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Strings had joined the woodwinds, interjecting a note of danger, like a flight through the woods. Des had Missive netted in a matter of breathless moments, taking her off her feet and then tying ankles to thighs, bending her body back in a far more extreme curve than he'd done with Julie. He'd turned Missive into a pale crescent, straining from all the emotions gripping her. The audience could hear her gasps, sounds that revealed both her excitement and the stress the torturous position was putting on her body. At this angle and this close, Julie could see her reaction glistening on her thighs, and Des rewarded it by bending and pressing his lips reverently over one damp streak.
The moon above was the same crescent, as if he'd put her in that position to honor its light. He tied Missive's hands in a marionette's supplicating pose, reaching up to the moon, but as he continued to craft and shape her, she became a fairy dancing in air, contorting in a way only a fairy could. Des drew a pair of wings from the side stage and added those to the knots of rope beneath her shoulder blades. The wings looked like a moth's, a pale silver green color.
Once he had them on her, a discreet and deft movement of his hand made it appear as if flame had leapt from his palm, rather than the lighter he had concealed there. He set the tips on fire and backed up, sending her spinning so the flame fanned out, eating through the paper that formed the wings. A blink before the fire would have gotten too close, he whipped them off of her and doused it.
Some of those in the audience began to applaud, but Julie noted they were quickly shushed by those around them who'd remembered the rules. While she hoped the firm admonishment hadn't alienated new patrons, she understood it now better than she ever had before. No distractions could be permitted between a Dom and sub, not even for adulation.
When Missive stopped spinning, she was moaning, incoherent pleas. The theater was so still, Julie was certain even the back rows could hear. Des raised a finger and the music stopped. One second, two seconds. He did that deliberate circling of Missive, his gaze taking in everything about her state, and her eyes followed him as if she would do anything he asked her. When he reached her legs, he settled his fingers on her cunt, and lightly stroked.
Once, twice...perhaps a half dozen times, and then she began to come, her cries and the jerking in her bonds the only sounds in the theater. Julie couldn't look away, caught in something she couldn't explain. It was both pain and arousal, fear and longing. Then Des's gaze lifted and locked with hers.
Need replaced everything else. A need for him to be telling her the truth when he said he wanted to be with her. If he'd told her to come to him right then, she might have. She might have knelt on stage, laid her head on his leg and stayed that way. It didn't make sense. What she was seeing should cause her to retreat, should have her doubting his intentions even more. But what she saw in his eyes was a different message.
This is what I love to do. And I want to do it with you, in a way I won't do it with anyone else. Was she crazy for translating all that out of one look? She just didn't know. She didn't know what it would take to make her fully believe him, but she knew she wanted to do so, with every aching, pounding, throbbing inch of her body and soul.
Des's attention returned to Missive as he made sure he gave her a full climax, wresting another cry from her lips as he slid several fingers inside her and removed them to paint her response on her lips. He lifted a hand and the music started again.
After he pushed her back into a slow spin, he retrieved his knife. With the same sweeping movement as before he cut the line, caught her in his arms once more. He rocked her, brought her to the ground, stretched over her as if he might take her then and there, except he still wore the dark trousers. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms splayed out on either side of her in complete surrender.
Rising on his knees, he held her that way as he rose to his feet, the muscles in arms and back rippling though he did it without any other obvious effort. He rocked her again, spun and brought them back down to the ground by him dropping to one knee and cradling her head so it didn't hit the stage. This time he bent and buried his head in her bosom, a supplication. She wrapped her arms around him, over his head, her lips brushing his crown. Then they rolled and he was back in control. He came to his feet with her still wrapped around him. Taking them on a gliding waltz back through the forest, he returned to the tree.
Des rebound Missive in the roots, a different pose this time, not quite as tight a fetal curl. He left one slim leg and delicate foot dangling. When he was done, he sank to one knee by it and pressed his lips to the arch, holding that pose as the curtain closed.
The audience exploded in applause. At the calls of bravo, Julie knew Madison would be feeling what Julie had promised--and hoped--she'd experience.
"I think that was all for you and your show, baby girl," Billie said. "He does performance-worthy sessions, but I've never seen him put that much pizazz into it before. Holy God, I wish he'd do it more often."
The audience seemed to agree, because they were still applauding, as if they wanted a callback right now. Julie experienced an adrenaline surge that was a mix of nerves and ebullience, reflecting her muddle of feelings about all of it.
"Julie." Harris barked through the radio, disrupting that. "We've got a problem. The act we have scheduled right after intermission is going to have to move to the end."
"What? Why?"
"Come on back to dressing room three. I'll explain there."
"Okay. Crap." She cut the mic then pressed it again. She trusted Harris's judgment like her own, and they had fifteen minutes to do damage control, which superseded her need for explanation. "Forget that. I'll see if Shale and Troy can go on right after intermission and tell everyone else we're moving up one scene for the second act."
"Got it. And I'll piss off the crew by making them adjust everything mid-show." There was laughter in Harris's voice, because humor was the best defense against hysteria.
Julie clicked off. "Billie, can you hold the fort here?"
"Do what you got to do, honey-chile. Though tell Harris it's been my experience boys will forgive anything for a good blowjob. Girls too, though sometimes chocolate works."
"He and I may be on our knees for every one of them by the end of the night," Julie muttered, dashing away. She ignored Billie's bark of raucous laughter.
After a panic attack she concealed so masterfully she was sure she gave herself an instant ulcer, she and Harris had everyone on the same page and Shale and Troy cued up to start right after intermission.
Madison had invited some of the local newspaper and blogger critics to this opening, sending them free tickets. While Julie didn't know if they'd accepted, and amateur theater was usually given some latitude, not expected to be up to the standards of a professional production, that wasn't the bar she set for herself. S
he wanted Wonder's opening performance to blow those critics away.
Master Tony and his sub Charlotte, the couple performing the scene they'd had to move to the end, were doing a combination of role play, liquid nitrogen, knives and fire. While it might not have the same tone as the scene they'd intended to wind up the show, it would end the event with an exciting flair that would dovetail well into the post-event reception.
She hadn't been in the wings to congratulate Des after his performance, which gave her a twinge of guilt, but a quick check with Billie said he'd been involved in aftercare for Missive. After that, he'd gone to help Tony and Charlotte. Apparently, Charlotte had epilepsy and, though she hadn't seemed nervous during rehearsals, being faced with the reality of an audience had brought on an attack of nerves. Which had led to her worrying about having a seizure on stage, which had then turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy, though the seizure had happened backstage instead of on it, thankfully.
Charlotte had assured Harris that she'd be recovered enough to do the performance shortly. Tony firmly indicated she would need an hour of recuperation. Des had seconded that opinion once he arrived at the dressing room.
Julie learned all that through Billie, since Des had pitched in to help the crew with the set rearrangement. She caught only brief glances of him, still in the dark trousers and no shirt. A welcome distraction she couldn't indulge, because the change had all of them scrambling.
