When Dan and I got together six months ago, I thought he was The One. But ever since he’d been cast as Robin Hood in the Castaway Players am-dram production, things had changed between us.

The play wasn’t the usual story about the hooded man and his battles with the Sheriff of Nottingham, nothing to do with robbing the rich and redistributing wealth to the poor, either. No. Greg, the groups’ writer, had produced a sensitive new script centering on Robin’s love for Marion.

The girl cast as Marion, Jenny, was a petite beauty ten years Dan’s junior with a lithe, firm body and long, red tresses. Despite laughing off my insecurities and telling me his on-stage romance was nothing to do with reality, Dan couldn’t get to rehearsals fast enough. I knew our relationship was over but didn’t want to let him go. So, I decided to hang on, wait for him to dump me. Pathetic, I know.

“I never see you,” I whined. “You’re rehearsing every night and we never go anywhere or do anything. Why do you need to spend so much time working on the play? It seems a bit extreme for an amateur production.”

“There’s been a lot of glitches – actors throwing tantrums and leaving the set, others off sick so we’re using stand-ins. But the show must go on,” he declared.

“Perhaps I can help…”

So, he volunteered me as the prompt. “That way, you’ll at least see something of me,” he said. “Although, I’ll be involved with Jenny most of the time…”

Great.

Being the prompt was a drag. I had to follow every word of the script – boring to say the least.  If anybody forgot their lines, and Jenny always fluffed hers, I had to say a couple of words, hoping it would jog their memory, help them remember what they should say next.

But Greg was forever amending his masterpiece, which complicated matters when it came to the actors learning their lines…

“I’ll see you later,” Dan said discreetly checking the condoms in his wallet before leaving for another rehearsal. Even though I was now part of Castaway Players, he always came up with an excuse to leave the house before me. It was 5pm; the rehearsal didn’t start until 7.

“I have to get petrol,” he said.

Like filling the tank took two hours…

He and Jenny were having an affair, of that I was certain. I didn’t want to tackle him about it just yet, though. He had a lot on his mind, like whether the ticket sales for the show would improve. To hear him talk, you’d think he’d landed the starring role in a steamy West End Production instead of a two-bit drama being staged in the village hall.

“I had a text from Greg earlier,” I said. “He can’t make it tonight, so I’ve got to pop round to his place and pick up the new script. He’s made a few minor amendments.”

“See you later, then…”

Disheartened, I walked round to Greg’s.

“Hi,” he said, on the doorstep. “What a beautiful evening.” After weeks of rain, we were finally seeing some glorious sunshine, the heat lasting into early evening. “Why do you look so fed-up?”

“It’s Dan.” I muttered. “I think he’s fucking Jenny.”

“You’re right, he is.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ll show you.”

I followed him through the house and into the garden. We walked down the path, past a shed, to the hedge. He led me into a gap between the fence and the back of the shed and moved a huge potted shrub aside. Behind it was a hole in the larch-lap paneling.

“I shove the foliage through the gap,” Greg said. “So, the hole isn’t noticeable from the other side – it’d just look like a mass of greenery. Have a look.”

Jenny was lying naked on a sun lounger. Dan, in his boxers, poured oil and slowly massaged it into her breasts…

I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

“How often does this happen?” I should have been distraught by what I was seeing. Instead, I wanted to see more…

“Every day, and not just with Dan, either. Most of the merry men call on her, too.

Dan trailed the oil down to her stomach, his hands edging between her legs. Jenny writhed with pleasure, begging him to get on with it – I knew how she felt.

Dan teased with his fingers, her lower body arching up off the canvas as she writhed with passion. He was brilliant with his hands and I imagined the feel of them teasing and tweaking, stroking and probing…

Jenny grunted and spasmed. Turned on beyond belief, I watched as the bitch shuddered in ecstasy, enjoying a climax at the hands of my man.

Greg walked away, beckoned me to follow him into the shed.

Expecting to find mowers, strimmers and junk, I was stunned to find a desk at one end housing a computer, the walls, ceilings and floor covered with pictures of naked women, a glorious montage of fleshy limbs. One thing the girls shared, apart from fabulous bodies and great hair, was that they’d all been photographed during an orgasm.

“I love watching women come, and them watching me,” Greg said as I studied the sexy women.  “I love their facial expressions.”

“Do you bring many girls here?”

“No, I’ve never had much luck with girls. You’re the first to see the place. I only finished it recently. I had to apply three coats of varnish to preserve the pictures – it took me days.”

He switched on the computer and clicked an icon. Sounds of women panting, moaning and shrieking filled the air. Lowering his jeans and boxers, he released a sizable erection, started fisting his cock with strong, smooth movements, pumping back and forth.

Licking my lips, I moved a bit closer, the soundtrack approaching a crescendo.

“Oh God,” he was staring at me, …and then he growled as semen dribbled down his penis…

“Where the hell have you been?” Dan asked when I finally showed up at the rehearsal. “We couldn’t start without you because we needed to see the amendments Greg made to the script.”

“Sorry, we were chatting about ways of boosting the ticket sales. How was your trip to the petrol station?”

Dan turned away. Was it really him I’d witnessed with Jenny? It didn’t seem possible. I should have filmed them on the lounger, used it as evidence if he tried to deny the affair. And I could have watched the film again. Several times.

Jenny had really taken to her role as Marion, Robin’s mistress. There were no formal costumes, the cast could improvise, dress how they liked.

So, Jenny wafted about in forty shades of green. Tonight, she wore a pale mint shirt over bottle green leggings, and wellies. She always wore the wellies.

“It symbolizes mud,” she told me, “Forests are full of it.”

They started acting – if you could call it that. The script was dire, and I lost the plot as well as my concentration. Greg and his shed dominated my thoughts.

Why had he decorated it with naked females? Gorgeous though they were, it seemed a bit extreme. Couldn’t he have made do with a girlie calendar or looked at some online porn? Sniffing the air, I fancied I could smell the varnish…

“Laura,” Dan barked. “You’re supposed to be prompting!”

“What? Oh sorry,” I’d lost track of the scene completely, hadn’t a clue where they were. Goodness knows how the audience would react – they’d probably doze off from boredom.

“Bottom of page fifteen,” Dan yelled. “The bit after Marion says she wants us to be alone …”

“Got it,” I lied.  “‘Take off your top, Marion.’”

I don’t know what made me say it. But once the words were out, I couldn’t take them back. I guess I was still thinking about watching them on the sun lounger and how I’d missed out on filming them.

Dan frowned.

“I don’t recall that being in the script.”

“It’s one of Greg’s amendments…”

“Oh, right.” Dan cleared his throat. “Take off your top, Marion,” he said.

The hall went silent. Even the merry men, (aka the seven dwarves) there to give the play some background authenticity, stopped their tweeting, texting and online gambling to watch Jenny disrobe. She didn’t query the instruction. Like a true pro, she just got on with it.

Slowly, she unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged the garment off her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing a bra, had probably dressed in a hurry after her earlier session with Dan. There was a stunned silence as she revealed her breasts, followed by loud clattering noises as Jim, the jobsworth caretaker, complete with mop and bucket, rushed into the hall and told us we’d overrun our time.

“You’ll have to leave,” he said, eyes on Jenny’s boobs, “although the hall is free tomorrow night…”

“It’s your fault we’re out of time, Laura,” Dan accused as Jenny put her shirt back on. “We didn’t start until late. Make sure you’re on time tomorrow.”

I was early the following day. And so was Greg.

“Guess what?” he said as Jenny and Dan strolled in. “Ticket sales are up at last!”

“That’s great news.  All we need now is a decent play – what possessed you to write this rubbish?” I asked, waving the script.

Dan grinned. “I didn’t want to write it,” he said. “But I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I write erotic novels.”

“I thought only women did that.”

“Well, you thought wrong…”

Jenny and Dan assumed their roles of Robin and Marion and the rehearsal commenced. I tried to keep up with the plot, but I was distracted by people peeking in through the windows.

“What’s going on?” Greg asked.

“You wrote it,” I said. “You tell me.”

“I’m not talking about the play, I’m referring to the nosy parkers,” he said nodding towards the voyeurs.

We’d reached the bottom of page fifteen and Jenny had removed her tight lime-green top. Worn with cut-off denims, she was now topless, legs bare down to her boots.

“What the hell is happening?” Greg asked, staring at Jenny.

“I improvised a bit last night,” I admitted, “I got Jenny to remove her blouse. She obviously now thinks that stripping is part of the script. Either that or she wants it to be! Jobsworth Jim interrupted before we could go any further…maybe that’s why the ticket sales are up – he’s probably told everybody.”

“Prompt please!” barked Dan.

“What?” Once again, I had no idea where we were…

“Go for it,” Greg whispered as I pretended to consult the script.

“No lines – just strip Marion naked,” I prompted.

“This is fantastic,” Greg whispered as after removing her wellies, Dan helped Jenny out of her shorts revealing a bright green thong. Clearly delighted at being asked to bare all, Jenny shook her breasts and fluffed out her hair. “You’re controlling a striptease act through the prompts and we’re all watching…”

“Not to mention the folk staring through the windows,” I said

Slowly, Dan plucked at the thong and slid it down Jenny’s legs to a barrage of low wolf-whistles from the merry men. Naked, Marion flaunted suggestively before them and looked over at me.

“Prompt!” Dan shouted. And I knew what he wanted to hear…

I looked at Dan on the stage, thought of how he didn’t have the guts to finish with me, yet he was fucking Jenny for all he was worth.

If I’d filmed them, I’d have the upper hand. But I hadn’t, so he was at my mercy.

I longed to watch them again, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction…

“No lines – just Jenny masturbating.”

“Are you sure?” Dan asked, disappointed.

“Positive.”

Jenny took centre stage. She squeezed her breasts together, eased a huge nipple into her mouth, and sucked hard. The merry men murmured their encouragement, not that she needed any. She was soon gasping and panting, her hands working overtime as she stoked up her arousal.

“She could just be acting,” Greg said, as she threw her head back and moaned. He leaned forwards as she toyed with her slit and groaned some more.

“She can’t act that well.”

But Greg wasn’t listening. He was too busy concentrating on Jenny’s face as she climaxed.

“I’m not happy with the last scene,” Dan said fondling Jenny. “Can we have another prompt please Laura…”

No chance!

Jim burst in just then with the mop and bucket and started sweeping the stage. His eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw Jenny naked.

“I think we should discuss the script tomorrow,” Greg said. “Pop round to my place…”

It was lunchtime when I arrived. We sat in the shed with the door wide open.

“I think Dan’s rehearsing with Jenny again.”

“They’ve been at it all morning,” Greg confirmed. “Don’t worry, he’s acting out a part. Actors have to practise their roles.” He handed me a spritzer. “It’s not for real.”

“Her performance last night was real.”

I took a slug of my drink, spilling half of it down my dress. “Dan phoned me this morning telling me how great I am at prompting and how everybody loves the new scenes. I’ll have to watch them for three nights in a row. I enjoy watching her stripping but it’s all those speeches declaring never-ending love that get me. Why did you write so many of them?” I whined to Greg.

“It’s just a play.” But to me it was more than that. Dan was my first serious boyfriend in over a year, and I wanted to hang on to him. I didn’t want to be single again.

“I’m losing him to her,” I said. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You introduced stripping into the script,” Greg pointed out. “Not me.”

“They were already at it, though,” I said, wondering whether Greg would let me visit the hole in the fence again. I’d charged my phone, just in case…

“Yes, and you loved watching them.”

I’d never watched a couple fucking before although I’d often fantasized about it. And the fact that I’d fulfilled my dream by watching my boyfriend with another woman wasn’t hurting as much as it should have done.

I wanted a piece of the action…

“He’s still my boyfriend. It’s just that he doesn’t notice me while she’s around.”

“I reckon you should buy a really gorgeous outfit, and dazzle him with your beauty,” Greg said. “Play your cards right and he won’t be able to take his eyes off you – he’ll probably forget his lines and fall off the stage or something. That’d be a result, wouldn’t it?”

“It sounds like a plan,” I said with no intention of carrying it out.

Greg smiled and tweaked the frilled hem of my dress.

“Why don’t you take this off?”

I gazed around the shed, taking in the girly snaps.

“Tell me about this place.”

“I’ll tell you,” he said. “But only if you take off your dress.”

I stood up, unzipped the sundress and stepped out of it.

“Can’t you lose the knickers, as well?”

I hesitated. But then I thought of Dan and Jenny, not only on the sun lounger but in the village hall. Why should they have all the fun?

“It’d better be a good story.” I wriggled them down my hips.

Greg reached out a hand and dragged me down beside him, his fingers exploring my body.

“You are bloody gorgeous.” Holding me close, he started his story.

“I must have been about thirteen, just approaching puberty. I didn’t know about sex: my parents never explained anything to me. My only info was playground chatter.” He paused to fondle my nipples, which by now looked like all the other nipples surrounding me – hard. I writhed against him.

“Then one day, I was on a train. It paused, waiting to enter the station – there was some problem or other – and I noticed the hut by the track. It was obviously where the signalman had his tea breaks or something. The door was open, and I saw posters of glamour models on the walls, not as many as I’ve got here, but certainly enough to arouse both my interest and my penis.”

I laughed but it turned into a groan as his fingertips tweaked my pubes.

“I did loads of train journeys after that – I was up and down the line like a yo-yo. The line’s shut now,” he mused, sounding as if he’d be on the next train if it were open again. “I managed to glimpse the interior of the shed several times. The playground talk finally connected with the images, and everything clicked into place. I went down the usual route after that – watching films I shouldn’t have been watching, reading my dad’s porn mags…I never forgot the hut though, and in the end, I created my own.”

I grunted as two fingers entered me.

“Oh!” I pushed hard against them, forced myself against the digits, begging him not to stop…

“It was great watching you climax,” he said. “And just think,” he added, nodding to the pictures on the walls, “all these women are climaxing, too. Every picture tells a story, right?”

“Does it?”

“Yes. Look at that girl there.” He pointed to a stunning brunette. “I mean, there she is in front of a photographer. But how did that happen?”

“She got her kit off while he found his camera?”

“But was it her idea or did the photographer have to sweet talk her into it? Did she just get undressed and pose for him or did she strip slowly? Did she get paid? Did they fuck? Was the photographer a man or a woman…”

“I see what you’re getting at,” I said. “There are a lot of stories in this shed.”

“What we see is the final version. But somebody else was there, making the picture happen – that’s what fascinates me.”

“Why don’t you choose one of these women and write a play around her?” I suggested. “You could create her life story, decide how she ended up being photographed.”

“Perhaps I will…what have you got planned for the opening night?” he asked. “The different scenes in plays are pictures, too, and you’re the prompt, you’re controlling what we watch…”

Opening night arrived.

With masses of fine auburn hair that blended in perfectly with the sparse brown and green scenery, Jenny looked stunning. Dressed in a midriff-baring bottle green lace top and tiny matching shorts, wisps of pubic hair poked through the lace revealing her lack of underwear.

The hall was packed out. Ticket sales had rocketed, although most of the residents had already seen the play through the hall windows.

We’d been swamped with watchers all week. Jenny masturbated every night during rehearsals, much to Dan’s frustration, delighting audiences both indoors and out.

“Are you going out with her or me?” I asked. I didn’t bother mentioning my session with Greg. That was a minor indiscretion compared to his daily garden marathons with Jenny.

“We’re finished. Don’t be upset, though,” Dan added. “It was great while it lasted, and we can still be friends. And please don’t spoil the play because I’ve dumped you. Next time I call for a prompt I expect you to tell us to fuck. Jenny is an exhibitionist and I must admit, I can see the attraction.”

Me too, but I wasn’t going to tell him that

Greg arrived just then and emptied several bags of dead leaves and old turf on the stage.

“It’s the undergrowth in the forest,” he explained.

Jobsworth Jim, who seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the hall, muttered loudly about having to sweep them up afterwards but agreed to leave them there until the play had run its course.

Greg took a seat next to me as hundreds of people filed in – some standing at the back of the hall.

As the play started, Greg sneaked his hand up my skirt, inched it up to the top of my thigh and then moved it between my legs. I began writhing against it.

We got to the bottom of page fifteen and Jenny wasted no time in losing her miniscule outfit, dragging out the masturbation scene for all she was worth. She finally lost control and climaxed with a shuddering scream worthy of an Oscar, much to the delight of the crowd.

“All those people watching her.” Greg sighed. “And that expression – such a wonderful sight.”

He was right – what a turn-on! I parted my legs, opened myself to Greg’s probing fingers. Seconds later, I was coming. Mouth open, I felt Greg’s gaze upon my face, saw Dan observing us from the stage…

The play continued.

Nobody called for a prompt.

We reached the end of the play: still no call for a prompt.

The audience broke into thunderous applause as the actors lined up to take their bows.

Jenny, flaunting her nudity for all she was worth, was highly aroused.  Picking up a handful of leaves, she rubbed them over her body and between her legs. The audience went wild, braying for another climax and it wasn’t long before she gave them an encore.

Dan called for silence. Arms around Jenny, his fingers straying into her still-heaving breasts, his erection nudging her thigh.

“I’d like to thank our beautiful leading lady for her performance tonight,” he said to ribald laughter and another round of clapping. He then thanked everybody else, including Jobsworth Jim. “And let’s not forget Laura, our Prompt,” he added.  “Let’s have a big hand for Laura! In fact, let’s have her up on stage!”

I assumed they’d bought me a bouquet, not that I deserved one. They hadn’t needed me tonight after all. I climbed the steps and stood between him and Jenny.

I’d only been up there a few seconds before Jenny reached for the zip on my dress. Seconds later my sundress hit the deck – I was standing on stage in my underwear.

“Off, off, off, off,” shouted the audience.

“I think they want you naked,” Dan murmured.

“Me too,” said Greg, appearing alongside me. “Go on – what are you waiting for?”

I scanned the faces in the chanting throng. Excitement coursed through my veins, my nipples like acorns.

As I dithered, Dan undid my bra and shoved the straps down my arms while Jenny slid my panties over my hips and down my thighs. When they hit the ground, I stepped out of them.

I was naked! On the stage, in front of a crowd in the village hall!

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” yelled the audience. I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life – this was what I craved.

Beside me, Greg had stripped off his clothes. He laid down on the stage, the top of his head facing the audience, his erection a sight to behold. The noise continued.

“Go on,” Jenny urged. “Get him inside you.”

She led me over to Greg. “Plant your feet either side of his body and lower yourself down onto him…”

I straddled Greg, my calves flat on the floor crunching into the leaves, positioned myself so the crowd could watch my breasts bouncing as I slid up and down Greg’s cock. The sight of all those people screaming and urging me on was mind-blowing.

“Come, come, come!” Beside me, Jenny and Dan were wanking furiously.

“Now the audience are prompting you!” Greg panted beneath me. “Don’t let them down, Laura, don’t let them down.”

“Come, come, come, come!” Carried away by their explicit demands and loving every second of it, I rode on, harder and faster…

Greg held me firm as the shuddering climax overwhelmed me, my shouts lost in the racket kicked up by the jubilant fans, Jenny, Dan and Greg peaking, too.

“I bet we’re making a fantastic picture,” Greg panted as the camera-phones came out in force. “Watching and being watched, creating a bigger picture – that’s what it’s all about.”

“That was the best play I’ve ever seen,” I heard somebody say as things calmed down. “When’s the next one?”

“Shall we write one together?” Greg asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “Let’s call it ‘Greg’s Shed’…”

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