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!'