At The Opera

You arrive at the opera house, and the usher takes you to your seat. He escorts you up the elevator and directs you to one of the highest private balconies. You step inside and see a plush sofa agains the back wall, a single comfortable chair near the rail, and a small cocktail table next to the chair. On the chair is a chilling bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"Only one chair?" you ask the usher.

"He was very specific," comes the reply as he opens and pours a single glass of champagne. "He will join you during the first act." He turns to leave.

You sit in the chair, looking down on the stage below, looking around the filling opera house. Positioned where it is, no in the auditorium could possible see you unless you leaned over the railing. You sit back, sip the champagne and recall how you got here. How you received the single ticket in the mail last week, with a brief note from some "secret admirer". "Dress formal, don't tell anyone!" it said. You laughed to yourself at the time, the idea of a secret admirer... You immediately suspected your husband, and you almost confronted him about his "joke", what a good one. But then you paused. What if it wasn't him? What if there is some mystery man...? You start to take the idea more seriously. Why not?, you think.

Luckily, your husband had already planned to be away for several days on business. You made some excuse about a girls' night and made plans. You actually went out and bought a gown, off the shoulder, satin and lace. A new dress calls for new lingerie, and you went all out, including new stockings and garters, and new heels. You're wearing the pearls your husband gave you on your wedding day, just in case it's actually him.... You had your hair done up special that day. You're a little nervous, but excited with anticipation, impatient to finally discover your admirer.

The lights dim, and the performance begins. It's very dark in your booth. Several minutes into the first act, you begin to feel as if you are being watched. Your pulse quickens.... You hear a voice behind, firm yet quiet so only you can hear.

"Please, do NOT turn around. If you do, I shall be gone before you even glimpse me. Will you accept that request?"

You freeze at his voice. Who is he? Do you recognize it? The urge to turn and face him is overwhelming, but you dare not lest he leave. You're willing to see this further, so you nod your head yes.

"Good. Thank you."

You feel him moving up behind you, closer. You feel his body heat; he is very close to you. Your own skin warms in anticipation. You glimpse his hand to your right, reaching for the second champange glass. His hand is gloved, thin black gloves. He asks you to pour some champagne, which you do. As he drinks he says that he has been watching you, admiring you, even adoring you. He is so glad that you have accepted his invitation.

"I am flattered and am probably blushing," you respond. "Won't you let me see you?".

"No, not at this time."

He sets down the glass, and you feel his hands on your shoulders, his soft firm gloved hands on your bare shoulders. You shiver and feel the chill shoot through your body, head to toe and then like a lightening bolt it strikes your most feminine place, simmering hot. You catch your breath. His hands begin to move down your ams to your sides. About now some world famous tenor is launching into one of his signature solos, his voice building to unimagineable heights. Your heart rate quickens to match his tempo, your own desire building with every note. Your strangers hands are moving over you now in their own aria, feeling you from behind, fondling your breasts, rubbing your neck, squeezing you back toward him. You feel his breath on the back of your neck as he begins kissing your neck and upper back.

You hear yourself moan in approval. You gasp slightly, "someone will see..."

"Then let us move back to the sofa. Will you let me blindfold you."

You think to yourself, I'll let you do anything you want at this point, bend me over the rail if you want. "Yes," you reply softly. "Yes."

He places a soft padded black blindfold over your eyes and ties it in the back. The padding makes it impossible for any light to seap under the cloth, not that there is much light to begin with. He takes you by the hand, and you rise to your feet. He leads you gently back to the sofa, where he appears to sit down. He gently guides you down onto his lap. You are almost facing him now, but of course you cannot see him, only feel him.

His gloved hands are now guiding your face to his, and he begins kissing you. Deep passionate hungry kisses, his tongue exploring your mouth, wrestling your own tongue, gliding over your teeth. He sucks on your tongue, and you respond in kind. His right hand is now free to explore you; he drops it to your ankles and glides up your calve, past your knee inside your thighs. You catch your breath as just before he is sure to feel your wet heat, he jumps to the other thigh and works his way back down. He fondles and squeezes your breasts, pushing the dress down below your strapless bra, pushing the bra down below your nipples. His left heand is working up and down your back, down to your buttocks on his lap, up to your neck, threading his fingers into your hair. He finds your dress clasp and zipper and easily undoes them and pops the clasp on your bra. You clothes are hanging loosely on you now...

You hands have gone to work on him as well, sliding off his silk jacket, unbutton his dress shirt, running you hands over his firm nicely hairy chest. His muscles are tight and hard and every touch sends shivers through you. You work off his belt and begin unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks. You felt his growing manhood from the moment you sat on his lap, and now you reach for it, under his waistband. You find it, long, hard, throbbing, hot, already damp on the end. You work it, stroke it, squeeze it. Resisting no longer, his hand has slid up your thigh, past your garters and under your panties. His fingers are tracing the edges of your opening, wet with your own juices. You let out a loud moan of pleasure when his fingers find your clitoris.

In fact you are both moaning now, freely. The entire chorus has joined the tenor, along with the orchestra, and the music is drowning out your passion to all save the two of you. He is licking and suckling on your nipples, you respond in kind to his, sucking hard, harder, leaving a mark. You may not be able to see him, but he will leave here tonight with your marks on his body. His kisses are hingrier now, more animal, more savage. He is ravishing your body, and you are giving him all that you have.

He slides out from under you laying you back on the sofa. He is on top of you, seeking you. You feel his hand push aside your panties and feel his hard **** slide into you, ramming all the way in to his balls. Without pause he begins hammering you. You feel his full weight coming down on you, mercilessly. His **** is bare, no condom. You don't care. You want him in you. He will leave with your marks on him; you will leave with his *** in you. Seems fair.

Your body bucks up to greet his every thrust. Your clothes hang from your sweating bodies in jumbles and bunches. His pace quickens. Yours increases to match. Building. The soproanoes are building to their high notes. In an explosion of music and drums and cymbals and heat your bodies release. You *** like a earthquake as he **** inside you in a tidal wave. You grip him, grasp him, rake his back, dig into his neck. Even your teeth sink into his chest. His body convulses into yours, filling you, hot streams pousing down your thigh onto the sofa, onto your clothes.

You collapse into a heap. You feel like you are in a daze, almost in a coma. Did you pass out. Suddenly, you hear the murmur of the audience below. He is not on you any longer. What? You remove the blindfold and find that you are alone. The house lights are up. Intermission.

He is gone. Just like he arrived, silently, secretly. A single red rose is laying in the empty seat. You are lying peacefully on the sofa, your clothes and hair a mess, a sweet delicious sensuous mess. You don't want to move. You think to yourself that you'll straighten up after the lights go out for the second half of the performance. Plenty of time. For now, you just lay there and savor the feeling of his remnants still in you.....
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4 Responses Jul 19, 2010

Masterful Rex. Really enjoyed discovering this ;)

very nice story!

Rex, I am so frekking wet reading your erotic story.. BeaUtiFul.

I reached down and wet one finger with our mingled juices and brought it to my mouth, savoring the taste...