“It’s perfectly okay. We all make mistakes.” Gen gave her a delicate kiss, gently rubbing the brown mole near the right corner of her mouth. “How about I help you with your makeup?”
She loved when Gen did her makeup. “Oh yes, please.”
Gen tugged her to their bathroom where not only did Gen make her look beautiful but also appreciated and pleasured since they had five extra minutes to spare.
* * * *
Deborah was always awestruck whenever she entered the lobby of the Peyote Opera House. Built in 1845, the building was a masterpiece of architecture, from large sloping buttresses to marble staircases with red runners that complemented the marble walls. Billboards of the various operas performed there since the turn of the nineteenth century hung on the walls of the first floor. She wished she had more time to inspect each poster, but Gen expected her to meet and greet her associates and various friends she recognized from other formal functions they attended.
With drinks in hand—a glass of chardonnay for Gen, a vodka and cranberry for Deborah—they made their way to their box on the third level, situated right smack in the middle of the auditorium. She sat on the right and Gen sat on her left. When she tried crossing her legs, the belly chain got caught and pinched her stomach. She tried to shift in a way that wouldn’t be too risqué, since her skirt was quite short and, at Gen’s urging, she had gone commando: no bra or thong.
“What is it, dearling?” Gen asked in concern as she set her drink in a cup holder and stroked Deborah’s arm.
“Ah, my chain pinched my skin.” She quickly corrected her embarrassing problem and sat back, taking Gen’s hand.
Gen brushed her mouth along her knuckles. Deborah rubbed her legs together, a familiar dampness coating the inside of her thighs as Gen stared at her with desire. She swallowed the rest of her drink and sucked on an ice cube.
A soft laugh escaped Gen, and she lowered Deborah’s hand to the arm of the chair.
“What’s so funny?” She fanned her face with her program.
“Don’t make it obvious, but the Van Moore’s are staring at us with daggers in their eyes.” Gen played with Deborah’s fingers as she lifted her hand again and rubbed her cheek on the inside of her wrist.
Ever so subtly, with half-closed eyes, she zoned in on the older couple across from their box, whispering to one another. Mr. Van Moore, with his shining bald head and snobbish wife who turned her nose up at her the moment she caught her eye. She smiled brightly, and Mrs. Van Moore’s puckered mouth dropped. Her husband licked his lips, his eyes dropped to Deborah’s chest.
Dirty old fart. She slouched in her chair, hoping the velvet-covered balcony rail blocked her front. It was bad enough she didn’t wear a bra—her nipples hardened at the slightest thing.
“It seems to me old man Van Moore is bored and needs to be amused. Why don’t we shock him even more?” Gen looped an arm around the back of her neck and gave her a passionate kiss, tongue delving in deep, making Deborah moan. She lifted her hand to caress Gen’s cheek, the urge to straddle her almost overriding her good sense.
Gen ended the kiss barely out of breath, while Deborah panted. She cleared her throat as Gen wiped a bit of drool away from the corner of her mouth.
“You’ve made me wet,” she announced softly, her face overly warm. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Van Moores’ heads together. They appeared agitated.
“Mission accomplished.” Gen set her hand high on Deborah’s knee. Her thumb rubbed her skirt, hiking it up until Deborah placed her hand on hers.
“Behave, Mrs. Murnay.” She relaxed so she wouldn’t have to excuse herself to clean in between her legs.
“Only for the moment, Mrs. Murnay,” Gen sassed. A hush spread through the crowd when the overture began.
Concentrating on the stage, she hoped that meant when they went home, they’d celebrate in lusty ways not meant for the public eye.
* * * *
By the time Alfredo and Violetta began their duet of “Un di, felice, eterea,” Deborah had just begun to nod off. When Gen dug her pearl-colored nails in her thigh, she became alert. An enthralled Gen hummed her favorite section from the opera.
“If I choke up, don’t make fun of me.” Gen sniffed when Alfredo proclaimed his love for Violetta.
“I promise I won’t, dear—dearest,” she stuttered, not used to calling Gen by a pet name. It didn’t feel right to her.
Gen shifted closer, her lips brushing her earlobe. “The way Alfredo sings his passion for Violetta is the way I feel about you.”
She closed her eyes as Gen whispered the Italian lyrics in her ear. She tried not to sigh as Gen’s husky voice fill her head, and her hand brushed the inside of her leg.
“Genevieve.” Black spots appeared in front of her eyes. Gen’s hand moved higher until she touched her mound.
“You told me to behave, and I have. But now is later, and I want to feel you come on my hand as my favorite duet is sung.” Gen lapped Deborah’s neck.
She opened her legs wider, allowing access. “What if someone sees or hears?” Complete darkness surrounded them, the only light from the stage. And since the sides and front of the box were higher than waist level, those near them and across the way wouldn’t be able to notice her about to get off.
“If you keep your eyes on the stage and your mouth closed, no one will suspect a thing,” Gen said.
She dug her fingers into the seat, and the stage blurred as she grew wet from her maddening lust. Gen’s middle finger circled her folds, and with a simple flick, found her clit and tapped it.
Her head lolled on the seat and she swallowed a moan. Her near cry was drowned out by the orchestra as a second finger wedged inside her. The sounds of slapping, wet suction filled her ears, and she smelled her feminine musk as she dampened. Gen’s breathing increased and she bit Deborah’s shoulder. Her teeth dug into her skin, driving her half out of her seat then back down to impale herself on the probing fingers.
“That’s my special girl. Rock just like that. Yesss…” Gen pushed her closer to her climax. She gripped Gen’s hand, moving her fingers to help her find the sweet spot that would make her lose control.
“I want your mouth on my cunt.” She shocked herself by her salty language. She’d never talked in such a way with her former lovers. Only with Gen did she get aroused by the dirty talk they used while they loved one another.
“Come for me, dear. I want you to drench my hand so I can lick it off my fingers.” Gen sucked the shoulder she was busy kissing.
When Alfredo and Violetta’s voices finally rose together in harmony to finish, Gen rubbed her clit faster. Her nail scraped the side of her pussy and left a slight burn. She opened her mouth to scream, but Gen quickly removed her hand and molded her mouth to hers, swallowing her soft cries.