'Okay, guys -- balls on the table!' Ginny chuckled, shuffling the cards: having just won the cut for deal. When neither Randy nor I showed any sign of complying, she tossed her hair, still grinning and added: 'Very well -- on your heads be it. But I'm warning you -- this girl is hot and you're going to pay for making me wait. You're going to beg for mercy, and mercy isn't at this table.'
She was that sort -- extroverted. Bubbly springs to mind.
At first glance, Strip "Poker" might seem a bit juvenile. But this was a privatecam site: the omnipresent camera mounted on the wall to my left, near the ceiling, where it overlooked the dining room table, broadcasting fresh images to the internet every 15 seconds -- and once there, well, who knew how voyeurs were watching every move and twitch?
Plus the fact that both of these women, college students like myself and Randy, and room-mates at the apartment...(suite 202 of the building owned by grandfather: the building I expected to inherit soonish)... were gorgeous. Ginny was one of those full-bodied auburn-haired beauties you don't mind putting in the effort to unwrap. While Linda -- who had inveigled me into this situation -- was nothing short of spectacular: a tall slender, blue-eyed, blonde with boobs of "centrefold quality".
So if that combination doesn't put some initial pressure on your zipper, nothing will.
Although it didn't seem to faze the tall blonde-haired Randy, seated casually next to the outgoing Ginny, sipping his beer.
'Never mind,' Linda leaned close, whispering in my ear as Ginny dealt the first hand. 'Just ignore the cameras. You'll soon forget they even exist. In the meantime...' her fingertips eased down my taut zipper.
Easy for her to say! Although I did appreciate her, umh, assistance.
Actually, the game was 31. Three cards each, round and round you go, until someone knocks on the table. Closest total to 31 wins...And I might even have managed to follow Linda's advice, maybe, except that Ginny knocked exuberantly on the first pass.
Linda and Randy both lost their shoes, but muggins here, as low score, finished up losing two garments - and was therefore barefoot. Not only that but I had to climb up and sit on the table, no mean feat with a full throbbing hard-on trappped in my jeans, brace my hands on the tabletop behind for support and extend my legs their full length: facing a mischievous grin from Ginny -- 'See, I told you I was hot!' -- and the camera over her shoulder.
And did she make a meal of it. Rolling the plastic handle of the duster between her palms to fluff out the multi-coloured "feathers" to their full menace, giggling as she made a show of warming up, flourishing the implement, practising on imaginary specks on the tabletop...Then pausing to sip her beer, making me sweat. By which time, my own throat was dry, my heart pounding, and my toes already curling up of their own accord.
So of course it took her all of 5 seconds, maybe two flicks of the duster, across the soles of my feet, to wring a groan from my clenched lips.
Linda and Larry cheered. Ginny did an extravagant "victory dance", punching the air with a clenched fist and flourishing the duster -- before demanding my jeans. Which couldn't have been a worse introduction, of course -- all that wriggling and squirming about -- the well-budged briefs coming askew, having to be adjusted -- the chill of the tabletop against the exposed flesh of my legs. Flushing no doubt crimson. With the camera capturing it all, for god knows how many pairs of unseen eyes.
Then...Similar pose, only with the knees slightly cocked and way way apart, pulled further apart by the chuckling Ginny. Ever noticed how little fabric there is a pair of briefs? Just not enough, is there. And Ginny was merciless, going for the insteps -- ooh -- the inside of the knees --ugh -- the underside of the knees -- oh god! Sweat pouring off me now. Eyes clenched tight shut. Holding my breath. Inner thighs! Even somehow circumventing the flap of my shirt, to focus on the gap created by the stretched leg-holes in the briefs!-actually managing to contact the very edge of my swollen hypersensitive balls!
Move!? Or make a noise!? I very nearly ejaculated on the spot! Now how humiliating would that have been?! Especially with all those unseen eyes watching! But, fortunately -- wonder of wonder, she didn't seem to realise what she had -- and she moved back down.
Thank god!
After which, the rest seemed almost easy. Make no mistake though, it was torment -- a torment that went on and on and on. Especially when she returned to working on the soles of my feet, determined to earn herself another go...to keep me on that tabletop. Bloody awful that was.
PING! went the egg-timer.
How do you spell relief? But really?! Was that only a minute?!
'You did well,' Linda whispered, close to my ear. 'Very well.'
Did I? I was still gasping, trying to settle into the chair, draining off a sizeable quantity of my beer, while simultaneously plucking at my shirt-flap, fanning it -- letting in some much-needed, blessedly cool air. I mean, every bit of me seemed to be quivering and twitching, both inside and out.
Only to look up and find Ginny sitting opposite me, grinning, clearly horny herself -- hazel eyes shimmering and nipples visible, poking out of her blouse -- as she dealt the next hand...
A hand which went to Linda, with Randy "low score".
'Perfect! Mo-ah!' Ginny kissed her own fingertips. 'Girl power!'
Linda took her time, sipped her beer, designated '....socks and jeans -- and on all fours, facing away from the camera of course,' to Randy, and to me: 'I'll take mercy on you...' By which she meant my briefs. Which, in a way, was indeed a mercy. If you ignored the fact my balls were now totally exposed underneath the shirt -- and my hard-on formed a tentpeg of enormous proportions. So that I eased my chair in slightly, as discreetly as possible, during the general shuffle, attempting to use the table itself as cover from the camera.
Linda really put Randy through it. The soles of his feet, backs of his knees, between his thighs. She had him trembling -- his arms shaking -- so badly I thought he might collapse forward onto the table. Fascinating. Mesmerising, in fact. Watching him seem to hang there, face contorted, quivering. So much so I 'd polished off a sizeable quantity of my beer, before the PING released him -- letting him collapse forward with a loud groan of sheer relief, his head resting on his trembling forearms.
