Seven Scarlet Tales

‘Get hold of her bum cheeks,’ instructed Sands. I don’t know whether he’d heard Leo’s words, but I suspected he had. ‘That’s it. A good handful of those lovely hot buns. Spread them wide for me. I want to see what’s between them at the same time as I can see your cock going up inside her.’

‘You’re a filthy pervert,’ I sighed. Just the way I’d always imagined him.

‘Yes, I am, and that’s why you came here.’

I knew what he was looking at. I knew that that shrewd, piercing, intelligent attention was directed not at the finest drama of our generation, nor at some unfortunate show doomed to close at the end of the week because of his damning notice. No, the gaze of the UK’s finest theatre critic was aimed squarely at my exposed anus. I hoped it wasn’t a two-star affair or worse.

But I needn’t have feared. It didn’t seem that I was going to ruin this production in the final scene.

‘I bet you’ve been touched there before,’ he said.

My ears were rushing with the force and energy of the fucking, together with Leo’s astonished grunts and my own chaotic breath, but I caught the gist all right.

‘Yeah,’ I gasped, clinging to Leo’s shoulders and grinding.

‘Often?’

‘Enough.’

‘Leo, put your finger up her arse.’

I thought about screaming, Don’t you dare, but Leo moved a swift fingertip to the target and it was pressed right up against me before I could think.

And when I thought, the only thing that came to mind was: That’s so good, so dirty, so wrong, but so good, with Sands watching.

So instead of tighten up or push myself away, I relaxed into the intrusion, letting my cheeks splay and my hips shimmy, trying to match the probing of his finger with that of his cock.

‘No, no, lubricate first,’ tutted Sands. ‘Get some of her juices. I’m sure she isn’t short of them.’

I wasn’t, it was true, but neither did I want Leo to interrupt what he was doing. I’d had lovers do this very thing at the crucial moment and, while a cock might need a bit of easing in, a finger was not a problem. As long as I could keep from tightening up.

‘Just do it,’ I muttered to Leo.

‘What? Don’t?’

‘Don’t take your finger away. Push it in.’

‘Oh, I say!’ exclaimed Sands, genuinely impressed.

I had triumphed!

Ms Reddish seals a wonderful performance with a daring anal insertion, performed without prior rehearsal. This breathtaking finale was a testament to the implicit trust between the director and her co-star.

Oh! Bloody hell! Was that what it was?

Had I been hot for Leo, all this time, without knowing it? And did we work so well together that, not to put too fine a point on it, life was now able to mimic art?

These were, as Sands might put it, profound epiphanies to be experiencing with a man’s thick, fat finger up one’s back passage. I blanked them and surrendered to the moment, gathering in all the sensory data and embracing it tightly. The feeling of occupation inside my bottom, while Leo’s finger wriggled and explored, was right at the forefront of everything, inescapably rude. Then there was the pleasure his thrusts and my grinds were building inside me, heading towards zenith. The knowledge that I was being watched as Leo did all this to me – a pair of beady eyes on my scarlet bottom cheeks. A low voice, just out of my earshot, uttering phrases I longed to hear. Was Sands commentating the fuck? Would he type it up in précis and file copy just in time for Monday’s edition?

I almost hoped he would.

Then everything happened at once, the words, the watching, the thrust, the grind, the heat, the shame, the headlong helplessness of orgasm.

Sands stopped talking while I sang as lustily as I’d ever performed on the musical stage. Leo’s solemn bull-like bass-baritone joined me in a duet.

Harmony.

I laid my forehead on Leo’s shoulder, eyes stinging, bones melting.