Ladies' Night

Ladies' Night

It had been a depressing evening. My football was playing in the quarter final of the Cup. We were favourites to win, and felt confident. My mate and I had decided to watch the game together, over a couple of beers and enjoy our victory.

Instead, we lost. The game was a joke. The referee was clueless, and with no video ref, we were at his mercy. We had a penalty turned down, which TV showed to be beyond doubt. The opposition's goal was offside - what was the assistant ref playing at? How could she miss it? We were robbed.

Worse still, it had caused a fallout with my wife. I had arranged this, and forgotten it was her birthday. More accurately, I remembered her birthday, and had gifts etc, but forgot that I had agreed to take her out. When Ian asked me to watch the match with him, I just agreed without thinking.

I realised as soon as I put the phone down.

"Shit!" I said to Michelle (my wife), "that's your birthday meal. I'll call back and tell him."

"Don't bother," she replied, "Megan called earlier. She wanted me to join her for a couple of drinks with Simone and a couple of friends. We can have dinner at the weekend."

I was amazed she took it so well, and even more amazed that she was willing to get together with her twin sister. She and Megan got on quite well, but Megan would usually have been with her husband. I asked if Michelle was sure.

"Yeah," she replied, "Megan and Geoff are having a difficult time. He's moved out. She found he was having an affair. It'll do her good to get out and have fun."

"Who else is going?" I wondered.

"Well, I know Georgia's going - and Cheryl. Then there's Megan's friend PJ. That's all. I think she wants to bitch about Geoff, so she just wants a select group."

Select indeed - Georgia was my wife's other sister, and Cheryl was my step-sister. PJ and Megan had been friends since school.

No doubt they would spend the evening moaning about how awful men are and Michelle would come home depressed. Join the club.

Ian was hardly great company. His girlfriend had left him a few weeks before when she found he had been chatting with a woman online and exchanging photos with her - intimate photos. He spent half his time saying what an idiot he had been and the other half contacting his ex and begging her to go back to him. I knew she had moved on, because I had seen her with someone else, but didn't have the heart to tell him. I had planned to tonight, but with the football result, I simply didn't have the heart.

We were sitting commiserating at just after eleven o'clock, and Ian was talking about getting a taxi home, when I heard the key in the front door. Michelle's arrival would, no doubt, speed up his departure.

However, rather than the quiet footsteps in the hall, followed by Michelle sticking her head in and saying 'Hi', I heard loud voices - slightly drunk voices - and the living room door burst open, allowing five women to pour in.

"Hi", said five voices, simultaneously.

"Hi," I and and I replied.

Michelle stepped forward. "Hope it's OK," she began, speaking slightly too loudly, as she had clearly had a little more alcohol than usual, "we got sick of all the noise in the pubs, and creepy blokes hanging around, so I suggested we come back here. We've got plenty of wine in, so we thought we could have a couple more drinks."

Ian stood to leave.

"No, no, don't go," Michelle insisted, "stay and join us. Have a couple more beers and you can share a taxi with Megan and PJ later." That made sense. They lived quite close to one another, and none of them was particularly able to afford the cost of a cab on their own.

Ian sat down, rather reluctantly. He would have preferred to avoid company, but he had no real excuse. Anyway, I knew he fancied PJ, even if he was still hung up on his ex, so maybe her presence would snap him out of his depression.

In fact, the ladies made quite a group. My wife, Michelle, is quite petite and curvy. She stands barely three inches over five feet, and although she has a slim waist, her boobs and bum are well rounded. She often complains about men 'talking to her tits, not her face', but as I point out, with tits like hers, they can hardly be blamed.

Megan is not an identical twin. Like Michelle, she is not blessed with great height, but neither is she blessed with curves. Her body is, in fact, remarkably average - pleasant, but average. What sets her apart are features she shares with Michelle - sparking, blue eyes and brown hair. It speaks volumes for Michelle's boobs that they draw more attention than her eyes.

My step-sister is a red-head. I barely notice her looks, but friends say she is good-looking, in a pale, mousy way. This contrasts massively to Georgia, who is vivacious, well rounded and seems to have few inhibitions. Like her twin sisters, she is not tall, but she is larger. Perfect for those who like generously proportioned women, and, again, several of my mates were very drawn to her.

Then there was PJ. She was almost six feet tall, broad shouldered and superbly toned. Her Carribbean heritage was evident, not just from her skin tone, but from her laid back, easy-going attitudes. As she entered any room, all eyes turned to her, but she would sit, quietly, and observe everything. When she spoke, however, everyone took notice. She was an Amazon in stature (thanks to sport and the gym), and a leader by nature - and she almost radiated sexuality. Everyone knew she had to be incredible in bed - yet no-one actually knew. Perhaps she preferred men from her own ethnic group. Or maybe she was gay. She was an enigma.

I sorted out the drinks, and we all settled down together. The women had drunk enough to feel loose and relaxed. They chattered together loudly and with frequent raucous laughter. Ian and were probably in a similar stage of drunkenness, but our teams defeat had left us feeling maudlin and quiet.

Eventually, Michelle turned to me and said: "For fuck's sake. Would you two cheer up. It's a football match, not the end of the world."

I shook my head at Ian. Some people would never understand.

Georgia swung round. "Let's play a game. See if these two can cheer up a bit."

She loved board games, and evenings at her house often ended up playing anything, from Trivial Pursuit to Scrabble to Mouse Trap and even Snakes and Ladders. I was not a big fan, but it was better than sitting around getting bored. The problem was, we had very few board games.

"How about cards?" Megan suggested. "Surely you've got a pack of cards."

We had - but only one. It was a pack of cards I had had specially made from some photos of Michelle when she went for a 'boudoir' style shoot. We had both loved the photos, mostly of her in lingerie, with a few topless ones, and while we could hardly display them for everyone to see, I had decided a pack of cards would make a good birthday present. I only used the lingerie ones, of course, the more intimate ones were in a photobook which we looked through at times.

"Of course we have," announced Michelle, "and it's about time we actually used them."

I was amazed she was considering using these cards - not so much because the women would see her in her sexy underwear, but because Ian would. Still, if she was comfortable with it, it was fine with me. The drinks she had probably helped.

She collected the cards from the bedroom and we all sat expectantly round the coffee table.

"Mark. Get that set of poker chips your brother got us last Christmas. They'll do for gambling chips. What do people want to play?"

"Poker," said Megan. No-one dissented, so it was agreed.

The big problem was that there were so many of us. Sharing chips between seven would mean very few each.

"Let's play in pairs," suggested Michelle. "Or two pairs and a three." Again, no-one dissented.

After a little discussion, we split into our little groups. Me and Ian, Megan and PJ, and Michelle, Cheryl and Georgia. I felt quietly confident. Ian played poker quite regularly, and I enjoyed the odd game. To my knowledge, none of the women played.

We shared the chips and started playing.

As the cards were dealt, eyebrows rose at the images of Michelle, stretched out on a bed, wearing bra and knickers, in a sexy corset and thong with stockings, and in stockings and suspenders, with a sheer top, her nipples definable through the folds of the outfit. "Wow. Looking fit, Chelle," commented Ian.

The women waxed lyrical about how fabulous she looked, wishing they had similar photos of themselves - all except PJ, who stated calmly that she had done something similar.

It was fun. People laughed, cursed the luck and moaned at the good fortune of winners. Ian and I were building a steady pile of chips. Had it been real money, we would have been ready to cash in and leave.

"We should have a prize for the winners," quipped Ian.

"And a punishment for the losers," followed up Georgia.

We all agreed, and started thinking. It was suggested that the winners be allowed to spend the next week relaxing, being served by the losers. A really poor idea, considering not all of us lived together.

Then PJ spoke - and when she spoke, everyone listened. "I think," she purred in her rich, Jamaican accent, "the losers should do a forfeit, set by the winners."

As we were winning, Ian and I loved the arrangement. The women seemed a bit unsure - especially Michelle, Cheryl and Georgia who had very few chips left - but eventually, it was agreed. I was already thinking of fun forfeits for my wife - waiting on me hand and foot all week, dressing up in Halloween costumes and going to the pub. Fun, but a bit humiliating.

The women, too, were talking about forfeits - mostly involving not watching football for two weeks if Ian and I lost, or cooking for all of us if was the other women. All very lightweight and fun.

With something at stake, the atmosphere changed. People were more thoughtful and serious, and both groups of women started to play much better. In fact, I rather thought we had been hustled.

Gradually, our impressive winnings dwindled, and it was increasingly the two groups of women who celebrated, almost as if they were co-operating. In fact, I had decided that this was exactly what was happening, and considered complaining. It would only have caused an argument, so I kept quiet.

I watched, and there was no question. The eye contact between the groups made it obvious that they were working together. There was a definite level of concentration which had not existed before. All I could do was shrug and get on with it. If we lost, so be it. Some daft forfeit and forget it.

The two groups of women had increased their piles of chips until they were fairly even, and as Ian and I laid down our final chip (with a pair of threes in our hand), we sat back, knowing it was going to take a very long time before a clear winner emerged.

As we watched, the women kept playing, teasing us with their ideas of forfeits. Georgia said they should give us a full makeover and take photos for our friends. Megan said we should dress in their clothes as well. They giggled as they played, coming up with various daft, innocuous ideas. I felt everyone would have given up long before there was a clear winner.

After a while, Ian and I were clearly getting bored. I asked if we could put the TV on, maybe watch highlights of other football matches. Michelle immediately said 'no'. Then Megan looked up and studied us, to the point where I felt a little uncomfortable. Eventually, she spoke.

"This is going to take a long time. Why not call it a draw between us, and women get to set forfeits for the men."

Ian and I sighed and had a brief, whispered discussion. He gave them our reply. "OK. Let's get it over with." We waited, expectantly.

Georgia spoke instantly - far too quickly, in fact. There was no question that we had been set up.

"OK. Your forfeit is to be our slaves for the rest of the evening. You have to do anything we tell you."

Shit. That meant making drinks and snacks, foot massages, plumping up cushions. Could be worse.

"You can start," said Michelle, "by fetching us all fresh drinks."

We stood and went to collect glasses.

"Just a minute," purred PJ, "fetch us drinks in your underwear."

We started to protest, but Michelle waved her hand at us. "Stop moaning. You agreed the forfeits. Your our slaves. Ian. You can go if you want, and be forever known as a wimp. You, however, dear husband, will do exactly as you're told. If you don't, you get no sex for a month."

I laughed. "You'd never last that long."

She barked out a short guffaw. "Ha. I've got plenty of toys to play with. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

The women giggled, watching and waiting. Ian looked at me and shrugged. We undid our trousers and slipped them off, lifted our replica football shirts over our heads, and stood in our boxer shorts. The women applauded as we collected glasses and went to fetch drinks.

I glanced back from the kitchen door as we poured. They were huddled together in an animated group, discussing our fate. Even normally quiet Cheryl was chattering with exaggerated facial expressions and open hand gestures.

Ian turned to me. "Well, mate, I'm just gonna go with it. Always been a bit of a fantasy of mine to be dominated by a woman - especially PJ. I mean, how bad can it get?"

I nodded. He was right. My step-sister was there, so was my sister in law. My wife was quite open-minded (although her talk of sex-toys had rather shocked me), but I was pretty confident she would call a halt before things got out of hand.

We returned with the drinks and served them, before being told to get ourselves a glass of scotch. "You're going to need it," said Megan. We were told to down the drink in one, and refill our glasses.

"Stay standing," Michelle ordered, "Cheryl has a request."

Phew! At least Cheryl wouldn't ask too much. She was naturally shy and eight years younger than me. Growing up, I had barely noticed her, and we rarely talked. By the time she was eighteen and fully mature, I was dating girls and she paled into insignificance. Honestly, I barely knew her.

She looked first at me, then at Ian. There was a glint in her eye that I had never seen before. Her smile, usually tentative, now seemed bold.

"I've wanted to ask this for years now. We want our slaves to be naked. Take off your boxers."

I think our eyes must have popped out of our heads and our jaws hit the ground, not only at the request, but at who had made it. I looked at Michelle, who met my eye and just nodded. Not only was she fine with it, it was what she wanted.

I looked at Ian. He seemed almost exhilarated, an excitement behind his surprise, and I knew he was up for it. I sighed.

"OK, mate. Together. One... two... three."

We slipped our boxers to the floor and stood naked before the assembled group, looking into space.

I expected giggles and applause, but instead, there was silence. I glanced at the women, and saw that all eyes were directed at our cocks.

Georgia spoke first. "You're lucky, Michelle. He's very nicely proportioned. As long as he uses it well, I should think he keeps you happy."

"Oh yes," agreed Michelle, "he certainly does. I'm impressed with Ian too. Very nice. Of course, it's hard to tell while they're so... floppy."

There was a general murmur of agreement before Megan spoke up. "I think they should make themselves hard for us. What do you think?"

Again, more agreement. Then Cheryl spoke again. "I'd like a closer look before that. Is that OK?"

There was a little muttering, then a brief, whispered conversation, before they sat back. Michelle was the designated speaker - maybe because they knew that I would have no choice.

"You are to stand in front of each of us for penis inspection. We are allowed to look and touch as much as we want. If you get hard, you will have a punishment."

I stared at Michelle. A smile tweaked at her lips, but she kept her face stern. We had talked about swinging, and kinky sex, and agreed we'd like to try both - however, it had been one of those conversations which had seemed like fantasy, and never really been pursued. Apparently, she had decided to force the issue.

I stood in front of Georgia, who tittered merrily, looking at my manhood from all angles. Then she reached out and lifted it up. "You're very hairy," she opined, "I'm sure your balls are nice, but I can't really see them." She reached out and took my plums in her hand, weighing and squeezing them. I felt the first twitch, and knew she had noticed it, as she exclaimed, "Ooh!"

I moved on to Megan. My wife's twin sister. This seemed so wrong - but... Like her older sister, she looked, touched and commented. Another twitch. Then she told me to turn around. I did as directed, and she began to stroke and squeeze my buttocks, reaching between my legs for one final grab at my balls. I was definitely semi-hard, and it was obvious to everyone in the room, as my dick arched forward, like a banana, standing proud of my body.

In some ways, I was less concerned about this than I might have been, as I looked across at Ian. He was side-on to me, facing Michelle. As I watched, she ran a finger around the head of his penis, and ran a nail down his shaft to his balls. She glanced over at me, offering a secretive smile. Maybe I should feel jealous, but, in truth, I found it a huge turn on. As she reached around him, squeezing his bum, her mouth was mere centimetres from his semi-erection.

It was then that I knew I was going to be rock hard by the end of this 'examination' - as the women intended - and would be facing whatever punishment they fancied.

Cheryl was next - my little step-sister. She was in her mid-twenties, and, I assume, had plenty of sexual experience. All I knew was that she was fourteen when I left home, and I had only seen her since at family get-togethers with our parents. She had always seemed shy, and I could never imagine her getting it on with a man - but here we were.

She looked at my burgeoning cock and licked her lips. "I always wanted to see you naked," she whispered. "Shame I had to wait so long." As Michelle had with Ian, she reached around and squeezed my bum, pulling the cheeks wide. Unlike the other two, however, her lips did not stop short.

She made no effort to take me in her mouth, but her lips touched the head - they braced against it, keeping it from moving away, and causing me, finally, to be fully erect.

I moved on to Michelle, who, announcing that she was very familiar with what I had to offer, was satisfied with a quick stroke, dragging her nails along my length, and a quick kiss on the head.

Finally, PJ. She was so calm, looking first, then encircling my shaft with her dark brown hand. It looked incredibly erotic. I had never been with a woman of colour before, and the contrast of skin tones really hit the spot. She looked directly into my eyes and licked her lips, as if preparing for a succulent meal.

Finally, we were told to stand back. Ian and I were both fully erect. We glanced at one another, mainly competitively. We were, I decided, both similar lengths - seven or eight inches - but mine was definitely broader. His had a marked bend to the left, while mine was straight, and the head of his was more bulbous. Interesting, from an almost scientific perspective. We both had nice cocks, I decided.

"Look at you two," Megan scolded, "you were told not to get hard. Now you need a punishment. Can I make a suggestion?" They all nodded. "Well... most men I know like a shaved pussy. Some even insist on it. I don't know about you lot, but I like to see a shaved man. Makes things look bigger - and you don't get hairs in your teeth."

The group nodded. "In fairness," my loyal wife chirped up, "he doesn't mind too much. He likes it trimmed and neat. I shave because I like it." They nodded wisely.