A Proper Frame of Mind

"Now that I'm less distracted, Richard, you may serve the wine," I finally said, smiling at him lovingly. "And while you're at it, bring some of the good crackers from the kitchen." Since it appeared there'd be no great sex for me, I felt I might as well enjoy myself as best I could. The evening was young. Joyce excused herself and paddled off naked to the potty.

As soon as we heard her close the door, Richard turned and looked back at me. "'Rene?"

"Huh?" I was subdued.

"'Rene. You didn't come. You faked it, didn't you? What's the trouble, Sweetheart?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, Richard," I lied. "I guess I was just a little nervous and all. I ... I really liked it. Really!" It was a pointless explanation. After our years together, Richard could read me like the proverbial book.

"I'll cool it then. Nothing more too heavy until I see you're taking it OK. And I'll scrounge up some cheese to go with the crackers."

We sat quietly, the three of us, in the glow of the fireplace, sipping wine and nibbling cheese and crackers and talking about the little relaxed and inconsequential things people always talk about after sex. Richard told one of his favorite stories about his one evening in a bordello in Hamburg and how all of the girls applauded and cheered him in six different languages and the Madam-in-Charge had refused to accept a cent of money. Joyce laughed until tears came to her eyes. "Speaking of that evening " he added, "let me show you a souvenir that the Madam insisted I bring home to 'Rene. 'Scuse."

I knew what he was going to get and I almost blushed. "It's nothing special, Joyce. Just something silly."

"Indeed it isn't silly," Joyce said as Richard returned and handed it to her. "That's the most realistic dildo I've ever seen. She turned it over in her hands and examined in the dim light. "My God, Richard, veins and everything and it even feels like a real one. Most of them are so hard they give me cramps. Fantastic!"

"Want to try it on? I brought the halter."

"May I?", she asked politely. It's amazing how our social morés hold firm even in the most unconventional situations. Joyce fussed with the leather strap and then looked down at herself with an air of approval. "Formidable," she said.

She finally had it adjusted to her satisfaction and took a few tentative steps across the rug. Suddenly she flashed a broad surprised smile at me. "It even feels good. That little bump in the strap hits right up against my clitoris."

"Why do you think they put it there in the first place?" Richard said, laughing at her surprise. I looked at her. The fit was truly amazing. In the fitful glow of the gas log she looked more the part of the adolescent boy than ever. I squinted my eyes purposely. The effect was breathtakingly realistic. On an impulse, I swung myself up from the floor, and leaned forward.

"C'mere, Joyce" I said laughing. Let me grab hold of that thing and see if it feels as real as it looks on you." I reached up and gave it a gentle tug and Joyce made a little obscene wiggle with her hips. It was pure curiosity on my part, nothing more. When I'd worn it myself I couldn't enjoy the effect. "Unbelievable! It does feel real."

Suddenly I felt or sensed Richard standing directly behind me. I looked up and met his eyes. It was like dynamite. I caught my breath. The meter which had cut me off cold only a short while before began to slowly reopen.

"Ooh!" Joyce sighed. "Do that again. That feels good. With that little protrusion on the strap I think I can appreciate how Richard feels." My God, I thought to myself, it's unbelievable ... I can almost imagine ... and I turned back and looked up at Richard, large, massive, solidly built, standing behind me and Joyce ... like a ... yes! Just as he and I had fantasized so often ... I, the captive Carthaginian slave girl, and he, the senior General of the Roman Legion, who had commanded his young Greek slave boy to bring me to his tent and I, having fought, was now subdued and totally submissive, resigned that both of them should have their way with me. I was prepared for any indignity. My liquids, cut off in mid- passion, began to surge. Behind me I heard Richard mutter something and I looked over my shoulder. His cock was hard again. I didn't catch what he said but it made no matter. I heard him clearly in my mind: Come, Slave Girl. Suck me or I shall lay waste to all of Carthage. And obediently I knelt, turned, faced him and took his heavy penis into my mouth.

I felt hands on my buttocks, light, young slave-boy hands touching my bare flesh. Yes! His slave was already taking his pleasure with me too. I felt myself being penetrated. Somewhere back in the recesses of my rational mind I knew it was Joyce but it made no difference. Joyce, the tall, angular slave boy with the sensual brown eyes, skin browned by the sun, the high Romanesque bridge of her nose and her firm jaw, more at home on the face of a handsome and sensitive man than on any woman, and the coarse thatch of dark uncut hair, sinews tight and firm belly and slender hips driving that huge thing deep inside of me, rubbing against my raging clitoris.

I became a thing detached, rocking forward and backwards in a slow, undulating rhythm, forcing first one intruder and then the other deep into my body and I tasted the first salty trace of what was happening to Richard and then he flooded, groaning and thrusting as I swallowed because I couldn't do anything else. Somewhere behind me I heard Joyce screaming in an ecstasy, her nails clawing into the sensitive skin on my rear end and then ... I opened up completely and totally, my vagina an open pit until I exploded, contracted, released, contracted twice again, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The purple and green lights kept going on and off in my head and I was concerned that I get my heart to stop racing and then, well, I just drifted off into a gentle little sleep, curled up on the rug between Joyce and Richard.

* * *

Later that night, Richard and I exchanged sleepy good nights, snug away from the world in bed. He kissed me gently. 'Rene?"

"Huh?" I was almost asleep.

"I'm so glad you really enjoyed it. I was so worried about you Hon. I know you never were turned on by making it with another woman until Joyce came along. And then I was afraid you were having second thoughts when the two of you finally got down to cases. But there on the last you enjoyed it so much with her. I knew that you'd like having another girl make love to you if you ever tried it." I couldn't fool Richard. He knew my little ones from my big ones. And I had enjoyed the evening. I'd had one of the biggest climaxes I can ever remember. He kissed me again lightly. "You know, I guess it proves that it's all in the frame of mind you have when you're doing it."

"It does, Darling. It depends so much on your mind-set. I didn't enjoy it when she first went down on me. But that last time? Wow! It was an absolutely fantastic climax! And you're absolutely right. All I needed to do was to get myself in the proper frame of mind."

I'd just let Richard believe as he wanted, interpret my climax as he wanted. Still, what I told him was the truth and I smiled a smug little smile which he couldn't see in the dark. "I know," he murmured in my ear.

But he didn't know. And I wouldn't tell him, my big, wonderful, lovable Richard. I'd just let him think anything he wished to think and if he wanted to belive that my bi-sexual bash was a wild and wonderful turn-on for me, then so be it. I was, I was sure, a convinced, practicing heterosexual and try as I might, I'd never be really too good at switch hitting. But Richard didn't have to know it, not if it made him happier.

But the time for words had passed. Instead, I just snuggled my head over against his great, hairy chest and went to sleep.