Watching tonight’s performance from the velvet seats instead of the stage. The tenor’s voice is soaring, but my mind keeps drifting to the heavy curtain backstage. The scent of dust, sweat, and anticipation... it’s intoxicating.

Backstage was never just for dressing. It’s where the masks come off. Where the 'goddess' sheds her robes and lets the stagehands do whatever they want to her tight, trembling cunt just to feel something real before the applause dies.

I could make it rain right here in this seat just thinking about being pressed against the brick wall, rough fabric scraping my tits while a thick cock stretches my pussy open. Being watched. Being used.

Maybe I should go find the prop master. I need to be filled. Right now.