo of Emma's stocking-clad thigh, up to bed with me.

****

I wake up a little late on Saturday morning. There's a text message from Lucy waiting for me.

"Dinner tonight 7pm. Sean will be cooking while Emma and I will be drinking wine and looking outrageously beautiful."

I punch the air and spend the rest of the day watching the clock.

****

Lucy's husband, Sean, runs a fairly prestigious cookery school in South Kensington. He has a long list of budding chefs queuing up to learn from him, but he'll be the first to admit that most of the money that the school takes in comes from empty-headed Chelsea girls learning how to boil an egg ahead of being married off to some grey-haired American millionaire who's watched to many Keira Knightley movies. I've eaten at Lucy and Sean's place a handful of times, and every time it's been well worth the trek all the way across London from my flat in the East End to their swanky pad in Notting Hill. At home, he cooks the kind of food that people actually like to eat, rather than the measly portions of rubbish that most London restaurants now seem to produce. So, between the prospect of a good meal (and good booze -- they always have plenty of good booze) and the chance to meet the lovely Emma, I'm really looking forward to this evening.

The Central Line is full of tourists and locals heading into the city for a night out, but by the time we've been through the middle of London and out the other side towards Notting Hill Gate, the crowd has thinned out a little. Above ground again, it's only a few minutes' walk from the Tube station to Lucy and Sean's place, and she ushers me in at seven o'clock on the dot.

I can only dream of living in a house like this, in an area like this, full of expensive stuff like this. As you would expect, Lucy looks every inch the part of the glamourous hostess. Her blonde hair is tied up on top of her head (I suspect she may have spent part of her Saturday at one of the area's many, many salons) and the tiny red cocktail dress she's wearing must have added a fair chunk of change to Sean's credit card bill this month. Her long, slender legs are wrapped in black stockings and the outfit is completed with a fair of lethal-looking high heels that match the colour of her dress so well that I assume they were bought together.

'Yes, not bad,' she says, sizing me up as she fiddles with the collar of my shirt. I'm not especially dressed up, but I did at least think to put a jacket on with my shirt and jeans tonight.

'Back at you,' I reply. 'Is she here?'

'Relax. She's here. I've told her about you, and she liked what she saw in the pub last night.'

I'm a little nervous about the "I've told her all about you" part, but the rest sounds promising.

Lucy leads me through to the living room, where Emma is sitting alone a sofa. If anything, the brief glimpse of her that I got in the Fletcher's Arms last night didn't do her justice; up close she's even lovelier. Once more she's wearing her dark-framed spectacles, along with an ivory silk blouse and grey skirt that shows off her incredible figure to perfection. Black suede high heels make her legs look impossibly long. Her large breasts are barely contained by the softly rippling material of the blouse, and I'm already struggling to drag my attention from her impressive cleavage when Lucy finally introduces us.

Emma returns to her seat on the sofa and crosses one long, bare leg across the other. There's no doubt that she's a beautiful woman, and if I'm entirely honest she should be well out of my league, but somehow I get the impression that she's nervous. It's not in any thing she says or even does; it's just a feeling I have.

Sean walks through from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before shaking my hand. Like I said before he's a good guy; probably a little more shy than you would expect from someone as successful as he is, and certainly more than you would expect from someone as good-looking as he is. He's in decent shape, I'd maybe describe him as stocky, but by no means overweight. I can see why there's been interest from a couple of TV production companies in Sean having his own show; I bet the nation's housewives would go for him in a big way.

The four of us make small-talk, with Lucy bringing us drinks and Sean coming and going to check on dinner. Eventually we take our seats at the dining table, with Emma next to me and opposite Sean. Lucy sits next to her husband, directly across from me.

The food, as expected, is fantastic. I don't know how he does it, but Sean has prepared just the right amount of food for me to feel well-fed but not over-full. Sor far, it's been a great evening; surrounded by such beautiful people in such a tasteful setting, I almost feel like I'm in an advert. I half expect to hear a professional voice-over artist extol the virtues of a particular brand of wine or dessert.

If I do say so myself, I'm on good form. I'm not a natural raconteur, but Lucy seems intent on helping me make a good impression on Emma, and always manages to guide any conversation into a direction that enables me to say something witty or urbane.

It turns out that Emma and I like many of the same bands and at least a few of the same films. Books are a complete wash-out, but as the man said, two out of three ain't bad. She could be a keeper.

A few times during dinner I feel Emma's leg brush against mine, and whenever I'm looking at her, I can certainly see that she's interested. It's in the way she tilts her head down and looks at me through her long, black eyelashes, and the way she ever-so-slightly bites her lower lip when she's listening to me speak. And yet, once more I get the feeling that she's nervous -- hesitant -- about something.

As Sean and Lucy have a conversation across from us about the possible merits of a proposed TV deal (mainly money; lots and lots and lots of money), I take the opportunity to "accidentally" brush my hand against Emma's thigh, beneath the table and out of sight of our friends. Then she gently takes my hand and firmly places it on her bare thigh. I leave it there for a few moments before giving her thigh a gentle squeeze. Moments later I feel her hand on mine again and she firmly moves my hand up her thigh, and then between her legs. I'm sitting here at the dinner table, my hand just inches away from the pussy of this gorgeous stranger. I brush my hand backwards and forwards along the silky skin of Emma's inner thigh and am rewarded with a slight heaving of her chest. She bites her lip, as if to suppress a groan of pleasure.

At first I think I've been subtle enough for my actions not to be noticed by Sean or Lucy, but when I look back at our hostess, I know in an instant that I've been rumbled. Lucy is looking pointedly at my upper arm; she smiles and shakes her head ever so slightly in mock reproach and smiles at me.

'Why don't the two of you go find yourselves something more comfortable to sit on,' she says to Emma and I. 'While we clear up in here.'

I'm not arguing with that, and as I stand, Emma takes my hand and leads me back through to the living room. Once we're out of sight of our hosts, she turns and drapes her arms over my shoulders, pushing herself against me. I'm thinking of something charming and witty to say, when suddenly I find Emma's mouth pressed against mine. I put my hands on her hips and firmly pull her closer; I swear I can feel her nipples pushing through the soft material of her blouse against my chest. She murmurs her approval as I return her kiss, the tip of my tongue brushing against hers. In that instant, all of my senses are overwhelmed by this gorgeous creature in my arms; the feel of her body against mine, the aroma of her perfume in my nostrils, the taste of her mouth on my lips, the sight of her eyes pressed shut in the bliss of the moment, and the soft purring of her passion. My hands drop to her backside and I pull her tighter against my body; there's no mistaking the growing bulge in my trousers, trapped between our torsos. She knows what I want from her tonight, and she's absolutely ready to give it to me.

We're both so wrapped up in the moment that neither of us notices Lucy and Sean enter the room until our hostess gives a polite cough. We turn to find them both smiling at us. I look at Emma, still in my arms, and her dark eyes are shining with excitement.

'Don't let us interrupt you,' Lucy says playfully, following her husband onto one of the couches. 'I know how you like an audience, Tom.'

Sean smiles at his wife, and I find myself wondering if Lucy recounts all of my Monday lunchtime tales to her husband. I suspect she does.

'What do you mean?' asks Emma. We sit down together on the second couch and she places her hand delicately but very deliberately on my thigh.

'Oh, didn't I tell you?' replies Lucy, leaning against her husband on the other sofa, her hand idly playing with a lock of his hair. 'Tom, sweetie, tell us about that time you were having sex with a girl and her flatmate was managing to watch it all because the bedroom door hadn't closed properly.'

I hear Emma give a little gasp of excitement. I turn to her and she's looking at me intently. Even Sean and Lucy have become completely still. What's going on here?

'How did it feel? To be watched, I mean,' murmurs Emma.

I look her square in the eyes. 'It felt great. I felt... powerful. Like it was in my hands to give both of them a good time.'

'The girl outside. Was she...' Emma pauses, hesitant about using the language that she clearly wants to use.

I nod. 'I think so. I hope so.'

'I bet she was,' says Lucy. 'I bet she was fingering herself silly, watching you nail her friend.'

Emma looks a little shocked, but her chest is heaving and once more she's biting her lip. I look across at our hosts, and Sean's hand is on his wife's leg now. Her dress has ridden up a little, and from where I sit, I can see the dark bands around the tops of her stockings.

'I'd like to watch a couple fuck,' Lucy says decisively. 'Not porn -- a real couple. They'd have to be really sexy, of course. Like you two.'

Holy shit. Is she trying to take this where I think she is?

Lucy turns to her husband. Her hand drops from his hair and she brushes the tips of her fingers across his cheek before lowering them to his chest. 'What about you, baby? Would you like to see Tom and Emma screw?'

Sean nods his head. His eyes are on Emma and it occurs to me for the first time that he would, in fact, like to fuck Emma himself. I suddenly remember Lucy's comment in the pub last night: "Maybe I'll have to take her home and let my Sean give her the fucking I think she really needs." Well, get in line, pal.

'I'm not sure it's fair to put Emma on the spot like this,' I protest.

Lucy laughs, not unkindly. 'Tom, darling, don't you think Emma and I have already had this conversation? What do you think we spent yesterday evening talking about. Shopping?'

****

Well, that, as they say, escalated quickly. One moment I'm kissing Emma for the first time, and the next moment the two of us are on our way up the stairs to Sean and Lucy's guest room, shortly to be followed by our hosts who intend to watch us fuck. Emma is leading the way, so I have a magnificent view of her arse in that tight grey skirt as she negotiates the stairs. Her legs are long and perfectly smooth, and I'm struggling to breath as I contemplate the fact that I'm shortly going to be between them.

At the top of the staircase, Emma hesitates, but only to indicate that she doesn't know which door to go through. I take her hand and lead her across the landing to the guest room. Inside, the room is dominated by a large bed flanked by a pair of bedside tables. Next to the bed, perhaps no more than a couple of meters away, is a sofa. I switch on a couple of lamps and turn to face the beautiful black woman I'm going to spend the night with. She's looking down at the sofa, and it occurs to me that this is where Lucy and Sean will probably be sitting while they enjoy the rest of their evening's entertainment.

'You don't have to do any of this, if you don't want to,' I reassure her. 'I've had a really nice evening already, and I'd like to see you again.'

I silently pray that she hasn't changed her mind, but then she looks up at me through those long eyelashes and I know she's mine for the night. She removes her glasses and places them on a bedside table, then plants her hand flat against my chest while she unbuttons her blouse, revealing a black lace bra that's absolutely full to brimming with her magnificent breasts. Emma slides the silk blouse from her shoulders and it falls to the ground around her feet. Withdrawing her hand from my chest now, she wags a finger at me before unzipping her skirt; soon that is also in a pool on the carpet. I know she just wants me to watch for now, but it's everything I can do to keep myself from sweeping her up in my arms.

Emma's eyes are still on me, and she smiles at my obvious pleasure at the sight of her body as more and more of it is revealed. Now the bra, I pray. Please, now the bra. She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, but her arm holds it against her chest. She's teasing me, and I can't get enough. Her hands replace her arm; she's holding the cups in the palms of her hand as the straps hang uselessly against her arms.