I visit Whitley’s Theatre to watch his performances, and to fuck him. Whitley’s is a small, intimate theatre in London that’s been around since before the Victorian era. It had an heir of naughtiness and fun and intensity that always hooked me. He didn’t perform there often, but when he did, it was, as cliche as it sounds, magical. He tore up the stage everytime, leaving everyone in wonder, or in tears or laughter. He always has this glimmer in his eye when he’s performing. As I watch his eyes, I’m enchanted like the rest of the audience, and then I’ll remember what they look like staring into mine when he’s fit tightly inside me, staring into mine as if he’s seeing a miracle for the first time that he was promised for so long and started to believe wasn’t real until we met again. Like love-fucking a mermaid fantasy creature, he said once, whilst we were stoned in bed. Of course as I’m thinking all this, his eyes will glance my way, as I’m sat usually in the second or fourth rows, and in a glimmer of a moment he’ll try to hide his desire and stay in character. Only a glance of a moment but I understand what it means.
He did this play there once. He played a rugged street criminal, from a Victorian gang in London. He had been really thrilled to play this role, for weeks he talked of it…but didn’t want me to visit set rehearsals as he wanted me to experience the play in real time, as it only debuted once. It was a for a TV film special but was to be recorded live, so I could watch from the sidelines of this old, cobblestone-laid theatre. They were to use mostly candlelight and gaslit lamps to light the performance, with the exception of basic stage/crew lighting but only from the back, so it created an authentic experience.
I hadn’t seen Sam in over a week, as he’d really wanted to isolate himself to brew in this character. He also said there’s a lyric in the poem song he recites about missing a girl he hasn’t seen, so he created distance to make it feel more real.
As I stood there, the lights dimmed and the director yelled action.
He walked onto the stage slowly, a slight limp in his step, his eyes scanning the audience, defensively, aggressively. In one strong hand, he gripped a single black chair. He stopped centre stage, looked at everyone again, swung the chair around in front of him and straddled it. Just from the way he was sitting my body started to get very warm and my insides ached.
He wore black pants, black stained jacket, white scarf and a black cap sideways. His beautiful curls lay messily just over his collar, and he hadn’t shaved in maybe 4-5 days, his long jawline covered by scruffy, salt and pepper 5 o’clock shadow. He rarely let his face go this way unless he went for the whole beard, which wasn’t often. I envisioned myself biting his neck close to his ear and feeling the hairs on my tongue like sandpaper. Focus on the play.
As he performed, at the end of every stanza of this poem, he’d scream the last line, his character full of rage at the fact that he was facing the death penalty, telling the audience off. God, it was so fucking hot hearing him scream like that. He was quiet, shy, sometimes letting this energy out in certain roles if it demanded but very rarely did he use his full voice. The booming sound of his voice echoed in the soupcan-shaped container of the theatre, making the floorboards almost shake. Every time he did I felt myself get wetter and my thighs shifted uncomfortably as I stood there, leaning against a post, watching him, half hoping his eyes would catch mine and half hoping I could watch without him seeing me, letting him be this fucked up, Victorian criminal guy.
He sat down on the chair angrily, and a minute or so later, spoke the line about his girl in the crowd, and I could see his eyes really were searching for me. When they found mine, they gleamed at me, and he held his stare for 2 seconds, 2 seconds where I saw a wild animal in them. This time he wasn’t hiding his desire for me. My eyes wandered down to his crotch, as his legs were wide open, straddling the chair – his groin bulging through black trousers. God is he hard?
After each scream, he’d pick up the chair and swing it around again, getting the audience rowled up as they howled and cheered him on viciously while he raged and paced back and forth on stage. At the end of the number, he left the chair and ran off into the black wings. The wings we had fucked passionately in so many quiet nights before.
2 more acts followed his, then the director yelled cut. He wanted one long shot, as if it was a live performance – because it was. Even though the audience was mostly comprised of extras, apart from 4-5 scattered in the shadows (including me), everyone was reacting authentically to the story of this savage, London gang.
As the crowd of extras made their way out of the theatre, there was a light tap on my shoulder. I had been staring at the stage, still mesmerised by the performance, distracted by how badly I wanted to eat him alive. I spun around and an AD with a pair of headphones stood before me, holding a post-it note.
‘Sam passed this on to yeh,’ he said, in a thick Yorkshire accent.
‘Thanks,’ I said quietly, taking the note. It read, Stay behind and wait for me.
The small TV crew wrapped wires, cables and tore down lighting fixtures. I saw the director chatting with the ADs and thought I’d pop to the bar in the room next door. Sam didn’t say where he’d meet me – it was no use trying to get backstage because it was barred off for cast only and quite the crowd of makeup and hair people. I didn’t want to get in the way of all that.
I sat at the bar and ordered a rum and coke, sipping as I watched the extras pile out of the tiny entrance room and out onto the London sidewalk. One rum and coke later, the theatre was nearly empty, the tech crew having followed shortly after. One or two Whitley’s employees remained, one dusting the floor, another going up the wooden stairs to organise pamphlets, and the bartender behind the tiny desk-like bar.
‘Just to let you know, we close in just under half an hour or so,’ the bartender said without looking up, wiping the counter with a rag, bored stiff.
‘No problem, I’m just waiting to meet up with my fiance, he’s one of the actors.’
Her eyes flickered up, suddenly interested. ‘Oh yeah? How’s that like?’
‘It’s fun, he’s great,’ I said, trying to stifle a stupid grin I felt in the back of my jawline, along with the rum buzz. My mind flashed to him sliding in and out of me from behind as he groaned, his strong arms pinning me tightly to his sweat-drenched, hairy body behind the main stage platform, feet away from where she was bartending a month or so ago.
After another 10 minutes, the bartender left, leaving only one sweeper and the employee working upstairs. Sam still hadn’t come out. I decided to meander back into the main theatre, hoping I could just access backstage by stepping up onto the stage itself and nipping into the wings.
As I walked back into the main theatre, there was Sam, standing on the stage, still in costume, hands in his pockets, staring at me, as if he was waiting for me to wander in.
‘Still alive, are you? I thought they’d hung you,’ I said.
‘Come here,’ he said softly, but seriously, his eyes locked on mine.
I put my bag down on one of the empty seats and stepped onto the stage.
He took a few steps towards me, looked down bashfully, then looked back up at me. ‘So, how did I do?’ he asked quietly.
‘Beautiful. Honestly my favourite performance you’ve ever given.’
His eyes went wide for a moment. ‘Really? Why?’
‘You were so raw and powerful. You command the stage,’ I said seriously, my eyes taking in his beautiful, long, scruffy face and big eyes. Truly admiring not only his beauty but his soul power.
‘That means everything to me,’ he said softly, taking another step forward. His soft lips kissed mine gently, hungrily moving down my neck just below my ear. ‘You had a drink,’ he said in a low voice, his hot breath on my neck giving me chills.
‘Mhm,’ I half moaned back. My eyes went slightly wide, remembering we were standing on the stage. ‘Where to?’
His lips were making their way down my shoulder, his right arm pulling my crop top sleeve down my arm, my nipple about to slip out of my top. His other hand slipped into my trousers, past my lace panties, and found my very wet lips.
‘Sam,’ I said quickly, with a little gasp, my cheeks flushing hot.
‘No one will come in here.’
‘How do you know? We’re on stage,’ I said breathlessly as two of his fingers slipped inside me.
‘I told them I’d close up,’ he said. Sam worked in theatres all of his life – the employees knew him but apparently also trusted him. As he bit my ear, my mouth met that scruffy neck I had been eyeing for an hour, biting it hungrily, licking it like a cat. I bit his earlobe, then back down to his neck and his cheeks, licking his scruffy neck hungrily, feeling each blade of hair scraping my tongue. He moaned a deep, gutteral moan, his voice echoing in the empty theatre.
‘Fuck, I love when you lick me,’ he moaned. ‘Like a beautiful little pussycat.’
His right hand pulled my crop top down, my breasts slipping out entirely. I never wear a bra. His mouth met my nipples, biting them gently and sucking on them, moaning softly. My hands met his hair, my fingers running through it. He had thick, wavy, salt and pepper hair, just..beautiful. I used my hands to push his head further into my breasts as he sucked and bit on my very erect nipples. He pulled my top over my head, I pulled his scarf off, he tore his jacket then shirt off quickly, fairly clumsily, throwing it to the ground. He unbuttoned my trousers hastily, and yanked them down, and I undid his button. I stopped for a moment. ‘Were you erect on stage?’
His eyes looked up from my panties to meet mine. ‘Yeah I was,’ he said, in a gruff voice.
‘Really?’
‘Very. I was thinking of you the whole time. And the performance was electric. I need to be inside you now,’ he said desperately, his breath shallow, his eyes staying fixed on mine as his hand yanked my white lace panties down my legs, his other arm pulling me to him, hard. I felt his rock hard cock press against my stomach and groin, as he moved up and down slightly, rubbing himself against my naked body.
I laughed. ‘I’m nude on stage.’
‘Yes darling, you look incredible,’ he said hungrily, his hands moving from my breasts to my butt cheeks, thighs, then his right arm coming back up my back, getting tangled in my hair. He pulled me down to the floor with him, and laid me onto the wooden floor panels of the stage. The stage was surprisingly warm, as if it breathed life.
He brought his hand to his underwear to pull them off but my hand caught up to his, pushed it aside, and pulled them off myself. He was long, throbbing, swollen, slightly red and pink, aching to go inside. I couldn’t wait and neither could he. As my arms went around his chest, he lowered himself onto me hastily and slipped inside me, causing me to gasp loudly, not breaking eye contact. His eyes were smiling, his mouth open in amazement at that gasp every time his beautiful, thick member slipped inside my very tight, wet walls. As soon as I gasped and he pushed himself in further, he shut his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by my sounds and the warm wetness, the extreme tightness. He always told me I was the tightest girl he’d ever had – ‘like a pure virgin forever.’ He moaned loudly, the feeling of an electric current passing through his entire body. He started to thrust at a good rhythm, passionately, slightly speeding up as I moaned louder and threw my head back, closing my eyes, my hands gripping his back, my fingernails scratching him every time he pushed himself in deeper. He pounded harder, one of his hands on the wooden floorboard to keep his balance. I started to scream as he violently pounded me, my wetness all over my thighs and his thighs. He screamed with me, in between bouts of ‘Fuck,’ and ‘Christ’.
He pulled me up to him and he sat on the floorboards, panting. ‘Ride me,’ he said, out of breath, beads of sweat dripping down his face.
I sat on him hastily, wasting no time. I was in such a rush to keep feeling him rub my entire insides and push the tip of my cervix. I slid onto him and he threw his head back and moaned a loud, primal moan that echoed and reverberated through the theatre. His hand met my lower back as he watched my pussy move up and down his cock in amazement. He panted and closed his eyes, overtaken.
My arms were around his neck, then I moved closer and we kissed passionately, his other arm wrapping around my body so he was holding me in his arms. I could feel myself about to reach climax. ‘I’m really close,’ I moaned breathlessly.
‘Oh,’ he moaned, pushing me back down onto the floorboards and pounding the shit out of me, violent, quick thrusts, sweat beads dripping all over my face, neck, chest, the floorboards of the stage. His lips met mine one more time in a messy kiss, then as he pulled away, I began to cum. A huge, epic wave of warmth and electricity rushed over me, and I felt lightheaded. My walls clenched his member, warmly, like hugging him tightly, desperately, longingly. “Ohh,’ he moaned again with me as we orgasmed hard at the same time. He thrust one final massive thrust deep inside me, and I felt his cock throbbing intensley as he let out a long moan, the warmth of his cum filling me up like putting a warm blanket of unconditional love over me. I saw blotches of light, I was so dizzy but in a euphoric, sweaty, tired, bliss. I felt him twitch once or twice, his hairy chest moving up and down, each hair grazing my breasts. He looked down at me into my eyes, smiled and chuckled. I smiled and he lowered himself to kiss me passionately, pushing himself even further into the messy, gooey warmth.
We sat there panting for a few minutes, saying nothing. He lied on top of me, snuggling into my neck.
‘I love you,’ he said quietly. ‘It was my best performance because you charged me up for it.’
My hand stroked his hair, my fingernails running through his locks. I kissed his forehead. He sat up and pulled me up with him. We got dressed and wiped each other’s brows with our sleeves. We glanced around, no one to be seen. He took my hand and led me off the stage steps, and forward into the audience, then we slipped quietly out the door into the lobby and into the cool London October evening.
If you enjoyed this story, I’m selling customised smut stories for very reasonable prices. You can give me characters, a scenario etc and I will write a short smut story for you. I have limits and boundaries but we can discuss these (with the exception of the obvious such as underaged relations etc). I accept Venmo/Paypal. DM me or comment here if interested.