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A Funny Thing Happened...

By: Hitchhiker



Life can be real fun. Well mine is. There I was on East coast of Australia. Staying at a back packers hostel. It was the festive season and being the southern hemisphere summer, sub-tropical hot warm very pleasant. The sea the temperature of a warm bath 80 deg F (26 deg C). Yep you've got it paradise.

My fellow back packers were from all over the world. A large contingent from California enjoying the surf and several luscious females from Sweden. A dusky maiden from Maine and sultry blonde from Boston. There was even a POHM (me).

All in all a very mixed bunch all getting on with each other and having fun.

Until that is my gender orientation was questioned. Whether in fun or not my honour was insulted and had to be repaired.

'Twas Christmas night and the youngsters had consumed more than they could hold. But the ladies needed entertaining . A young beauty from Sweden called Anna was in a very frisky mood. So I saw my chance to restore my honour. 

Anna and I had struck up a friendship . As I'd become her paladin by protecting her from the advances of nasty greasy chap. who had been all over Anna like a rash. Much to her disgust. (well I ask you 250lbs of untoned flab wearing g-string swimming trunks, with a posing pouch at the front that was designed for a hearty meal but didn't even contain the starters) So Anna and I had pretended to be an item. To discourage these un-welcome advances . 

The party had wound down and thing were getting quiet, the lights were low and the music was slow and smoochey. Anna was enjoying my roving hands and kisses. After several very sensuous slow numbers. Quite to my surprise, Anna dragged me to a sofa at the back of the common room.

She was warm and smelt as sweet as a mid- summer nights dream. We laid ourselves out on the large old sofa and started to become better-acquainted .My body shielded us from prying eyes. I gently pushed my hands under Anna's t-shirt and caress her firm and delightful breasts, her nipples were hard and erect as was my straining member. That poked out the top of my shorts.

Anna's hand found the head and began to stroke the head with the palm of her hand . As my cock struggled for air. Pure heaven!

I looked over my shoulder to see if we had any watchers and apart from a sleeping surfer there was no one in view. So I pushed Anna's T-shirt up over her beautiful breasts and started to kiss and suck her perfect globes . I circled my tongue around her nipples gently tweaking them with my teeth and flicking me tongue over the very tips of her nipples. Anna was fighting hard to control her moaning as I continued my petting by licking the undersides of her breast were they folded under to meet her ribs. This is a highly sensitive area on any woman but for Anna even more so.

She was writhing and squirming to position her butt to apply pressure to my erection. She put her thighs over mine and pushed my arse cheeks with her calves. To help her get more contact with my rampant flesh . I put my hand under her butt and pulled the waistband of her short and knickers from beneath her and up to her mid thighs. This left her and me covered from any passing glances, but gave us both what we desired the meeting of excited genitals. By pushing down the waistband of my shorts and pants. I was able to rub the tip of my engorged cock up and down her slit. Because there was only limited space on the sofa I was only able to the get just the head of my cock into the warm slick, outer lips of her pussy. Even so, she managed to get her hand between her legs and grab hold of my cock so that she could rub the head, on and around her clit. We continued like this for what seemed like an eternity of mutual bliss.

Until Anna whispered that we MUST go outside.

With some difficulty we straightened our clothing and very quietly so as not disturb the sleeping surfers went outside and into my tent. Without anyone seeing us (or so we thought) go. 

We crawled into my tent and virtually ripped each other's cloths off. Anna's body was perfect in the light of my camper's lamp and I revelled in her beauty kissing her y all over until my lips found her secret treasure. Before I got to her most treasured parts I spent long minutes on all the other important and sensitive areas. I found the backs of her knee's and her inner thighs most rewarding, as did she. Finally I headed for her pussy. I licked and probed her flesh with my tongue until she was at a point of total submission. 

She was like a bow straining to loose its arrow. I played with her and teased her delaying her climax by increasing and decreasing the pressure and intensity of my mouth on her vulva and clit. I ran my tongue down the outside of her pussy then pushed my tongue into wetness savouring her aroma and taste. 

My beard was coated in her juices and I had to wipe it dry with a towel as it got a bit too much. 

I took this opportunity to change position and turned Anna on her side and moved us into a 69 position. At this Anna took my cock and swallowed it in one, right to the hilt wow!!! 

I pushed her legs apart put her right foot on the side of my head and buried my face back in between her willing thighs and continued toying with her pussy. In this new position I was able to insert my fingers into her hot soaking pussy. I could now feel the quivering tremors of her approaching orgasm.

I to was on the verge of coming and wouldn't be able to hold back for much longer. Anna bobbed her head up and down, moaning as she did so . I wasn't being quiet either if any one was in earshot they wouldn't be in any doubt what we were about. I whispered to Anna that she should cum. She had no choice really as I intensified my attention on her clit and rubbed the tips of my fingers inside her pussy on her g-spot. 

As she came, Anna clamped her thighs round my head and pressed my head into body. Her body shuddered and shook as her orgasm raged through her I thought she was going to pass out as she just kept cumming and cumming as her body shook and convulsed with pleasure. As she came down from her peak she relaxed her grip on my head. Letting me come up for air. We lay quietly for several minutes with our heads between each other's thighs.

Anna asked me to fuck her real slow but not to come inside her, as she was no longer on the pill. I said that I wouldn't come inside her but did need some more time to calm myself down a bit first. 

Then she made a really crazy and erotic suggestion. Lets go for a walk to the footy field and you can screw me in the middle of the pitch. 

Why not I thought, the walk would certainly calm me down for round three. We climbed out of my tent just pulling on our shorts and t-shirts and quite innocently walked out of the hostel gate and down the road hand in hand to the footy field.

It was pitch dark and there was no one about, being Christmas night. After a bit of friendly argument we found the middle of the pitch. I pulled off my clothes and ran around in the dark with my erection bouncing between my legs. Anna laughed at my athletic prowess and asked what event I was in. "Pole vault" I said. Anna stripped and told me to stop being silly and come here. She got down on all fours with her white bottom in the air. She said "come on you Pohm'y bastard stick it in and fuck me". I ran up behind her and dropped to my knees and in one fluid movement thrust my cock into her hot willing pussy. 

Whoa, to my surprise I was still very aroused and had to use all myself control to prevent myself cumming in just a couple strokes. Even though it was incredibly difficult, I managed to get into a rhythm and revelled in the incredible sensations raging in my bell end. After a minute or so I pulled out of her and rolled her over onto her back. With her legs pulled up and her legs spread as wide as they could go . She lay there and said all breathless "Fuck meeee please" I pushed myself into her again, held my weight on my arms and toes and drove my cock into her like a pile driver, the tension in my muscles was incredible, but I had to stay controlled which enhanced the sensation and tension even more. The tingle in my balls got greater and greater until I started to cum

Just before my sperm burst from the tip of my cock, I pulled out of her wanton pussy and shot my load over her belly and breasts. My sperm came out of the tip of my cock with such force that some even landed on her chin.

Being so totally spent; as I was I just flopped on to her panting sweating body and lay there as our juices and sweat mixed between our exhausted yet fully satisfied bodies. After awhile we pulled ourselves apart and went back to the hostel and my tent. We climbed into the tent whipped ourselves down with my towel curled up together and drifted of to sleep in each others arms.

Pt 2.

When we awoke the next morning the inside of the tent spelt like a Maltese brothel the morning after the fleet had docked. 

We both needed a wash and real good freshen up. The best place for this was the Pacific Ocean. which was only a few hundred yards away, we pulled on our clothes Anna grabbed her swimsuit from her bunk in the hostel; and we ran to the beach. There was no one in site so we dropped our things under some trees back from the beach. Anna suggested we took our swim naked. What the heck I thought pulled off my trunks and ran for the breakers and dived in, with Anna close on my heals. We surfaced and kissed in the breaking surf. Our hands went for each other's bodies and we both knew we had unfinished business . It was just wonderful in the surf on that fantastic Boxing Day morning, the sun was shinning bright and warm there was no one about we were in our own world. A timeless erotic paradise.

As we trod water holding onto each other Anna looked at me with pure lust in her eyes, and asked me "have you ever fucked a girl in the butt?" I said " no". But would try anything once .

"Come on then, I wont to feel you shoot inside me this time," said Anna. We ran back up the beach and spread out our towels on the sand and went straight into 69 with Anna on top of me sucking my cock and me underneath eating her for breakfast. She told me to push a finger into her ring to stretch it ready for the invasion of my cock. I worked at her butt hole, taking her juices from her pussy to make entry into the tight hole easier. She then told me to use some sun tan oil. I was loath to do this as I didn't fancy a mouthful of sun oil. So said "OK, but later but first I'm going to eat your pussy and bring you off."

At this moment I looked up and directly above us was a hang glider the guy could see what we were up to, and suddenly it must have registered in his head what he was looking at on the ground. Two people stark naked in 69 eating each other for all they were worth. 

All of a sudden he lost control of his hang glider, and peeled off toward the land. Say "Ooooooh fuuuuuuck, I don't believe it!!!!!!"

Anna and I couldn't help ourselves and laughed uncontrollably for several minutes after awhile I called out "you all right?" and got a reply "yep, you go for it mate" We both started laughing again. But with that lovely willing woman laying next me her breasts giggling with laughter. I soon got back to the job in hand. 

I got our cloths and rolled them into a pillow and placed it under Anna's bottom allowing my easier access to her pussy and especially her tight hole. I poured some tan oil into the palm of my hand and let it run down my fingers and onto her tight little rose bud. I ever so gentle pushed first one then two fingers into her butt, then three fingers pumping them back and forth as I did. With my other hand I rubbed her clit and pushed my thumb into her pussy .My cock twitched with anticipation. After a few minutes she told me she was ready to be fucked in the butt. I knelt up between her wide spread thighs and positioned my cock at the opening of her pussy and pushed myself in. "No she said don't tease me, or else I'll want you to come in there and I don't want to have a baby". So reluctantly I with drew and pushed the tip head of cock down to her tight little hole. I had to push quite hard to get the tip to enter her butt. But as soon as the bell end was in it got easier. With just the head in her arse hole, Anna told me to stay still and let her relax. I moved my body forward without entering her any further and laid my body gentle down on hers. When she was ready for me to enter her butt. Anna put her heals on my arse and pushed saying "now, fuck me hard and fast and shoot your spunk in me".

I began slowly at first savouring the new sensations of having my cock in an arse hole instead of a pussy. The sensation was quite different instead pressure just around one point .Her anus gripped my cock along its full length. (""You could become addicted to this I thought."") 

As the pressure in my balls increased I fucked Anna's arse hard and fast with long firm strokes, with drawing to just having the head of my cock in her arse to right up to the hilt. As I reached the point of no return I just let myself come. Anna had reached down and was frigging her clit for all she was worth. My cock swelled for the final stroke and I shot my spunk into her tight arse. It was incredible, Anna's anus spasmd at the same time and we came together. The sweat was dripping off me like I had a leak. Ah! I just collapsed onto her also sweating body and she wrapped her arms and legs around me and held me in her body. 

After a few minutes, Anna said I was getting heavy and I lifted myself off her withdrew my still semi-erect cock from her body. "Few what a shag" I said. I sat on my heals and just took in the sight before me. Incredible!!

I jumped up and said, "Race you" and we ran to the ocean and dived in that warm blue water, and swam just for the pleasure and freedom of the moment.

At the pub that night, Anna and I sat at a table and listened to this guy going about what he had seen earlier on the beach whilst hang gliding!. Never in my life have I had such a hard time keeping a straight face.

To be continued... 

A Funny Thing Happened...



Prologue

"Hey Sim, are you doing anything Monday night?"

"Hey Gin, Monday, the 14th?" A pause. "No, nothing special. Why?"

"Couple of the girls and I are having a little impromptu gathering in the green room. Be nice if you stopped by." A short pause, then: "Jason's cool with it." Jason was the Company Manager, and if he wasn't cool with it just yet, he soon would be.

"Alright, that sounds like fun. Shall I bring anything...or?

"Nah. Don't worry about it. Just bring yourself."

Sim gave a little half smile, as if to say 'Well, if you're sure.' and started back towards the parking lot. Then he turned.

"Sorry. I've got the car here tonight. You want a ride back to the place?"

"No, Liz and I have some girl stuff to talk about, and I could use the walk. Hey last thing: could you not tell anybody else about it? I don't really want to make it a big deal." 

"No problem. You sure you don't need a lift? Plenty of room for Liz, if..."

"No, I'm good." And I was too. Having invited the guest of honor, I now had most of five days in which to get everything ready. Not much time, but I was going to have some help.

1.

 

If you've never seen A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum..., you're missing out. It's a great show, it's the first musical for which Sondheim wrote both music and lyrics, and it's basically a Roman sex farce with some pretty catchy songs: "Comedy Tonight", "Lovely", "Dirty Old Man", great stuff. The plot—not that it matters much—concerns this young man who lives with his parents. The 'rents go off to the country for the weekend, and he (his name is Hero, by the way) falls in love with a courtesan who lives at the brothel next door to his house. Her name is Philia, she's a virgin, and she loves him too, but she's due to be sold to this super-stud of a general called Miles Gloriosus. So Hero offers his slave, Pseudolus—Pseudolus is the real star of the show—his freedom if he, Pseudolus, can figure out a way for Hero and Philia to be together. Well, plans get made, lies get told, potions get drunk, men put on dresses, everybody chases everybody else, and hilarity pretty much ensues. It gets done a lot, because the music's not too hard, the cast is not too big, and who doesn't like songs, gags, and scantily-clad ladies doing the Roman equivalent of pole dancing? Anyhow, if you haven't seen it, check it out the next time it comes to the local theatre or college or whatever. And if you have seen it recently, or if you see it in the next five to ten years, you probably have or will see me playing Gymnasia.

You see, when Hero tells his slave that he's in love with a courtesan, Pseudolus asks Lycus, the owner of the brothel, to show what he's got on offer so that Hero can point out the one he's interested in. This is a perfect excuse for a dance-number in which six lovely ladies of pleasure display their wares for a potential buyer. For five of the roles, casting doesn't have to be too specific: basically you're looking for attractive women who can dance. Tintinabula usually has a kind of belly-dancer thing going on, so she's often a little softer and curvier than, say, Panacea, who's probably going to be somebody with ballet chops. The brothel owner describes Vibrata as a tigress, so she tends to get the most athletic choreography, leaps, twists and tumbling, like that, and she's usually wearing a kind of jungle-girl bra and loincloth ensemble. And the Geminae are a pair of twins, so most directors find a couple of girls around the same height and build, put them in identical costumes and wigs, and then choreograph for whoever's the weaker dancer. But Gymnasia has to be something special. She's this Amazon bitch goddess: tall, stacked, and fierce. Pseudolus falls in lust with her at first sight, and there are all kinds of jokes in the script about the size of her body, the size of her boobs, and her ability to single-handedly pleasure large fraternal organizations. So right off the bat, you're looking for somebody with size, sass and sizzle. Put another way, you're looking for Virginia McNally. That's me.

Gymnasia doesn't even have to dance much, although it's better if she does. And as it happens, I do; pretty well, actually. I'm also 5'11" with a big rack, a curvy ass, a slim waist, and what my jazz teacher calls "forever legs." I've also got apple cheeks and blue eyes from my Irish mom, and waves of sexy-messy golden-blonde hair from my German grandma. I've just turned 26, and I've already played Gymnasia three times, although this is far and away the best production I've been in, and the hottest costume I've ever worn. Our designer was going for a kind of wild-woman/dominatrix look, so she gave me this killer black wig with a thick braid that reaches down almost to my ass. She also found these amazing thigh-high black leather boots with three-inch fuck-me heels (hell to dance in, by the way, but damn they're hot!), black spandex panties—we're not hugely concerned with period accuracy here—a garter belt, stockings, and a sort of half-corset which makes my boobs, half bursting out of the damn thing anyway, look even bigger than they actually are. Then I've got these kind of Xena Warrior Princess black and gold armor pieces: a really wide belt-thing, which rests just under my tits, and broad leather bracelets. And props found me this evil-looking black riding crop which I get to use on poor besotted Pseudolus at the end of the finale. Basically, if you've ever fantasized about Wonder Woman going over to the dark side, buy a ticket to the Broken Arrow Opera House's production of Stephen Sondheim's A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (Must Close on March 20th) and kneel before me, worm!

I'm mostly kidding about the "kneel before me" thing, although I do get a little—shall we say "dewy"—just from putting on the costume, never mind the rush I feel every time I step on stage and hear from a third to half (lots of gay guys at musicals) of a 750 seat house moaning with lust at the sight of me. (No shit, I can hear it.) But beautiful and talented as I almost certainly am, I'm also smart enough to know that I'm not actually the reason that this production of Forum is so good. Gymnasia doesn't actually have any lines. None of the courtesans have, except Philia, of course. No, we're basically sight gags or eye candy depending on who you're talking to. A production of Forum lives or dies with its Pseudolus; in this case, Sim, the guy who just agreed to meet me and a couple of other ladies at the theatre on Valentine's Day—well—night. This year the holiday falls on the off day. Like most theatres in the United States, Broken Arrow is dark Mondays.

Now I love, love, love musical theatre, but as a career path, it does have its frustrations. You might work a little more often and make a little more money than theatre folks who don't do musicals, but unless you're Patti LuPone or Idina Menzel lucky, you don't get rich. Then there're the social drawbacks. All that waffle about how gorgeous I am to one side, the chorus of your average regional musical tends to break down as follows: 

50%: Attractive, talented young heterosexual women (say aged 21-35.)

49.9%: Attractive, talented young homosexual men (same age range.)

0.1%: Attractive, talented heterosexual man who's had almost every woman who's ever signed an Equity Chorus Contract three times a week and twice on Sundays, and who consequently thinks he is God's gift to the ladies.

It really can become a problem. Take my case here: I'm young, unattached, and usually far from home (it's an absolute bastard finding work in the City.) So when I have work, I'm giving eight athletically rigorous, sexually-charged performances (ok, so maybe not so much in Sound of Music, but South Pacific, Guys and Dolls, Cabaret, fer chrissake?) per week, which flood my body with adrenaline and stoke the fires of my not-exactly-latent exhibitionism. So show's over: I'm restless, jumpy, and often just plain horny, and I'm surrounded by beautiful, sweet, intelligent, witty guys, almost all of whom want cock as much as, or more than, I do. Of course the lads can, and do, turn to each other for sex, solace, and, more often than you might think, long-term partnerships, but we ladies are left with few options, all of them unattractive, (unless of course we happen to be gay, which, despite some experimenting in college, I'm not.). 

There is the occasional straight chorus boy. He's usually gorgeous, ripped and ready, but he's also usually an arrogant prick who wouldn't know a clitoris if it offered to help him with the Times crossword. There're stage hands, house management and/or box office, if anything particularly yummy happens to be working the show. But since those folks are local, they tend to have wives and girlfriends nearby, and while I'm occasionally a slut, I'm not a home-wrecker. There's bar-hopping: maybe that works for some gals; of my experiences that way, the less said the better. And of course there are the principals.

Actors who play leads in musicals tend to have come up in musicals, and so of course many of them, particularly the handsome leading men types, are gay. More of the character guys tend to be straight, but first of all, they're "character", a Hollywood euphemism for ugly or older or both, and they mostly break down into two categories: married and "Not with a titanium condom in a rented vagina." I know it sounds really awful and shallow, but I'm 26 years old. Sex with some paunchy, middle-aged lech, or even with some beaky, emaciated 30-something just doesn't appeal; at least not more than True Blood on Hulu and a vibrator. And in this production of Forum, the pickings were particularly slim: Proteans, one gay and sweet, the other straight, kind, if a little distant, and extremely Christian; Lycus, elderly, alcoholic perv; Senex, gay; Erronius, close to 80; Hero, gay; Miles Gloriosus, Calvin Fletcher, one of my favorite people in the world, straight, cut, gorgeous, happily married to a beautiful deaf woman, twin daughters; Hysterium, Jack Lindley, charming, urbane, handsome, 40-something, gay; Pseudolus... well, Pseudolus...

2.

Zero Mostel was the original Pseudolus on Broadway, and you often see a fat man in the role. If you weren't feeling charitable, you might describe Simeon Brownstone, our Pseudolus, as squat. He's on the short side of things—5'8" or 5'9"—with powerful shoulders, short thick arms and legs, and a broad chest and back. And yeah, he's probably carrying 20 extra pounds. I'm guessing he's in his 40's, although he could be 38 or 51: tough to tell; he's got good skin. He's mostly bald, and he keeps what hair he has shaved close to the sides of his head. I think he has a handsome face, but then I like the man: large brown eyes with thick brows and lashes, square-ish jaw, a generous mouth and a flattish nose. Overall the physical impression is blue-collar: a shop foreman or a butcher, or a plumber. In fact, he was a violin prodigy. His folks died when he was a baby, and he was raised by the one grandparent who made it out of Germany alive: his dad's dad. Old Man Braunstein (Sim took the English translation as a stage name) was a professor of music and an accomplished clarinetist, and he had his grandson fiddling away before his 4th birthday. The way Sim tells it, he got very good, but he was never quite good enough. His Grandpa died when Sim was at college in Chicago, and the plucky little bastard (pun intended) paid for the rest of his education by becoming a pit musician at a local touring house. He played the first national tour of Into the Woods, and that's the show that started him climbing out of the pit and onto the stage.

I'd heard of Sim, but had never met him before being cast in this Forum. Word on him was pretty good: powerhouse of an actor, strong—if untrained—baritone, no formal dance training, but picked up choreography quickly; straight plays as well as musicals, some film and tv, but not much; an old-school theatre guy. Easy to work with, if not particularly easy to know; not a partier: virtually no booze, although somebody said he would very occasionally get high. Almost certainly straight, but not a show-mancer; in fact, nobody knew who or even if. In the small and incestuous world of American musical theatre, that was unusual in itself. Somebody usually knew somebody who'd been fucking so-and-so. All in all, I'd looked forward to meeting and working with him, but that was about it. He was supposed to be a decent guy. If he was, we'd get along; if not, we'd manage.

Sim's first word to me, as he looked up into my face on the first day of rehearsal was "Okey-dokey." He shot me a kind of bemused smile, introduced himself, shook my hand, and then asked me if I'd played the role before. I gestured down my body: "Yuh think?" That earned me a chuckle.

"Look," he continued, "just so we're on the same page. You've done the part, so you know I'm going to have to get a little "handsy"...

"I'm sorry, did you just say "handsy?"

"I'm not taking credit for it. The last woman I did the show with didn't like being touched in rehearsals. It's her word. It wasn't a problem," he added quickly. "I just want to make sure I know what you're okay with. Apart from the fact that I like getting along with the people I work with, I'd be particularly disinclined to piss you off."

There were several ways to take that, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed like an ok guy, just trying to diffuse a potentially awkward situation. Also, he had been looking me in the eyes. I was wearing a blue leotard under a ripped grey sweatshirt, and I was taller than he was. That made him either gay, polite, or both.

"What the matter, you scared of me?"

He sighed. "Frankly? Yeah, probably a little. Can't come as a complete shock to you."

I giggled: "Don't worry, I don't bite...in rehearsal." Why was I flirting with a guy who was probably 20 years older than me?

"Good then: safe for a couple-three weeks anyway. By the way, you didn't answer my question.

"About? Oh, look, don't worry about it. I don't mind getting a little physical in rehearsal, and I'll let you know if I'm uncomfortable with anything. Thanks for asking, by the way. So you've done the show before too?"

I'd liked him at that first rehearsal, and as we worked on the show, I liked him more. He was talented, easy-going, and very funny. And he was, as I had suspected at our first meeting, a pro. He was polite to everyone, assistant stage managers, crew, and dressers included, and helpful without being intrusive. I remember choreographing the courtesans' first number. It's called The House of Marcus Lycus, and the set-up has Pseudolus telling Lycus, the brothel owner, that he, Psuedolus, has just come into some money and wants to buy—or rent—one of the girls. So Lycus calls us all out, and since we're all looking to make a denarius, we each do some really seductive dance for, and in some cases on top of, Pseudolus. So there's Sim, sitting on this bench, and Karen, this impossibly flexible ballet dancer who's playing Panacea, ends her solo hanging upside down with her legs wrapped around his neck, his face a few inches from her crotch. Before going on with the scene, Sim stops for a moment:

"Karen, how you doing down there?"

"No problem."

"Good. Look, I want to button this by sort of snapping a look down directly at your crotch and then coming up for a reaction. Is that cool with you?"

"Sure, whatever you need."

Sim (turning to the director): "Does that work for you, Greg?

Greg: "If it's funny, it's fine, but keep it quick. This number's got to move."

Half an hour later, Liz—my BFF—playing Vibrata, is rehearsing her solo. Parker, our choreographer, wants her to finish up by giving Pseudolus what's essentially a lap dance, and so she grinds away, tits in his face, straddling his lap, final pose: she's in his lap, back to the audience, head thrown back like she's just had a massive orgasm. Again Sim stops, and says something quietly to Liz. She nods.

"Hey Parker," Sim calls, "given that she's an absolutely fearsome dancer, and considering what she's going to be wearing, do you think she can finish up facing the audience, like...I don't know...sitting on my lap with her back to me."

"That'll make it hard for you to do any kind of physical take. She'll be blocking your face."

"I'm not sure we need anything here anyway. And there's no way I'm competing with what she's just done. After that routine, I guarantee you nobody's gonna be looking at me. Besides, Gymnasia's next, and she's going to bump me right off the bench."

"Let's try it. Greg, does that work for you?...Ok, Liz, can you finish up with a turn maybe a little out to the left, then sit in his lap. Then, what do you think, straight out with a really sexy snarl or something?"

"Oh hey, here's an idea," says Liz, "what if..." moving as she talks, "I sit on your lap, reach back, grab your head, and—tell me if this is too gross—run my tongue up the side of your face, like I'm this lioness toying with my prey."

Sim lets out this breathy laugh: "Ok, that's...pretty hot, but, here's the thing—and by the way, talk about gross: I sweat. A lot. You might not want to be licking the side of my head eight times a week."

"Fuck it. I'll go on a low-sodium diet."

Maybe you have to have done what I do to appreciate how unusual Sim's behavior was. There are hierarchies built into the rehearsal process, some acknowledged, and others kind of understood. The director's supposed to be the last word in the rehearsal room, but if your lead, or even one of your featured people, is a little bit famous, or even just a more forceful personality than the director, the balance of power can shift pretty dramatically. Same thing can happen with an established musical director, or choreographer, or stage manager. And there are the unwritten rules about who can stop a rehearsal, when, how often and for how long. Sim, as the lead, had pretty wide latitude in that regard. We courtesans—on chorus contracts—had less. For an actor in Sim's position—an established musical theatre actor, the star of the show, with a track record with both the theatre and the director—to have stopped rehearsal to complain that he was being blocked or upstaged by one of the dancers would have been par for the course. For him to do the same thing to request more exposure for an ensemble member, at the expense of a laugh that he might get himself, was much more unusual. It even freed Liz up to suggest something herself: an idea which made the whole routine hotter. Also—and I'm a little ashamed to have to mention this, but you wouldn't believe how usual it is—Sim didn't use this kind of behavior for leverage with either Liz or Karen. You know the kind of thing: "Hey, Babe, did you like how I got you your bit out there with the director? You want to get some dinner and talk character relationships?" It happens; I shit you not. No, the man was a pro. And as rehearsals continued, I started to get little crush on Mr. Brownstone. I don't know that I'd have done anything about it. I'd crushed on older, more established actors before now—talent can be pretty sexy all by itself—but I'd never thought seriously about seducing any of them. Maybe it was the role. Maybe it was the costume. Maybe it was the ad lib, or the extra glass of wine I had the night it happened.

We were in previews: rehearsals performed before a paying audience before the official opening. The night before, Liz, Glori (playing Tintinabula) and I had been inserted into "Everybody's Got to Have a Maid", a number sung by Pseudolus, his fellow slave, Hysterium, Lycus, and Hero's father, Senex. So: Pseudolus has gotten Philia away from the brothel, and hidden her in the house so that she can be with Hero. Hero's dad comes back from the country a little early, and Philia, thinking it's her general come to claim her, throws herself at him. (Both Hero and Philia—the characters; not necessarily the actors—are dumber than a can of Spam.) Pseudolus appears and explains to the old man that this young hottie is a new maid Hysterium has hired, and Senex, pleased with her work ethic, sings this song about how great it is to have a maid. Four verses; one not very interesting tune, and four dancing character guys: it's actually better than it sounds, but it's not like a little sex appeal can't improve things. Anyway, costumes fits the three of us up in these slutty little French maid outfits, complete with the short skirts, poofy crinolines, white lace aprons and head thingies, and black fishnets, and Parker introduces us into the number one at a time to partner the guys. I'm blocked to come out last in this incredibly low-cut lace trimmed blouse, and I strike this pin-up pose: bent forward, knees together, arms into my sides, tits for days, and a surprised little pout on my red-painted lips. The music stops completely—one of the cellos is supposed to drag his bow across the strings in this kind of atonal honk—and everybody pants at me for a few seconds before the music starts up again and the number continues. Anyway, we had put this into the previous performance, and it had gone over pretty well: dead silence, and then some scattered applause and wolf-whistles. So here comes the number: out I come: pose, pout...and in the silence I hear Alan (playing Senex) stage-whisper: "What is that?" Sim's response is immediate, and unpremeditated, and he sounds like a little boy who's just been given a shiny red bicycle and then hit over the head with a brick: "I think she's a dream sequence!" The audience howls with laughter, the number continues, and for some reason I'm doing the rest of the show with some seriously wet panties.




A Funny Thing Happened...



That night, a few of us—Liz and I, Glori, Carolyn (playing Philia), Brad (gay protean), and Jack (Hysterium) were sitting in the two bedroom apartment Glori shared with Karen having some post-show wine and munchies, and rehashing the day.

Something struck Liz, who was already a little drunk, as funny, and she cracked up, spitting wine all over herself, giggling and choking. When she found her voice, she wheezed: "Holy shit, Gin, did you hear the reaction you got when you came out in "Maid"?

Jack, who had gone for paper towels, now threw the roll at Liz: "Not to poop in the punch bowl, Sheena," He'd given Liz the nickname after seeing her in a hot-pink leopard print bikini costumes had originally given her, "but I think they were laughing at Sim's line, not Gin's titties."

"Bitch! That's what I'm talking about: Sim's reaction! It sounded like he was talking through his hard-on."

Glori: "Ok, what does that even mean?"

Liz: "You know, like his cock was so hard it tightened up all the muscles in his body...even his throat...I don't know, it's just what he sounded like..."

Carolyn: "Gotta say, I wasn't even on stage, and I thought it sounded adorable."

Liz giggled some more, then she started chanting: "Sim likes Gin! Sim likes Gin!...Sin likes Gim...Gin likes Sin...I mean Sim...that's really hard to say!"

Carolyn: "Oh my God, you are wasted! How much of this shit did you drink?

Liz: "'S not shit. Cost like seven bucks at 7-11."

Brad guffawed: "Chateau All Night Convenience Store!" He picked up the bottle: "Best before August 12th. Ooh, that's a good week!"

"Jesus, I can't believe I'm drinking this!" I was feeling a little giggly myself by now, and I tried joining in with Liz's chant: "Gin likes to win...Pin likes the Gym...Fin...uh..."

"Gin, Liz, shut up." It was Jack's voice. He'd spoken softly, but the words had fallen into one of those weird pauses for breath you sometimes get when a bunch of drunk people are talking at and around each other.

Liz stopped in mid-chant with a kind of "Whuh" sound. Then she got a little angry. "Seriously? C'mon Jack, what's your problem? I'm just fucking with..."

Jack cut her off, gently but firmly. "I know, and there's no problem. Just listen for a minute, ok?" At 43, handsome, urbane, witty, independently wealthy, and, by the way, in a fifteen year monogamous relationship with one of the most powerful casting directors in New York, Jack Lindley was the most considerable personage in the room, by far. Also the smartest: BA from Columbia and a D-Phil from the London School of Economics, if you please. Don't get me wrong; he's a great guy: talented, funny, a little bitchy, no arrogance, no attitude, and he has the sexiest South Carolina baritone. But on the rare occasion that Jack has something of substance to say, smart people, even drunk smart people, tend to listen.

"Look, I don't mean to preach, but this is how rumors get started, and once you start 'em, they can be tough to kill."

Liz was incredulous: "Jack, a guy with a jones for Ginny here is hardly news. I mean look at the body on her. It's like any straight guy with a pulse..."

"C'mon, Liz, would you just..." I was a little embarrassed, a little flattered, and a lot wasted (and when did that happen?), and if my sentences didn't want to finish themselves, I wasn't gonna be forcing the issue.

Jack was a little defensive: "I know, I know, it's just...ok, this is my second show with Sim. We did George a couple of years ago up in Maine. I like the guy. I mean I really like him..."

Glori: "Um...just so we're clear here, are you saying...?"

Jack chuckled: "You have a dirty mind, my child! No," and his tone became thoughtful, as if this was some stuff he hadn't quite worked out himself, "I mean I really like him. I value him. I almost like the world—our world—a little better because he's in it. It's weird, because, I mean, you all know me: I love all the shit he doesn't seem to go in for. I love the cattiness and the gossip. I adore the divas and the old queens and the chorus boys and the parties and the cat-fights and the hook-ups and the break-ups and the...I don't know...the passionate way we live our lives and do our work and have our fun. And I think there's part of Sim that would love to be a part of all that, but for one reason or another, he's not. I still don't know what to make of him..." Nobody said anything for a few minutes, and when Jack spoke again, it was as if he'd continued to speak without the rest of us having heard him. Maybe he had. I was pretty fucked-up by this time; maybe I had dozed off. Didn't feel like that, but you never knew.

"He belongs in the theatre...to the theatre, but the rest of his life? I mean I think I know him pretty well, but I don't have the first fucking clue as to..." He trailed off again, and then came back on point with something of an effort. "Look, ladies...and Brad, who's butch...kidding, cutie pie...look, seriously! Don't start anything about him, ok? Not even that he likes Ginny's tits, which I'm sure everybody does...oh God, I am too drunk to explain this to you guys...and you're all too young to understand it anyway. I mean it. I'm not being all high-and-mighty. I'm just being middle-aged, and...oh shit!" And without another word, and without making any sound, Dapper Jack Lindley started to cry.

2.

 

A few hours later: Glori and Brad had gone back to their rooms. Carolyn was stretched out on the couch with her feet in Jack's lap, half covered by a blanket which Liz had tossed onto her before heading off towards the bathroom, into which she had apparently vanished. For his part, Jack's outburst seemed to have exhausted him. He was still sitting up, and he looked a little too...I don't know, symmetrical?...to be entirely asleep. But his head was back, his eyes closed, and his mouth slightly open. Maybe he was asleep. We all should have been; we were coming up on a 5-show weekend. Maybe Jack was. Maybe they all were. I wasn't.

"Hey Jack?" I whispered.

After a moment: "Yes, my child?"

"Are you ok?"

He raised his head slowly and looked at me: "Honey. I am an aging happily-married homosexual, 1000 plus miles from my scrumptious hubby and within spitting distance of enough hard young cocks to fertilize three poultry farms. It is four-o-fuck-if-I-know in the morning, and I have an absolute motherfucker of a crick in my neck from sitting on a cheap sofa in an apartment currently housing six of the most magnificent tits west of the Rockies, in which I have, of course, no conceivable interest. I am neither drunk enough to be mellow, nor sober enough to be confident of escaping the Queen Bitch Kahuna of all hangovers when I finally drag my sorry ass out of bed in what I won't even pretend to call the morning. So no, Wonder-Slut," (his show nickname for me) "I am many things right now: some good, some absolutely foul, but 'ok' ain't even in the zip-code."

"Have you spent the last three hours coming up with that?"

"Bitch, I am a master of improv!"

"Bullshit."

"All right, you got me. And considering time and circumstances, I'll do. Thanks for asking."

"I do kind of like him, you know?"

"Simeon?"

"Uh huh."

"Honey, I think the only person in this sovereign state who doesn't know it is the man himself."

"Seriously? I mean he's old enough to by my father. Why would anybody think...?"

Jack interrupted with a snort. "My dear Virginia, you are 6'2" in those heels, and you've got boobs the size of cantaloupes."

"Why does everybody go on about how big my..."

"Every time Cute, Squat and Jewish comes within ten feet of you, you straighten your back and stick out your chest. Maybe Microscopic Marge"—our 4'11" Assistant Stage Manager—"could get away with that shit. You do it, and it's a seismic event. Random hard-ons are reported three counties away. By the way, as a matter of passing interest, how come I'm not this funny when I'm sober?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking your blood-alcohol level may be warping your definition of funny."

"Amazonian, lovesick, and humorless: it must suck to be you."

"He told me he was a little afraid of me."

Jack sighed, then smiled a little sadly. "Hell, Gin, I'm sure he is. Look," the drink and the bitchy had vanished from his voice, "if I speculate, can you keep that lovely trap of yours shut?" Ok, so maybe not all the bitchy; I nodded.

"When we did that George together up in Bar Harbor, we had this real honey of a Dance Captain. Her name was Holly Parsegian, do you know her?"

I shook my head.

"Not a surprise, I suppose. She'd be five-ten years older than you. She wasn't local, but she was kind of regional, you know? Maybe she lived in Boston, I don't remember. Anyway she was gorgeous: you know: one of those 0.2% body fat chicks that everybody just hates, flaming red hair, dancer's legs, the cute little butt, the big blue eyes; 5 foot-nothing, probably weighed 90 lbs soaking wet. Anyway, everybody would have hated her, except that she was just such a sweetheart: vivacious, never a harsh word for anybody, patient with the slower dancers, just good, good people. Well she had a real thing for our Semitic colleague, and since Sim and I had become friends, she told me about it, and asked if I could...what?...sort of find out what he thought...if he was—I don't know—available for sex. Or love, or romance; I don't know what all she had in mind, really.

"And did you?"

"Well I wasn't all Gracie Graceful about it, but I did finally tell him: told him straight out, in fact."

"And?"

"I don't think he believed me. I was prepared for...I don't know: excuses, justifications, or maybe excitement, anticipation. But he just flat out did not credit what I was saying; insisted that she could have her pick of any of...well, anybody. And then he said something like 'Besides I probably weigh something like two of her; I'd hate to break anything that delicate.' I think he meant it as a joke..."

"But didn't I read somewhere that there are no jokes?"

"Heaven help us! Theodosia, She-Bitch of Byzantium knows her Freud?"

"Theodosia, She-whatever-the-fuck-you-just-said is going to give you an impromptu prostate exam with her riding crop right before the "Lovely" reprise, if you don't make nice!"

"Oooh, promises, promises! I'm sorry, Ginny, seriously; it's like a reflex or something. But, no, I think you're right. I don't know if he was worried about actually hurting Little Holly Hobbit, or if he was just afraid of...maybe disappointing her? Hell, maybe he was threatened by that perfect little body. God knows I was, and I didn't even want to fuck her."

At this point, Liz wandered in, looking like somebody who had spent an hour or so puking and sleeping, not necessarily in that order. Neither of us noticed her until she spoke: "Jackie my love, you're not going where I think you're going with this, are you?"

Jack jumped—apparently with the muscles in his ass alone—something like half a foot straight up into the air. "Fuck me backwards, Bitch, you just scared me out of a year's growth. How long have you been listening?"

Liz was silent, for a minute rubbing her eyes, then: "Ah shit, there was this great dick joke on 'a year's growth' just hanging there in front of me...oh God, how fucked up did that just sound? Anyway, too drunk, or too tired or something. Never mind. I heard a bit, why?"

Jack: "I'd really appreciate it if..."

Liz: "I didn't mouth off about what you were saying? Don't worry, I heard you the first three times. And by the way, in the interest of full disclosure, I think Carolyn's in on at least part of this.

We all looked at the lump in the blanket where Carolyn's head should have been. After a minute a muffled voice murmured: "Busted. But don't worry, Jack. Seriously. I'm not going to say anything either." Her tousled blonde head emerged, and she yawned, but her dark blue eyes looked awake and alert. Carolyn wasn't much of a drinker.

Liz hadn't yet had an answer to her question. "Jack, no bullshit now: nothing you say goes beyond these walls. But do you mean that Sim's a virgin?"

Jack considered for a moment: "Christ, I hope not. And I don't really think so. I know a couple of 40-something virgins (none of you knows them, but I'm not naming names.) Anyway, that seems like a different set of issues to me. No, I think Sim's had sex. I just don't think he's had much of it." His eyes closed, and when he spoke again, he sounded...I don't know...kind of far away. I don't think he was really talking to us anymore: "Maybe that's the way he wants it; maybe not." A long pause: "I just don't know. I like sex. A lot. Maybe I just can't imagine not being interested in it. But if Sim's not...interested, then ok, I guess. I don't really get it, but ok. But if he is interested, but doesn't feel like he deserves it, or something equally ludicrous..."

"Not so ok." I finished for him, but softly. Nobody else heard.

3.

 

The show opened that weekend on the Saturday, and some folks went out afterwards, but most of us hunkered down for the two-show Sunday, and the opening party was set for Sunday night. Our Technical Director, Wyatt, had a place a few miles out of town, and we all caravanned down for a potluck. 

I was crushing on Sim, but it wasn't like I was obsessed or anything. Well maybe I was a little obsessed. In any case, I planned on monopolizing the guy at the party, if he showed up. With that in mind, I put a little thought into what I would wear. Broken Arrow is in the southwest, so January of an evening is plenty cold, but not arctic. The word was that most of the festivities would be indoors, but that the place had a deck with a fire-pit around which marshmallows could be toasted, songs could be sung, and pot could be smoked, if that's what you were into. Doing my best to cover all the bases temperature wise, I went with skinny jeans, biker boots, scoop-necked t-shirt under a thin, red, zip-up sweater, and a fleece-lined denim jacket. Indoors there might be a little more boob-age than strictly necessary, but given what I'd been prancing around in for the last few weeks of tech and previews, I doubt I'd be raising too many eyebrows. Besides, there were some seriously beautiful women on this production, and ladies who look good and know it dress to impress, particularly at parties at which directors, artistic directors, producers and the like can be expected to put in an appearance. I could rely on Liz and Tiffany (one of the Geminae) for trashy-hot, Carolyn and Karen for classy-hot, and Jynx (no shit: one name, almost no conversation; playing the other Geminae) for gothy-arty-hot. Glori would look like the sweet, dumb as a squirrel South-Philly mall-slut she pretty much was. Hell, I was going to look sedate by comparison.

Sim was there when Liz and I arrived, but he wasn't as easy to collar as I had anticipated. First of all, he spent a little time with almost everybody, thanking our master carpenter for something, listening to our already somewhat plastered managing director talking about how he played Pseudolus back in the day, bringing drinks to his dresser who was wrangling her six-year-old, and generally being agreeable. And sedate or not, I found myself having to fight off a series of propositions from our box-office manager which got more explicit the more he drank. Eventually I had to threaten to call his wife (his home phone number was listed on the contact sheet), and he stomped off. He was followed by Tom Havermeyer, playing Lycus. Blowing off the box-office guy meant I might have some trouble comp-ing any friends who made it out to see the show, but basically I didn't give a shit. I didn't care much for Tom either, but I had to work closely with him, so I didn't want to piss him off by stomping on his dick. Fortunately, it's an established fact that, given a lack of other viable options, Tom Havermeyer will drink rubbing alcohol and/or fuck a mossy hole in a tree. I excused myself, came back with some decent scotch, handed it to him, and lied about having to go to the ladies' room. In another ten minutes, Tom wouldn't be able to spell his own last name. In another twenty, he wouldn't remember it.

I finally cornered Sim out by the fire-pit. He was sitting just outside of a circle which included a couple of riggers and one of our spot-ops. The techies were pretty drunk, and they were in the middle of an intense discussion about basketball. Sim's face was toward the conversation, but his eyes and mind were elsewhere. A small clay pipe sat on the bench next to him. I sidled up to him, bent down and whispered into his ear: "Boo!"

He didn't jump. "Hey Gin. Don't you look lovely tonight?"

"Thank you, Sweetie, flattery will get you everywhere. Hey, is that what I think it is?" I pointed to the pipe.

"Well, if you think it's some decent if unspectacular pot, than yes."

I wanted to get him away from the basketball debate, which seemed to me unnecessarily loud. "Think I could have some?"

"I don't see why not." He turned to the techies. "Excuse me, fellows." They ignored him. He grinned and shrugged. "Maybe I won't take it personally."

We wandered away from the fire pit towards the edge of the deck, and leaned against a wooden rail. We could see lights from a few scattered houses on a hill maybe five miles away, across a small canyon. The sky was mostly clear, and the barest beginnings of a crescent moon couldn't compete with the light from thousands upon thousands of stars. I felt...I don't know. The night was so beautiful, and I was alone with a man who I...what? What did I really want from Sim Brownstone? Sex? I mean, sure, I suppose. I wanted sex, because I hadn't had any recently, but with Sim? And anyway it felt a little...more than that. Was I in love with him? Maybe a little. But not really; I mean, I barely knew him. And all of a sudden that was it. I'd decided. For the moment, I just wanted to get to know the man. 

And of course that made things trickier. In my experience, getting a guy to fuck you is pretty easy: take off your clothes, smile. Getting a guy to talk to you...that is rocket science.

Sim had dug a lighter out of his pocket and fired up the pipe. He took a small hit himself, and then passed it to me. I hadn't smoked for a while, and it was pleasant to feel the slightly mossy smoke making its way through my lungs. I'd taken a pretty good hit, and I could feel my chest expand with my breath. For a moment, Sim's eyes dropped; then he shook his head a little, and looked out across the desert.

"Hey," I stood beside him—close, but not too close. "Are you ok?"

"Hmmm? What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Gorgeous out here, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it really is. And the pot's not so bad, or maybe the night's just helping it along some. Are you high?"

"I don't think so. Not particularly. Why? Are you?"

"I haven't smoked in a while, so yeah, I might be a little buzzed."

"Mmm-hmmm." he said, and gave a wry little smile.

"Sim, it's ok, you know? You have permission to check out my boobs every now and then." Well, shit! Where had that come from? I flashed back to Jack's story about trying to tell Sim about that dance captain. I wasn't getting cast as Gracie Graceful any time soon either.

His reaction was surprising as well: "God damn it!" All of a sudden he was angrier than I'd ever seen him; angry at himself, apparently. "Gin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean...shit..." He turned away, like he was getting ready to leave. I grabbed his arm.

"Sim, seriously, don't worry about it. It's not like it's never happened before, and, well hell, I mean, they do cover a certain amount of territory, right?"

That got him; he chuckled a little. Then: "Yeah. But it's creepy, and...I don't know. Makes me feel like I'm ten and I'm sneaking a peek at my Grandpa's National Geographics or something."




A Funny Thing Happened...



"National Geographics?"

"If the old guy ever bought a Playboy, I never found it."

"So, what, you'd look for pictures of...?

"And I'm like twice your age. It's...impolite."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "I suppose. Although Miss Manners might have had the decency not to call you on it. How old are you anyway?"

"Hm? Oh, 48."

He'd said it casually; not coy, not defensive, no bullshit. He didn't make me promise not to tell anybody. And in our world, asking age was considered a hell of a lot more impolite than checking out somebody's cleavage.

"Ok, so you're not twice my age. I'm 26. Look, don't run off." I dropped his arm, "Please? I haven't really had much of a chance to talk to you."

He gave me that wry little smile again; shrugged. "Alright, alright," sounding a little like Tevye, "I'm sorry, though."

"Would you stop apologizing, for fuck's sake? What is there to be sorry for?"

He flared a little. "I don't know: sneaking a peek? Over-reacting?"

"Fine, forgiven. Not like there's much of anything to forgive. Now will you calm down? And maybe give me a little more of that weed?"

"There's a thought." He relit the pipe, took another hit himself and passed it over. I drew in a lungful, and then...maybe it was the pot, but I decided not to drop the subject.

"Sim, I've got to say I don't get it. You spend half the show with your hands or your face on my chest. What's the problem? Does your girlfriend not like it when you have to get...um...physical with other actors?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Well, I will if you want me to, but...look, I'm comfortable around you. I like you. I'd like you to be comfortable with me too, you know?"

"Wow. Tell you the truth, being comfortable around you is...um...challenging for me." That hurt, and it must have shown on my face, because he hurried on: "Ah shit, Gin, that came out wrong. I'm sorry. And I like you too. Really. You're a terrific lady, a dream to work with and...but...look, you do know that you're absolutely beautiful, right?

It was the strangest compliment I had ever been given. Most guys who say something like that have an agenda, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's on it. And that's cool. It's nice to tell a woman you're interested in sleeping with that she's attractive. Part of the process, right? Guys like saying it, and we like hearing it. But there was something in Sim's tone. It was like he had none of the standard expectations; like it was a fact he needed to discuss with me. Anyway, he asked the question, so I answered it.

"Ok, so I'm beautiful, I guess. I mean, you're not the first person who's said it to me. I'm sorry if that sounds stuck up or conceited, but I mean...it's not like its any great accomplishment, you know? I didn't do anything for it, and even if I am...beautiful"—it sounded really weird saying it out loud—"I mean I won't be forever, right? So does it matter, I mean as far as being my friend or being comfortable with me goes? Cause I have to say I'm gonna be pissed if we can't be friends because how I look, right? I mean if I were...I don't know, ugly, would you not want to be friends with me?"

He looked at me quizzically for a second then he laughed out loud: a short sharp bark, which made Buzz, the spot-op, turn away from whatever the basketball discussion had become and say: "Dude..."

"Gin, you are an excellent woman, and your price is above rubies, and you are absolutely right, and I never thought about it that way before. What kind of contemptible asshole won't be friends with a person because of how he or she looks? Well, me, apparently."

That sounded like progress. "So turn over a new leaf, lean against the nice cold wooden railing and answer my question."

"What question?"

"The one about the...oh shit, I forgot what...um...this stuff sneaks up on a girl...girl, um...girlfriend! Right, that's it. Does your girlfriend or wife or whatever have a problem when you have to get cozy with the co-stars?"

"Oh, that question; um...no: no wife, no girlfriend, no boyfriend either for that matter."

"I didn't...are you gay?

"No, but we're doing a musical; thought I'd cover all the bases. How about you? Do you have a guy in your life?"

"Not just now, but look: how do you...I mean, I don't want to be personal, but do you...like...not do relationships or something."

He looked directly into my eyes for a moment: "Have you been talking to Jack?"

"Umm..." Busted.

He smiled a little sadly: "He told you about the whole Holly Parsegian thing, didn't he?" When I just stood there looking guilty, he continued. "It's ok; it's not a big deal, although I've always suspected our resident Brooks Brother of concocting grand psychological theories about it."

I'd seen Jack arrive earlier: grey Harris Tweed sports jacket, black slacks, black shirt, pink-on-pink paisley tie. "He does look good in clothes, doesn't he?"

"Yes he does, damn him." Then: "Look, the Holly thing was complicated, and yes I do relationships, although, truth be told, I haven't done that many of them. I'd actually just sort of ended, or was ended by, a lady I'd been seeing on a kind of off-again, on-again basis for a few years. It didn't end particularly well, and...look, Holly is one of the neatest, sweetest ladies I've ever met; she deserves...like the best of everything."

"According to Jack, she wanted you pretty badly."

"I don't know. Maybe. I had just...okay, if I tell you something funny, can you please not tell fuckin' Jack Lindley? I'll never hear the end of it."

I sketched a cross over my chest. I noticed Sim's eyes dipping to follow my fingers, but this time I had the good sense not to call him on it. "Cross my heart."

"Ok. When this thing with Jeanette blew up—she was the lady I'd been seeing—I was back in the City, and I didn't have much going on, so I started going to some of these casting director workshops. Do you know what those are?"

"Not really. I mean I've heard about them, but I've never been."

"I think the idea started in LA; it's mostly an on-camera thing. For forty or fifty bucks, you sit down with a bunch of other actors in front of the casting director on some show—I think this one was for one of the Law and Order people. Anyway, depending on the format, you get a five minute interview one-on-one, and then you're assigned scenes and paired with another actor. You do the scene in front of the group, and the casting guy, or lady, critiques you, and they take everybody's picture. In the end you've done a kind of unofficial audition."

"Yeah, but you've paid for it. Isn't that supposed to be a huge no-no?"

"Clever courtesan!" I took that as a good sign. Either Sim was getting a little more comfortable around me, or the weed was kicking in. Either way worked for me. "That's why they call them workshops. It's supposed to be like a cold-reading class, and at the end the CD just sort of "happens to" leave with all the pictures. Now, some of these people don't even go through the motions. It's like scene, "next", scene, "next," and they're out of there as soon as the last scene is done. But some really try to make a class out of it. They give feedback, talk about how good or bad the pictures are, what should and shouldn't be on the res. This Law and Order guy was one of the good ones. He pairs me up with this other guy—most of the scenes were guy/girl. Anyway, I'm this asshole assistant district attorney, and my partner is some low-level mob guy I'm trying to sweat for information. It's a pretty good scene, and I'm doing my best, looking for beats and maybe laughs or something. I don't know. Anyway the other actor, my partner—who looks like some low-level mobster, by the way; he's got this head of obviously dyed hair, lots of product, receding hairline, wearing a cheap suit with the flashy tie, kind of rough skin, like acne scars on the face—I thought he was sort of dressing to type, you know? "Hey, here I am; I play cheap hoods." Seemed like a good idea; I mean Law and Order, they need cheap hoods. Anyway, he is not happy. He's also not very good. We read the scene, and the casting guy adjusts him a couple of times. He can't take the notes; in the end, I'm kind of pissed, because the scene didn't go that well, and I'm thinking, this asshole just fucked my chances to go in for Law and Order, right?

"Sounds like it."

"Anyway, I'm sitting there wondering what's his problem, and we get to the Q & A at the end. Asshole's hand shoots up: why didn't he get to read a scene with a girl; why is he always getting guy-guy scenes in these workshops? It's totally inappropriate question: personal, argumentative, taking time away from the group, all that. But the casting guy is a pro, and he starts to explain what I've known for years. He points to us (me and asshole) and says that we're character actors: we're going to play bad guys and authority figures and dads and, you know, basically everybody except the pretty sexy people. He spins it like it's a great thing; with the exception of a show like Friends or, I don't know, Vampire Diaries or something, most shows need like five character regulars or recurrings for every one or two leads. Character actors work forever; pretty much everybody is character over 35, the usual stuff. Asshole isn't happy, but he's listening. Then the guy tells this story how in the old days casting directors used to talk about an actor's "fuckability." Just a television thing: to what extent would a male or female viewer respond sexually to a given performer? Guys like us—me and Asshole—were generally considered to have "negative fuckability."

Well, shit; "funny?" That's the word Sim had used to describe this story, but I was one long-ass way from laughing. I said nothing, and Sim was quiet for a few moments. Then: 

"It just so happened that a lot of the actors at that particular workshop were young, pretty people: wanna-be leads. A lot of them started laughing. Asshole was furious; he looked like he wanted to deck somebody. I...understood what the guy was saying. I knew most of it. Hell, I'd been living it for the past, what, twenty-five years? Virtually all of my on-camera work has been small shit: janitors, hotel managers, the occasional cop, middle management buffoons. I took the jobs, cashed the checks, and had my real fun in the theatre. The guy wasn't being personal, and he wasn't referring to anything other than casting tendencies on television. I mean Dennis Franz on NYPD Blue was...never mind; before your time. But the phrase..." he gave a small smile, but he didn't look happy. "Negative fuckability...it, uh...kind of stuck with me. I mean it was really stupid. I'd had sex; I'd had girlfriends. It wasn't personal. It wasn't even real; it was television for fuck sake. But I'm ashamed to say it took me a little while to...I don't know...get out from under it. I booked George something like a week later, and I guess I hadn't quite...whatever, when Holly asked Jack to ask me...anyway...Holy shit, I have been talking for a long old time. I think I'm higher than I thought I was..." 

He was covering, closing off whatever had allowed him to tell me the story. All of a sudden, and for no reason at all, I was scared. I didn't want him to regret having told me; I didn't want to lose what felt like...I don't know: his trust, this new—sort of—intimacy? I needed to say something; I needed to short-circuit this...retreat, or whatever it was. But of course I had no idea what to say. I interrupted him anyway.

"Hey Sim?"

"Yeah, Ginny?"

"Thanks."

That stopped him, for a minute anyway. "Thanks for what?"

"For telling me. For being...I don't know...comfortable enough with me to trust me with it. I won't tell anybody, by the way."

He did smile then, like he meant it. "I know. I just...I know. Wow, look at me! Comfortable around beautiful women." Then, in some strange accent I didn't recognize: "What'll the neighbors say? What'll the neighbors..."

"What the hell was that?"

"Bad Welsh dialect. It's a line from a play I did a few years ago. It just sort of came to mind. Anyway, about...what I told you: it really was no big thing. Just the timing was bad; you know? With Jeanette and everything. It got on top of me for a while, but I'm over it, I think. I hope."

Bullshit. "Sure." I said. "This is one fucked up job we do, sometimes." Sim leaned in, put his hands on my shoulders, stood on his toes, and gave me a chaste little peck on the forehead. He smiled, made a kind of soft humming sound for a second, then said goodnight and walked back towards the house, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I stood for a while feeling the warmth of his lips fading from my skin in the cold desert air. I wouldn't tell a soul that somebody had once told a man I liked, respected, admired that he had "negative fuckability." But I began seriously to consider a way to...dispute that casting director's assessment of my friend and colleague, Simeon Brownstone.

4.

So now I had a new problem. I'd wanted to—what: sleep with, have sex with, make love to, fuck?—Sim Brownstone for some time now. Everybody knew it: Jack, Liz, Carolyn, Leko, the lighting designer's labradoodle. I knew it. I might not have admitted it, but I knew it. Sim didn't know it; "negative fuckability." It took me less than an hour to come up with this half-assed sort of psycho-sexual profile of the man; probably horseshit, but it made sense to me, and it helped me to focus my energies.

The way I figured it, Sim Brownstone had spent the better part of his adult life in the entertainment industry, which meant he had lived, worked, and socialized with a disproportionate number of young, attractive, and physically fit people. By non-industry standards, Sim was a reasonably attractive man. But how often did he think in terms of non-industry standards? His job was, as often as not, to pretend to be a buffoonish, unattractive, disappointed, weak, inept and/or angry person for an extended period of time. That all had to take some kind of toll, right? And Sim had to have an ego. Nobody survives, much less thrives, as an actor without one. So there were probably any number of things he liked about himself: probably thought well of himself professionally, seemed to like getting along with people; liked being popular, enjoyed being smart, enjoyed being funny, but attractive, sexy? Those last weren't in the toolkit, right? "Negative fuckability." Damn, damn, damn! So how did I, an attractive and sexy woman who found him—despite what he thought of himself—sexy and attractive, get him into bed without him thinking that I was tossing him a pity-fuck? I went looking for my roomie.

Elizabeth Primrose Charboneaux (now you see why I just call her Liz) is The Best. We've done like four shows together, and she's closer to me than either of my actual sisters. She's a tallish, rangy lady with a runner's body and the complexion of a supermodel. Her dad is Puerto Rican, her mom is Creole, and their daughter is a show stopper: light tan skin, long, kinky, black hair, huge brown eyes, a full "fuck you" mouth, small high breasts, trim through the middle (just a hint of a six pack, the bitch!), and the legs: holy shit! I don't know how she manages it: not an ounce of fat on her; no jiggle anywhere, but not all muscular and stringy either. She's fuckin' Supergirl or something. And her nose is the cherry on the sundae. It's slightly off-kilter, like it was broken but didn't set properly. She hates it, but the guys go abso-fucking-lutely nuts for it. She's smart as a whip, just a little slutty, and probably an alcoholic. Holy Moses does that girl like to drink! But she's all of 27, and thus far it hasn't gotten in the way of anything. She's a killer dancer; decent singing voice, decent ear, and if you need somebody to play slutty chorus girl, she's Meryl fucking Streep. 

She's also got this really original way of looking at things: confident, like: "What's the worst that could happen?" I had told Sim I wouldn't pass on his casting director story, and I didn't, at least not specifically. A couple of days later, we were lounging around the apartment we shared—1:00 PM, and we'd just woken up.

Me: Lizzy, I've decided something.

Liz: Please God tell me you're going to fuck poor Simeon.

Me: Okay, how the fuck do you do that?

Liz: Really? Hallelujah! Best thing for both of you.

Me: Yeah, but...I've got this problem...

Liz: No you don't. It's really simple, Ginny: get naked, spread your legs, and let nature take its course.

Me: No, seriously...look. I hung out with him some at the party at Wyatt's.

I paused while she ran the blender for a smoothie. When she'd turned it off, she said: "Yeah, I saw you two, and I got to hoping."

"Well, he told me some stuff."

"Really? C'mon, give: inquiring minds want to know."

"I can't. Seriously. It was personal, and I promised, and it's not important anyway. Well, it is important in one way...it's just that now, if I come onto him..."

Liz held up a hand: "He told you something...intimate or...it made him vulnerable or something, and now he might think you were sleeping with him because you felt sorry for him?" I nodded. "Ginny, I don't want to sound like a bitch, and I have to say this doesn't sound like our guy, but could he have been playing you a little. I mean, he's got to be every bit as hot for you as you are for him."

It hadn't occurred to me, and I thought about it for a second. Then I remembered the little skirmish when I calling him out for looking at my tits. It'd played like a bad Harlequin romance. He'd actually started to leave the presence of the maiden he had outraged or something. I laughed out loud. "He's a good actor, but he's not that good. And anyway, who cares? I like him, and...I don't think it was an act. If it was I wouldn't worry. I'd just fuck him, and we'd both have a great time, right?"

"Really doesn't sound like Sim, does it?" mused Liz.

"So what should I do? What would you do, Miss Brazen Cajun?"

Liz was silent for a good long time. I busied myself putting together my breakfast/lunch. Finally: "I don't think I've told you this, unless maybe when I was drunk. But you know my first solo, when I wind up licking his face?"

"Hell, yes. Hottest thing in the show."

"Yeah, sure, Miss Titty Maid! Anyway, I really get into that. I like Sim too, right? And it's fun to tease a guy you like. And when I do it really right...like sit down on him with enough grind, I can actually feel him...um...responding."

"Wow...ok...I've got like three different things going on right now. First of all: you lucky bitch. Second of all: I can't believe I'm acting like some 14-year-old because my best friend touched a boy's penis, but it's a boy I like and...fuck, and third of all: is he...I mean did you get a sense of...?"

"No. Jeez, Ginny, it doesn't happen every time, and it's not like I reach down and grab him or anything. Besides, you've seem my costume: where the fuck am I gonna put a tape measure? It's just...nice, is all. And the reason I mention it...look: I really do like the guy. I'm not all crazy like you are with him. I don't really even find him particularly attractive, but...part of me was thinking, after "The Night Jack Lindley Cried", you know, that I might...I don't know...like knock on his door one morning, get down on my knees and suck his cock. You know? Just to be neighborly."

"Well fuck me, Liz!"

"I've asked, but you won't."

"C'mon, seriously? I mean why would that even..."

"Ginny, don't get your panties in a bunch, ok. I said I thought about it. I didn't do it, because, well, you seem to have this thing for the guy, and I'm definitely not losing a BFF over a guy I'm not really into. It's just...I know it sounds kind of funny and out there when I say it that way, but I'll tell you God's honest truth: I've done a whole lot more for guys I liked a whole lot less."




A Funny Thing Happened...



"Wow. You know when you put it that way, so have I. Ain't that a cheery thought?" Then: "So for you, it would have been a kind of pity fuck...or suck...or..."

"See that's the thing: not really. I'd have done it—might still do it if you don't get your hot little ass in gear—because I like him, and because I like doing it, you know, getting a rise out of a guy? I mean, sex is fun, right? And if you don't have somebody regular... And he wouldn't have thought so anyway, because, first of all, how many guys you know can think hard enough to count to one with a pretty lady blowing them, and second of all, he wasn't there to hear Jackie-boy being indiscreet about his love life."

"Ok, so where are you going with all this?"

"You had to go and get to know the man a little. Didn't even occur to you to go and fuck him just because you could. Now I do a kind of an idea about your little problem, but before I tell you, I need to ask you something, and I need a straight answer. Are you in love with Sim?"

And wasn't that just the fucking sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. "I don't think so. At least, not yet. I mean, I still don't really know him well enough, do I?'

"I don't know. Do you find him attractive? Like I said, I don't really."

"I think I kind of do. I mean he's a lot older than me, and...but it's not weird or creepy for me. Or, I guess you might say it's a little weird and creepy because he's so much older, but I don't want to call him "Daddy" or anything..."

"Eww, ok, TMI!"

"I'm sorry, who's the door-to-door blowjob saleswoman?"

"Fair point. Ok, here's what I'm thinking..."

At first, I was a little shocked, and maybe a little scared. But we batted the idea back and forth for a while, and in the end...

5.

In the end, I thought the trickiest part of the whole thing would be getting Carolyn in on it. We had to have her; couple of reasons. I wasn't sure she'd go along, but Liz knows her better than I do, and she promised to handle it. Carolyn Mark, our Philia: close to 30, but looks 19, pretty...hell, beautiful, but kind of virginal. Like, if you were doing some old-fashioned melodrama, she'd be the one the villain ties to the train tracks. I think she played Cinderella once, in the old Rogers and Hammerstein piece; perfect casting. She's blonde—of course—with the heart-shaped face, big blue eyes, and pretty, pouty lips. She's petite—maybe 5'3"—and slim, but not boyish; she's got a shape to her. Her boobs are actually kind of big for her frame, and she's got this plump round butt on top of short but shapely legs, so she can do the dumb cutie thing—perfect Philia—as well as plucky princess. And she has this gorgeous legit soprano voice. Maybe it was her sound, or maybe it was just me projecting based on the character she was playing: you know, sweet, shy and demure, but I wasn't sure if she'd be up for what we had in mind. She just didn't seem like the type.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried. Liz brought her around; I never asked how, although I pretty much figured it out...turned out it wasn't rocket science. Anyway, the next day the three of us met for lunch and made some plans. Finally on February the 9th, after the performance, I caught up with Sim, and invited him to our little soiree in the green room. On the 10th, we drove an hour or so into the closest town of any size to grab some supplies and do some shopping. On the 11th, after the show, we met again in the room Liz and I shared for some chips and salsa, a little weed, and a couple of good bottles of wine—my treat. The matinee on the 12th was a little rocky, but we're young and in good shape, and the hangovers were mostly gone by the evening performance. Then two more shows on Sunday the 13th, and then it was Valentine's Day. I collected the keys to the theater and the green room from Jason at around 2:00 that afternoon, and—silly me!—I'd forgotten to wear a bra. Our Company Manager probably noticed, since I gave him an extra-tight hug to thank him for letting us into the building on the off day. Oopsy daisy! By 4:00 we'd finished setting the stage, as it were, which gave us three hours clear for hair, make up, a quick bite to eat, and a little bit more wine. I'd texted the guest of honor, and I'd told him to arrive around 7:00.

6.

 

The green room at the Broken Arrow Opera House feels like a large studio apartment: there's a kitchen space—sink, fridge and microwave—along one wall with a strip of cheap white linoleum flooring in case of spills, and then there's the public space: inexpensive light blue shag carpet, a large comfy couch and mismatched easy chair, and a couple of big bean bag-like things all more or less facing a decent-sized flat screen mounted on the far wall. And there's a small bathroom just off the wall to your right as you stand in the doorway. Unusually for this kind of waiting/break room there is also a twin bed—a more than usually comfortable version of the required "Equity cot"—pushed lengthwise against the wall opposite the kitchen. For our little gathering we'd rearranged things a bit. We'd dragged the bed into the center of the room and covered it with red satin sheets. The couch was arranged along one long side of the bed, and two of the beanbags along the other. We'd pirated a couple of halogen floor lamps and kept them on low as an alternative to the bright, harsh glare of the fluorescents in the ceiling, and we had several large candles placed in strategic places which helped set the mood as well as supplement the lamps.

We'd also snuck into the men's room down the hall, and hung up a sort of costume for Sim: a knee-length toga-thing, (sewn by Carolyn, a minx of many talents, from Target's cheapest bedsheets) which covered waist and one shoulder, and a soft rope to belt it with. A note in a small envelope next to it read as follows: "This is a dress rehearsal. This is your costume. Wear it AND NOTHING ELSE!" There was also a tumbler with a couple of fingers of Jack Lindley's best bourbon, adorned by a ribbon with a tag which said "Drink This." Jack had insisted. If a glass of his beloved Pappy Von Winkle's was to be sacrificed to this debauchery, its epitaph would be a quotation from his equally beloved Lewis Carroll. Where does he come up with this shit?

So: at precisely 7:00 pm on Monday, February 14, Carolyn sat on the edge of the bed in the redone Broken Arrow green room, looking like a willing and eager virgin sacrifice. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was drawn back into a ponytail. She had a little makeup on, but not much: a light foundation, some blush and some pretty pink lipstick. And she was wearing a two-piece babydoll ensemble: spaghetti straps held up a sheer white band of rose-patterned lace across her breasts, while alternating strips of lace and white sheer material created a kind of super-short empire gown which ended just above the bottom curve of her ass. Under that little bit of nothing, she wore a white lace thong, with the triangle covering her pussy made of the same rose-patterned lace covering her perky tits. Her long legs were bare, except for a pair of white slippers with 3-inch heels and a little marabou puff just above her toes. Virgin sacrifice, saucy little bride on her wedding night: hell, what she looked like was jail-bait, and I'm pretty sure she's older than me.

Finally, taped to the door of the green room was a little note, written with a red calligraphy pen by yours truly:

Sim,

A few of us girls have called a Valentine's Day rehearsal. We've never been entirely satisfied with the last scene of the play, and we thought we'd do a little improv to see if we can improve things, but we need your help. Go down to the men's room and put on the costume hanging on the back of the stall. Then come back here, and knock three times. Once you're in the rehearsal you have to stay in character. Call everybody by their character names, and you'll be referred to as Pseudolus or "slave." If you want to stop the rehearsal for any reason, say "cut." But we really hope you won't. No extra pay, of course, but we promise to make it worth your while.

XXX,

And then we'd each signed it: Carolyn, Liz, Ginny.

And then we waited.

7.

Liz and I were in the green room bathroom, waiting to make our entrance, but Carolyn eventually filled us in on the few minutes we missed. At 7:05, or thereabouts, our little Philia heard steps in the hallway, then a soft tearing sound—the note coming down, some rustling, an indistinct muttering punctuated by what could have been a laugh, then Sim's voice: "Be right back. Apparently I've got a fitting scheduled." Then more steps back down the hallway towards the men's room. Ten minutes later: three knocks. We all heard those, and Liz cracked the door to our hideout, so we could hear the top of the "scene." Carolyn called "Come in." in the high, slightly breathy voice she used as Philia—half Marilyn, half naughty schoolgirl—and Sim walked in, shut the door, and got a look at Carolyn in her lingerie. Apparently he reprised the hit-in-the-head-with-a-brick shtick for a minute or two, then, when he had remembered how tongue and lips work, he said: "Good evening...um...Mistress Philia. Don't you look ravishing this evening?" 

"Oh, hello Pseudolus. Um, thank you...I think? I always thought ravishings were those things cook slices up and puts on salads. I never eat them. They make me...um...burp. Anyway, you're probably wondering why I've asked you here."

Sim was trying to tear his eyes away from Carolyn long enough to take in the rest of the green room. Eventually he said: "Oh, I'm wondering all sorts of things right now, but I'll be happy to wonder that first, if you'd like."

"Oh, good. Well, as you know, Hero and I are getting married tomorrow, and then tomorrow night I think I'll be expected to perform all sorts of wifely duties and give him my maidenhead and so on, but I don't know where it is, and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to give it to him anyway, and nobody told me what my duties are going to involve, and...well, frankly I'm scared I'll make a mess of things. I'm lovely, you see, but I'm not very smart. Did you know that?"

"I'd heard a rumor. Well, look, he probably has some idea...you know, on second thought he might not. He's not the sharpest tine on the trident himself."

"I know. He's very handsome, and of course I do love him, and I want everything to be perfect for him. And that's why I brought you here." she finished happily.

Sim paused. "I see. Actually I don't see. Would you mind..."

"Well, since my wifely duties are likely to involve some of the things the other girls at Lycus' house do all the time, I thought they might be able to teach me. Wasn't that clever of me? I thought about that all by myself! But then the girls said that it would be better if they had somebody to demonstrate my duties on, and somebody suggested you."

"Then I would like to thank somebody from the bottom of my heart."

"Oh, you can thank two somebodies if you like. Vibrata and Gymnasia are here. They said they would be happy to help me out."

That was our cue. We opened the bathroom door and strolled towards the bed. Liz was wearing a candy-apple red bra, lace at the top and the bottom, transparent between, her dark brown nipples proud and erect, and totally visible. A matching cincher circled her waist; it began just below her bellybutton and left just a glimpse of red g-string visible in front and a good couple inches of silky ass-cheeks behind. Garters connected the cincher to red lace-top stockings, and she had shinny red pumps with a three-inch heel to finish off the ensemble. She wore a bit more makeup than usual, and she had this kind of wild girl top knot thing going on with her hair: high ponytail with some serious rubber-bandage giving it this shaft out of which this fall of curls and kinks fell like a fountain. She looked fierce as well as hot, like some exotic sex goddess who'd just risen from some strenuous fucking and was hungry for more. She stalked up to Carolyn, said "Hello, little sister," grabbed her by the face and kissed her, long and hard. I'm still not sure if Carolyn was expecting it. She squealed at first, struggled a bit, and then allowed herself to relax into the kiss, moaning softly as Liz's tongue explored her mouth. The kiss went on for a while. Then, with sigh, Liz/Vibrata pushed her away, and pretty little Philia squeaked "Oh my!" before turning back to say: "Hello Vibrata." Then she turned and looked at me, a little nervously. Was that an act, or was the little minx wondering whether I would kiss her too. She said: "Hello, Gymnasia." 

I had been watching Sim. A couple of paces behind Liz, I'd seen him take her in: red lingerie, fuck you stride, legs, hair, lips. I'd watched his eyes widen as he'd watched her ravage Carolyn's mouth. I wondered if his cock had stiffened as he watched; I looked but couldn't tell under the folds of his half-toga. I assumed it had; I could feel my pussy moistening. All well and good, but this was my show, and Sim was—or I hoped he was going to be—my guy. So if Liz's little move had made his cock hard, I was determined to make his cum in the dance belt he'd better not be wearing. I stepped forward into the light of one of the halogen lamps, saw his eyes track the movement, and watched them travel the length of my body.

I stood still for a moment letting him take me in, hoping the basic male desire to ogle a female in heat would overcome Sim's respect for his friend and colleague, Ginny. Turned out not to be a problem. Good. I'd gone to some trouble to make sure it wouldn't be. 

My hair was down, messy-sexy, a cascade of strawberry blonde waves and curlicues it had taken me hours to get just right. My makeup was heavier than usual, and a little severe: rouge highlighted my cheekbones, pencil and mascara darkened my brows and lashes, slate blue shadow emphasized the blue of my eyes, and blood red lipstick made my lips look wide and moist, and maybe just the tiniest bit...wicked.

I had put a lot of thought into my outfit. What would a sexually insatiable Amazon bitch goddess wear for her lover? I considered but rejected a pure-dom look. Sure, there was a lot of that in Gymnasia, and a little of it in me, and, yeah, it turned me on to think that Sim might still be just a little afraid of me. But in the end, I wanted a man fucking me, not a slave licking my boots. I needed to drive Sim wild with lust, not terrify him into submission. Besides, do you know how much all that leather shit costs? So I'd finally decided on a kind of camisole/garter belt arrangement. Black lace cups didn't quite hide my nipples, and a matching black lace panel came to a point just below my bellybutton. The panel and the bottom hem were trimmed with scarlet piping, and there was a decorative little scarlet bow between my breasts, and at the end of each garter strap. The straps held up black fishnets with lace tops. I'd finished up with some trashy black 4" fuck-me pumps, and a sheer black thong. I'd shaved my pussy bare like a good little slut, and I wanted to make sure Sim appreciated it.

He did. I watched him take me in, saw his jaw drop slightly as his eyes found my breasts. It dropped a little more as he noticed my nipples through the lace, and by the time he'd worked out what he was seeing through the thong, I had decided to close his mouth for him. Didn't want the poor guy to catch flies. I sauntered up to him slowly, letting my hips roll and my tits jiggle: "Hello, Philia. Hello, Vibrata." thrown over the shoulder. Then I stopped directly in front of Sim. With the heels, I was all of 6'3". Sim's eye-line was about level with my collarbone. I put a red-painted fingernail under his chin, and raised his head until he was staring directly into my eyes. In my most seductive purr, I whispered: "Hello, Pseudolus." Then I leaned in and kissed him—Sim Brownstone, the short, barrel-shaped, middle aged man, about whom I'd fantasized for more than a month—full on the mouth.

His lips were warm, and a little salty. He tasted good. He felt good, and I wanted more. I opened my mouth and flicked my tongue against his lips: tap, tap; open up. He did, and I pushed my tongue into his mouth exploring, tasting, caressing. I felt his hands on my back as he pulled me into his body. My breasts flattened against his chest. Lower, and I could feel first the softness of his belly and then hard, singer's abs under the slight paunch. I'd never been intimate with an older man, and I found this combination of hard and soft...touching, comforting, even exciting in a way—different from the young hardbodies I was used to, but no less masculine—and maybe just because I knew and wanted the man kissing me so passionately—no less sexy. Lower still and there was no question of softness. I could feel the tip of Sim's cock against my thigh. I dropped my hands to his ass, bent my knees until I could feel the ridge of his erection against the front of my thong, and ground hard against him. My cunt was hot and drenched, and I felt a rush of power. I was Gymnasia, Wonder Slut: the hottest whore in the brothel! I could have any man at my feet with a crooked finger or a raised eyebrow. And holy shit was I horny. I'd let our little game go on for a bit, but then I was going to throw my man on that bed and fuck his brains loose. Sim's tongue was in my mouth now, and his body was pressed so tightly against mine it felt as if he was trying to move through me. Another few seconds, and I'd forget about Liz and Carolyn and just...I broke off the kiss, pushed my poor slave away, and turned back to my fellow courtesans. "Now, ladies, how may I be of service?"

8.

Lis and Caroline stared at me as I walked back toward them. Liz gave me a look like: "Don't stop on our account." Then, after a moment, Carolyn picked up the improv. 

"Um...ok, right. Well, I asked you two to come over because I'm...well, I'm a little worried about my maidenhead. I can't find it—actually, I don't really even know what it looks like—and I think I'm supposed to give it to Hero tonight, and..." she bit her lower lip, which made her look adorable and sexy at the same time. "I don't know how."

Liz and I looked at each other. I deliberately kept my back to Sim; had to get my head back in the game.

Liz sighed theatrically. "Sweetie, you remember that general; the big handsome guy who bought you before you and Hero got together?

"Uh huh," Carolyn's face took on a slightly wistful look. Well it might. Calvin, playing the general, was all kinds of yummy: 6' 2", tri-athlete's body, handsome face, big green eyes, the whole package. Chris McGinty, our Hero, was cute in a loose-limbed kind of dorky way: 5' 11" and probably 140 lbs. soaking wet, but on the day he won his Tony Award—not that he ever would—Chris wouldn't look half as good as Calvin walking out of the drunk tank after a week on the streets main-lining kerosene—not that Calvin would ever do that. Carolyn had obviously spent some serious time in Calvin Fantasyland. She'd lost some of the Philia voice as she continued: "God, his arms! I just want to..."

"Yeah, well..." Vibrata had decided to get Philia back in the building. "You know why he paid so much for you?"

"Uh huh, 'cause I'm a virgin!"

"And do you know what that means?"

"Uh huh. It means I haven't put anything up my cunt."

There was an alarming sound from the other end of the room as Sim tried to laugh, gasp and swallow at the same time; something like a mountain lion with a two-pack-a-day habit trying to bring up a hairball. While Pseudolus was busy disentangling his tongue from his windpipe, Vibrata and Gymnasia stared at the floor trying to wipe the grins off our faces. Sweet little Philia watched us all with a puzzled expression. Her face said: 'Did I say something wrong?' Her eyes said: 'Gotcha!' 




A Funny Thing Happened...



Liz, still grinning, muttered "Bitch!" under her breath, then louder: "That's right, Honey. Now tonight, after you're married, Hero is going to put something up your...um..."—she fought the giggles—"well, nice girls call it...um...Gymnasia, how do the better class of Roman maidens refer to their cunts?"

I was still trying to get my shit together, and failing. "I don't know: pussy, honeypot, fuck box, va-jay-jay, pleasureus tunnelus?" We were all howling now. Liz found speech first.

"Probably 'pleasurea tunnela', unless we're talking about Dapper Jack's..."

"Never mind!" I screamed.

"Ok, Ok..." Liz seemed to be regaining control. "Let's go with 'pussy', shall we? Right, so: Hero is going to want to put his...um...his..."

"Cock." I spoke quickly, hoping to avert another yuk-fest. Then I saw mischief creep into Carolyn's eyes. "Philia, you do know what a cock is?"

"Of course, Gymnasia." said our naughty virgin, looking like the picture of innocence, "A cock is a male..."

"Not a male chicken!" I snapped, nipping that one in the bud. Carolyn stuck her tongue out at me. I turned back to Sim, who had by now remembered how to breathe. "Pseudolus!" He looked up at me. I gave him a seductive smile. "I want you to come...over here for a minute.

9.

"Yes, Mistress Gymnasia." His words brought me back to the task at hand, and the aching between my thighs, temporarily forgotten in all the hilarity, returned with a vengeance. I watched him come toward me: burly, powerful, slightly bowlegged, slightly flatfooted. There was no real grace in his movement, but there was confidence, authority. As I watched him approach, I suddenly wondered if he had altered the rules of the game slightly. He would answer to Pseudolus, banter in character, play the slave. Like a good improv-er, he would accept whatever was offered him, but he seemed to want to experience whatever was on offer—and he was no kind of fool; he had to have some idea of where the evening was headed—as himself, as Sim. The realization startled me. I loved the idea of being Gymnasia, of role-playing the irresistible seductress. I wanted to lose myself in the game. I, Gymnasia, just wanted to fuck, and if this short, squat slave had the nearest hard cock, I would treat him to a selection of the most exquisite debaucheries to be found between Alexandria and Gaul. I, Ginny McNally, wanted to lie back on the bed and make passionate love to Sim, not Pseudolus. (And to tell the truth, I didn't know shit about what went on between Alexandria and Gaul.) 

Problem was I was both I's; I wanted both things. Sim didn't seem to care what Pseudolus wanted. He wanted whatever would happen to happen to him. But maybe he thought he was about to get lucky because these three crazy chicks had some kind of weird jones for the character he was playing: negative fuckability. All of a sudden, I decided that, before this Valentine's Day was over, I would make Sim understand that whatever was about to happen would happen because I wanted him, I desired him. If I fucked it all up, if the whole thing turned to shit, if he felt hurt or used or whatever, if he never spoke to me again, we were going to dispense once and for all, with this negative fuckability horseshit. I'd wanted him from the night he called me a dream sequence, and maybe before that, but certainly from before I'd heard about Holly Parsegian, or casting director workshops, or any of the rest of it. I'd wanted him then, and I wanted him now. And there he was, standing in front of me, half a smile on his face, looking adorable in his Target toga. His eyes looked up into mine, then, making sure I was watching—setting up the joke like an old vaudevillian—they dropped to stare directly at my breasts. "Yes, Mistress Gymnasia? How may I serve you two...er, that's to say, what can I do for you?"

I raised my eyebrows, smiled, and gave a little shimmy, just enough to set my boobs bouncing gently, so that only he could see. Then I called over to Liz: "Sister, bring the little virgin over here. Let's show her how a man's body works."

10.

I slipped around behind Pseudolus, running my hands in a gentle caress over his upper arms and back. I stood directly behind him, and bent slightly to speak to Philia, letting my man feel the tips of my hard nipples through the lace brushing against his back and shoulders. Vibrata caught my eye and spoke: "Sister, have you ever seen a naked man before?"

I watched little Philia's eyes open wide, and her mouth form into a pretty—and suggestive—little pink o. She shook her head. "No, Vibrata, I never have. Does Hero have to be naked before I can give him my maidenhead? Am I supposed to rub it on him, or something, like"—she giggled—"ointment?"

Sim muttered "holy shit" under his breath. I smacked him, not too gently, across the top of his head. Liz giggled. Carolyn was disturbingly good at this.

"One thing at a time," replied Vibrata, calling the class back to order. "Hero will probably want to be naked when you give him your maidenhead, and he'll probably want you naked too. Let me show you." She turned to me. "Gymnasia, my dear, let's begin."

I pulled the sheet-toga off of Sim's shoulders, and let it fall down to the rope tied around his waist. Vibrata smiled, and licked her lips: "Mmmm, very nice! Now, this slave is a man. Hero is still a boy, so his shoulders won't be as broad,"—I ran my hands across the shoulders in question, like a Roman Vanna White—"or his arms as strong." My fingers explored our slave's biceps; I felt him tense, and the muscle hardened under my fingers. I bent down and blew a hot little purr of breath into his left ear. He shuddered. Vibrata continued. "Your Hero probably won't have as much hair on his chest and arms. Some girls don't like a hairy chest," she came closer, and brushed her fingers across his front, letting a long pinky nail tease his right nipple, "but I do. Don't you, Gymnasia?"

"Oh yes!" I sighed, letting my breath tickle poor Pseudolus' ear again. (I'd never really thought much about it one way or the other. Most of my previous lovers had been younger and smoother than Sim, but as I explored his body with my eyes and hands, I decided I had no problem with the dark, wispy hair covering his arms and upper chest.) I ran my fingertips lightly over his chest until I found his nipples. These I first circled with the pads of my forefingers, and then I pinched them gently. Pseudolus groaned. Vibrata smiled. 

"Pay close attention, Little Sister. A good courtesan knows a thousand little ways to please her man above the belt. As Gymnasia has already demonstrated, the nipples"—here she stepped close and gently scratched Pseudolus' with her finger nail—"can be very sensitive. Run just the tip of your tongue around Hero's before you invite him into your bed, and he will be putty in your pretty little hands. Also the side of the neck; Gymnasia, if you would demonstrate?" 

"With pleasure, Sister!" I used my tongue to trace a tendon from the top of my man's shoulder to a spot just below his ear. I circled the area with the tip of my tongue, and then circled it with my lips and gave it a long warm, sucking kiss, like a vampire bite. I heard my victim moan, and felt his breath quicken.

"And then there are the ears..." Vibrata's voice was ragged, and I felt, rather than saw her wind her arms around Pseudolus' waist. I looked up to see her draw her tongue around the curve of his ear, until she reached the lobe. Trapping it between her teeth, she bit gently. We had our slave pressed between us, and as we licked and kissed and bit and sucked, our hands caressed back and chest, neck and head, but never descended below the rope which held up the remains of the toga. Our eyes met, and we stepped away, breaking all contact. Pseudolus was panting like he'd just run a mile, and Philia squeaked: "Oh my!"

11.

I caught Liz's eye, and we smiled at each other. As aroused as I was to be seducing Sim, it was also satisfying to get a rise out of Little Miss Sassy-Virgin; "Nothing up my cunt" forsooth! But it was also time to move on to the next...um...beat in the scene, to be all Acting 101 about it. Liz took a step towards Carolyn, but I saw her steal a quick glance down Sim's body. I stepped around and stole a glance myself; tough to tell with all the fabric, but I fancied I could see something of a tent in the toga.

"Now, Little Sister, the time has come to show you an example of the...well, the tool which Hero will use to...oh, let's say remove your maidenhead. Gymnasia, will you help our slave to disrobe?"

Once again, I slipped behind Sim, and pressed myself up against his broad back. As I reached around for the knot in the rope holding up the toga, I nibbled his ear and whispered: "Having fun yet?"

"Depends," it was barely a breath; I was the only one who heard it. "Am I awake?"

"Want me to pinch you?"

"There's about a million things I want you to do to me...and a million more I want to do to you...pinching's not a priority. Besides, I don't want to wake up...just in case."

"Can I take this silly toga off you now?"

"You can do anything you want, if..."

"If what?"

"Never mind. Sure. Take it off."

I came around to face him, my body between him and the other two. "If what?" I insisted.

He smiled at me, but he shook his head. "Your rehearsal." he said, "You call the shots."

The knot came lose then. The toga fell to the floor, and I took a step back to look at the Valentine's Day present I had just unwrapped.

Sim's body was thick all over; no other word for it. There was some fat, but there was also muscle, particularly in his legs. His claves were powerful, and his thighs as broad and hard as young trees. His ass was round and solid. I'd already seen his chest and torso, but now I saw the entire man. Naked, he seemed neither young nor old. The hair on his chest, arms and legs covered the rest of him sparely. Where you could see it, it was dark, like the little that remained on his head, and the thick curly mass that surrounded his half-erect cock: not a huge cock; thick, rather than long, like the rest of him. I raised my eyes to meet his, and I knew he'd seen me looking. He gave a crooked little half-smile, liked he hoped he hadn't disappointed. 

In that moment, I wanted to run to him and throw my arms around him and tell him that I loved the way he looked, that I loved his body and wanted his body, and all the good stuff—heart, mind, soul—that came with it. But something Liz said chose that same moment to come back to me: "How many guys can think hard enough to count to one with a pretty lady blowing them?" I didn't want him thinking, second-guessing, remembering that goddamn casting director. So don't let him think: fuck him stupid, suck him dry, then, when he hasn't got two functioning brain cells to rub together, then tell him. And then fuck him again, to make sure you get your point across. Actions speak louder than words, right? I looked Pseudolus in the eye, dropped my eyes to his cock, met his eyes again, smiled, and licked my lips, slowly, seductively: promises, promises. Then I stepped to the side, and said: "Ladies, look what we have here!"

12.

Vibrata smiled, cocked an eyebrow at me, as if to say 'We can work with that.' Then she said aloud: "Doesn't that look tasty? Philia, come closer. Have a good look." Once more, I moved around behind our slave, so my fellow slut and our slut-in-training could approach. "Handsome, isn't he, Little Sister? Nice broad shoulders, powerful legs. I like his eyes too, and he's got a cute mouth. How bout it, Slave-Boy? A girl spreads her legs, you know what to do with that mouth of yours?"

Pseudolus said: "You know, I object to being objectified in this disgusting manner!"

Vibrata said: "Really?"

Pseudolus: "Nah, kidding. It's a new and enjoyable experience. Please continue."

It was Little Miss Sassy-Virgin's turn to giggle. Vibrata continued. She knelt in front of our slave, about a foot away, and pulled Philia down to kneel beside her.

"He's got a nice cock too, hasn't he, Sweetie? I mean, I've seen bigger; hell, last campaigning season, the Forth Macedonian Cavalry rented me for a weekend. That was a workout, let me tell you! Oh, sorry. I'm forgetting: you haven't seen one before. That thickish thing kind of pointing at us from between his legs: that's his cock. Hero's got one too, and tonight, when he gets you alone, he's gonna toss that cute little ass of yours onto your marriage bed, force your thighs apart, and bury that bad boy balls-deep in your hot little cunny. Um...again, sorry. Balls: two of 'em, in that kind of sack like thing under his cock. You good with the terminology?"

"Oh my, I think so..." She pointed back and forth: "Cock, balls, cock, balls...um, I think I've got it. But, won't that hurt, if he puts his...um...his cock in my pussy? It looks kind of big to me."

"It might hurt a little, at first, but Little Sister, believe me when I tell you, once you get past 'at first', it's really worth it; and as for big...actually, we're here to teach you how to make it even bigger."

Philia put her finger to her bottom lip, managing to look pretty and puzzled, and sexy and stupid all at the same time. "But Vibrata, I don't understand. Why would I want to do that?"

"Because, Little Sister,"—I broke in at this point; didn't want Liz hogging all the best business—"the bigger and harder and thicker your man's cock is, the better you'll feel when he slides it inside of you. And when you feel good, it's easier to make him feel good. And when you love somebody you want them to feel good, right?"

"Right!" said our little virgin, smiling happily, "I do understand that part."

"And if you make him feel really, really good, you can get him to buy you all kinds of neat stuff too." I winked at Pseudolus: "Right, Slave?"

"Oh absolutely, Mistress Philia." Pseudolus picked up his cue like a pro. "In fact, my dear friend, Doctor Egregious Malpracticus, spends far more on a young lady who helps him measure the effect of...um, various practices on that part of his body, than he does on his own wife."

Our little slut-in-training appeared to consider this. "I see. Oh, my, well I do like nice things..."

"Of course you do, Sweetheart," Vibrata was back, "so pay close attention. Gymnasia and I are going to teach you all you need to know about making a slave into a man and your man into your slave. Pseudolus, would you be a dear and put your shapely ass on the beanbag there?"

13.

Pseudolus sat: a little splayed, legs spread, like you do in a beanbag. At first his hands moved to cover himself, but I caught his eye and gave him a sad little pout, like 'Why do you want to take away my toys?' He looked like he was trying not to laugh, then he blushed—no shit, he blushed; ever see a mostly bald guy blush? His whole head turned pink. It was kind of adorable and terrifying at the same time. But at least he put his hand down by his sides. He'd lost his erection—he was apparently a grower rather than a show-er—and the head of his thick cock poked out hopefully from its nest of dark pubic hair. I smiled, and he sighed and relaxed: my rehearsal, my rules.

Vibrata began the lesson. "Now, Little Sister, a really accomplished seductress can play her man like a fiddle; all five senses, right?" Philia nodded obediently. "So let's start with sight. I want you to stand in front of Pseudolus here, and take off all you clothes."

I snuck a peak at Sim's face: bemused grin, like: how much stranger is this night going to get? 

Philia said: "Oh, my! All of them?"

I chimed in: "He's been naked for the past half hour. I think it's only fair that we join him. I'm feeling a little over-dressed anyway." I bent down as if to unsnap one of my garters, and watched with satisfaction as our slave's eyes snapped to the tops of my breasts which threatened to tumble out of my lingerie

"Gymnasia," said Vibrata, a warning note in her voice "We need to do this in stages. You know what the sight of your naked tits can do to men unprepared for the ordeal."

"I heard," said Philia, in a frightened, breathy little voice, "that several gladiators...um... came so hard their hearts just...stopped. What does that mean, by the way, 'coming hard?' Is that like running into a closed door?"

We hadn't scripted any of this, but I was grateful to the girls for sort of plugging the super-slut angle.

Vibrata shot Philia a quizzical look: "What the...? Sort of? Look, we'll cover that later. With Hero, on your first try, you should be so lucky. Anyway, Gymnasia, keep 'em covered 'til I say so, got it?"

"Aw, you're no fun!" I pouted, cupping my tits and giving them a little jiggle. "I bet Pseudolus could take it." I glanced down at his cock, which had begun to stiffen a little. "He looks like a strong man!"

"Pseudolus doesn't get a vote! Now, be a good slut, or no cock for you until Wednesday."

"Meanie!"

"Whore!"

"Well, duh!"

"Yeah, I suppose... Anyway, Philia, front and center. Face the nice slave, pretend he's your husband, and strip!"

Philia stood a foot or so from Pseudolus' beanbag, took her lower lip between her front teeth, reached down, and pull her babydoll over her head. Her skin was pale rose, her breasts milk white with a dusting of freckles, and she had small hot pink nipples in the middle of perfectly round areolas. She brought an arm up to cover her bosom, glanced over at Vibrata and squeaked: "Everything?"

"You can leave the slippers."

"OK..." She reached behind her to remove the thong from between her cheeks, and gave a little wiggle. Her panties fell to the ground revealing a delicate pink pussy shaved bare except for a tuft of strawberry blonde curls at the top of her slit. I think all three of us sighed just a little. Carolyn was gorgeous clothed; naked she was absolutely stunning. 

Our little virgin looked at Pseudolus from under long lashes, and then she giggled: "Ooh, look, it's getting bigger!"

And it was. Our slave's cock had begun to stiffen. Vibrata made a production of examining the part in question. Then she turned back to Philia. "Not bad for a first time. Let's see if I can help things along a little."

Carolyn had simply taken off her lingerie. She was a beautiful woman possessed of considerable natural grace, but she was playing the innocent. Liz performed an impromptu strip-tease, dancing to a soundtrack which only she could hear. On anybody else it would have looked stupid; on my friend Liz Charboneaux...in fire-engine red lingerie? Holy shit! 

She pranced around in a half-circle until her back was to her audience—Carolyn and I stepped behind Sim's beanbag to watch—and her hips rocked and rolled as she reached around to unclasp her bra. She shot a look over her shoulder, caught Carolyn's eye (ah...the kiss, the glances...not rocket science.), winked, and spun around to prance toward us, holding the bra over her breasts with her right arm. Then she shimmied out of the shoulder straps, and let her top fall; a pouty 'should I?' look, and her arm came away from her body, now naked from the waist up. Another shimmy set her pretty titties bouncing, as she turned her back to us again, and stuck out that killer ass as she bent to undo the straps holding the stockings to the cincher.

I know guys who consider Liz Charboneaux's ass proof of the existence of a benign God and an ordered universe. No shit; according to some grad-school student she had dated, nothing that perfect could have come into being without a master plan. The cincher fell away, and she swayed and swiveled her round firm cheeks to the rhythm of some driving, jazzy bump-and-grind. My mouth had fallen open without my being aware of it, and I expended the mental energy necessary to close it. Then I looked, a little nervously, at Sim. His expression hadn't changed; the little grin was still there, although his eyes looked a little wider than they had. I let my eyes travel down his body, and sure enough, his dick was harder, a little longer, still not fully erect, not like when we'd kissed. I didn't know how to feel; part of me was relieved, and part of me was surprised. I'm not really into girls, and Liz had me dripping like a busted sprinkler. A stray thought occurred to me: Sim was 48; maybe guys his age didn't get the same kind of insta-boners younger men got. I'd have to remember that if I got him alone, or when I got him alone.




A Funny Thing Happened...



Vibrata was finishing up: she tore her thong off, and threw it away—ok, snaps, but still; that had to hurt! She was naked except for stockings and heels, and she was magnificent. She smiled at Philia, winked at me, and then dropped to her hands and knees and crawled toward Pseudolus. When she was maybe a foot away from his beanbag, she rose up on her knees, gave our poor slave a "Come fuck me" glare, and froze, as if buttoning a number. I snuck another peak at Sim's face; now he looked a little nervous.

Philia was the first to speak: "Oh my, should I do...that for Hero?"

I said: "No, Sweetheart. Do it your way the first time. We can show you other ways later." I leaned in towards our slave, letting him sense my closeness, even though I was talking to our slut-in-training, and I tried out my 'sexy Roman Human Development teacher' voice (Hey, I'm a professional!): "A real slut can talk with her body as well as her mouth. Every move you make sends your lover a message. So, when you took off your things, you were saying: 'I'm excited, but I'm inexperienced, and a little scared; please be gentle with me.' Guys love that," I leaned in closer and nipped the bottom of Pseudolus' ear. He jumped a little, and I whispered: "Don't they, Handsome?"

Our slave held very still. I'd bitten his ear again, and still had the lobe trapped gently between my front teeth. He sighed: "Yeah." But whether he was answering my question or responding to my teasing, I didn't know. And frankly, I didn't care. I liked making him sigh.

Philia gave me a sweet smile, which then turned mischievous: "I understand, Gymnasia. So...um...what did Vibrata just say?"

"Oh...I don't know," I straightened up reluctantly, and turned to Vibrata. "Were you going for 'Fuck me before I hurt you.' or 'Somebody get me three gladiators and a bucket of lube!'?"

Pseudolus chimed in, unexpectedly: "I think it was more like 'Tame me if you dare.'"

Vibrata gave our slave a long, speculative look. Then she smiled: "Nice translation, Slave." Then: "So how about it, Gymnasia? We're all naked. Why don't you talk to the man?"

14.

I love Liz, but she can be a real bitch sometimes. She'd just done maybe the hottest striptease ever, and now she was daring me: put up or shut up. I got the message loud and clear. "If you don't get your hot little ass in gear..." Not that I thought she'd move on Sim herself, although if all this playing and touching and teasing had gotten her half as hot and bothered as I was... For a moment I was at a loss. How do you follow...that? Then: "Pseudolus," I purred, "come sit with me on the couch."

A striptease is a tease, right? The stripper has all the power; she (or he) gets to decide how much to show, what to take off when, like that. My slave tucked his naked body into one corner of the couch, his right leg resting against the rear cushions, his left on the floor, and his semi-erect cock bobbing gently, as if pointing out a comfy spot opposite it. I sat in the other corner, all long legs and lingerie. I looked him in the eye and smiled. He returned the gaze and the smile. Then I dropped my eyes to his cock, brought them back up to meet his, puckered my lips, blew a silent kiss. No words; just body language. His eyes opened slightly. I stole another quick glance at his dick, saw it twitch, looked up again and smiled. I cocked an eyebrow, then ran a lazy finger down my shoulder and across my chest. I watched his eyes follow the finger, saw them rise again to check in with mine. I cocked the eyebrow again, brought a finger down to the little red bow covering the clip holding up my stocking, then allowed my hand to caress the roughness of the fishnets on my thigh and knee. A quick check: again his eyes followed my finger's lead. Last time: eyes on, cocked eyebrow, follow the finger, down my body, between my legs, tap, tap, tap: the damp little triangle of sheer black fabric over my newly bare pussy. Our eyes met once again; message received and understood: no tease here, Handsome. What will I take off and when? It's all up to you.

Sim held my eyes for what seemed like a long time. Finally he chuckled. I glared at him. He laughed out loud, that quick, sharp bark I'd heard the night of Wyatt's party. I was about to lean forward to strangle him when he locked eyes with mine again. His eyebrows arched, as if to say 'ready?' I winked: 'ready, if you're done yukking it up!' Then I watched his eyes.

For a long second, his eyes lingered on my lips, and his breathing deepened. I figured I knew what that meant. Then he seemed to follow the curve of my throat; his gaze felt like a caress, and now it was my turn to pant a little. Down across my breasts—I expected him to stop there, but he didn't. His eyes teased my belly, lingered for a second around my belly button, concealed by my cami, and then dropped to rest squarely on the sheer triangle of my thong. I saw his tongue peak out to moisten his lower lip, and I hoped I knew what that meant. Thinking about it had me dripping. His eyes stayed locked on my pussy for a moment, as if to emphasize his choice. Then up they came to meet mine, and up went the eyebrows: 'That first, please?'

The joke was on me apparently, because suddenly I was the one on fire with want! All the teasing, the role-playing, the seduction, all that had been designed to put Sim at ease, allay his fears, get him in the mood. And it had worked! The boldness of his choice proved it. He wanted me...available for when—and now he knew it would be 'when'—we couldn't take any more teasing. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but I was still Gymnasia, Wonder Slut, hottest whore in the brothel, for whom the unbridled lust of regiments was no more than her due. I gave my slave my most seductive smile, stood, turned my back to him, stuck my behind in the air, and lowered my thong slowly down my fishnet-ed forever legs. I gave my ass a saucy little wiggle, then straightened up, and turned back around, watching with delight as my slave drank in the sight of my newly bald pussy. He stared like a man dying of thirst in the desert might stare at an oasis, and I sat back down on the couch a foot closer to him than I had been. At last he brought his eyes back up to mine, and they were smiling, and he was smiling, and I was smiling, no longer the calculating smile of a seductress, but the goofy smile of a woman who might just be falling in love.

15.

 

I raised my eyebrows again. I wanted him to ask for the rest of it. Sim was still smiling, couldn't seem to stop, so he took a shortcut. He whispered: "Please leave the stockings?" I pouted, pretending to be disappointed that he didn't want to play any more, and I was rewarded with another catch in his breath, as he took in my protruding lower lip. Then I stood—facing him this time—bent down to unclip my garters and pulled the camisole over my head in a single motion, letting my big boobs bounce free, nipples proud and erect. Then I stood there, naked except for my fishnets and my fuck-me pumps, and watched my slave, my man, my soon-to-be lover lose himself staring at me.

I'll say this: the look on Sim's face was sure as hell flattering. Like everybody else, when I look in the mirror, I mostly see stuff I don't like: cheeks too chubby, face too round, shoulders too broad and bony, hair too...whatever. But Sim...well first of all, his entire body was leaning forward, as if he wanted to dive into me, or devour me, and believe me, I'd have been fine with either choice. His eyes flashed from my face to my chest to my hips to my legs, and then back again. I twirled slowly, and gave him an over-the-shoulder, pin-up style pose, and he groaned. No shit: he actually groaned as he caught sight of my ass. I turned again and glanced between his legs, and then it was my turn to stare. Age notwithstanding, Sim's cock was proud and erect, red and angry and swollen with need. For me. I knew it, and at the same time I wondered: Carolyn and Liz were two of the most beautiful women that I'd ever seen, but maybe beauty hadn't been enough. Maybe something in Sim was responding to my need, my desire for him. Whatever. Didn't matter. I felt chosen. I felt wanted, needed. I felt beautiful. And, surprise, surprise: I also felt horny as hell.

"Um...Philia," Liz's voice speaking behind me: "I think it's time for us to do your hair."

Sim started, stood up, and I turned around quickly. It had been a pre-arranged signal. When I felt ready for some private time with our slave, I was supposed to send Vibrata off with Philia to help prepare her for her wedding night. Both ladies had been happy to help me tease and arouse Sim, and Liz had offered to...go further if Sim had—it was a hard thought to have had—if he'd been into the idea of sex rather than specifically into...well...me. But the whole plan had been to get us together in a kind of playful way. Not too heavy, not too serious, nothing that looked, sounded or felt remotely like a pity fuck. We'd planned more stuff, more little teases, more games, but apparently Liz didn't see the need. Carolyn pouted a little; she'd been enjoying herself quite a bit, and Liz slapped her ass hard, with a resounding crack. Carolyn cooed. "And that's what we call confirmation." I thought to myself. "Naughty little Carolyn: gay or bi?" I'd wonder about that later. Liz caught my eye, grinned and winked. And then she and Carolyn were gone; in and out of the bathroom for their clothes, and then out the green room door headed God knows where, and to do God knows what, although once again, guessing: didn't take a rocket scientist. And then I forgot about them, because the door had clicked shut, and Sim and I stood facing each other, naked and alone, surrounded by beanbags, a comfy couch, and a twin bed covered with a red satin sheet.

16.

 

We stood and stared at each other for a long few seconds. The look on my poor man's face was priceless: desire, uncertainty, need, and what looked suspiciously like that kind of panicky urge you get to laugh in church. I figured he wasn't sure if the 'rehearsal' was over, and I thought it might help if I threw him another cue. So I stepped into him, until we were inches apart, and said: "So how about it handsome? Looking for a good time?" 

His face relaxed. "Maybe, but how do I know you're not...um...what's Latin for 'cop?'"

"No idea, but you can do a body cavity search for a badge, if you'd like."

"Holy...maybe in a minute. Um...so how much do you..."

I cut him off. "No way could you afford me. I get more per hour than the emperor."

"Oh, then are we..."

I snaked my arms around his neck, and pulled him into me, pressing my body against his. I felt his arms wrapped around my back, the hair on his chest tickling my nipples. I reached down and took his cock in my hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then trapped it between us, positioning it so it sat hard and hot against the warm wet lips of my pussy. I traced the rim of his ear with the tip of my tongue and felt him shudder. Then I breathed: "Luckily for you, I'm feeling particularly slutty tonight, so I'll make you a special Valentine's Day offer: let me suck this lovely thick cock of yours,"—I thrust my hips forward, grinding my slit against him—"and I'm yours for the rest of the evening. How does that sound?" Then I continued exploring his ear and throat with my tongue.

I could feel his heartbeat racing as I kissed across the pulse in his throat, and his voice was a breathy whisper as he said: "That's a pretty generous offer..."

I pulled my head back and looked him in the eye. "What do you expect? I'm a courtesan. I don't know dick about negotiating..." I dropped my eyes to where his cock rested, pressed between our bodies, "but I'm super-good at negotiating my way around a dick." I looked back at his face: smiling but not laughing. "Oh, come on, that was pretty good!"

"Mezzo-mezzo."

Hey Buster, you want stand-up, or a hot little whore sucking your cock?"

"I can't have both?"

"Nope. I was always told it's impolite to talk with your mouth full. Now, are you going to take me up on my offer..."

He laughed. "Two conditions."

What the hell? "And they are?"

"First of all, can I call you Ginny now?"

"I can think of all sorts of things I want you to call me..." I purred.

"I mean instead of 'Miss Gymnasia.'"

"Oh, sure." That was easy. "What else?"

"Would you kiss me again, like you did when you came in?"

"Oh, Honey,"—all of a sudden I was happier than I could remember being pretty much ever. I brought my lips down and brushed his gently. Then I opened my mouth, felt his opening up with me; his tongue reached for mine, and I let him explore. There was a soft, erotic symphony of hums and sighs and purrs, and small wet sounds. I lost track of who they were coming from. His lips were soft and smooth, his face a little rough, and his tongue somewhere in between. He tasted a little salty, and maybe a little minty, like he'd had an Altoid or a Tic-Tac or something not too long ago. He tasted wonderful, smelled wonderful, felt wonderful, and when our lips finally slid away from each other—his to my throat, and mine to his ear—I was the one doing the panting.

"Sim...oh Baby...God, I could kiss you for days...but...I meant what I said a minute ago."

"What...did you... Sorry, Gin...you kiss...I might just forget my name! What..?"

"I really, really want to suck your cock...can I, please?"

He gave what sounded like a shaky laugh. "Well, if you really feel strongly about it..."

"And Sim, do you know what else I really want?"

"What?"

"I want you to tell me to do it."

"Okay, I can do that." The Little Engine that Could. Then he brought his lips to my throat and planted light, teasing kisses up toward my ear. His breath was warm, and I felt as much as heard him breathe: "Get down on your knees and suck my cock, you beautiful slut."

17.

 

I kissed him over to the bed, and when I felt the back of his legs bump up against it, I gave him a little push. "Have a seat," I said, and winked. "I like my man to be comfortable." He did, and I turned my back and walked away from him, swinging my hips, letting him watch my ass twitching above the fishnets. When I'd gotten about eight feet away, I tuned around and put my hands on my hips. "Like what you see, Handsome?"

He nodded: "Goddamn, Ginny, you're gorgeous!"

I giggled: "Glad you think so. Now, Mr. Brownstone," I gave him my naughty schoolgirl voice, "I want you to look at my tits, OK?"

I watched his eyes drop to my chest, and I brought my hands up, cupping my breasts, offering them to him. "I know how much you like them. I like that you like them. Now in just a sec, I'm going to get on my hands and knees and crawl over to you, so that I can put your cock in my mouth like the naughty little slut I am. While I'm crawling, I want you staring at my big boobs. Think about squeezing them, sucking them, fucking them, whatever keeps that lovely dick of yours hard. Think you can do that?"

Sim seemed to have lost control of the muscles in his lower jaw again. He thought about closing his mouth, did that, and then thought some more. Finally he said: "Depends. Am I going to get to do any of those wonderful things, 'cause if not, I'm walking out of here right after you blow me and...ok, I was going to say 'blowing my brains out', but somehow that's not quite what I'm going for..."

I laughed out loud. "Sim, Sweetie, I'm the one who's going to blow your brains out...or loose, or something, and then yes, Baby, yes, Lover, YES! Don't you get it yet? You can do whatever you want with me. All I've been thinking about for the past month is how badly I want you. Now will you please shut up and let me blow you?"

"Me shut up? You're the one who keeps saying stuff which...just completely...I'm just so...Ginny...I..." He looked like he was about to explode with frustration and want and who knew what else. Game over. It was time for me to give my man his Valentine's Day present, or for him to give me mine.

I walked over to him, and knelt in front of him: "Hush, Sweetie, shhh. It's OK. You're right I've been talking and teasing too much. Can I just ask you one more thing?"

"Sure, Gin, and I'm sorry...I just..."

I reached up and put a finger across his lips.

"Sim, do you really think I'm beautiful?"

"Ginny...yes. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

I felt like somebody had poured me full of warm honey. But then I thought: enough talk; tell him later. So I looked into his eyes and said: "Well, do you think I might be just a little more beautiful with your cock in my mouth?" It wasn't a fair question, so I didn't wait for an answer. Instead I reached up and wrapped a hand around his shaft, gave the head of his dick a quick kiss, and then I took his whole length into my warm, wet mouth, and began to suck.

18.

 

I'd always liked pleasuring a man with my mouth, but usually it was the fact of giving pleasure rather than the act itself which I enjoyed. But there was just something about Sim. He tasted good: salty and musky and maybe a little soapy, and his pre-cum which had been leaking from the tip was sweet and syrupy. I'd begun by taking him all in, and now I bobbed my head up and down his shaft, getting him nice and wet, and making sloppy little sucking and slurping sounds while I hummed and cooed. I wanted my man to know how much his little slut was enjoying her treat. I could hear Sim's breath rasping in his throat, and every now and then little growls and grunts of pleasure; a sad little sigh when I popped him out of my mouth turned into a series of breathy little pants when I drew my tongue around the head like I was licking an ice-cream cone. I found a sensitive spot in the little v-shaped cleft at the bottom of the head just below the tip, and I fluttered the tip of my tongue against it, smiling up into Sim's eyes as he groaned and swore. Then I decided to have mercy on him, and I lowered my mouth back down onto his shaft for a long, slow, sloppy suck.

"Ohh God, Gin! Ohhhh that feels so good! Oh please, yeah, just like that. Mmmmmm!"

I was in heaven, and I answered his groans, my dirty talk punctuated by obscene licks and slurps and sucks: "You like that, Baby? Oooh, your cock tastes so good! All hard and thick and wet! You like to feel my slutty lips...ummmm...just sliding up and down your nice big shaft. Oooh, look how tight your balls are getting? You want me to lick them too? Huh, Baby, you want me to get your balls all nice and wet and sticky?"

Sim's reply might have been "Please!", but I couldn't be sure. I decided to go for it anyway. I grabbed his shaft, pushed it up against his body, and took each hard little sphere between my lips, sucking gently, and running my tongue over the rough, hairy skin of his sack. When I'd given each of his balls thorough sucking, I ran by tongue up the length of his prick and popped the head back between my lips. I sucked him hard for a minute or two; then I popped him out again.

"Mmmm, that was nice! Did you like that? I did. I must be a nasty little whore to suck on your balls like that, huh?" No response. "Know what your cock-hungry little slut is going to do now?" I sucked and slurped on him hard and fast, making his cock nice and wet and slippery. I think he tried to answer me, but he wasn't making much sense. I sucked him deep until I felt his pubic hair tickling my nose, then I slowly withdrew. "She's going to put your cock right between her big soft titties. You want to fuck my tits, don't you, Baby? Tell this slutty courtesan how badly you want to tit-fuck her."

Sim was barely coherent: "Oh...God, yes! I want to...to...I, shit, I want...to you...you to...please...goddamn that feels so...yes! Want to...tit-fuck...your beautiful...oh God! Want to...please...put my...cock...between..."




A Funny Thing Happened...



Again I took pity on him. Plunging him back into my mouth to make sure he was good and wet and slick, I raised myself up on my knees, wrapped my breasts around his cock, and began to move them up and down his shaft. My tits were too big, and his cock too short to pop out at the top of each thrust, so instead of spitting into my cleavage—I'd seen that in porn, and it always struck me as kind of crude; I know: this from a girl calling herself slut and whore and fucking a guy with her tits, but still—anyway, instead of doing that, I released him every few stokes so I could wet him again with my lips and tongue. It was fun for a bit, but eventually I got the feeling that Sim liked the idea of fucking my tits more than the actual experience. That was fine with me. I missed the feeling of him in my mouth. Besides, I was getting hungry.

I took him back between my lips for a few more gentle sucks, then I let him slide out over my tongue, tickled my special place with the tip, and took him in my fist, stroking him gently. "I want you to cum soon, Baby, and I want you to cum in my mouth. And I want to swallow every single drop, like a good little slut. Can you do that for me, Lover? Can you shoot your hot sticky stuff into my mouth and make sure I swallow it all?"

Some combination of the blowjob and the dirty talk had short-circuited the last of my guy's language function. He panted and growled and groaned, and I could feel his cock thickening slightly as his orgasm approached. Quickly I took the head of his cock between my lips and held it there, sucking gently as I stroked his shaft. Before long, I had my treat. Sim's body became rigid, and then he bucked once, twice, three times, four times as his dick shot rope after rope of man-stuff over the top of my tongue. It filled my mouth, and I swallowed quickly, sending what felt like half a cup of jizz down the back of my throat. I'd had no real time to taste, so as soon as the first spasms died away, I squeezed gently from the base of Sim's now super-sensitive cock to the tip. He yelped, but I licked off another quarter teaspoon of cum with a happy little "unh!" I raised myself on my knees, and stuck out my tongue to show him my prize: every last drop. Then I swallowed, licked my lips, smiled, and put my arms around him. Pulling him close, I kissed him just below his ear and whispered: "Thanks, Baby. That was yummy!"

19.

After a couple of seconds, I felt Sim's hands on the side of my head, and he pulled me around for another long, luscious kiss. I wondered if he could taste himself on my mouth. If he could he didn't seem to care. After a time, he left my lips and began kissing down the side of my throat. His lips were like fire on my skin, and I was panting: "Ooh, Honey...uhnnn that feels so good! You really like to kiss!"

He nipped at my collarbone. "Any objections?"

"No! Oh God, Sweetie, not at all...yeah, right there...so good! You know we courtesans don't usually kiss our customers on the mouth, but...ah, yeah, Babe, ahhh...hurts a little, no, please don't stop...for you I'll make an exception."

"Because you're feeling slutty?"

"No, Lover...because your lips are so sweet!"

He raised his head to look me in the eyes. I sighed with the loss of sensation. He said: "So you like my lips, do you, you naughty little minx?"

I pouted: "How come I'm naughty? Just 'cause I sucked your cock, and swallowed all your delicious cum? That's all your fault. You've got such a sweet dick, what's a girl supposed to do?"

Sim was trying not to laugh. Nobody does dirty talk like me when I get going. For some reason it really gets me gushing, and watching what it was doing to Sim was just adding coals to the fire. Finally he said: "Alright, I stand corrected." He looked down at his half-erect cock, which hadn't yet recovered from my oral attentions. "Well, I will stand corrected in another ten minutes or so. For now, I want a taste of those beautiful boobs of yours, and then I'm going to eat your juicy little pussy until you scream. How's that work for you?" Before I had a chance to reply, he pushed me down onto the bed, climbed between my parted thighs, held my hands down at my sides, and attacked my left nipple with his tongue and lips. I started the screaming part of the program a little early.

My breasts are super-sensitive, and when I'm not worked up, I like a man to be gentle. But I was plenty worked up now, and Sim's lips and teeth and tongue had me begging for more. I also loved how he'd pinned my hands. There was nothing I could do but hang on as he suckled my nipples until they were hard and hot and aching. Then he'd lash them with his tongue and bite them gently, dragging his teeth along them until I was squealing and whining and crying. "Please oh please oh pleaseohpleaseohplease, Baby! Use your hands too. Squeeze them, pinch them, touch them, oh GOD...please! I won't move, Baby, I promise, I just...Oooooh, YES!" He'd just brought a big hand up to maul my left breast, while his mouth worked over my right one, and I was keening, a high, desperate sound which I could hear, but couldn't somehow trace back to my body. Then the sharp sensations were over, and his big warm hands were caressing my soft titflesh, the rough pads of his thumbs brushing my erect nipples gently, teasingly. Sim smiled down at me: "You're even more fun to play than the violin, Sweet Thing."

The endearment made me grim like a kid at Christmas—or Hannukah. Then Sim said: "Skootch to the edge of the bed, spread your legs and get comfortable. I'm ready for a little sweet-and-sour Ginny!"

"Hey," I purred, like a cat in a sunbeam, "I'm not sour!"

Sim knelt between my thighs and ran the tip of his tongue gently up my slit, burrowing between the lips of my pussy. I moaned when he pulled away to say softly: "Of course you are, and sweet, and salty, and fruity, and, hmm, let's see what else..." And with that, I felt his fingers part the lips of my cunt, and his wicked tongue begin to explore.

He started with the soft skin of my inner thighs. He licked, then kissed then bit, alternating left then right, and each time he switched sides, he'd pause just above my pussy, sniff gently—as if he's just been handed a glass of wine—and sigh, his mouth less than an inch from me, so that I felt the warmth of his breath all over my shaved mons. After a few minutes of this, I was squirming and whining in frustration: "Sim, c'mon! Baby, don't tease...please? Please, pleaseplease? Pretty please with...oooh, God yes!"

Before I had finished begging, the tip of his tongue was inside me, thrusting in and out like a tiny little cock. His chin and his nose were between my pussy lips, and each time his tongue moved upward, I could feel the flat, broad tip of his nose just below my clit. I squealed and bucked, thrusting my hips forward, trying to get as much of that naughty, lovely tongue inside me as I could. I could hear his breathing combined with wet, spongy sounds, and for the first time I understood why guys like sloppy blow jobs so much. The sounds were so hot and nasty. Nothing else in the world sounds like a sex-crazed horn-dog guy eating a hot slut's nasty juicy cunt. And if you're that hot slut, if it's your soaking pussy that's making that guy so hungry-crazy... I tried to say something, tried to encourage, praise, whatever the fuck, but all that came out were little hums and 'yuhs' and 'ooohs.' And then the evil bastard pulled the tip of his tongue out of me, and started lashing my clit with it.

I shrieked: quick and high and panicky. The last remaining rational part of my brain hoped the building was empty, because if anybody was listening, they'd be breaking down the door with fire axes. And the noises Sim was making... It sounded like he was literally eating me, like a wolf or a bear just tearing into the hottest, juiciest part of me. He growled and panted and grunted and huffed, and his tongue was everywhere, licking me from the base of my slit up to my clit, the caressing it gently before swiping across it hard and fast. I could feel the tightness building just below my belly, spreading out and down. I was close...so close...and he backed off just a bit.

"Sim! You fucking...! I was almost there! Don't stop, Baby, please, please, please keep going, PLEASE!"

 

His tongue came away long enough for long enough for me to hear him chuckle: "Poor little courtesan, dishes it out but can't take it, huh?" I tried to kick him with the back of a heel, but my knees were bent, and I couldn't get much into it. I was almost sobbing with frustration. Then he whispered: "Shhh, I'm sorry. Don't worry, Gin, I'll take you there now, OK? No more games, and it'll be better for the wait. Trust me, Babe. I'm so sorry to tease, but you taste so wonderful, I just...shhh, never mind. You ready?"

"Uh huh."

"I want you to cum for me, Baby." And he began licking my clit gently, regularly, with an easy but insistent rhythm. I cooed, as I felt my arousal building again, slowly at first, and then the rhythm picked up speed, and the licks became harder, and a little longer, and the tightness began to coalesce again, just behind my pussy, right in the center of me. And the rhythm became faster, still regular, I could count on each stroke following the last, nothing would stop it now...and now Sim's tongue was lashing my clit...harder, longer, faster, then again...harder, faster, and the knot was tighter and tighter, like I was taffy wound around those...whatever they are in the candy store window...and it was faster and somebody was making this impossibly high moan, and it was me, and it was harder and faster and harder and faster and then...the knot...just came apart...and my body jerked and spasm-ed over and over and over and over and over and...

"Stop, Sim, please...so...too sensitive, please...oooooohhhhh!"

I sighed in pleasure and anguish as I felt the warmth of his face and mouth move away from my thighs and pussy. He moved up to lie next to me on the bed, but before he could get settled, I threw my arms around him, buried my face in his neck and burst into tears.

"Ginny, Honey, are you OK, was that too...I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

I found his mouth and kissed him gently, pulled back and said, or maybe sniffed: "No, Sweetie, it was wonderful. I don't think I've ever...cum that hard on a guy's tongue. It was...just so fucking intense. Don't worry, I'm fine. I'm better than fine! I'm...Sim, can we...I mean are you ready again? Because I...look, I don't mean to be a demanding bitch, but I really kind of need you inside me."

20.

Sim smiled. "Christ, Woman, you're insatiable!" He lifted his hand as if to wipe his mouth, but I grabbed his wrist. I'd enjoyed tasting myself on his lips a moment earlier, and now I whispered "No, don't waste it." He looked surprised, so I gave him a saucy smile, stuck out my tongue and began cleaning my juices off his face. I tasted good, and I started to feel a little slutty again. Soon I was humming, and making wet little sucking and kissing sounds. Then I was moaning and purring: "Licking myself off your face is nice. Bet it'd be even nicer to lick myself off your cock. Come on, Baby, fuck your horny little slut. Don't make me beg...unless hearing me beg turns you on?"

Sim grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my head away and then kissed me hard on the mouth. "Greedy little bitch! Maybe I was saving some of that sweet pussy juice of yours for myself." Then: "Gin, I want you...that's to say I want to...fuck...you, but I didn't...this is so stupid...um, no condom. I'm...well shit, you can probably feel how sorry I am..."

Condoms weren't a problem. I had half a dozen of them back in the bathroom, but then I had a thought. "Sim," I giggled at what I was about to say, "can I ask you a personal question?"

He barked that laugh of his: "Wow, I dunno, Ginny. Maybe we should get to know each other a little better. How about we trade oral sex?"

I tried to look offended: "You beast! What kind of a slut do you take me for? You know what, don't answer that. Look, seriously...Sim, when was the last time you had sex?"

He sobered quickly. "Ah, right. Um...it's been a while...maybe a year and a bit...why?"

"Have you had a check up since?"

"Just before I came out here."

"Me too. Look, I've got condoms in the bathroom, but I'm on the pill and...I mean I don't have my blood work with me or anything, but...I'm clean. I mean, I'll understand if you don't..."

"I'm clean too. I realize this is kind of...look, I trust you, but if you feel like we should use...I mean..."

I said: "Sorry, that turned out to be a bit of a mood killer, but...I want you...and I...well, I really want to feel you, and I want you to feel me...would it be OK if we didn't?"

Sim smiled: "A beautiful, naked woman just asked me if I would be willing to make love to her without a condom...am I being punked? Where's the camera?"

I giggled: "So you're OK with it?"

"Yeah, I'm fine with it. You?"

"Uh huh." I looked down between us. "Uh oh, looks like somebody got tired of the negotiations." Sim looked a little crestfallen. I mentally slapped myself: 'Ginny, you've got to learn when to keep your big mouth shut!' Out loud I said: "Oh well, I guess I'll just have to suck your yummy cock some more to get it ready to fuck my slutty little pussy." I started to move down his body, but he stopped me. "Can we try this way first?" 

He brought his lips to mine and began another long, slow kiss. His mouth opened first this time, and his tongue pushed into my mouth, ravishing mine with quick wet caresses. His big hands travelled down my body and cupped the cheeks of my ass, pushing my still-sopping pussy against his rapidly hardening shaft. We ground against each other, and I could feel the head of his cock brush against my clit. I moaned into his mouth, and his tongue darted in again. My hands went to his head, and I pulled his mouth off mine long enough to gasp: "Sim, please fuck me now, please, Baby, please..."

21.

 

Sim pushed me gently back onto the red satin sheets covering the little twin bed. Then it was easy: I spread my long legs and smiled up at him. He grinned down at me, then moved between my thighs, pressed the head of his cock against the opening of my pussy and slid inside, and my eyes closed, and my mouth opened, and I moaned as his thick shaft stretched the walls of my cunt, brushing every single little pleasure place as he thrust into me. "Oh, Baby! Oh Sim!" I heard myself before I knew I was speaking. "Oh, you feel so GOOD!"

He began moving in and out of me: hard urgent thrusts, each one seemingly deeper than the last. The friction was delicious and constant, and unfamiliar. I'd had longer cocks inside me, but maybe I'd never had thicker. Or maybe I'd just never had Sim. He pounded into me, tearing little panting groans from me with each thrust: "Yuh, yuh, yuh, yuh, yuh!", and then his body was on top of me, my breasts flattened beneath his chest, and his lips crushed against mine. His tongue fucked my mouth as his cock fucked my cunt, and I felt so full, and so wanted and so taken. I felt cherished, and hoarded, and guarded. For a while my lover fucked me like a starving man eats or a parched man drinks. I was his, and he would kill rather than share me with the air in the room or the light from the lamp. Then suddenly he was still inside me. I felt a little spasm in my core, like an echo of that shattering orgasm he had given me just...God was it just a few minutes before, with his tongue. I looked up. Had he cum? Was it over? I wanted to cry again, but then I saw him smiling down at me, and felt him withdraw slowly, allowing me to feel every delicious inch of him moving through me. Then back in again, so slow...so deep...so mmmmmm!

I smiled up at Sim, felt a drop of his sweat on my forehead: "OK, Pseudolus, you got me. Promise me you'll always fuck me like that, and I'll smother Lycus with my tits, steal his gold and run away with you to Gaul, or Casablanca or Bocca—wherever—and be your own personal sex slave. That work for you?"

He barked his laugh again, thrusting deep into me at the same time, and forcing a little "ooh!" from my lips.

"Oh thank...gods, or goddesses! I was wondering how many banks I would have to rob or merchants I would have to slaughter to rent you on a weekly basis."

I giggled and batted my eyes at him. "Aw, how sweet! You'd slaughter merchants? For me?"

"Legions of 'em."

"Tell you what, Honey: we'll talk about it later. For now, can we fuck some more?"

"Sounds good to me...um, Gin, could we try with you on your hands and knees?"

"Why Simeon Brownstone, are you saying you want to fuck me doggie-style?"

"Um...is that a problem?"

I slid out from under him, flipped over, and got on my hands and knees as requested. "Uh uh! Put that cock back in me, Baby!"

I felt Sim rise to his knees behind me. With a little maneuvering, he was back inside, and I purred like a cat with a bowl of cream.

Again he set a rhythm, slower and more deliberate than before. I heard him groaning and panting, and then: "Oh God, Gin you're perfect: so hot and wet and tight and...oh, you feel so good!"

"So do you, Sweetie." I was panting too, now. "Do you like it like this? You like fucking me from behind? Like watching my hot little ass jiggle every time you slam into me?"

"Oh...GOD, yes!"

"Me too! Oh, so good! God, I wish we had a mirror. I wish I could see us: me on my knees, you taking me from behind, like an animal, just...rutting into me, taking your mate!"

Sim began thrusting faster. I squealed: "Oh yes, Baby, fuck me harder, take me...use me...just don't fucking stop..."

I didn't usually cum during sex, but all of a sudden...maybe it was the image, or the dirty talk, or...I don't know, but I felt that familiar tightness beginning behind my cunt. It felt like Sim's cock was trying to push its way into it, coming closer and closer.

"Sim, Baby, can you keep going...I think I'm going to...going to...hnnnh...I'm going to...ohGodohGodohGodOHGOD!"

Again I bucked and writhed. This one wasn't nearly as hard as the one I'd had on Sim's tongue, but it had come on so quickly! My arms gave out and my face hit the pillow, but my knees held, and Sim was still inside of me, moving gently now, giving me time to recover. After a while I turned my head to the side. "Wow! Where have you been all my life, Honey?"

He laughed. "That looked...satisfying. Um, not to be a complete asshole, but I'm pretty pleased with myself right now. I don't think I've ever...had a woman do that before, while we were...fucking."

"I give you permission to be pleased with yourself. That felt wonderful!" Then I asked: Sim, did you cum yet?"

"No, but I'm pretty close. Watching you was...one of the hottest and most, I don't know, astonishing things I've ever seen in my life. I'm just sorry I couldn't see your face."

"Why?"

"Because you're beautiful." He'd said it before, but now he said it so simply, almost sadly. "I'd liked to have looked into your eyes when you came, but both times I was...otherwise engaged."

"Sim, Babe, it's not such a big deal. You can watch next time."

He pulled out of me then, and I sighed. Half a second out, and I wanted him back; what was up with that? Then he lay down next to me, with his head sort of leaning on his shoulder, looking into my face. I let my butt down to the bed and rolled on to my side. He said: "Ginny, is there going to be a next time?"

My heart stopped beating—or at least that's what it felt like. I said: "Don't you want there to be?"

He blinked, once, twice: "Well, yeah...I mean of course I want there to be a next time. I just wasn't sure if you..." 

Before he could say another word, I rolled him onto his back, straddled his chest, and brought the flat of my hand down—Smack!—right on top of his head.




A Funny Thing Happened...



This one is fiction inspired by a true event....the day a celebrity was in line ahead of me at the grocery store. The studio is just down the street, and she was buying some fresh lunch from the deli section. 

It wasn't Rachel Nichols, and I just watched as she walked away, but for the purposes of this story.....well it's fantasy, after all, isn't it? 

I hope you enjoy it. 

And, if Rachel herself should happen to read it.... I hope you'll get in touch! ;-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a beautiful, near summer day in the lower mainland, with the normal complement of bright sunshine, pleasant temperatures, light breezes and chirping birds. There were plenty of people around, enjoying the sun. 

I loved the summers here. The winters could drive you into depression, with weeks of incessant rain, followed by still more of the same....but the summers were perfect. Warm, but not humid, and that warmth led to my favourite thing about summer here. 

You see, there was no shortage of outdoor activities for people to use as exercise, and keep themselves in shape. I say 'people', but I'm a guy, so really, I only noticed the women. Lots of women. Lots of firm, toned women, in shorts and thin, scanty tops. Personally, I thought it was still a little cool for the summer attire, but I was happy to check them out. 

Still, there was something different about this one. Well dressed, wearing a long jacket that hid her curves, but she drew my gaze anyway, even from behind. 

I was in my car, rolling slowly along through the parking lot of the plaza, and she was on the sidewalk. Relax....I'm not a stalker, but I learned long ago not to assume anything when it comes to pedestrians. 

I once had a skateboarder try to do one of those 'board flip grind' tricks, right in front of me, as I entered a parking lot. Something told me to watch out, that he wasn't paying attention, and when he proved his skills didn't match his ambition by sprawling on the pavement in front of me, I was able to stop. 

Ever since then, I had been extra careful. I just thought of it as being courteous, and safe. 

I never thought it would pay dividends, and change my life. 

The woman on the sidewalk had her head down, looking at her phone. Long brown hair hung down her back, and that's part of what had me watching her. 

Two people walking side by side toward her forced her to the left to go around them. Why do people do that? So self absorbed that they become obnoxious, like they own the sidewalk. As the brunette stepped left, they bumped her as well. The rest almost happened in slow motion. 

She was tall, but still wearing boots with a moderate heel, and the bump made her catch her foot. She tried to regain her balance, but was too close to the edge of the sidewalk. Her heel slipped off, and her left ankle buckled, pitching her onto the asphalt, right in front of my bumper. She landed hard, crashing onto her left side, while I screeched to a halt. 

I put my flashers on, and jumped out of my car, racing forward to check on her. Surprisingly, I was the only one. The two people who had caused her fall kept walking, oblivious to the world, and while a few others had gathered on the sidewalk and were asking if she was alright, no one else was really helping. As I reached her, I heard the crunch of a car running over her phone, which the fall had sent spinning into the next lane. 

"Are you okay?" I asked her. She still had her back to me, laying on her side. 

"Um, no, not really," she replied. She turned her head, and looked at me appreciatively. There was something familiar about her eyes, but right now, I had other things to deal with. 

"Stay down," I said, kneeling beside her. "Did you hit your head?" 

"No, I don't think so," she moaned, trying to sit up. "Just everything else." 

"Take it easy," I said softly, helping her sit. I braced behind her, "Here....lean back against me and catch your breath." 

"Thank you for not running me over," she giggled. "Do you see my phone?" she added, looking around. 

"Yeah, I do," I replied. "Sorry to say it wasn't so lucky. I think it's fatally wounded." I pointed to the shattered pile of glass, plastic and metal in the middle of the other lane. 

"Oh shit! I really liked that phone," she grumbled. 

"Well, at least it wasn't anything more important. What hurts?" I asked. 

"Left hand, elbow, shoulder, hip, knee and ankle," she said, brushing the scuffed skin of her palm. "And my pride. Help me up, please?" 

"Okay," I smiled, and took her right hand. I put my arm around her waist, and gave her something to push against. "Don't put too much weight on the ankle. I saw the way it twisted when you fell." 

Using three of our available four legs, we managed to get her standing, and I propped her up beside my car. She tried to stand on the left ankle, but the pain marred her beautiful face....a face I now recognized, along with the pretty blue eyes. 

"I think we should take you to get that ankle looked at," I suggested. She nodded, and smiled. 

"Thank you for helping me. I feel like an idiot, falling like that." 

"Well, you shouldn't," I smiled back, as I helped her into the passenger seat of my car. "I saw what happened. It wasn't your fault." 

"Thank you anyway," she giggled. "Can I ask one more favour?" Pick up what's left of my phone? Maybe the sim card and data card are okay."

I nodded, and went to retrieve the crushed device, joining her in the car a moment later. As I sat, she extended her hand. 

"My name is...." she began. 

".... Rachel. Yes, I know," I grinned, completing her sentence. "Rachel Nichols. I recognized you a few minutes ago, but I didn't want to say anything while there were other people around. May as well not be on the front page of the newspaper, right?" I held her hand. It was soft, and warm. She smiled again. 

"Thank you for your discretion. You are....?" she asked. 

"Oh, right.....Mike Edwards," I blurted, suddenly realizing who was sitting next to me, still holding my hand. 

"Well Mike, if you could drive me back to the studio. It's only two blocks, that way," she gestured with her eyes. "And, if I could borrow your phone for one quick call?" 

"Of course," I smiled, releasing her hand to dig into my pocket. I handed my phone to her, and started the car. I began to drive slowly away, as she made her call. 

"Hi Marcy....it's Rachel," I heard her say. "Yeah, I know... I had to borrow someone's phone. Mine's dead. Car killed it.....I'll explain later. Listen Hon, can you meet us at Medical?... Yes 'us'....I'm afraid I can't walk, and a nice gentleman is giving me a ride back..... Thanks Marcy."

"Thanks Mike," she giggled, handing it back. "My assistant will take me off your hands at the clinic, inside the studio grounds. Turn left here... "

We pulled to a stop at the security shack, and a beefy guy in a uniform stepped out. 

"Can I help you?" he rumbled. I pointed to Rachel, and he ducked his head to look past me. 

"Hi Bill," she giggled, waving her fingertips at him.

"Miss Nichols?" he answered, confused. "Didn't you just leave? On foot?" 

"Yes, but I won't be doing much walking for a while, I fear," she replied. "My friend Mike is helping me home. Can you let us in, and give him a guest pass, please?" 

"Of course, Ma'am," he nodded, and went back into his hut. 

I was still considering her words.....that I was a 'friend'....when he returned with two items. The first, a parking pass, he placed on my dashboard, after noting my plate number. The second was a lanyard, with a card that read 'Guest' on it. 

"Thanks, Bill," Rachel smiled. "We're heading for Medical." 

She directed me through the lot, finally stopping beside a concerned looking blonde, who had her hands on a wheelchair. 

"What happened?" Marcy asked, opening the car door. 

"I tripped," Rachel replied, "and Mike, here, helped me up. Mike, meet Marcy. Marcy, meet Mike," she grimaced, standing to transfer to the chair. Once she was seated, Marcy handed her a phone. 

"Oh, that's why I love you, honey," Rachel smiled. "I didn't even ask, and you knew what I wanted!" She handed it to me. "Mike, could you make the transplant, for me?" 

Marcy pushed Rachel in the chair, through the big door into the clinic, while I performed phone surgery on the roof of my car. She was right....the sim card seemed fine, as did the data card, and I slipped them into their appropriate slots. There was a dial tone. It's alive! 

I pocketed her new phone, dumped the corpse into a garbage can, and wandered in the direction they had gone, following the red cross signs until I found the door. I opened it, and found Marcy waiting. 

"Any news yet?" I asked her, and she shook her head. 

It was only about five minutes before Rachel hobbled out of the exam room, wearing a walking boot. She looked down at her foot and laughed. 

"Not exactly stylish, is it? I'm told it's only sprained, but I'll be out of commission for at least a week. The painkillers are pretty good, though."

The doctor followed her out. 

"It's not 'only' sprained," he smiled, "it is very sprained, hence the boot. Other than that, just a few bruises, and a scraped hand. It could have been a lot worse. I'll let the producers know you're on the bench for a while. The show will have to go around you for a week or so."

Rachel took a seat in the wheelchair, and Marcy pushed her along while I followed. We stopped as we got near my car. 

"Mike, can I have your phone for a second?" Rachel asked. I handed it over, and she punched a few buttons. My other pocket began to ring, and I fished her phone out, to answer it. 

"There. Now you have my number, and I have yours," she smiled, handing mine back and taking her own. "I'm going to be sleeping a lot tonight, but I'd like to take you to dinner tomorrow, if that's alright? It's the least I can do after you didn't kill me, and helped me back here. I'll call you, okay?" 

Okay? Are you kidding me? Rachel Nichols wants to take me to dinner? Yeah, I can pencil that into my schedule. 

"Certainly," I smiled. "Call me anytime." 

She waved, as I drove away, wending my way out to the gate, where Bill gave me a nod, and watched me leave. 

I went home, to watch the saved episodes of Continuum on my PVR, and count my lucky stars. 

***

How is my hero today? my phone asked, just before noon the next day. A text from Rachel Nichols! My friends would never believe me anyway, so I didn't even bother telling the story. 

I'm fine. How's your ankle? I typed. The response was quick. 

Sore. Painkillers helping. Dinner tonight? 

Only if you're up to it. You really don't owe me anything. I was just doing what anyone would have done. I replied. Again, the response was immediate. 

I was there, remember? I don't recall anyone else lifting a finger to help, and that's before you recognized me. It's very gallant of you to decline, but I'd really like to say thank you properly. I'll be in touch, later. 

I guess I have a date tonight, I thought. I'd better make sure I look good. 

***

Later that afternoon, having spent an hour ironing my clothes to within an inch of their lives, I decided to take a nap. I wasn't really tired, but I needed to kill some time, and the tension was killing me. 

My dreams were predictable. A certain brunette was featured strongly throughout. Can't possibly understand why. 

My phone woke me up, just as I was about to kiss her in my dream. The display said Rachel. It's like she was somehow protecting herself from me, even in my subconscious. I picked it up. 

"Hello, Ms. Nichols," I answered, trying not to sound like I had been asleep. 

"Well, aren't we proper?" she laughed. 

"I don't want to be presumptive," I replied sheepishly. 

"Uh huh....well, I presume you are going to be eating dinner tonight. Will you join me? No dancing, for reasons you well know, but I could use the company, and I owe you a meal, at least. And, please call me Rachel?"

"Okay....Rachel....Am I coming to you, or vice versa?" I asked. 

"Well, you know where I am, so why don't you pick me up here," she said softly. 

"You mean at the studio?" I asked. 

"Yes. They have a few condos that form one of the boundaries, and I'm in number 4. You didn't think I was staying in a trailer, did you?" she giggled. I just loved her laugh. 

"Um, no. I just didn't know about the on site accommodation," I replied. 

"Okay. Pick me up at seven. I'll make sure the gate knows you're coming, and to direct you to my door. You still have your passes, right?" Her voice was confident and comforting at the same time. Also sexy as hell. My dick began to react predictably. 

"Yup, still in the car," I answered. 

"Good. See you at seven," she chirped. You could hear her smile, and the line clicked off. 

Seven o'clock. I had almost three hours to get ready. 

I decided to start by dealing with the uncomfortable swelling in my crotch, and headed toward the bathroom. 

***

Twice. I had to jerk off twice, and still I made it on time, arriving at the studio gate just before seven. 

Bill, the gate keeper from before, wasn't on tonight. This guy looked a little older, but no less official. I stopped beside the gate house, and he stepped out to greet me. 

"I'll just bet you're Mike," he smiled, tapping my windshield over the parking pass. "Miss Nichols told me you were coming. She said a nice young man in a silver Dodge would be here at seven."

The look on his face was one of envy and surprise, as he gave me the directions to the condos. I picked my way through the lot, and came to the accommodation block with no trouble at all. 

Unit 4 was on the lower level, which was fortunate, given Rachel's restricted mobility. I rang the bell, and moments later, the door opened. 

Whoa! That's Rachel Nichols. She really is here, waiting for....me! 

That smile, those eyes....she was breathtaking. Now that I wasn't otherwise occupied in trying to help her up, or save her life, I noticed how tall she was, even in the low heels she was wearing. Her legs were endless. The dress she was wearing was a cream colour, with a sort of scoop neckline, and layered across her body in precise folds. It at once both hid and hinted at the wonders underneath 

"I'll take that as a compliment," she giggled, stepping out as elegantly as possible in one shoe and one boot. She closed the door behind her, and took my arm. 

"I, uh, I don't think I said anything," I stammered. 

"No," she smiled, "but that look speaks volumes. Thank you. So....how hungry are you?" 

We had reached the car, and I helped her in, then ran around to my side. Sliding behind the wheel, I answered her question. 

"Well, I don't know...." I began. 

"Oh, stop being so proper, and just pretend I'm any other woman," she fixed me with those eyes. "Are. You. Hungry?" 

"Starving," I nodded, relaxing slightly. 

"Good. So am I. Do you trust me?" she asked, a little smile fighting with her perfect eyes for top billing. 

"I would say yes," I nodded again. 

"Thank you. How do you feel about Italian?" 

"Um.....Delizioso?" I laughed. 

"Si!" she giggled. "Out the gate, then turn right. I know a place with great pizza!" 

Pizza? My big date with a movie star....and she wants pizza? I was braced for a big, fancy restaurant, with people watching us. Pizza? 

I drove until she told me to turn, then drove some more. Finally we passed this little, family run, hole in the wall joint, and I parked us half a block away. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to drop you closer?" I asked her. 

"I'm not broken," she smiled. "Besides, it's a lovely evening. I hope we can get a table on the upper deck, so we can watch the sun set."

Holy shit! On second thought, pizza sounds great! I'll trade the fancy restaurant and paparazzi for a quiet sunset dinner with a gorgeous woman, anytime. 

Rachel took my arm again, and we walked slowly from the car to the restaurant. A guy who looked like he could be the owner greeted us, and escorted us in. 

"Upstairs?" she asked quietly. 

"Certo, signora," he nodded, leading the way. The staircase was narrow, and a little steep. I followed Rachel, getting a better view of those legs as she went. As we reached the top, she turned her head, and gave me a little grin. 

"Ah, this is perfect," she smiled, as we reached our table, one of four on the small deck. The others were empty. Sun streamed through the trees that separated us from the beach, a block away. 

Luigi, or whatever his name was, left us with menus, and a few minutes alone. 

"I always try to come here when I'm in town," she explained. "It's so beautiful, and peaceful. Great pizza, too." 

Right now, they could serve me frozen pizza, half cooked, and I wouldn't care. I was in a very romantic setting, with a very beautiful woman. Food was getting pushed down the priority list. Still, it made for a good conversation starter. 

"What do you usually get?" I asked. 

"Hmmm," she pursed her lips in thought. I had some other thoughts about her lips. "Well, the hand tossed crust is divine. Pepperoni, of course. Mushrooms, black olives, ground beef, sausage, green peppers, extra cheese...."

"Jeez, no kitchen sink?" I joked. 

"No. Too fattening," she laughed. "Bacon, though. Must have bacon."

As if on cue, Luigi reappeared. Rachel repeated the list of toppings, we ordered drinks, and off he went. 

There was a lull in conversation. I couldn't immediately think of anything I thought she'd like to talk about. Everything that crossed my mind was dismissed quickly. Her ankle, the weather? Lame. How, about TV? No, I don't suppose she watches much TV. Although.....she's on TV, isn't she? 

"I just loved you on 'Continuum', I began. "Great series. I'm going to miss it. The way it ended was heart rending." She sat quietly, and nodded. 

"Thank you. I'm going to miss it, too. Kiera was a fun character, much deeper than it initially seemed. I'm glad you enjoyed it," she smiled. Her eyes sparkled. "Listen....I talk about me all the time. It's part of my job. Tonight, I'd like to just be Rachel, if that's okay." Her hand touched mine. It was soft, and warm, and electric. "Tell me about you. What do you do when you're not rescuing clumsy women?" 

I laughed, she laughed, and I suddenly felt much more at ease. If she wanted to 'just be Rachel', that was fine. She was still the most beautiful and captivating dinner partner I'd ever had. I had no illusions about this being anything more than just a meal together. Fantasies? Yes. I'd always have those. 

We talked. She pretended to be interested in my job, which was anything but interesting. Boring even....as just another office worker. When we got to hobbies, and other interests, we really seemed to click. I love nature, and the outdoors, and she just lit up when I told her that. 

"That's one of the things I love about being here," she smiled. "It's just so perfect. The sea, the sky, the mountains....I could go on forever. I would suggest we go for a hike sometime, but I'm obviously not to be trusted on my own two feet," she laughed, gesturing to the stylish, grey plastic boot on her left foot.

We were laughing like two longtime friends when dinner arrived at our table. The pizza was the size of a manhole cover. 

"Holy shit, Rachel! There's enough here to feed an army," I chuckled. 

"Or one hungry girl from Maine," she smiled, dragging a huge slice onto her plate. "I'll try to leave you some."

She was right about the pizza. This place just went to the top of my list, even without Rachel's company. It was very good....so good that the pizza just went down so easily. On her third slice, she licked her lips, and smiled at me. 




A Funny Thing Happened...



"Okay....I know you're dying to talk about movies. Go ahead. Get it out of your system," she giggled, going back for more. 

At last. I was about to burst. 

"First, let me say I'm glad you're not wearing the camouflage suit from 'Continuum' tonight. I like being able to see you." It was meant as a witty comment....referring to the suit that rendered her invisible on the TV show... but came out more like a blatant flirt. She glanced down and blushed. 

"Yes, well....there are times when disappearing would come in handy," she said softly, "but it's nice to be seen tonight. Do you like my dress?" 

She returned my volley, and reminded me I hadn't complimented her nearly enough. 

"It's beautiful," I replied, "but it's better with you in it." And you'd be better without it. 

She fanned herself theatrically, and giggled, then gestured for me to continue. 

"Star Trek," I began.....

"I'm from Maine, not Orion, and you've probably noticed in not green," she tittered. 

"Conan?" I asked 

"Yes and no. Body double for some of the more revealing bits."

"G.I. Joe?" 

"Ah....the Scarlett suit? That was fun. A bit warm, but fun. Made my boobs look bigger didn't it?"

Was she inviting me to make a comparison between the big screen version and real life? Baiting me into taking a peek? There was just a hint of cleavage available for viewing in the neckline of her dress. 

"I think.....they look, um..... I decline to comment on the grounds that I may incriminate myself," I pleaded. 

"Ah....gallant, discrete, and diplomatic? What a gentleman," she said, raising her glass. 

I nodded sheepishly, and clinked my glass with hers. 

More pizza disappeared. Two things were apparent. One, she really was hungry, and two, she had to have some secret technology from 2077 that kept her girlish figure despite her appetite. With one slice left on the tray, I gestured to it. 

"Please, put it out of its misery," she laughed, nibbling on her own piece. I took it, and began to pack it away, when she looked past me. "The sun is starting to set. Why don't you move over here, so you can watch it too?" 

What am I going to say? No? I want to stay over here, as far away from you as possible? No? I think you're just trying to flirt with me? 

Hell yes! Move over! 

I scooted around the table, and took the seat beside her, watching the sun move lower, now peeking under the tree branches. It was one of those moments when conversation is superfluous. The view and the company were more than enough. 

Still, why not have more, if it's being offered. 

Rachel slid her chair right against mine, and took my hand. 

"Do you mind?" she asked. I smiled, and shook my head. She lifted my arm, wrapped it around her shoulder, and snuggled tight against me. "It's getting cooler," she added. The shadows were growing. 

Really? It's getting warm for me, I thought. 

We sat there quietly. Rachel rested her head softly on my shoulder. It was pretty nice. 

Yeah, I'm kidding. It was fan-fucking-tastic! My friends were never going to believe this either. Their loss. 

Luigi was back, trying to tempt us with dessert, but I was stuffed. Rachel declined as well. When he came back a minute later with the bill, she snatched it away quickly before I could. 

"Rachel....please," I smiled, but she shook her head. 

"If you recall, this evening was supposed to be my way of thanking you. It's my treat. End of discussion," she said quietly. She put her card on the bill and Luigi went to process it. 

I wondered if he even knew whose autograph he was about to get. 

With the bill paid, Rachel stopped at the top of the stairs. I said they were narrow and steep. I guess they looked worse from the top. 

"Mike could you go first, please. This ankle is going to make getting down awkward. I know I can trust you to catch me if I slip," she smiled. "I'll try not to impose on your rescue twice in two days." 

I stepped down ahead, then turned to face her, a hand on each rail. Together, and one step at a time, we moved down the flight. Being two steps below her put her boobs right at eye level, so I couldn't help taking a peek. Then another, and another. I was trying to be subtle, but this close, that was difficult. 

I reached the bottom step, and released my grip on the railings, reaching up to grasp her waist. I found it firm, and narrow....and incredible, given her appetite. 

"I gotcha," I laughed and hoisted her down the last two risers. "Good Lord woman!" I grunted dramatically, "What have you been eating?" Truthfully, she wasn't heavy, even with excess pizza ballast, and I placed her on her feet safely. Her arms had come down around my neck, and now she was smiling brightly. Those spectacular eyes were twinkling at me, from close range. If it was anyone else....someone I knew and was on a date with....I would have kissed her. I almost did anyway, but thought better of it. 

We stepped outside onto the street. 

"I hope you're not in a hurry to get home," she said softly. "Walk with me?" She held her hand out, and I took it. "Well...you walk, I'll hobble as elegantly as possible," she giggled. 

We turned the corner, and made our way slowly down to the beach, where she removed her shoe to make at least fifty percent of her steps easier. I steered us toward a big driftwood log, and we perched on it, looking at the warm glow that lit the western sky. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder again, and she resumed her position from before. 

"I could have been killed," she whispered. "If you hadn't been paying attention, or were going faster, I could have been killed."

"You weren't," I replied softly. "That's all that matters. I'd rather not make the papers that way. It's lucky for both of us." 

"Thank you," she sighed. "Can I ask you a question?" 

"Mmmmm hmmm," I replied, enjoying the view, and the feel of her pressed softly against me. "Ask as many as you want." 

"Why didn't you kiss me?" she asked. "In the restaurant, at the bottom of the stairs....why didn't you kiss me?" 

Dumbstruck, it took me a few seconds to formulate a reply that wouldn't sound desperate, or obnoxious. 

"Not my place," I finally issued. She still had her head resting softly against my neck and shoulder. 

"I'm just Rachel, remember?" she whispered. "I'm just a woman, in the company of a very kind, caring, gentle and wonderful man."

I was about to argue that she could never be 'just' another woman. Too beautiful. Too statuesque. Too perfect, to be 'just' anything. She had more to say, though. 

"Rachel wouldn't mind if you kissed her," she breathed. "I'm sure she'd actually like it." Her head lifted, and she turned to face me. 

Her eyes glittered, reflecting the waning light off the sea. I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and felt her shiver. It didn't seem like a cold shiver. She licked her lips unconsciously, making them look even more delicious. 

Oh boy. This is it. How many times have you watched her on screen, and wanted to be right here, in her arms, just like you are right now. You'll never get this chance again. Don't fuck it up. 

I touched my lips to hers, feeling the electricity of our excitement. Her kiss was so soft, like an angel, or a cloud. I pulled back, and looked into her eyes, seeing happiness. Those eyes closed, and she took the initiative, this time a little more forcefully. Her lips moved as she swivelled her head slightly, and a hand came up to caress my face. Her tongue peeked out, toying with my lips, until I opened up and let her put it to better use. It was the most incredible first kiss I'd ever experienced, and I would have been happy if that's where it ended. 

She had other ideas. 

After a second of withdrawal, she was back. What had begun as a tentative pressing of lips was now a full, passionate attack, with her tongue plunging deep into my mouth. My hands were around her waist, while she held me fast with one, and rubbed my chest with the other. 

"Mike," she hissed, in a quivering breath of desire, "I think you'd better take me home, before I do something that gets us arrested." 

I liked the sound of that. I liked it a lot. I might have been making a big assumption, but I hoped that meant that whatever she couldn't do here, we'd be doing at her place. 

We made our way back to the street, where she paused, presumably to put her shoe back on. I took advantage, pulling her to me for another kiss, then scooping her up. I was going for 'chivalrous', but 'eager' could have been equally appropriate. Rachel rested her head against my chest, arms around my neck, as I whisked her up the sidewalk. I plunked her down on her seat in the car, and took my own place behind the wheel. 

When I looked over at her, she was smiling, and toying with the thin necklace that hung around her neck. 

"There's no rush, Mike," she said softly. "I'm hoping you will stay with me tonight. Will you?" 

It was Friday night. I was off tomorrow. My list of potential excuses was pretty thin. Damn! I guess I'd just have to sleep with her. What a pain. 

"I'd like that," I replied, returning the smile. "You're sure that's what you want?" 

"Yes," she nodded, leaning closer, "and the fact you asked that is proof of why. You really are a nice guy, and I have a soft spot for nice guys." Another kiss, and she sat back patiently waiting for me to get myself, and the car, in gear. 

Usually, I found the return trip felt shorter than the outward one. Not so much tonight, probably because of what I anticipated was waiting for me. Time was standing still, and it was making me crazy. Every traffic light conspired with the light traffic to prolong the agony, turning red just as we approached. Each red light also gave me a chance to look over at her again, and she stoked the fire by licking her lips, and flashing me that smile. At last, we arrived at the studio gate. 

The guard gave us a quick look, then waved us through, and I drove us through the maze of buildings to her front door. Just in case she'd changed her mind.... 

"Do you still want me to come in?" I asked, praying the answer was 'yes'. 

"Of course," she smiled, kissing me softly. 

I let her out, then found a parking spot nearby. When I returned, she was standing in the open doorway, looking exceptionally delicious. 

"Inside, please," she directed, and closed the door behind us. She pressed me back against the wall, and kissed me again. My arms came around her for the first time, and I felt her taut, firm body. 

'The camera adds ten pounds', or so we're told, so she was taking that into account. I'd done a little Internet research on Ms. Rachel Nichols, and if the information was correct, she was 5 foot 10, pretty tall for a woman, and about 130 pounds, which was quite light for someone her height. She was lean, and lithe, and gorgeous.... and mine, for the moment. 

The embrace continued, with our tongues busily tasting each other. My hands roamed her back, and I cautiously moved further south, feeling the terrain rise under my fingers as I reached her rear end. 

"Mmmmm," Rachel moaned, continuing to suck on my tongue. I wasn't sure if that was a 'yes' mmmm, or a 'no' mmmm, so I moved my hand back up. 

She grabbed my wrist, and pushed my hand back down, to cup her ass fully, then did the same to the other hand. I'm grabbing Rachel Nichols' ass! 

"Mmmmm hmmm," she clarified, without missing a delicious second of our passionate bout of tonsil inspection. 

We remained in place, feasting on each other, for a few more minutes, before Rachel pulled away. 

"I need to put my foot up," she smiled, "and I'm sure we can find a more comfortable and inviting place to continue. Come on in, and make yourself at home, while I, um, slip into something, more, um.... well, you know the rest. I'll only be a few minutes."

I watched her hobble off, around the corner, and down the short hall, presumably to her bedroom. For the first time, I looked around her 'home'. She told me that the studio had bought out these condos when it expanded years ago. Some had been bulldozed to make room for a new soundstage, but these had been kept to provide accommodation for actors, directors and the like. Safe, secure and very convenient, they were also quite nicely appointed, well decorated, and comfortable. Far nicer than a mere hotel room, and more relaxing, I could understand why she was happy to stay here. 

I took a seat in a nice, deep, soft chair, to await her return. I realized that all the tongue action had made me a little thirsty, so I made my way into the small kitchen, and opened the fridge. 

The studio took good care of its guests. Bottles of water, various soft drinks, juices, snacks.... all sorts of goodies were available. I plucked up a can of soda, and cracked it open. 

I heard a scuff, and a throaty giggle from the hallway. 

"This would be much easier with two feet," she smiled, coming into view, "and at my home, I have a better selection of lingerie. I hope a silky robe, nice bra, and tiny panties will do the job."

She stepped closer, adjusting the sash of her blue satin robe as she did. The robe covered her almost to the floor, but she struck a pose, and her long, sexy leg parted the curtain of shiny blue fabric, showing me a lot of toned thigh and calf muscle. It was her left leg, and ended in the grey plastic of her walking boot. She saw my eyes follow her leg downward, and laughed. 

"Actually, my ankle almost matches the robe. It's a nasty blue bruise colour."

"No, no.... It's better with the boot," I smiled. "It looks sexy, and I'm pretty sure I can catch you." 

"So who says I'm running?" she smiled. Three hobbling steps brought her right in front of me, and she gave me a look with those blue eyes that made me nearly melt. "I really should get off my foot, though. Would you join me in the bedroom?" 

I answered by handing her my can of drink, and scooping her up. 

"This way?" I asked, heading the way she came from. 

"First on the left," she sighed, resting her head against me. 

I eased us through the appropriate door, into the bedroom, which was nicely decorated as well. A big, soft, king sized bed dominated the room, and I laid her gently on it, carefully arranging her injured foot out of the way. I sat on the edge of the bed, and looked down at her. 

"I have to ask this, just one last time ; you're sure this is what you want to do?" I asked. 

No, I'm not an idiot, and I don't need things repeated a thousand times before I get it. It's just that.... well.... I didn't want what we were about to do to be a prize, for not running her over. Under different circumstances, I would never even ask the question, but I didn't want her to think she owed me anything, just for being conscientious. That debt had been paid by the pizza. If we were moving into new territory, I wanted it to be for the right reasons. 

I'm not talking about love, necessarily. Mutual lust would work just fine. 

Rachel looked up at me, and smiled. Somehow, she knew what I was worried about. Her hand touched my cheek softly. 

"Mike.... I think it's very sweet of you to keep giving me a chance to change my mind. I know you're not saying you don't want to be with me," she said quietly. "I'm not doing this out of any implied obligation.... I'm doing this because I like you. So, if that puts your mind at ease, then lay down and let's enjoy each other." 

That about does it. I took a place next to her, and we embraced again, with my hand resting on her hip. I could feel the single strip of fabric underneath, when it rose over her hip from front to back, and rubbed my fingers along the line it drew. The satin felt wonderful, and when I palmed the curve of her rump again, I felt no other interference. Ah.... a thong. 

My hand slid up, dipping down as it approached her waist, and I hooked a finger under the sash that held the robe closed. Rachel moaned into my lips, and rolled back, letting me see what I was about to unwrap. The sash yielded easily, and I let one side of the silky fabric slip away, giving me my first look at the body I had seen so many times on the big screen. Never like this, though. 

Several fantasies had already been checked off. Meeting Rachel.... Kissing Rachel.... Feeling her body in my arms.... among others that I didn't realize I'd been harbouring. This one, and the one that would logically follow, were the biggest, and my heart was pounding as the shiny blue robe slithered off her left side, letting my eyes feast on her from top to bottom. 

Wow! was my first thought. Since she was so tall, her torso was very long, and as I touched her reverently, I discovered how firm she was. Fit and muscular, with just enough feminine softness to smooth out the palette, giving her very sexy lines. Her bra and panties were a matching set of lacey white garments, brief enough that they hid little from my gaze. 

My hand slid upwards, stopping just below her breast, as I took in the view again. 

"Oh, please don't stop, Mike," she whispered. "Your hands feel so good on me, and I've been horny since dinner. Touch my breasts, please? It opens in the front, if you're wondering." 

To be honest, I hadn't made it that far yet. I was still giddy that I was about to touch her beautiful tits, at last. I palmed her left globe softly, eliciting a moan from her. It was so soft, and perfect. A gentle fondle led to another moan, and I reached for the front clasp, now eager to see what was filling my hand so nicely. 

Her bra sprung open at my touch, revealing those breasts for my viewing pleasure. They were everything I imagined they would be, and more, but that would apply equally to all aspects of her. According to the Internet, they were C-cups, but I thought they looked bigger, not that it mattered. Right now, they were mine to play with, and she sighed as I touched the bare skin of her breasts for the first time. Her nipples puckered into tight, coral pink cones, standing up, and looking delicious. 

They did taste as good as they looked, and Rachel held my head as I sucked first one, then the other. 

"Mmmmm, yes, I do like having my nipples sucked," she moaned. "It makes me feel very feminine, and it also gets me very wet." 

I carefully arranged my body on top of hers. I know, it's her ankle that's hurt, but I still wanted to be gentle. Now I could comfortably reach and suckle both breasts, and since I enjoyed doing it as much as she liked having it done, I settled in for some fun. 

I tugged each nipple with my lips, making it stand even more prominently, looking even more delicious, and encouraging further attention. As I kept going from one breast to the other, Rachel kept moaning, and sighing her wishes that I continue. Her body began to quiver with excitement, and her right leg wrapped around my hip, letting her foot express other needs that were surfacing. 

"Oh god, it's like my tits are wired directly to my clit," she groaned. "I've never had anyone make me feel quite like this." 

And I've never had a woman.... any woman, let alone a movie star.... say anything like that to me during the act. Damn! More things that no one will believe!

I decided to investigate a little further down, and left a trail of reverent kisses during my journey across her flat, smooth belly. I tongued her navel, causing a ticklish giggle, then continued, until I reached the silky white barrier of her panties. 

Now between her lean thighs, I nuzzled against the smooth satin of her thong. I could smell her womanly scent, a strong, musky aroma that made my mouth water. A small patch of wetness was centred over her vagina, marking her aroused sex. I pulled the tiny curtain aside, and gasped at the sight within. 




A Funny Thing Happened...



I personally find every woman's pussy quite pretty. Some are thin, tight, almost delicate, the type referred to as an 'innie'. Others pout wide open, with thick labia that frame a deep opening ; an 'outie'. Rachel's pussy was neat, and narrow, but her inner lips laid open like a butterfly had landed on her perfect vestibule. It was the kind of pussy that just begged to be licked, tasted and probed. 

"My god, Rachel....it's beautiful!" I gasped, yet again. 

"Thank you," she giggled. She lifted her legs high, and dispatched the thong from her hips, sliding it up her legs, and flicking it across the room with her right foot. When she put her legs back down, she spread wider, and I watched as her slippery lips pulled apart, with little strings of her lubricant stretching from one side to the other. 

I inhaled her delicious scent again, and leaned closer, coming within licking range. I felt her body tense, as she held her breath in anticipation of my tongue making contact. Suspense is a vital part of entertainment, and I prolonged the wait, inspecting her photogenic pussy at close range, letting the perfume of her arousal waft over me, until my appetite could no longer be ignored. 

I tasted her deliciousness, sliding my tongue upward from her perineum to her clit. I'm sorry.... I just don't know how to describe the most wonderful flavour I've ever tasted. Words seem inadequate. I will say this.... I loved her creamy, tasty texture, and couldn't get enough, burrowing my tongue deep into her juicy opening. Her labia swelled and pouted open wider, dangling as I flicked them, then sucked them into my mouth. 

"My god!" she gasped, undulating her hips, and smearing her drenched gash across my face. "Please! Don't stop!" 

Well, she's a lot like that old ad about potato chips.... So good, bet you can't eat her just once! 

I pushed my tongue as deep inside her vagina as I could reach, swirling it around to collect more of her ambrosia. I was being completely selfish at this point ; she was so delicious, I wanted more, and if she happened to enjoy it as well, that was a bonus. Adding a finger that could reach further brought more juicy goodness out for my consumption. 

Rachel was grunting and moaning loudly, with one hand tangled in my hair to keep my mouth in place, pleasuring her cunt. I couldn't see the other hand, of course, as my whole world was her pussy right now, but my guess would be that it was busy pulling on her nipples. 

As my tongue trailed up, twirling her sensitive clit out of its hood, her moans grew in intensity and pitch. A few words crept in, directing my attack. 

"Mna'ahnn.... Yessss.... Gnahhhhn.... Ahhhh.... Fuuuuuuuck yessss.... Right there.... Oh god, right there.... Yes!"

The other hand was on my head now, and I concentrated my actions 'right there', otherwise known as her clitoris. A second finger joined the first, probing her pussy, while my tongue went into overdrive at the upper juncture of her floppy lips, torturing her love button. I felt her whole body tense up. Her thighs began to shake, and it began. 

"Oh myyyyfuuuuuuuckinnnnnggodddddddd!" she shrieked, as she bucked and twisted through the waves of pleasure that hit her. Her hands held my head in place, helping me keep my lips attached, slurping at the gushing sweetness that flowed freely from her snatch. Several seconds of bliss followed, with her screaming unintelligibly. Finally, her body relaxed, melting into the mattress. I gave her a few parting licks, and rested my chin in her pubic bone, catching my breath while watching her desperately do the same. 

"Thank you.... thank you, thank you, thank....you," she whispered, as her breathing eased slowly. "Wow!" I crawled up to lay beside her. 

"You're very welcome," I whispered back. She rolled to face me, and kissed me hard, plunging her tongue into my mouth fervently. 

Speaking of hard.... I was, and she quickly found the bulge during her feverish exploration of my body. She unbuttoned and unfastened everything she came to, baring my skin to match hers. We both peeled away the layers eagerly, and as I wriggled out of my pants, she discarded her bra and robe, which had been open, but still in place. I hooked a thumb into my underwear, the last remaining piece of clothing, but she stopped me. 

"Let me, please," she smiled, pushing me flat on my back. Her hands caressed the bloated tent of fabric. "Nice. So hard, and hot. I think we're going to have fun together."

She dragged the waistband down.... further.... further.... until my erection pushed free, springing straight out at her. 

"Oh my!" she gasped, wrapping her hand around my thick stiffness. "I stand corrected ; I KNOW we're going to have fun together. That's a very nice cock!"

Now that the unveiling was over, I took over, kicking my underwear off, while she took a comfortable place between my legs, stroking my shaft gently. She rubbed her cheek against the head, and purred softly. 

I watched as the lips that I fantasized about, through every movie or TV show I'd seen her in, opened slowly, and lowered themselves over the head of my dick. It was my turn to moan in ecstasy. 

"Oh, Rachel," I sighed, "that feels soooooooo goooooood...." 

Yes.... It was a huge understatement, but she was sucking the words right out of my brain. Her succulent lips had formed a seal around the shaft, and she was smoothly bobbing her head, while sucking gently. It was an incredible feeling, but truthfully, nearly any pair of lips would feel the same. What made this blowjob so much more than any before, was simple ; this time, Rachel Nichols was sucking my cock! It was her deep, beautiful blue eyes that were looking into mine, and her smooth cheeks that were hollowing with the suction, and her wet tongue that was slithering along the underside of the shaft. As much as anything, the knowledge of who was blowing me, and the sight of her doing it, was driving me crazy. 

She pulled back, and stroked my spit soaked shaft with one hand, slapping the head on her extended tongue a few times. A lascivious grin broke out on her face. 

"I'd love to just suck this beautiful piece of meat until it explodes, but my pussy I feeling very lonely right now," she giggled. "You don't mind it I sit on it, do you?" 

"Not at all," I laughed. "I'm at your disposal."

She smiled, and struggled to her knees, fighting the boot all the way, then straddled me. Her hand guided my dick into her vestibule, as she perched on her left knee and right foot. With the head safely nestled between her lips, she settled down. The look on her face showed the pleasure she was feeling. 

"Mmmmm, yes...." she sighed, ".... As I said.... lots of fun, together." 

Yes.... Fun. That's what I was having as well, as the delicious sensation of her warm, wet pussy engulfed my cock. I groaned, and she sang harmony, when we were fully connected. 

Rachel braced her hands on my chest and began a rhythm of slow, deep strokes, rising and falling sensuously while she looked into my eyes. It was very gentle, and loving, especially for a first time together, without the usual frenzied need. I suppose the boot may have had something to do with it, because the need was still there ; only the desperation was missing. 

I was content to lay back, and watch her ride me so nicely. It was an incredibly hot sight, and her eyes told the tale of what she was feeling, expressing her emotions so easily. If this whole 'mainstream movie actress' thing fell through, I'm sure she could have a great future fucking on camera, and I would happily be a fan. Better yet, I'd happily be her stunt cock. She felt wonderful sliding up and down my dick. 

I was guiding her through her motions, with a hand on each of her fabulously firm ass cheeks. She would occasionally pause at the top, faking her downward move, playfully teasing me. I began to take advantage of these brief slowdowns, thrusting upward. My hips arched off the bed, slamming my cock up her pussy eagerly. Soon she was pausing on purpose, anticipating my response, which I withheld, returning the tease. 

Rachel leaned down, resting her breasts on my chest, and kissing me again. We both moaned our happiness, and I mentally calculated which way to roll us over. Let's see.... avoid left ankle, which is beside my right leg, so go this way.... 

She giggled as I reversed our position neatly, without having to withdraw my erection from its warm residence. Her arms wrapped gently around my neck, holding my lips in contact with hers. I began to stroke into her. 

It didn't take long for her to begin sighing in time with my thrusts, and soon after, she pulled her lips away from mine. 

"Mna'ahhhn, yes, baby," she growled, tilting her head down, and peering at me from under her furrowed brow. "Gimme that cock! Fuck my pussy and make me cum again!"

With her damaged ankle safely clear, and her right leg wrapped tight around my hip, she spurred me with her right heel, urging me to give it to her with gusto. As I said before, obviously the need was there, so I took it upon myself to supply the desperation, and kicked it up a gear. 

I gave it to her as requested, fucking her with long, deep strokes that ended with a loud slap of flesh meeting flesh. I was grunting, and Rachel was moaning.... singing a capella to the percussion of our bodies, until she started to break into a solo aria. Like a good drummer, I let her take the lead, while I kept the rhythm going. 

"Oh, yeah, honey.... That's it baby.... Ooooo, fuck me.... Yeah.... Fuck me good.... Ooooo baby, oh baby.... Ooooo.... Oh.... Ahhhh.... Yes! Gonna cum! Gonna cummm! Gonnnnnna cummmmmmmm!" she screamed, arching her back. I raised up on my arms to give her space, and to watch the show, as her body shook wildly. The waves passed, and she wilted, her body completely relaxed. 

I was not relaxed. I was on the edge of a colossal orgasm of my own, and pounded her furiously. 

"Where would you like it?" I asked, pistoning into her steadily. 

"Inside me, please," she smiled sweetly, the afterglow of her orgasm still obvious in her unfocused eyes. 

I had been holding back, but now cut loose with a last few frenzied strokes, and exploded inside her. Surge after ecstatic surge, I spilled the contents of my balls into her warm depths, while she cooed contentedly and stroked my hair. 

I rested atop her for a few minutes, catching my breath, before finally rolling off her, and snuggling next to her body. 

"My ankle actually doesn't hurt right now," she breathed. "Gotta love those endorphines. Thank you." 

"Mmmmm, no, it's me who should be thanking you," I mumbled. "This beats an autograph any day!" 

Rachel giggled, then completely lost it, laughing loudly. She rolled on her side, and looked at me softly. 

"Yeah, I suppose it does, but you can't show it to anyone else!" 

***

I was laying back, with my arms folded behind my head, while Rachel laid on her side next to me. She had the sheet wrapped around her body the way it always is in the love scenes on TV, and in the movies. I suppose old habits die hard. It made me wonder how much of what we just did was real, and how much was for effect. 

She hadn't given me a reason to doubt her veracity, but she was an actress, accustomed to playing a role, and portraying emotions that weren't really there. I was probably being overly cynical to protect myself, as everything, if taken at face value, was going far too well. I couldn't be that lucky. 

Rachel was twirling her long brown hair around her finger, looking at the locks quizzically. She giggled. 

I think I'm actually a blonde," she smiled, "or at least, I used to be. I've changed my colour so often, I can't remember."

I lifted the sheet as far as I could, and peeked down her body. It was for effect. I didn't need to take another look, as her incredible pussy was indelibly etched in my memory. An outie, with very sexy, pouting lips.... and not a hair in sight. 

"No corroborating evidence down there. The carpet is missing. You've even been green!" I laughed. 

"Well, that was green skin," she corrected, "with red hair. I felt like Christmas! The red hair is fun, though. I think it's my favourite."

She traced her hand over my chest softly, with a playful grin on her face. 

"Mike, do you have plans for tomorrow night?" she asked. 

Well, I wasn't even planning on leaving tonight, so I'd have to say no. 

"None whatsoever," I replied. "More pizza?" 

"No, nothing quite that much fun, I'm afraid. Do you have a tux?" she giggled. 

"A tuxedo? No, just a nice suit. Why?" I asked. 

"I'm expected at an art gallery thing downtown. It's black tie only," she explained. "If you want to come, I'd love to have you as my guest, but we'll have to set you up with a nice tux. Will you be my arm holder?" 

Ah.... That's what I was expecting tonight. The crowds of onlookers, cameras, and that sort of thing. I knew it was going to happen sometime. I just got the order wrong. 

"Sure, I'll be your formal crutch," I laughed. 

"Great!" she smiled, and picked up her phone. She began to type a message. "I'll get you something to wear. The studio is already doing a dress for me, so it won't be a problem." A few final clicks, and she sent the text. "Cynthia is my friend in wardrobe. She'll take care of it." 

Cynthia was prompt, too, responding almost immediately. Rachel read the reply. 

"She needs to know your sizes. Height, weight, waist, shoe size. Just to be sure she's got what we need." 

"Okay.... 6'4", 210, 36 inch waist, and size 13 feet," I listed, as she transcribed the data into her phone. She sent it. Moments later, Cynthia replied again. 

Rachel started to laugh, then really lost it. Whatever Cynthia said, it was pretty funny. Rachel turned the screen toward me. 

Ooooo! Big feet! You know what that means! I read. No problem. Have him come with you tomorrow at 4, and we'll fit him up. 

"Tomorrow at 4. Got it," I smiled. 

"So," she grinned, putting her phone away. "What do we do until then?" she asked, arching her eyebrows suggestively. "Any ideas?" 

"What's the script say?" I asked, smiling back. 

"No script, honey," she breathed, moving closer. "Sometimes, the best scenes are improvised." Her lips touched mine, and I pulled her over atop me, enjoying the soft, smoothness of her skin under my hands, as they roamed her body freely. 

More items on the list of things my friends would never believe. 

***

Saturday morning, I felt movement beside me in bed. It took a few seconds to remember that this wasn't my bed, and who was moving next to me. 

"Morning, baby," she breathed, throwing her arm across my chest. "I have to go soon. They need me on set."

"I thought the doctor benched you?" I asked. 

"He benched my ankle, but they still need my face," she giggled. "Actually, they just need to shoot some of the closeups, and non-active stuff. Just minimizing the effect of the injury, until I can do the rest."

"Okay. So, do I need to leave, or can I hang out here for the day?" I questioned. "We need to be with your friend Cynthia at 4, right?" 

"That's right. I don't think I'll be too long, so it would be great if you were still here when I get back. We could have sex again, before we go," she smiled, "if you want to?" 

"Sounds like a plan," I laughed. "I have my guest pass, so I can wander around a bit without getting arrested, and there's lots to eat here. Cynthia is providing the clothes for tonight, so I really have no reason to leave." 

"Awesome! I look forward to seeing you right here, later on. I have one favour to ask right now, though," she said softly. I nodded. "I'll need your help in the shower." She saw me smile, and clarified. "Not that kind of help! I don't have time for that kind of help today, although it sounds like fun. I just need you to help keep me from slipping. I don't feel safe balanced on one foot on the wet tile."

"That I can do," I nodded, rolling out of bed and taking her hand to help her to her feet. With her arm around my shoulders, and mine around her deliciously naked waist, we scuttled slowly into the bathroom. Rachel took her seat on the toidy, while I started the shower. When she was ready, I guided her under the warm spray. 

"Mmmmm, that's so nice," she sighed, ducking her head into the stream. She braced her hands on the wall, stabilizing her balance. 

I grabbed the soap, and began to lather up her back. She moaned, and leaned back against me, letting my soapy hands wander over every inch of her body. I washed her legs, her ass, her back, her front.... especially her front.... her arms, and her front again. My dick was stiffening rapidly, from touching her body. 

"I get the feeling you like my breasts," she smiled, pulling me in for a kiss. Her slippery boobs squashed between us, a favourite sensation of mine, as was the softness of her lips. 

I rinsed her off, then began my career as a nude hairdresser, pouring some of her shampoo in my hands and lathering her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned softly. 

"Oh, I could get used to this," she breathed. "You're going to get a huge reward for taking such good care of me."

I liked the sound of that. After I rinsed her long tresses, she grinned at me, and eased down onto her knees. Her eyes locked on mine as she gripped my hard cock.

"I thought we didn't have time for this," I reminded her. Not that I wanted her to stop. 

"Hmmm, yes, I said that didn't I?" she giggled, stroking my shaft firmly. "Well, there's always room for jello," she smiled, "or time for a blowjob!" 

She pushed me back against the wall of the shower stall, and opened her mouth, swallowing half my cock on the first gobble. Within half a dozen strokes, her lips were nearly touching my pubes, and I was moaning loudly at the incredible feeling of her mouth milking my dick. 

I watched her from above. Her eyes, lashes speckled with water droplets, looking up into mine. Her cheeks hollowing with each bobbing stroke of her head, as she sucked hard on my erection. The sight, combined with the sensation of her lips and tongue, had my balls churning within minutes. 

"Rachel, honey.... You're going to make me cum," I groaned, just in case she wasn't interested in swallowing my load. 

"Mmmmm hmmm," she nodded, and sped up her strokes. "Mmmmm hmmm!" 

Well, alright then, I thought. Her eagerness to have me spurt down her throat brought that inevitably closer to happening. When her hand cupped my balls, it was the final straw. 

I came hard, basting her tonsils with multiple shots of jizz, while she gulped and stroked me through my climax. My legs began to quiver, and I slid slowly down the wet tile wall, dragging my spent noodle out of her gripping mouth. I landed with a splash, gasping in the aftermath for air. She laughed. 

"Oops!" she smiled. "I sometimes don't know my own strength."

The water rained down on us for a minute, until I had recovered enough to speak. 

"Thank you," I mumbled. "I'm just gonna sit here a while. You go ahead." 

Rachel stood carefully, and gave herself a final rinse before turning off the water, and stepping out. She wrapped herself in a towel, and hobbled out to get dressed. 

I managed to stand and dry myself. She was dressed, and putting the boot back on her damaged ankle, when I stumbled back into the bedroom, and flopped on the bed. 

"Thanks again," I sighed. 

"Mmmmm, you're welcome, and delicious," she smiled, pecking me on the cheek. "See you later lover. Get your rest." 

My eyes closed, and I fell asleep quickly. 

***

I was standing in the wardrobe department, looking over at Rachel who was having her hair and makeup done. This was new for me, and more than a little uncomfortable. 




A Funny Thing Happened...



Well, I just wasn't accustomed to being nearly naked in front of.... and under the direct attention of.... so many strange women. Cynthia and three of her assistants were dressing me. Literally. Currently, I was down to my underwear and socks again, but everyone was milling about with various articles of what would soon be my clothing for the evening. 

As if by magic, a shirt eased over my shoulders. Hands.... Too many for just one person.... reached around and fastened the crisp white garment in place. Moments later, the trousers of the tuxedo arrived in a similar fashion. It was as though an octopus was fitting me, and hands were everywhere. They weren't shy about where they touched, either, and even zipped my fly. 

A pair of shoes you could see your face in appeared, and my feet were shod without any real effort on my part. The cummerbund was snapped in place, and the folds were perfected. At last, the jacket was slipped over my shoulders, and the classic bow tie was snugged around my neck. 

"Ooooo! Very 007!" Cynthia laughed, stepping back to admire her work. 

"Don't sell him short, honey," Rachel smiled. "More like 009! You were right about the big feet!" She winked at me in the mirror, and both Cynthia and the hairdresser burst out laughing. 

"Okay! Enough said!" Cynthia giggled, and mopped her brow comically. 

Rachel rose from her chair, and the swarm of wardrobe bees swept her off behind a screen to apply her dress. She gave me a naughty smile as she tossed her robe away from behind cover. 

"No peeking. It's a surprise!" she giggled, and gestured for me to turn around. I did as asked, happy to play along. I really didn't need to wait long, as I soon heard her from behind me. "Okay, I'm ready." I turned. 

Okay, so I see one immediate problem.... There's no way I'm going to be able to keep my hands off her in public all night! 

Her dress was just stunning. Black from the waist down, it gradually became a deep blue as it hugged her upper body like a glove. Insets of lace curved up and across her cleavage, giving just a peek of the crease between her breasts. The neckline was a scooped halter, and there was nothing obscuring her back at all. Separate sleeves, similarly coloured and topped with lace, added elegance to the sexy factor. My mouth must have been hanging open. 

"I guess I don't have to ask what you think of it," she smiled. 

"Um, no," I choked, "you don't. It's beautiful, Rachel.... You're beautiful." 

I was ready to go, and Rachel was looking.... oh, just so fucking good.... so the only thing left to do was get in the limo, and go to the event. 

Yes, I said limo. 

Initially, had assumed that I was driving us to the soirée. It wasn't until a few hours before that I learned otherwise. I suppose the limo was more fitting, given the formal theme of the evening, and I would happily take the seat next to Rachel for the trip. 

Once we were comfortably seated, I took her hand. She turned to face me. 

"In the interest of preserving all of Carol's hard work," she smiled, gesturing to her makeup, "I think we should keep the kissing to a minimum." She gave me a careful peck on the lips, as a down payment. "At least on the way there. Coming home, I'm all yours, and I do mean 'all'." 

***

Honestly, I don't really recall that much of the evening at the Gallery. Rachel was on my right arm, which gave extra support for her left ankle. Several people noticed her fashionable footwear.... one stiletto, one plastic boot, with a shim taped to the bottom to equalize the heel difference.... and she gave them a more interesting tale of her injury to take with them. 

Well, that's her job, isn't it? Entertainment. So, a colourful tale of a stunt gone bad makes for better conversation than one of clumsiness and chivalry. I didn't mind losing my billing. My job tonight was to keep her upright, and let her shine, something she did with ease. 

Part of the reason for my fuzzy memory might have been the champagne, which was flowing freely. I probably had far too many, but I wasn't really involved in most of the conversations, beyond the occasional introduction, so I had a free hand whenever a tray of flutes went past. Rachel had a few, too, and her consumption went up as the evening went on. 

"My foot is killing me," she whispered, as we walked slowly through the crowd. "Champagne is only so effective as a pain killer." She leaned closer, and cupped her hand to my ear. "The good news is that it makes me horny. I think I'll tell the driver to take the scenic route home." 

"Just say when," I smiled. 

"Pretty soon. I can hold out for a little while longer," she nodded, as another guest approached. She extended her hand, and went into starlet mode. "Hello! So nice to see you....." 

***

Our driver held the door open for us to take our seats in the limo. As I was on her left arm, I got in first, supporting her as she paused at the door. I saw her whisper in the driver's ear, then she eased in beside me with a smile. She angled her hips slightly, and leaned back against my chest, extending her leg to rest it on the opposite seat. 

"Oh, I am soooooo glad that's over with," she groaned. "My ankle is worn out. Fortunately...," she smiled, ".... I don't plan on spending any more time on my feet tonight. My knees? Probably. My back? Certainly. But not my feet."

She turned her head, and found my lips with hers. After a short kiss, she whispered a secret to me. 

"Remember, I said I was yours on the way home. I told the driver to take the long way back to the studio. Also, I'm not wearing any underwear, so feel free to feel me." 

I smiled, and wrapped my arms around her, cupping her breasts softly. I already knew there was no bra in the way, as her back was quite bare, but I didn't know about the lower half until she told me. I fondled her gently, caressing the firm fullness of her tits, while she sighed at my touch. She turned again to kiss me, then crawled over my lap. She straddled me, and undid the catch behind her neck, letting the gown drape loosely around her waist, and giving my lips access to her stiff nipples. 

While I gnawed gently on her pink buds, she reached behind her to grab my burgeoning bulge. Her hand caressed the cramped crotch of my pants, and deftly unzipped the fly. Her touch was gentle, as she freed my stiffness from the confines of my underwear. She rearranged herself slightly, and I felt the warm wetness of her vagina on the head of my cock. 

"Oooooooooo, I've been thinking about doing this all night," she moaned, settling lower, and engulfing my shaft in her tight tunnel. "You're a very effective painkiller. Quite addictive, but not in a bad way."

The motion of the car trundling steadily along made her pussy slide slightly up and down on my cock, even without her consciously moving. When she did start to hump on my dick, I had to release her nipples, and settle for kissing her luscious lips. We moaned into each other's mouths, enjoying the naughtiness of having sex within feet of passersby. If only they knew. 

At least one person did know, and I briefly wondered how often our driver had chauffeured the Fuckmobile around town. Probably quite often, as I'm sure it wasn't a fantasy held solely by me. 

Right now, however, it was all mine, and I wasn't just fulfilling it with some prom date or suddenly horny dinner companion ; the vagina currently embracing my shaft within its muscular sheath belonged to a woman I had lusted after on movie and TV screens for years. Yes, we had already done it more than a few times since last night's premiere performance, but this somehow felt different. Not loving.... It was far too early for love. This was just mutual heat. Totally unabashed sexual need, that was demanding to be satisfied, regardless of where we were, or who might hear. 

I grabbed her ass with both hands, and speared my hips upward, driving my cock into her cunt feverishly. Rachel broke the kiss, and tilted her head back. 

"Uhhhn! Uhnn! Fuck! Yes, fuck me, baby!" she snarled, tipping her head forward to glare at me with fire in her cool blue eyes. "Come on! Fuck my pussy hard!" 

Her arms stretched wide, able to just reach the assist handles on the roof inside each door. She hung on tight, while I drilled her hard from below, making her boobs bounce and quiver in an interesting manner. 

"Yeah, that's it!.... Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" she gasped "Take me, Mike!" 

I guess champagne really does make her horny, I thought. Horny, and quick to please.... or maybe it was the situation that had her on the verge of cumming already. Could it be that she, like myself, was checking the 'have sex in a limo' box on her fantasy list right now? 

I gave another few furious strokes up into her pussy, enough to push her over the edge, and watched as she tried unsuccessfully to suppress a scream of orgasmic joy. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the handles tighter, and a pink flush bloomed on her chest and neck. Her face twisted into a snarl of pleasure, then she exhaled slowly, and hung from her fingertips. One hand lost purchase, and she slipped, but I caught her. 

"There you go, saving me again," she panted. "A girl could get used to that, you know? You may spoil me for life." Her arms wrapped around my neck, and we kissed again, tangling tongues playfully. 

Spoil her for life? I rather liked the sound of that. As for myself, I was feeling pretty spoiled, too. Her pussy still had a firm grip on my cock, and was milking me as she flexed her feminine muscle. I moved both hands to her ass again, and scooted forward onto my knees on the limo floor. Her right leg wrapped instinctively around my hip, until I laid her back on one of the longer side couches. Before I released her, I unzipped the lower back of her dress. 

While I knelt and tried to remove my jacket, Rachel shimmied the dress down over her hips, carefully laying it on the opposite couch. Then she turned her attention to me, and the clothing pile grew rapidly. Her hands caressed my skin gently as she removed my shirt, pants and all the accoutrements of the tux, leaving me to discard my underwear and socks. 

"Never been naked in a limo before," I laughed, my erection still glistening with her juices as it bobbed before me. 

"Here," she giggled, re-attaching the bow tie around my neck on its little strap, "now you're not naked. Feel better?" 

I smiled, and pushed her onto her back, dragging her closer to the edge of the couch. I rubbed the head of my cock between her lips, and pushed back inside her. 

"NOW I feel better," I growled. 

"Ooooo! Mmmmm.... me too!" she hissed, as her hands came up to caress my face and neck. The look in her eyes told me what she wanted me to do. 

Long, deep strokes split her pussy open neatly, and her moist grip felt wonderful as I fucked her firmly. She no longer even tried to be quiet, moaning loudly, yelping when my thrusts were particularly effective, and screaming instructions when the urge for words arose. Unless the driver was wearing headphones.... a highly unlikely development.... he had to know exactly what was going on a few feet behind him, if her whispered direction to him wasn't obvious enough. 

I was pounding her furiously now, adding the slapping of our bodies to the various sounds of sex that filled the passenger cabin. It was raucous, sweaty, and thoroughly enjoyable, as I jabbed my stiff cock balls deep in her delightful cunt, while she screeched blissfully and clawed at my shoulders. 

Rachel threw her head back, and gripped me tighter as she came again. I kept probing her juicy snatch, watching the pleasure wash over her, until she relaxed under me. Her voice was a raspy whisper when she spoke. 

"Just one more, honey," she gasped. "Please.... Just one more?" 

I did a quick evaluation. I was definitely on approach for my own release, but I might be able to hold off long enough to give her the 'one more' she asked for. I gritted my teeth, and picked up the pace. 

Her pussy felt soooooooo goooooood.... I just wanted to fill her up with another load of my jizz, but she had asked nicely, so I was going to do my best to hold back the inevitable. I kept watching her for signs it was working, and fortunately, it was. 

A final, gurgling scream announced her orgasm. With my mission accomplished, I was free to cum myself, and pulled out of her pussy just as the first rope of juice raced up my shaft and exploded out, landing on her quivering breasts. Several more shots followed, of various strengths, decorating her torso with streaks and globs of sticky goo. 

I sat back, watching her chest heave as she caught her breath, while catching my own. Her head rolled in my direction, and she smiled brightly. 

"Thank you," she whispered, and reached over her head. Her knuckles rapped on the privacy divider, which whirred as it lowered a few inches. 

"Yes Ma'am?" the driver's voice asked. 

"You can take us home now," Rachel said, her voice still recovering it's authority. "We're done. Thank you."

"Yes Ma'am, and you're welcome," he replied. The divider went back up smoothly. 

She trailed her fingertips along her body, collecting my spunk, and licking them clean, before going back for more. 

"Mmmmm, yummy," she giggled. "Just like the champagne!" 

***

Monday morning, I walked into the building where I worked. I had spent the entire weekend with my new favourite actress, only leaving her early this morning to change into my work clothes. 

I'm sure I didn't look any different than usual, but I sure felt different. Satisfied. Satiated. Sore. Looking forward to Rachel's next call. 

A few people in the lobby looked at me, then whispered amongst themselves. Could they tell I'd been having great sex with a movie star all weekend? Was it written on my face? 

It happened again in the elevator. I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. 

Finally, as I went through our reception area, another gaggle of whisperers broke up on my approach. One of my best friends, Freddie, was among them, and he smiled when I stopped to talk, slapping a copy of the morning paper into my chest. 

There it was.... the reason for the whispers, and his smile. 

A picture.... taken Saturday night, at the Art Gallery. There had been photographers around, of course, but I was too enthralled by Rachel's grace, smile and beauty to even register the flash that captured us for posterity. 

There I was, my arm and hand intertwined with that of the beautiful Rachel Nichols. I was looking dapper in my James Bond tuxedo, thanks to Cynthia in wardrobe. Rachel was looking.... well, I didn't need a picture to remind me of how she looked, that night and any other. I wasn't sure of how this whole thing would work out, but I would never forget her. 

"This is how I find out?" he grinned. "My good friend goes out with a movie star.... a hot one.... and this is how I find out? What other secrets are you keeping from me?" I just smiled. "Okay buddy, I'm taking you to lunch today, and you're going to spill the whole story, right from the beginning.... and you're not going to leave anything out. I want details. Understand?" 

I nodded, but there were some bits I would keep to myself, at least for now, until I knew if she and I had a future as 'we'. It may have been wishful thinking, but then again, stranger things had already happened this weekend, hadn't they? 

And besides.... I'm still not sure he'd believe it. 

I'm not sure I did, either. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I do hope you enjoyed this story. I had fun with it, and I think it stands alone.... Unless you feel otherwise. Please let me know your thoughts, and cast your votes. 

I'll be working on several stories while I'm away on vacation, so I hope to have a few new postings quite soon. Thanks for your time. 



A Funny Thing Happened To Natalie



The day had started off like any other for Natalie. She got up and took a shower, went back to her room, masturbated and then put on her clothes. She was now in a cab on her way to the today show. Being a star was not easy with all the traveling and public appearances. She couldn't even go to the beach without some Paparazzi photographer snapping pictures of her topless. She was surprised that there wasn't a man on her balcony this morning taking pictures of her masturbating. The cab stopped and Natalie paid the driver and stepped out onto the street. The cab peeled out and sped off, Natalie thought to herself, How rude!, Natalie was kind of surprised to not have fans running at her and asking for autographs. Then she realized why the cab driver had sped away. She was no where near the set of the Today show. All of a sudden someone grabbed her from behind and stuck a gloved hand over her mouth. She was then pulled into an old, derelict building. It was dark and she couldn't see anything. The hand was removed from her mouth and replaced by a rag. Soon Natalie was lying limp in her captives arms, asleep.

When Natalie woke up she found herself tied to a bed. Her arms where up over her head and her legs were spread wide. She looked down at herself and realized her clothes had been changed. She was now in a Catholic school girl uniform. She could also feel that she wasn't wearing any underwear. Whoever had captured Natalie had seen her naked. She wondered what else they had done to her while she was out. As Natalie lay there helpless she heard a man's voice to her right. 

"Look at that Little school girl Natalie Portman tied up and helpless." Then another man's voice came from her left, 

"Yep, I'm going to have fun with this piece of white meat. Natalie got scared when she heard that but nothing could have prepared her for what she heard next. Coming from in front of her a woman's voice said, 

"And we're going to teach her how to lick a pussy real good." Natalie got real scared when she heard that. She had thought about tasting her own juices before but never had actually done it, and she had most defiantly not thought about tasting another woman's. The woman came forward and said,

"My name's Tess." Natalie looked up to see Tess. She was beautiful. She stood about 4'11" tall with long red hair that fell to the top of her butt. She must have been only about 18 years old.

"These are my friends," said Tess. "On your right is Ray and on your left is Jim." Ray was about 6 feet tall with long brown hair and a scraggly beard. Jim stood about 6'4" and was black with a shaved head and a small beard. After she had taken all this in Natalie began to struggle to try to break away. Tess asked what was wrong and in a moment of panic and not thinking about what she was saying Natalie blurted out, 

"I'm still a virgin!" Once she realized what she had said Natalie knew she had made a mistake. She turned to see Jim with a huge smile on his face.

"Ohh, TENDER white meat." he said Natalie couldn't take it any more she screamed as loud as she could hoping that someone would hear her yell, but she was soon gagged as Ray shoved his cock into her mouth forcing her to suck it. Soon enough she felt her skirt being lifted and someone started licking her pussy. she was positive it was Tess.

Tess loved licking pussy and there was nothing better then licking this cunt, because this one belonged to young starlet Natalie Portman.

Natalie couldn't help but to suck on Ray's cock. Not to mention she liked it. She had only ever sucked a couple cock's before, and Ray's was by far the largest. Not only was she enjoying the cock in her mouth, but she was defiantly enjoying the attention her inexperienced cunt was receiving. In all the ecstasy though she forgot about Jim. That was at least until he ripped off her top exposing her nipples to the cold air making them very hard. Then she felt Jim's big hands touching her tits and slowly pinching her nipples. This just made Natalie even more aroused. She started to moan. 

"Hey, I think the little slut is enjoying this," said Ray. "Maybe we should untie her."

"All right," said Tess, "Untie her." Natalie was happy she was untied. At least until Jim got on top of her and held her down. He told her to look at Ray and Tess.

Tess was now on her back in spread eagle formation. Ray was in front of her with his cock in position to fuck her. Natalie couldn't imagine how Tess' little frame was going to take Ray's huge cock, but she did. She took all of him and screamed as each inch went in. Ray pumped in and out of Tess. He used her tit's as handles and held onto them and pulled and squeezed them with every thrust. Tess was screaming, but it was a scream of ecstasy. She kept begging him to fuck her harder and squeeze her tits tighter, and every time she did Ray seemed to oblige. Then all of a sudden Tess' body started going into convulsions and her whole little body shock with one orgasm after another.

Jim turned to Natalie and said now it's your turn. Natalie turned white as she looked down to see the biggest cock she ever imagined. It was poised to ram into her virgin cunt. Jim was ready. He rubbed the tip of his 10 inch cock on Natalie's virgin pussy watching her try to squirm away while he held her down. Then he rammed into her spreading her pussy, popping her cherry, and causing her to scream all in the matter of seconds. Natalie was just as surprised as everyone else that she took all of his cock. Jim started to pump in and out of Natalie's tight little cunt. After the initial pain subsided Natalie started to really like what was going on. She started to meet Jim's thrust and began begging him to ram her harder. Jim was more then happy to fulfill Natalie's desires. Soon Natalie felt the beginning of an orgasm starting. As she came her already tight little cunt got tighter and Jim couldn't take it anymore and blew his load deep inside Natalie. This just caused Natalie to have yet another orgasm. Natalie flopped on the bed exhausted. She had obviously forgotten about Ray and Tess. Ray lifted Natalie up and rubbed his fingers across her now soaking wet cunt. He got his fingers nice and lubed up before he rammed one into her tight, teen, virgin, ass. Natalie jumped and screamed but was soon smothered by Tess' pussy jamming down on her mouth and nose.

"Every time you scream I'll smother you with my cunt, and should you stop licking my pussy when I'm not smothering you I will sit down on your face. Understand?" As Tess lifted up her pussy Natalie exhaled a yes.

"Good," said Tess "Start licking." Natalie had no choice but to lick Tess' pussy. All she could feel was Ray's finger violating her ass. Tears started to run down Natalie's face, both from pain and humiliation. Soon Ray's fingers left her ass. She heard Ray mumble something and soon Jim disappeared out of view. For a couple minutes it felt like the only people around were her and Tess, who was now moaning from having her pussy licked by Natalie Portman. Then it happened. Natalie was lifted a little then she felt Ray ram his cock into her ass while at the same time Jim rammed his cock into her cunt. She couldn't help it, she screamed out in pain and terror. Tess was true to her word and immediately smothered Natalie. The guys started a rhythm of pumping in and out of her now totally violated body. Natalie couldn't breath because Tess' pussy was completely covering her face. 

She struggled to breath reaching up and grabbing Tess, but Tess wouldn't move and started to thrust her hips so that her pussy was rubbing up and down Natalie's face but never enough to allow her to breath. The guys kept fucking the now shaking Natalie, and soon enough from the lack of oxygen and the pain of being totally violated Natalie passed out. Tess sat up before Natalie died and the guys stopped fucking her. They all went over to a glass. Both guys came in it and then they smeared it all over Natalie's tits. Tess licked it off while she was being fucked by Ray. Soon she was ready to cum and she let her juices spill all over Natalie's face. Tess looked at Natalie satisfied with what she had done. Jim came over with an enormous dildo and shoved it into Natalie's cunt spreading it nice and wide and that is where he left it.

Natalie eventually woke up. Her face was stiff with Tess' juices. She saw her clothes hanging up and sat up to get them, which caused the dildo in her pussy to jam further up in her. Natalie pulled it out, licked off her own juices, got dressed, and realized that she had enjoyed all this and would not soon forget it.