A Night at the Theatre - Sex Stories

A Night at the Theatre

... do,” I replied, a little overwhelmed. “Sir,” I added. He laughed, and nodded his satisfaction. I’d had no idea Ben’s boss was black. I’d never been with a black guy before. I’d long had the desire to spend a hot night with a black guy, however. I hadn’t included it on my fantasy list, but I definitely had a crush on black guys. I’d never had a black cock before. I wondered if it was true what they say about black men. The plug in my ass led me to suspect that, at least in this case, it was. I couldn’t wait to find out… Mr Johnson guided me through the crowd with his hand on the small of my back – at least, that's where it started. As we fought against the queues, his hand steadily moved lower until his fingertips touched the bare skin of my thighs, and as we moved away from the queues his fingers moved further to feel between my cheeks, searching for the butt plug. I gasped as he found it and pushed up against it. I had no one to protect me from this man that devoured me so hungrily with his eyes. I could, of course, have left. I could have walked away at any time. But Ben needed me to play the submissive that night. His job was on the line. And even if it hadn’t been, there was something powerfully seductive about the danger I sensed. I wanted to find out what Mr Johnson wanted from me. As we walked, we chit-chatted in that very English way about the weather, politics and celebrities. It felt like a date. It felt a bit like Richard Gere taking Julia Roberts to the opera, ...

... except I had a butt plug instead of a diamond necklace. Mr Johnson nodded to the people he knew, and clearly he was well known. I caught many lustful and disapproving looks thrown my way – I was showing so much skin I’m sure I looked like a prostitute, especially with the stripper heels. Between the plug filling my ass and the exhibitionist thrill of the short dress, I was too aroused to care. My inner slut was loving the attention. At the end of the corridor, he opened a door and guided me through. It was a private box. Mr Johnson sat in the corner with his back to the grand circle of public seating, and I sat next to him. The seats were a lot more comfortable than the seats I’m used to in theatres, and we had a clear view of the stage. Two glasses of champagne sparkled merrily on the small table beside us. Waiting for the play to start, he asked me about my work at the university and I explained about my research into medieval folklore and history. Then the lights dimmed and the play started. It was some play that I’d never heard of and can’t now remember the name of. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. With the audience absorbed by the play, Mr Johnson whispered in my ear: “Lift your dress up around your waist and spread your legs wide.” I was not invisible. A segment of the upper circle, and much of the gallery, had a decent view of our box. The balcony walls maybe blocked the view below my waist, but I wasn't sure. There was a good chance that someone would have ...