Couples Play #1: Voyeurism, Spanking, and Sex in Public

by Starla Cole

  Couples Play #1

  Voyeurism, Spanking, and Sex in Public

  By Starla and Maxwell Cole

  Copyright © 2013 Starla Cole and Maxwell Cole

  All rights reserved.

  Watch for more Couples Play titles from Starla & Maxwell!

  Also by Starla Cole

  The Boudoir Sessions (Sexual Misadventures in the Photo Studio)

  #1 Naughty Santa (A Christmas stripper comes to town)

  #2 Dirty Pirate Hooker (A pirate sex show promo shoot goes wild)

  #3 Goddess of Bondage (A contortionist proves the ideal subject for Japanese rope bondage)

  Stay on top of Starla at her blog: http://starlacole.blogspot.com

  Or get freebies and sneak peeks on her list: http://eepurl.com/tlv6b

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  v1.1

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  1: Boomer’s Bar

  2: Boys in the Band

  3: Revving It Up

  4: Backroom Blitz

  5: Belted and Busted

  About Starla and Maxwell

  Excerpt from Starla Cole’s Naughty Santa

  1: Boomer’s Bar

  The smell of industrial cleaners hit Ellen the moment she tugged open the heavy door to Boomer’s Bar. She checked her watch. Still over an hour until it officially opened for its first night. Maybe she should splash some beer around to get rid of the meadow fresh scent.

  Her husband Peter lingered by the entrance. “I was here back when it was Arnie’s Dive Bar. Scottie’s classed it up.”

  Ellen’s laugh rang through the room. “If by classing it up you mean scraping an inch of gunk off the floor, then definitely.”

  Her job booking bands for Scott Temple had been a huge promotion for a bartender who’d given up on actually using her bachelor’s degree. Boomer’s would be the fifth bar he’d entrusted to her expertise in establishing atmosphere and vibe.

  Molly came in through the back, over forty and slender as a stick, peroxide blond and tattooed to the hilt. Scottie had brought her over from Raven’s Rest, his biker bar, to train the new staff and manage opening night.

  Ellen weaved through the scattered tables to the back room. “Is the band here?”

  Molly lit a cigarette, probably the last she’d get as she couldn’t smoke once they opened, city ordinance. “Oh yeah. Real punks. Hope they have more talent than sense.”

  Ellen laughed. “They do.”

  A bass guitar thundered from the back, rolling through notes that vibrated right through her stiletto boots and into her body. She released the tension in her shoulders as the music rocked through her. This was absolutely the best part, hearing the acts she discovered get ready for their debut.

  The lead guitar galloped along with the bass, and already Ellen felt the beat in her belly, unfurling inside her with a heat and excitement that was perilously close to orgasmic. No wonder so many girls fell for musicians. Rock and roll and booze and sex.

  She glanced back at Peter. He hated going backstage and usually didn’t come at all. But their argument that morning about her taking on another club still hung between them, and when she’d started dressing for opening night, he’d headed to the closet as well.

  “Should I come back with you?” he asked.

  “Would you rather let Molly set you up?” Ellen tugged on her tiny skirt. Despite a full-on makeup job, kick-ass hair, and an outfit tight as skin, Peter still hadn’t made any comment on her appearance. The band would, though, she knew, young aggressive types who’d make a big fuss. She didn’t know which was worse, having Peter realize everyone else noticed her, or leaving him out here to just plain not notice.

  “No, I’ll come on back.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He’d dressed the part, thankfully, a black Metallica t-shirt and the leather biker boots he’d thought were a joke gift until she’d suggested he break them in before wearing them out. He looked lean and wiry, his short hair with just the right amount of shag.

  She hadn’t commented on his appearance either.

  “You look exactly right,” she said. Time to remedy her own mistake. “You’ll show up those boy rockers.”

  He looked a little sick, like meeting the band was akin to eating bad fish. She wrapped herself around his arm. “I’m glad you’re coming back. Thank you for doing it for me.”

  They pushed through the swinging door, and the noise level ratcheted up as the boys whooped like she’d expected. “Hot mama!” the bass guitarist called out and banged out a explosive chord.

  The lead singer elbowed him, jerking his chin at Peter.

  A handful of bored girls lounged on a ratty sofa, trying to look all sexy despite the collapsing cushions. Their killing glares made Ellen want to laugh out loud. How tenuous the hold always seemed on a bad boy. She’d been that beady-eyed girl more than once before swearing off musicians and finding Peter drinking his sorrow in the corner of her bar one afternoon six years ago.

  God, she loved this job. Everything good in her life happened because of it. How could Peter think she should cut back? She was just getting started.

  2: Boys in the Band

  Shit.

  Peter really took in Ellen’s appearance for the first time since she walked out of the bedroom back home. A spark of anger tempered with chagrin flared in his chest. It had taken the cat calls of a group of college boys - barely old enough to drink, by the looks of them - to draw his attention to how hot his wife looked.

  His gaze shifted from the leering band to their co-ed groupies splayed on the sagging couch. Trashy skirts or skintight jeans, tight tops and push up bras showing as much cleavage as possible, and eyeshadow in colors not found in nature. Everything screaming for attention, yet still ignored by the hooting chimpanzees ogling his wife.

  His wife. He unhooked his arm from hers and slid it around her waist, then turned her toward him. “Sorry boys, she’s too hot for you young guns to handle.” Peter relished the surprised look in Ellen’s eyes as he enveloped her lips with his own. She fell into the embrace naturally, but he sensed some hesitation, some resistance.

  The band erupted in shouts and laughter. Ellen pulled away from him, looking somewhat ruffled as she smoothed a hair back into place then ran a hand down her hip and tugged at the bottom of her skirt.

  “You guys sounded good,” she said, all business again. “Where’s Joe?”

  The guy with the red Fender Stratocaster across his lap shrugged. “Dunno. Probably smoking out in the van.”

  Ellen stiffened. “Hard to keep a beat without drums.”

  “I’ll go check on him.” One of the couch nymphs stood up and wiggled her skirt down, then danced out of the room.

  Another guy elbowed the guitar player. “Won’t be seeing them for a bit.
”

  The band members all laughed. One of the girls rolled her eyes and pulled out an iPhone.

  Sex in a car. Peter hadn’t tried that since he was in college, before he met Ellen. All he remembered was elbows in bad places, uncomfortable positions, and the horn honking at the worst time. He wondered if Ellen had ever tried. For them it had always been the bedroom, or maybe some foreplay on the couch. Of course, that was assuming sex even happened. Between her gigs and bookings, and his convention travel and all-night coding fests before a deadline, their sex life had gone from a spring torrent to a summer creek trickle.

  “Ok you guys,” said Ellen. “Let’s go over your set list. Give me the opening licks from ‘Hello, Pain.’”

  3: Revving It Up

  They sounded good at least. Ellen felt relief as the song coursed through her. The boys were focused, the lead singer belting out his pain from a scraggly curtain of blond hair, practically channeling Kurt Cobain.

  But still no drummer. She waved her arms. “Good, all good. Start setting up. I’ll go snag the drummer.”

  “Prepare the eye bleach.” Cobain-boy shook his head. “Those two have no shame.”

  The fall night had cooled enough to chill Ellen’s bare knees as she crunched through broken asphalt to approach the boys’ van. The broken-down Ford looked more likely to hold stolen televisions than a band, but everyone started somewhere.

  The light was on in the back, the doors cocked open a few inches. Ellen heard a cymbal clang and sighed with relief. Joe was gathering his drum set for the gig.

  She peeked inside the crack in the doors.

  And she was wrong.

  Joe had his face buried between the girl’s thighs. Her skirt was pushed up to her hips, and a pair of scarlet panties encircled an ankle. Black hair fanned out over the carpeted floor.

  Ellen sucked in a breath and stepped back. Should she knock? Call out before approaching the van again?

  But heat flooded through her. She pressed a hand between her own legs, calming the sudden throb. She’d never watched people having sex before, other than the rare porn she and Peter happened to catch on cable. Certainly not in person.

  She peeked in again. Joe had pulled back, and now buried his fingers in the girl. She was mostly shaven, bare but for a little thatch. Her hands had found a pair of metal tie-downs to grab on to, and she mewled like a kitten as he worked over her.

  His free hand pushed up on her black tank. She was small breasted, braless, and a mulberry nipple broke the long expanse of flawless pale skin.

  To be twenty again, Ellen mused, pressing at the bottom of her own heavy breasts, a normal size but still a touch lower than they once were. She couldn’t get away without a bra.

  Her finger grazed her own nipple, sending an electric charge throughout her body and zinging between her legs. She shouldn’t spy on the pair, but they were both so young and perfect, so into each other. Ellen couldn’t help admiring their passion and daring for stealing this moment for themselves.

  Joe rolled the girl’s breast in his hand then returned to her thigh, tickling along her skin even as his other hand worked inside her. Ellen fluttered her own fingers beneath her skirt, just along the lace edge of her panties, adding another layer of pleasure to the heat building in her.

  “Joe, please, now,” the girl kept her eyes closed but lifted her hips.

  He let go of her and unbuttoned his jeans.

  Ellen turned away, but only for a second before her desire beat out guilt. Joe rose to his knees and shoved down the black skinny jeans and white boxers. His bare butt gleamed in the low light of a street lamp.

  Turn, Ellen silently asked. Just a second, turn a little. She realized she’d slipped a finger inside her own panties. She wasn’t a big masturbator, at least not since she’d been married, but she felt so hot, so needy. And a long night ahead.

  “Let me see that,” the girl said, echoing Ellen’s thoughts.

  Joe shifted over, just enough, his erection stretching in front of him, long, lean, and gleaming on the tip. “Suck it,” he said. “Just for a minute. You know how it relaxes me before a gig.”

  Ellen stifled her snort. How many musicians had used that line on her?

  The girl frowned at him but got to her knees anyway. Joe held it out for her.

  Her soft pink mouth enveloped the hard shaft, and now Ellen really was feeling wobbly. She pressed several fingers between her folds, but it was no use, she was standing in a parking lot in stiletto boots, supposedly prepping for a club opening.

  She stepped back carefully to avoid any noise and inched back to the back door of the bar.

  The lead singer came out just as she approached. “Find him?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t sure which was yours—is it that white one?”

  He glanced out at the lot, mostly empty but for a few small cars, a pick up, and the van. “Looks to be.”

  “Go drag him in then,” she said, not quite trusting herself to say more. She felt ready to grab any boy with working equipment and jump him. And the night hadn’t even begun yet.

  She slipped back inside the door. The boys had moved the equipment out. The lounging girlfriends were gone, probably staking claim to the close tables. The room was empty, not even Peter remained.

  The bass guitar pushed through the doors. From the rumble on the other side, the crowd was growing. All good. Ellen peeked out. Yes, most of the tables were full and a few people were at the bar. Funny how a club could go from zero to sixty in the ten o’clock hour. Scottie would be pleased.

  A rattle behind her turned out to be the band boys and a red-faced girlfriend, black tank back in place and, surely, the red panties secure over her probably not-too-satisfied girl parts. Ellen could feel her pain. She still throbbed herself, and each movement made her lacy bra scrape over her heightened-sensation breasts like sandpaper.

  They all filed through with the bits of drum set. “Got it all?” Ellen asked.

  Joe nodded. “We’ll be set up in five.”

  “Grab some water from Molly,” she said. “And the first fifty on the tab is on us.”

  They nodded, pushed through the door, and Ellen was alone again.

  She turned from the door. Just a second to pull herself together and she’d hole up near the end of the bar. She didn’t like to sit too close, like she was grading them, not with new bands. She’d order her one rum and coke per hour to blend in and still keep her senses.

  The door opened again, and she whirled around. Peter didn’t realize she was so close and smacked right into her. One of the two drinks in his hands sloshed on her arm, ice spilling to the floor.

  “Oh, shit! Damn it!” Peter set the drinks on a table and grabbed her arm, then realized he didn’t have any napkins.

  Goosebumps broke out on her skin after the heat she’d felt by the van, the cool air, and now, the cold drink. “It’s okay. All black. Won’t show.”

  Peter took her arm, rubbing at the spill with his shirt. “I don’t mind getting a little sticky for a good cause.” He frowned. “You’re totally covered in goosebumps. Usually that only happens if you’re freezing, or—” He looked up at her, and she was pretty sure he saw everything.

  4: Backroom Blitz

  Pure unadulterated lust.

  The look in Ellen’s eyes was unmistakable, and her body radiated sexual heat. Peter gulped once, feeling it wash over him like a blast furnace. Ellen shivered under his touch as he dabbed at her wet clothes. Heat prickled out from his thighs and into his crotch. He could feel the swell building with bullish intensity. They were alone in the back room, the noise from the expanding bar crowd muted by the heavy door. Out in the main room, he knew the band would be starting sound checks soon. Would anyone come looking for Ellen? Did they need her for anything at this point?

  Still, he hesitated. But that’s what she’d expect him to do, the Peter that forgot to compliment her, the one, he suspected, she was already growing weary of. He could step up. In fact, right n
ow, he would do just that.

  Peter wrapped his arms around Ellen’s back and buried his face in her cleavage, letting his tongue do the work of his shirt. She gasped and he thought for a moment she would pull away, but then she laced her fingers in his hair and pressed him to her heated flesh. He ran a hand along the curve of her waist and over her hip, and was rewarded by another of Ellen’s delicious shudders. He slid his hand to her tight ass and pulled her against him, his bulge pressing into her leg.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one thinking that direction,” she said.

  Peter lifted his head and locked his lips against hers in response. Hunger surged through him as her tongue met his then slid past and teased his mouth. She pulled away, with a wicked smile, then slipped her hand between their bodies and gave his cock a playful squeeze.

  Peter groaned. “I don’t know what’s got you so hot and bothered, but I’m not going to complain.”

  “Let’s just say Joe and his girl gave me a show.”

  “You saw them?” Peter tried to picture the girl who had gone after Joe, her tongue lashing Joe’s imaginary cock. A fresh rush of lust pulsed through him, and his own cock throbbed in his jeans. The thought of Ellen getting turned on by her voyeurism made his pulse race.

  “Oh yes,” she said, drawing out the “s” into a sensual hiss. “Poor things didn’t get to finish, though.”

  “Neither did you, from the looks of it.” Peter smoothed his hands over her ample breasts, feeling her nipples harden through her thin clothing. Ellen sucked in a breath as a slight shudder rippled through her. He let his hand wander south, down under the hem of her skirt before caressing her inner thigh. Ellen sighed and rubbed her hands over his back, then gasped as he teased her swollen lips through her lace panties. Peter marveled at how wet she was, and could feel his cock leaking pre-cum. Hooking the cloth crotch with one finger, he yanked down and Ellen moaned. Peter traced her soft pussy lips with a free finger and she mewled like a starved kitten.