I stand to the side of the stage, hiding behind the curtains. Out there, just out of sight, every seat in the auditorium is occupied. I will never get used to this — people gathering in huge numbers to listen to me talk.
They’ve already read my books, and during my speeches I repeat the things I have written, so nothing new there. But still they come.
I nervously brush down my pencil skirt over my thighs. Those people out there may like to hear me talk, but I hate this speech thing. The talking part, that is. The rest of it is why I agree to these gatherings every time.
“Without further ado, let’s give a warm, welcoming applause to Millicent Manning, author of A Guide To Erotic Meditation and other sexy self-help books!”
She leads the overwhelming applause, turns sideways and looks expectantly to where I stand, while still clapping in her hands. Taking a deep breath, a bolt of excitement shooting through me, I step onto the stage. Smiling and waving at the audience, I walk to the lectern and position myself behind it.
While waiting for the applause to naturally die down, I sweep my eyes over the audience, seeing the smiles, the curiosity, the thirst for my knowledge.
My knowledge. They will never know it all.
A trickle of wetness escapes from my lips and slightly wets my thighs.
This is only the beginning.
I clear my throat, and that’s when it happens. All women in the audience disappear. They’re not gone; my brain has just replaced them with blurry patches. This happens every time.
The men, however…
Ooooh, the men…
They are there, my lust reflected in their eyes.
My thighs are sticky, my core tingling as I begin my speech. I’m a gifted speaker, but only once I see the men naked.
And naked they are.
I press my thighs together and tilt my hips forward, not missing a word, or changing the tone or tempo of my speech. My mons brushes against the fabric of my skirt, but it’s the tightening of the muscles in my bare bottom and my core that intensifies my pleasure.
My mind briefly wanders back to those first couple of speeches…
It happened not long after my debut in the writing world, and my book reaching the top sellers list. It was a disaster. I stuttered and forgot my words, which didn’t amuse the audience, and the mild applause reflected that. Getting dressed for my second speech, I thought of the cliche advice to imagine your audience naked. I promptly left my knickers off and wore stockings under my dress. I was wet before I stepped onto the stage, and that was the first time my brain played these delicious tricks on me.
My eyes sweep over the audience. I deliver my words with fire, fueled by the growing erections proudly pointing at me from the laps of the men while their owners hang on my lips.
Maybe that’s why my brain tunes out the women. Their lust is not as obvious as the men’s.
I mean, no one sees my excitement either, or how close I get to an orgasm during every speech. None of them know the first thing I do when getting off-stage.
But, I’m not there yet.
The passion of my speech increases as I work towards the crescendo. Words fall from my mouth in the same tempo I will soon rub my clit.
I clench my muscles, and my breathing hitches as my twisted brain sees a cock spurting into the air.
Panting, I reach the end of my speech, hot and bothered by the vivid image of all those penises climaxing for me.
For my words.
Everyone — the women are back — applauds while I hurry off the stage, waving until the curtains conceal me from their eyes again. I stumble through the door of the first restroom I see, into a cubicle and hitch up my skirt, sinking my fingers into my need.
Half an hour later, I join the people in the foyer, where I shake many hands, my scent still lingering on my fingers.
I already look forward to my next speech.
© Rebel’s Notes