Use Me If You Must

Rehearse Your Lines: "Use Me If You Must"

It was a Victorian drama, and Stacy just couldn't get her lines right.

She thought she'd had it. After two rehearsals and two very embarrassing slip ups, she'd practiced two nights straight and still couldn't get it right. There was just something about the phrasing her brain refused to get.

Stacy felt her cheeks flush as she walked offstage, her hands in angry fists.

It was a political drama too, with lots of intense scenes. Yelling and grabbing and shaking. It was supposed to be powerful. Which meant every time she forgot her lines, the tension they'd been building in the scene just...evaporated.

She knew the rest of the crew were talking about her. And it was only a matter of time before they'd sack her for being a train wreck.

Stacy had heard the gossip. That she'd only been chosen because of her big tits and thick legs. She looked damn good in a dress.

And yes, her tits looked fantastic.

But that wasn't the point. She wanted to be a great actor. Not some floozy.

So, she stayed after the rest of the crew had gone home and sneaked into the big dressing room. She took her time picking out a dress, stripped to her black panties and bra, and climbed into it. It was rather snug around the chest, but short on the length. Her legs looked good, and her tits looked great.

She couldn't suck in a full breath, but that didn't matter.

With her lines written on a paper, she stood in front of one of the makeup mirrors and began to rehearse her lines.

"You will not control me. You will not take my life from me." She set her jaw, making herself posture. "Use me if you must."

She said it again.

And again.

Until her head hurt.

Until those words were seared into her brain.

Stacy didn't know how much time passed. Or how many times she said the words before she moved onto her other lines.

It didn't matter.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she panicked. She'd had a date tonight. Date number two with a nice guy from the coffee shop she liked.

Too bad, her mind said. This is more important.

She liked to look at herself in the mirror, dressed like this. The long curls of her hair fell down to her shoulders. Her cute, button nose and big, brown eyes. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips full.

She was made to play this part.

The part of a lady, put under hard times, made to do things to survive.

Her character was strong, just like her.

"Use me if you must."

Stacy made those words Her's.

Then, as if on cue, the door opened. She stared at the doorway through the reflection. A tall figure stood there, watching her.

"Stacy?" it said, its voice deep and gravelly. "Is that you?"

Luckily for her, she recognized it. It was Jon's. Her lover in the play.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked, stepping into the room.

"I could ask you the same thing," she shot back.

He was wearing a pair of expensive black slacks that hung loose off his lean frame. On top, he wore a deep blue polo shirt. His hair was curly and his eyes dark and brooding.

It was annoying how good looking he was because he was also a dick. He'd not been nice to her for messing her lines up.

"I came back to get my phone," he said, checking his watch. "It's almost midnight."

"I know."

"I heard you talking..."

"I'm practicing my lines," she said sheepishly.

"Ah, good." He paused, coming further into the room. "Can I help?"

Stacy dropped onto the stool. "I-well-"

He closed the door and came over to her. "I'd like to help you, Stacy."

She stared into those dark eyes. "Yes."

He stood behind her, his hands landing lightly on her shoulders. "I'll start." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"I have made you mine. Is that not enough?"

"You will not control me. You will not take my life."

He raised his chin. "No. I will not. But you belong to me. Don't you?"

"Yes. But not all of me. Not everything."

His hands, as smooth and strong as they were, began to slide down from her shoulders. "Yes, everything. Why should it not be everything?" he asked. "We are man and wife."

Her breathing was picking up. "But you do not own me."

Those hands...yes...

She saw the veins in them, nearing her neck.

Jon nodded, his eyes wide with something hungry.

"But you want me to."

"Use me if you must."

He licked his lips, his chest rising. "Shall we do it again?" he asked. "That was much better."

His hands did not move.

"Yes," she said, her voice throaty. She cleared it. "Yes."

They did.

His hands moved further down...nearing her breasts.

"But you do not own me."

His fingers slipped into her shirt...

It was warm, and she found herself almost moaning the next words.

"Use me if you must."

"You wish me to?" His mouth was near her ear, and he took one of his hands to move her hair while the other stayed in her shirt. "Again."

It was an order.

They did. One hand gripping her breast fully now. The other, moving along neck, tracing her skin.

"You do not own me," she said, lust making her fierce.

"But you want me to."

"Use me if you must."

One of his fingers probed her lips mere seconds before pressing inward.

He removed it a second later, and said, "Again."

She shuddered on the stool, her legs quivering.

"But you want me to," he said.

"Use me if you must," she all but shouted at him and he licked her neck.

She moaned outright.

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

They were off script now.

The hardness of him pressed into her back, and she could tell he was big.

"Use me if you must."

He slid her back, so her ass hung just enough off the stool, and with one hand, he found the wetness between her legs. It rubbed over her panties. From her pussy to her ass and everything in between.

Stacy hated how good it felt.

"You are learning your lines," he whispered to her, holding her chin up to look at him in the reflection. "Are you finding this effective?"

She nodded vigorously.

"I need to hear it."

"Yes. Yes. Very helpful." She squealed the last word as one of his fingers pressed against her clit.

"There you are," he said, still holding her chin.

He moved her panties aside and began to gently rub her pussy, dragging her wetness. It felt so good.

"Again," he ordered.

"Use me if you must."

His hand moved quicker, making her breath ragged. Making her hips buck with each stroke.

"But you want me to."

"Use me if you must."

When finally, her orgasm broke, she almost fell off the stool, but he caught her. She shook like an animal in heat.

"Thank you," she tried to say, but he shushed her.

He was unzipping his expensive slacks.

Taking out his...

Pressing it to her...

And he was big.

"You want this," he told her.

She nodded. Yes. Yes. She wanted it so badly.

"Please," she begged.

"Say it."

"Use me if you must."

Then he slid into her. She full-on screamed from the pure pleasure of it. The sheer overwhelming warmth and...and...

Well, how much it filled her.

He was big. Very big, she'd been right.

And he'd only given her the tip.

He was waiting.

"Use me if you must."

He gave her another inch.

"Use me if you must."

Then another.

This went on and on until she was shaking so hard he had to grip both her tits to keep her on the stool.

"Use me-"

He did.

Fucking her slowly, then quickly.

Their eyes were stuck on each other in the mirror, and she was furiously leaning back into him, taking as much as she could.

"Use me if you must."

He fucked her hard, his hips slamming into hers. "Take it, Stacy. Take it."

"Yes," she moaned.

With lustful strength, he pulled apart the strings that held her tits in the dress and they fell out.

Jon moaned as he saw them, his hands full. Between the knuckles of his fingers, he fondled her nipples. They watched it all in the mirror.

In a strange turn of events, she thought of her date and how her night was now going. He might have thought she'd be getting laid. Instead, he was alone.

And she was in the dressing room, bent over, practicing her lines.

The veins in Jon's neck stuck out. He was caught in this pleasure mask of his, like some beautiful Victorian man.

"I am going to fill you," he said moments later.

She begged him for it, reaching between her legs for more pleasure. They rose together toward climax. She could feel his cock throbbing. Pulsating inside her.

"Use me if you must," she cried.

He took her at her word and filled her pussy just as she, too, came hard.

As her pussy gripped him, and after his bucking stopped, he still slowly slid in and out of her. His hands moved to her ass, cupping it.

"Good," he said, spanking her. "You're learning."

And that's the story of how Stacy learned her lines.

It worked every time.