Not my best. Written pretty quickly, but hopefully you enjoy. I’m also starting to think poor Sam spends way too much on dry-cleaning.
Mid-Season Premiere: April 1, 2015
Caitriona’s phone lit up with a message. She grabbed it off the table, noticing the message from Sam.
Sam: Picked up the suit
Cait: How’s it look?
Sam: Seems a bit big. In the crotch
Sam: Dunno. Just…extra room.
Sam: I must have been hard last time he measured
Cait: Do I want to know why you were hard at the tailors?
Sam: Remember the morning before I went?
Cait: 😉 Yes.
Sam: So did I.
I laughed as I put my phone down. We were just doing the finishing touches with my makeup. I had the sexiest purple dress, that zippered all the way to the top, hanging on the door frame. Sam was going to lose it.
It was still quite cool out. Mid-forties, but the red carpet, with all its flashing bulbs and hot lights, would warm me up rather quickly.
I had help with my zipper and slid on my heels, strapping them up, and asked for a few minutes alone in the hotel room. I liked the quiet before the chaos. I took a few steady breaths and headed out into the hallway to face the evening.
People were coming at me from all directions that I barely had time to acknowledge Sam before I was pulled aside by someone else. When I was finally able to give him my attention, his arms, a moment before wide open to pull me into his embrace, had fallen. His look of approval at my look though, hadn’t.
We embraced, he told me quickly how beautiful I looked and then we were ushered to the cameras.
Escorted along the carpet with barely a moment to look at each other, I did, out of the corner of my eye, notice Sam adjust himself quite openly, or perhaps unconsciously, in front of all the cameras.
I nudged him ever so slightly, my typical reflex when I found him doing this because if I was honest, he had to adjust himself quite regularly.
Sam responded to my nudge with a deflect, feigning fixing the button on his jacket. But I knew different. I leaned in to him, “Are you grateful for the extra room?” I said under my breath, smiling to the cameras.
“No, damnit,” he said through clenched teeth, “It makes it worse.” He glanced behind me, “And you had to come wearing that. I can see every curve.”
I turned my face toward him, smiling brightly for the flashes, “That was the idea.”
Every dark corner beckoned us. Every bathroom we walked by, curtain pulled across for privacy and dim theatre screamed at us to fuck. We sat side by side in the theatre, a thousand eyes watching Jamie and Claire, but we were seeing us.
From the moment Jamie and Claire began their argument, I could feel wetness between my thighs. My hand crawled its way across the partition toward Sam. I didn’t know if it was dark enough and I really didn’t care. Sam’s eyes never moved from the screen. He never shifted his body or tilted his head. He gave no indication that he was doing anything other than watching the screen as my fingers lowered the zipper to his trousers. Ever. So. Slowly.
I slid my hand inside his trousers as his hands came up and folded themselves over mine. It wasn’t like you could really hide what was going on if you were really looking. But I smiled at the effort.
During the spanking scene, I had completely stilled my hand, so focused on how turned on I was becoming. Sam was strong and firm in my hand, still cloaked by his too-large-in-the-crotch trousers, but I was starting to need some attention. I squeezed my thighs together, but with no relief, let out a breath of frustration.
I rubbed him slowly, occasionally stopping for a few minutes only to start again when I would feel his hand push into mine, urging me to continue. But when the final scene came and we both watched Jamie lick my nipple, my movements quickened. I could feel Sam tense, eyes still never leaving the screen, but his hands unfolded and pushed against mine tightly.
I stilled briefly, unsure of whether he wanted me to stop until I felt him move my hand up and down. My fist tightened and I felt my eyes shift toward him and then we heard it. It was faint. Barely noticeable for those around us. But not to us.
My hand froze and Sam jerked slightly, spilling his seed over my hand and his trousers.
We didn’t move. Frozen in place. Not merely by my actions, but also by my voice. Had I really said that? Had I really called out his name during that scene? As every one else in the theatre remained engrossed in the story, I slowly raised my eyes to Sam. Finally turning towards me, mouth slightly agape, I could tell he saw the stunned look on my face. I questioned him silently and he nodded shallowly.
Sam had heard it too. Had heard me call his name. Had come in my hand at the echo of my voice, in all its Dolby sound.
I pulled my hand away slowly, reaching with my other hand for a Kleenex in my clutch. By the time we had finished quietly cleaning, the credits rolled and the house lights stabbed through the darkness.
I made sure to walk in front of Sam, stand in front of him, or generally make sure his front was covered, the entire rest of the evening. Thankfully, the night was winding down and I felt Sam rub my back while engrossed in a conversation with some studio heads. Suddenly, I felt the zipper to my dress lower. The coolness of the metal creating goosebumps in its wake.
I hiccuped and smiled, head still facing forward as the zipper swept down my lower back. I felt a warm hand dip inside the lowered zipper. The heat from his touch was making my belly ache.
“What are you doing?” I asked as our company departed us.
“Just seeing how far I can stretch these trousers,” he leaned in closer, his hair tickling my ear, and whispered, “Caitriona.”
I pushed back against him and echoing my screen self, lowered my voice, sighing, “Saaaam.”