0 comments/ 47977 views/ 3 favorites College Daze Ch. 1 By: A B Seass '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. And I discovered, to my chagrin, that I'd been fingering my own enormous prick: the way you do, instinctively, easing the stress. Something that no one else, fortunately, seemed to have noticed. Although I couldn't swear to even this, of course, given the camera. Linda returned to her chair, sipping her beer and smiling wryly, as she watched the wriggling Randy try to settle in across the table. Then she dealt the third hand. A hand which finally saw one of the girls -- Ginny! -- lose to Randy. Unfortunately, it also saw me stripped. Full stop. Starkers. Shrugging off my shirt, as the exuberant Ginny was arranging herself on all-fours, turning on the tabletop to present her firm round rump to Larry, and therefore to the camera. So I was naked, my huge cock out and wobbling, as she reached back -- still kibitzing and giggling -- to run her fingertips around the leg-holes of her panties: spreading the garment, releasing the elastic with an audible snap. Then she chanced to glance sideways, winking at me --only to do a grinning double-take and crane to peer over the edge of the table. 'Hey! He's naked! He should be the one up here!' 'You made the rules,' Linda laughed, now blouse-less, her "centrefold" breasts threatening to erupt out the skimpy demi-bra. 'I'll just have to get him on the forfeits!' 'You will?! Not if I get there first, honey. Je-sus, you were right -- he is hung.!' Linda chuckled, reaching out to start the timer. 'Shuddup, you -- I've started the clock.' Randy went to work, almost instantly finding a "weak spot". In that little crease where her shapely legs joined with, and began to swell into, her firm round tush. He could hardly have missed it, in fact, because she jerked the instant the "feather" made contact. Seemed to lift off the table. Ruthlessly, he stayed there -- had her quivering within seconds, then virtually vibrating. Until she simply collapsed, issuing a high-pitched shriek of laughter. 'Oh dear,' quipped Linda, smiling and sipping her beer. 'I do believe I smell blood.' Ginny sat back, faced flushed, but still grinning, and poked out her tongue at her room-mate -- while unbuttoning and shrugging off her blouse. Back she went, rocking slightly as she settled in on all-fours, and clearing her throat -- clearly trying to gather herself -- her huge boobs now right at my eye level, one nipple partially exposed, peeping over the top of the bra. And back he went. Right to those little creases, reducing her to a sweating twitching wreck within seconds -- and requesting her bra after she'd slumped forward suddenly, head on arms, giggling and muttering: 'You bastard. You absolute bastard!' Her boobs were fabulous, jouncing and tolling as she rocked, gnawing at her lower lip, her head thrown back. The muscles along her flank were taut, her back arched rigid and her nipples like miniature thumbs. Not once was this vision presented, but twice in barely more than a minute. The sole difference on the latter occasion being that her lush auburn pubic thatch was now exposed as well, so I was spoiled for choice. So entranced was I by the scene that I jumped, startled, when Linda's cool fingertips closed gently over the engorged tip of my thorbbing cock. 'I think she's done for, don't you?' Linda chortled. Sure enough, right on cue, Ginny exhaled in a loud gush, already giggling. 'Did I hear something about forfeits?' Randy asked, grinning. Linda nodded, walking her fingertips down my rock-hard shaft. 'Right, you,' Randy chuckled, whisking the duster across the suffused flesh of Ginny's lovely tush. 'Up you get...' The air was electric, scented with musk. Pussy musk! He could toy with her now, could make her huge breasts sway and jounce under his ministrations -- while she struggled to hang on, gnawing at her lower lip, head hanging down between her forearms. And he seemed to have found his voice as well...'Umh, that seems a good place'...along her flanks...'And there'...the underside of her ribcage...'How about those big boobs'...reaching over, dragging the "feathers" over her swollen nipple...and back, broadside down her stomach. Down she went, panting and gasping. 'And again. Up, up!' Chuckling mischievously as Ginny struggled to heave herself into the required position. The backs of her knees this time... down for a quick flick at the sole of each foot ...up, oh so slowly...inner thighs...through between: the tip teasing at her belly...drawing it back, the "feathers" running through her pubic thatch... I was gasping now. At the combination of the scene unfolding before my eyes and Linda's fingertips probing at my ballls, slipping around underneath them. He turned up the handle of the duster, mounting a direct assault on her pussy, pulling the "feathers" slowly across her swollen moist pussy lips themselves -- really putting it to her! So much so that Linda flinched involuntarily, closing her hand to cup my seething balls. 'Okay, okay,' Ginny gasped, flopping onto her side, legs drawn up. Randy could still reach the little crease at the base of her tush. And he did! Then he flicked his wrist, once, twice, three times -- and literally ripped the giggle from her. 'You bastard, you bastard,' she mumbled, giggling, and flopping onto her back, hands clasped together, palms flat: a gesture of supplication. 'Please! No more.' But Larry just laughed, flicked the duster across her heaving belly, made her twitch and giggle ...'Didn't I hear something about...?'...'Yes, mercy! For pity sake, mercy!' she interrupted, writhing...He went after her ribs, taunting -- 'But Mercy isn't at this table' -- his voice a passable imitation...'P-l-e-a-s-e,' she inhaled, her stomach tight and twitching, 'I'm begging you!...'Beg away,' he replied, 'but get those knees up and out. And keep your hands out of the way...' 'He's going to kill her,' Linda murmured, licking her lips. I tried to say "I doubt it", found the words strangled by her fingertips encircling and beginning to stroke my hard-on. He was doing her boobs, very tip on very tips -- so to speak...'Say uncle'...'Uncle!' Yet her torment went on, Randy grinning -- the bulge in his briefs now tent-poling his shirt as he worked her over...picking out her armpit...'P-l-e-a-s-e!'...the other armpit...'Make it pretty please'...'Can't!'...'So be it', criss-crossing her stomach...'Can't!' She was out of breath, hysterical, beyond control. 'On your head be it,' he teased, homing straight in on her juicy moist pussy...So that she sucked in wind, began swearing she would do anything, '...please, anything at all!' 'Oh, how the mighty have fallen,' Linda chortled, winking at me. I nodded frantically, unable to breathe myself. 'Such as what?' he taunted...'Anything!'...Then she grunted, and froze --feeling the finger from his free hand penetrating her pussy...'This?'...A short quick nod from her...'Even this?'...the finger sank up to the knuckle, seeming to lift her -- until her round tush was suspended above the tabletop...'Like that, do we?'...another curt nod...'How about this?' ...the duster tip dipped to her ribcage...her head began to flop from side to side, her face contorted. 'Oooh,' he winked at me. 'A twat spasm. And another.' And you could see them, rippling up her taut arched stomach, trembling through her straining limbs. He adjusted the duster, went after her boobs, her nipples -- in very slow brushing motions -- while his finger began to work inside her pussy: in-out, in-out, in-out, the middle knuckle appearing then disappearing, appearing then disappearing... her inner thighs gleaming with the juice from her pussy. 'I bet this has the boys jacking off,' Randy quipped. Ginger was very nearly there. As was I. When Linda seemed to come out of her reverie -- and, damnit, let go of my hot throbbing prick. So that my own rump thudded back onto the chair, stomach twitching, utterly bereft. 'And the girls,' Linda replied, giggling Just as the convulsions started for real, and Ginny bucked, shrieking: 'Oh jesus oh yes oh christ oh yes yes yes, oh j-e-s-u-s!!!!!' ' Ginny, still flushed, but grinning...having agreed to be Randy's slave for the weekend - "his ABJECT slave", to be precise... fetched us all a beer, then hovered, nipples hard as rocks, letting Larry finger her wet pussy -- while Linda, with the incentive of a slave of her own in the offing, took the next hand, stripping Larry, and keeping me on tenterhooks for yet another hand. Which I had to play standing up, my rock-hard cock and balls now competing with Ginny for the attention of the unseen audience... 'What do I get if I make him come?' Linda wanted to know. It was hard on that tabletop. Hard and cold. A strain to hold the position, legs up and out, held there by a sweaty hand clasping each calf. But the tension in my aching lower back was nothing compared to having that damned duster "sawing" slowly back-and-forth, the feathers caressing my quivering cock and hypersensitive balls, the tip reaching well beyond my navel before receding again: causing me to quiver and groan... The growing ripples encouraged by her hand, encircling the base of my hard-on, and squeezing every so gently at sporadic intervals. Larry's answer was a grunt. I turned my head, watching as Ginny's mouth closed over his hard curving shaft, began to move, blowing him in long slow delicious-looking strokes, gaining speed, taking him deeper and deeper. 'Masturbate.' Linda's voice penetrated my haze-filled reverie. 'What?' I gasped. 'Wank. Jack off.' She grinned down between my splayed legs, continuing her slow oh so slow oh so delectable sawing at my inflamed balls and seething hot prick: every "feather" a new sensational, distinguishable from the last. 'When you cum I'm going to make you suck my pussy, then wank for the camera -- then I'm going to fuck you stupid, and you're going to wank again for the...' she gave me one of her adept little squeezes, 'Oooooh!' Fantastic! Absolutely spectacular! An arc of molten spunk erupted and pumped and pumped and pumped...As it turned later, somehow contriving to miss the duster, while overcoming gravity enough to leave splatters right up under my chin. And that certainly wasn't the last time the unseen audience got to see my spunk spurt and arc that weekend..! To Be Continued... College Daze Ch. 2 Tall, svelte rather than slender, great tits, a fantastic ass and long shapely legs made even better by the spike heels. Green eyes prone to twinkle, under a mass of close-cropped curly auburn hair. Okay, she was 40-ish, but the hair colour was natural. I could say this categorically because she was naked -- except for the heels that is -- and the shade of the lush pubic curls matched the hair on her head exactly. As the elevator doors rattled closed, I reached over and gently squeezed her rearend. She tensed immediately. Correction, she "tightened", deliberately. Believe me, she was in no distress whatever. Quite the contrary. She flicked me a sidelong smile -- a GENUINE smile. Nor did she need to "tighten". Her ass was firm enough without...well, why belabour the obvious? In short, despite her age, Riki was a fox. And I could keep her naked -- squeeze her ass -- in fact, I could do whatever I liked with her. ANYTHING I liked. Because I'd just won her in a poker game. Well, sort of. Maybe I should explain... A few weeks previously, my grandfather had passed away: bequeathing me the apartment block. According to the Will, I could do anything I wanted with the apartments also -- except sell them. At least not until I graduated. It seemed my grandfather thought the responsibility would teach me something about business, while paying for my education. There were only 8 apartments in the building. Older, but airy and well-maintained. Rather pleasant places in a not-bad location. Today was the first time I'd been around to collect the rents. Nice tenants -- two real lookers (fellow students) sharing number 202: either of whom would've been more than enough to give me a hard-on. And had...certainly on one notable occasion. (But that's another story) Then 301. Forget the last name. That was unpronounceable. Laslo was 50-odd: short, dark, muscular, more than slightly inebriated, but quick and funny. Charming, always charming. Riki was the tall shapely redhead: clearly enroute to bed when I arrived, partially undressed, and now she was wandering about in an open bathrobe over one of those short black slips. The stiletto heeled slippers would have been a bit much on most women her age. But not her. From the carnage it was obvious a poker game of some duration had only just finished. Riki cleared a place where I could sit, at the cluttered table, then brought me a beer. A little early for me, as a rule -- but who was going to argue? Besides, I needed the moisture -- kept having to clear my throat. Meanwhile, Laslo sat opposite, shuffling the cards idly -- making small talk for a time (what a great old guy my grandfather was, etc), before offering to "play me for the rent". Seemed he hadn't done very well overnight. I was about to refuse, when Riki nonchalantly shrugged off her robe and folded it neatly onto the table in front -- letting her slim fingers caress the fabric, and smiling provocatively, while she asked how much I'd put up against this garment. '20', I mumbled, taking a deep swallow of the beer...'50', Laslo replied promptly, while Riki took a chair herself -- angling toward me and crossing her fabulous legs. We debated the issue for a time, until Riki chuckled and said she couldn't possibly let it go for under $30, "all things considered". Nodding, I sipped my beer. Then, for something to say, I asked: 'Eastern European?' 'Slovak,' Laslo answered, chuckling. 'Riki is. I'm purebred Magyar.' Whatever he was, his luck didn't improve. So Riki nonchalantly peeled the slip up and off, adjusting the straps on her fully-laden bra as she folded the slip atop the robe. Then she fetched each of us a fresh beer. I NEEDED one. Laslo was beyond caring one way or the other. Two hands later she was out of the bra, her tits undulating beautifully -- the nipples hard as rocks: in blatant competition with my cock! And when the time came, she was every bit as relaxed about sliding off her panties. Believe you me, I had a very uncomfortable bulge in my pants by then. Just as I did when we left the pissed Laslo singing in his chair, and passed down the empty corridor to the elevator. Which, of course, is where I'd left off... You probably won't be surprised to hear that I left my hand on her gorgeous naked ass during the entire descent of the elevator. In fact, my fingers did a little wandering -- stroking the cool firm flesh, easing down and through between her thighs, which she parted slightly to allow me access. So I was positioned to insert a fingertip into her twat as the elevator shuttered to a stop. Just the tip, mind. And was she wet! Soaking wet!-- the muscles working instinctively to pull my digit up inside! -- the tremor genuine, confirmed by the sharp soft gasp! And by the distinctive sharp musk odour in the small space. Then the doors opened, and I pulled my finger out -- literally. She chuckled and I grinned at the soft tight "plop". We stepped out, her heels clicking on the concrete floor: unnaturally loud in the confined space of the small underground garage. I left my hand on her ass, gently guiding her toward my car. She didn't seem in the least concerned that someone might see her -- that someone else might already be there, or might drive in, or walk in from the laundry room on the same level. She was as horny as I was, to that stage where "who gives a damn". I unlocked the passenger door, held it for her: savouring the toll of her tits and the scent of her as she slipped by me and folded neatly into the seat. Rounding the car quickly, my hard-on seething inside my pants, I climbed into the drivers seat. She chuckled again, asking if I minded -- holding up the cigarettes she'd been carrying in her hand. She had one lit by the time I'd wheeled us out onto the road. Apparently oblivious to the other drivers and pedestrians outside, she cocked her right knee, bracing the heel of the slipper against the dashboard. It was impossible to concentrate, to NOT glance sidelong at her exposed inner thigh -- and her dewy twat. The smell of her sex was overpowering, enough to make me light-headed. 'Where are we going?' she asked, lightly, her accent enchanting. 'I'm hungry.' I cleared my throat, flicked her a wink. 'There's a Drive Thru not far away.' 'Is it your intention to show me off then?' she chuckled quietly. 'To attempt to humiliate me?' Either she was a better bluffer than the inebriated Laslo, or she honestly didn't care. Which? 'Is there any reason I shouldn't? Show you off, I mean?' 'None whatever. I am yours to do with as you wish.' She grinned wickedly, her entire demeanour at odds with her formal way of speaking. 'And if you think anyone would be interested in an OLD woman...?' She broke off, shrugging. Which set off her tits again. Very distracting. Swallowing, to moisten my throat, I said: 'And you wouldn't mind?' 'It's not for me to mind, or not.' I couldn't figure her out. I really couldn't. We were stopped at a light, so I had ample time to study her. But it was impossible to tell if she was a devoted nudist and-or-exhibitionist, because being a redhead -- her flesh milky white -- there were no tan-lines, or absence of same. As if reading my mind, she smiled and said: 'It's is one of life's lessons that when you owe money you are obligated -- and some people will exploit that obligation to the fullest extent possible.' I was about to protest, to say I wasn't like that -- not really -- but someone was banging. Thudding on the roof of the car? What the hell... Then I opened my eyes and realized I'd been dreaming! And I had the hard-on to prove it! Not to mention that little pool of cum near my navel. Jesus... a full-blown wetdream! I hadn't had one of those since high school. And now I couldn't even jack off to finish the process. Blinking, I sat up, blurry-eyed, and called: 'Okay, okay -- I'm coming'. Which was near enough the truth, or had been. But at least whoever was on the doorstep stopped knocking. I found a pair of gaunch and jeans, easing them on over my gradually fading hard-on, and was tugging on the teeshirt as I staggered into the livingroom -- where the carnage from the poker game was strewn about on the table. And THAT explained part of the dream. But why Riki? Opening the door, I came face to face with the real Riki. Every bit the fox she'd been in my dream, even dressed -- in casual jeans and an outsized sweatshirt. In that instant I understood. Laslo and Riki collected the rents for my grandfather, who was still alive -- and I owed THEM, HAD PROMISED THEM FAITHFULLY I'D PAY UP BY TODAY! 'Umh?' I mumbled, flushing crimson. 'You'd better come in.' She did, her tits undulating beneath the sweatshirt. 'I see you've been playing poker again.' There was no hint of censure in her accented voice. Nor in her faint smile. There was an inch or so of beer left in one of the bottles on the table. I drained it off. Even warm, and flat, it seemed to help. Setting down the bottle, I sat down -- as much to hide the renewed bulge in my jeans as anything. 'I know I said I'd pay today.' I shrugged, feeling the flush rise on my cheeks. And no, I didn't think about IT. I really didn't. In fact, it shocked me when I heard my own voice say: 'Tell you what, I'll play you for it.' She arched one eyebrow, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth and twinkling in her green eyes. Ever noticed how some things just take on a life of their own? This did. Must have. Because next I knew I was peeling my teeshirt up and off, asking what she'd 'bid for this,' as I laid the bunched shirt on the table. Then I thought I'd made one helluva of a mistake!-- that when she did say something, finally, I was going to be terminally mortified by her response. Which, of course, was exactly what I deserved. And when the green eyes did rise from what was visible of my naked torso above the tabletop, I squirmed, sweating profusely... So, ridiculous or not, you can imagine the relief when she folded elegantly onto the chair opposite and said: 'I think $50 per garment would be appropriate,' her smile broadened, 'under two conditions.' Swallowing, hard, I said: 'Okay. And they are?' 'First, that you cannot quit until you have won back the full amount of the outstanding rent.' She lit a cigarette, fishing out an ashtray from amongst the clutter. 'Second, that you provide me with some suitable beverage?' 'Beer?' At her nod, I jumped up and ran into the kitchen. While I was fetching the beer, she'd organized the game: blue chips for her, white for me -- each chip worth $10. (Which meant I needed to acquire 30 blue chips to end the game)'And what will Laslo say when you don't have the rent money?' I said, chuckling, trying to sound confident that MY luck would change. 'Laslo has gone to the old country for his uncle's funeral,' she replied, grinning -- and started to deal... While we played, she chatted away -- about the weather, the state of the economy -- about topics having nothing whatever to do with the situation. She was amusing, good for a laugh. I loved her accent and her formal speech patterns, and found myself relaxing. Almost as a footnote I counted only 4 blue chips -- and of course there was no way to hide the bulge in my gaunch -- once I'd stood up and slid off my jeans. She liked that: her nipples prominent through the sweatshirt, her green eyes taking on that shimmery quality. But her conversation never changed. Nor her approach. Had our roles been reversed -- had my dream come true -- I'd've been drooling! 13 was not my lucky number. It still left far too many chips to win, I thought, as I padded into the kitchen and back to fetch more beer -- buck naked now, my hard-on swaying and jouncing with every move. Maybe my being naked distracted her. Maybe my luck changed. Maybe...maybe...maybe. Whatever it was, I managed to double the number of blue chips in front of me... Which was how my dream came true. Well, sort of. With her sweatshirt pushed up...(no bra, as you'd no doubt surmised)...her tits were indeed fabulous: the nipples taut between my fingertips. With her jeans and panties on the floor beside the chair...her pubes were indeed lush and thick, and a perfect match for the auburn hair on her head. With her long shapely legs resting on my shoulders...her twat was indeed oozing, and her musk scent intoxicating. But once the shudders started to traverse her body, her sophisticated formal language gave way somewhat. 'Oh yes, hell!' Her slim fingeertips wrapped in my hair, pulling my tongue into her splayed thighs, her twat, her hard quivering clit. 'Oh yes-yes-yes, Jesus fucking christ!' And the shudders grew into convulsions, then one long convulsion: arching her rearend clear off the chair, her legs an anaconda-like vise around my head. A delicious series of sensations that went on and on and on... 'Do please keep your hands on your thighs.' Easier said than done this: on my back on the tabletop, knees drawn up and apart -- her slim cool fingertips lightly traversing my quivering hard-on, pausing briefly to dip into the engorged tip, then rising to her lips for a playful lick, before returning, moist now, resuming their progress downwards. Not to mention her amused grin, which I could see clearly by arching my neck to look between my knees. 'I do believe you're 4 chips short?' I was trembling, both inside and out -- gritting my teeth... ('You're not planning to ejaculate prematurally, I trust?')...and that was before she began to fondle my balls! 'I do enjoy the feel of perspiration on a man's testicles.' Her free hand came into play: encircling my hard-on, squeezing gently, starting to stroke me slowly. 'Our suite could do with a good clean, actually? Windows washed, that sort of thing? ALSO a coat of paint would not go amiss. I think perhaps it is about 4 days worth of work. And I think I might enjoy WATCHING it being done for me?' "Watching"? Naked, then. Taking the elevator ride in reverse? Two quicker strokes encouraged me. 'You got it,' I managed to murmur...just milliseconds before my spine melted, switching off the lights -- my spunk shooting clear up to my chin!!! College Daze Ch. 3 Crazy! Completely, utterly insane. Glancing up at the unblinking camera attached to the wall opposite, near the ceiling, I swallowed -- hard. Every 10 seconds it would snap a picture, relentlessly: transferring the image captured to anyone with a computer, just as it would to the open laptop near my right elbow. 6:58. Two minutes. I took a deep swallow of my beer, needed the moisture. Isn't it ridiculous how almost all of you can be wet, and your mouth dry as dust simultaneously? "Ridiculous" was another excellent word. To sit here, for five hours!-letting god knows how many people watch!-while god knew how many women took runs at me! How on earth had I got myself into this mess? But of course I knew that answer to that one. Only too well. She'd bought me, plain and simple. 'And what's in it for me?' 'All you can eat, and drink. And me, of course -- any way you want, provided you're good enough to stave off the competition. But if you're not, well, you're just gonna have to bite the bullet and display all you got to the whole wide world. And the rest -- whatever the rest may be.' She'd added a quick nibble on my earlobe, in course of which she mentioned a sum of money I found more than acceptable -- 'win or lose' -- before she slid quickly out of the booth, pausing to drain off her beer. 'In short, I'm offering you business combined with pleasure. So what do you say?' All while I was still waiting to inherit from grandfather. Bit of a problem this "waiting to inherit" stuff...it encourages you to spend money you don't actually have. Besides, I'd been on a privatecam site before (with Ginger and Linda...oh, and Randy). So I'd nodded, grinning. 'Good! Email me via the site in the morning and I'll send you the address. Bye.' 6:59! Palm slippery on the beer bottle. Or perhaps the bottle was damp? Regardless, the contents were helpful and I consumed another sizeable quantity. . Forcing me to email for the address had ensured that I would visit the site. Not that I wouldn't have anyway! "Erect"..."Member" indeed! Believe me when I say that was more than a login and password combination -- more even than her "private joke" -- IT had been all of that, all night long. And, being a Marketing student, she'd been good to her word about the hype: The LIVE CAM image when I'd entered was Alicia, still in bed, obviously practising a spot of self help. Albeit with the sheet pulled up, looping down just enough to expose her pert round right breast. Under this delightful vision was a write-up... One for the ladies?! I've met this truly HUNKY guy. He's coming over tonight...7 pm sharp!!! And I just can't stop fantasizing about him, about what's going to happen ...I've been fantasizing about it all night long! You see, he thinks he's a chess player. But is he??? He's marginally better than I am...Maybe... Another image had been superimposed here...of a chessboard set up, waiting, on the diningroom table... So I've challenged him, on your behalf! STRIP chess... no quarter asked, nor given. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. For Him!!! YOU can "expose" him for what he is!!! The rules are simple: * if he beats you once, you're out *if he holds you to three draws in a row, you're out (although you're still welcome to look on and cheer, of course) BUT... * beat him, and choose what he discards * beat him three times, any or all of you ...And we can ALL share in the fun After all...all girls together, eh??? > GAME GOES TIL MIDNIGHT, REGARDLESS ... so let those fantasies roll FREE MEMBERSHIPS FOR ALL FEMALES, TONIGHT ONLY, 7 PM TO MIDNIGHT! REMINDER: THERE ARE NO 'PROFESSIONALS' USED ON THIS SITE... :-)! All told, it had been incentive enough for me to start the day with a quick wank of my own. A not very discreet, quite emphatic wank as it happened... Not that I need've worried about losing my edge, as it were. I was decidedly randy as I sat there, taking deep swallows of beer, waiting for the clock inset in the laptop to tick over to 7 pm... I have to admit it took a little time to get used to again...Having the camera pointing down ... And having the image from said camera, constantly changing, taking up half the screen on the laptop... While my challenger's moves, via the CHAT ROOM facility on the site, came up on the other half of the monitor every 90 seconds or less. And yes, it was different to be there on my own. Without the incentive and distraction of real live women in the room. But fortunately, the first three challengers proved to be fodder. So much so that my confidence grew considerably. I began to relax, actually enjoy myself. I even more or less forgot about the camera -- just as Alice had said I would -- and even the image of myself on the half-monitor became less disconcerting. Though not enough that I wasn't careful, one might even say discreet, when I unzipped my jeans: just to ease some of the pressure caused by my throbbing hard-on. And did that feel good! So much so that I also risked the tiny catch, and plucked from time to time at the thick elastic of my briefs -- not hard: just enough to let the cooling air in from time to time. To chill out, as it were. Reduce some of the irritating effects of perspiration -- you know, expecially down around the balls. Sherry, however, was another matter entirely. She was ruthless, and innovative. An offensive-minded opponent who pressed continuously. The sort who can create mistakes. And I felt obliged to concentrate, to ignore the perspiration as best I could. In fact, I was fortunate to hold her to draws in the first two games. Then she beat me -- slicing open my defences with a brilliant move from which I simply couldn't recover. I smiled, reading the congratulatory messages addressed to her in the abruptly active CHAT ROOM. In fact, I was in the process of peeling off my teeshirt, already had the hem very nearly up to obscure my view of the monitor, when she stopped me: S: No-no, not the shirt. The jeans, if you please. Amusing that, "if you please". Not only clever, but a sense of humour into the bargain. Why not? Damned jeans were a pain anyway. Too tight. Too confining. So, shrugging and smiling, I unbuckled the belt and hefted my rearend the inch or so necessary to slide off the jeans. Of course the briefs went a little askew in the process. Causing a moment of panic...What if they can see past the edge of the table?!...But of course they couldn't: a fact I confirmed when I bent down to table level on the pretence of collecting my jeans for holding up. So all that was required were some adjustments and discreet wriggling about -- while the bulge tenting the hem of the teeshirt, despite the constraints of my briefs, was outrageous. But the air on my legs was a welcome relief. And the air wafting around my balls and cock positively delicious. I even toyed with the idea of tucking the elastic down and under my balls, decided against it, finally. The clock read '8:12'. And the relief was short-lived. There was simply no escaping the pressure applied by Sherry. I mean, she really had me sweating, especially during the second game after her victory: when she actually had me again...Until she left me the single small opening I needed to go on the offensive long enough to eek out another draw. After which, the third successive draw was relatively easy. I was using the hem of the teeshirt to mop perspiration from my neck and forehead, chuckling mentally at the image this would produce, when the phone rang. Confused, I looked around -- eventually locating it on the coffetable in the adjoining livingroom. It was Alice, her teasing tone laced with amusement. 'I really thought she had you on the ropes there.' Flopping on the sofa, legs up and back braced against the padded arm, I smiled and said: 'Sorry to disappoint you.' 'Oh, it's early yet.' She chuckled. Ever noticed that briefs never have enough fabric? If you pull up that thick band of elastic to cover the tip of your cock, your balls are caught in a vice. If you ease the tension down there, you wind up with your cock pinched by the elastic. I'd been noticing this for some time now, of course -- was growing used to discreetly easing things about, using the tabletop as a screen, to compensate. So I was taking a swig of my beer when the altered note in Alice's chuckle alerted me. To something. But what?! Glancing over, I found myself staring into another camera... "Bedroom, diningroom, kitchen, bathroom and livingroom," she'd said. ...Christ! I'd forgotten. Worse, my right hand was inside my briefs, via the stretched leg-hole, fondling my swollen hypersensistive balls. And it had been delicious, relaxing. Now it was nightmare!-the room temperature shooting up toward critical! 'Don't feel too bad,' Alice chuckled -- a low throaty chuckle that seemed to go down my arm and hand to my balls, 'you've just increased my membership considerably. Now stop playing with yourself and get back to work...' Unnerved by the image on the computer -- well, unnerved and turned-on, to be honest -- I took a few moments to pad into the kitchen, quickly snatching two more beer from the fridge, using the time to gather myself. Even so, I made rather a meal of the next game. Although I still managed to despatch that particular challenger, and two or three others in quickish succession. So life was good again. I was relaxed, enjoying myself...Plucking at the briefs, reaching inside to finger my hard-on, even raising my beer to the camera in a mock toast. Until Linda. Hard work was Linda. Another aggressive opponent. Although I did manage a draw against her in game one, before she caught me out -- and pressed home her advantage. Once again there was the outburst of enthusiasm in the CHAT ROOM. "9:27". Too early. But as there was nothing for it... Besides, they'd already seen my stomach and pecs -- several times... I was once again peeling off the teeshirt -- now damp as well from the perspiration -- when the following message flashed across the screen: L: Not the shirt -- the briefs! Okay-okay. Don't get your panties in a twist! If you're wearing any, that is. Interesting thought that...Linda sitting out there, starkers -- safe in her anonymity: maybe fingering her moist swollen pussy... I coughed, clearing my throat. The damned things were restrictive as hell anyway. Besides, they were easier than the jeans. No buckles, no tiny catches. Just heft and peel. A little chilly, mind -- the first time warm bare flesh touches down on a seat -- and my hard-on now threatened to burst the front of the teeshirt. But there was lovely cooling air wafting up my legs, brushing over my thighs, carressing my balls. And when I plucked out the hem of the teeshirt slightly -- well, it was heavenly...It really was! Linda was lying in wait, however. With or without panties. The threat of her expertise augmented by the need to remember to corral my own cock and balls in one hand whenever I came out of the seat enough to move her piece on the board. All told, something of a feat of concentration to stave her off effectively. Concentration that was destroyed utterly when, during game three following her victory, I happened to glance at the image on the monitor for the first time since we'd resumed play. To discover that in easing my own stress I'd tucked the hem of the teeshirt in between my hard-on and my lower belly -- and that my fingers were in fact fingering only the engorged tip of my cock...So that when I'd risen to make her move for her, my balls and most of my throbbing shaft were fully exposed. Shocked, I stared at the monitor -- or more precisely, my own exposed genitals -- and yes, I was wondering just how many people were relishing the view -- and would go on relishing this particular view for another - what?-30 seconds?-40? And how many times had I flashed all I had already? Completely non-plussed, I took a deep swallow of my beer, willing the image to "refresh". Now! Only of course it didn't. And of course Linda noted my discomfiture, exploiting it ruthlessly -- the bitch -- just as I would've done had our roles been reversed. L: NOW THAT'S A PRIZE WORTH PLAYING FOR!!! The result of all this being that the clock had very nearly run out before I realized it, forcing me into a hasty move. A hasty incautious move. Which she again took full advantage of -- thus placing me under massive pressure. So that I was really squirming, and wriggling, and sweating. And constantly tucking the teeshirt between my thighs, around my balls -- which was not only uncomfortable, but also must've amused my unseen audience no end. It certainly would've amused me: watching some woman, some guy for that matter...The poor bitch or sod being pushed around, terrified at the prospect of having to strip naked... And when I did finally manage to force a draw -- Whew! -- I was wrung out. I mean spent. Not to mention out of beer. Which required a trip into the kitchen, to the fridge, my enormous quivering hard-on tolling and metronoming and bouncing about inside the teeshirt every step of the way. But it felt wonderful, cool tile floor under bare feet...The chill air from the open fridge... So I lingered there, gathering myself, opening and swigging from the fresh cold beer -- idly scratching at that annoying itch which perspiration sets up once it gets into your pubic hair, fondling my balls and cock...relaxing. Holding up the hem of the teeshirt, waving it about -- the way you do -- to create a bit of breeze. All the while there was the kitchen camera, unblinking -- capturing image after image... One of which, albeit in silhouette, with my cock curved out in full view, greeted me when I returned to the "hot-seat" and happened to glance up after checking the time -- "10:02". Then, still not recovered from the shock -- heart-pounding and mouth dry -- it was Sherry. S: I know I've had my go. But I've been watching, closely, and I've worked out your weakness. Are you up for a re-challenge? In a moment of weakness, not thinking clearly -- face it, embarrassed and turned-on at the same time, I nodded my consent.. She was good to her word. I finally lost the shirt, literally... The CHAT ROOM traffic was spectacular. I stood there, erection curved hot and taut to my lower belly, relieved. Yes, relieved. Actually chuckling as I read the chatter and sipped my beer. Until one particular message caught my eye. To wit: T: Don't let him sit down to play. You've got him on the rack, s-t-r-e-t-c-h him Swallowing, hard, the beer bottle frozen in mid-air, I focussed on the clock. "10:17"! Forfeits!? Sherry with her blood up, confidence flourishing...And almost two hours to work me over. The equation, when it registered, send such a jolt of electricity through me I almost ejaculated on the spot. I had to sit down, and did. S: Did I say you could sit down? Stand up, if you please. Excessively polite bitch..! Impossible. Standing there in front of god knew how many prying eyes, trying to concentrate. Sherry knowing the "aces" she held -- going straight for the jugular, or rather the artery farther down: the one that throbs through your cock -- tormenting me continuously in the process. S: Rook to Queen 6. Should I demand he shave those lovely balls of his? Lean across, hard-on brushing across my stomach -- wobbling and jouncing -- to make her move for her. Straighten up...concentrate! For Christ's sake!-why did you do that?! S: Bishop to King's Knight 5. Or should I "administer" a spanking? H: How would you do that? Hand trembling...Damn! Think. Umh..? S: I saw a large wooden spoon in the kitchen. We'll be able to tell whether or he's "applying" himself properly by the reddish tinge on his lovely tush. Nice move...turn around and show us your lovely tush again while I think this through. Turning back again, hard-on swaying -- well, I needed to keep her "sweet", didn't I? -- to find yet more chatter: T: I vote for shaving. All that lather slithering and oozing... :-)! H: Or we could have someone else administer the penance??? L: Now there's an idea... S: Knight to King 6. Check. I groaned, leaning across, one hand cupping my cock and balls, to tighten the noose around my own neck. L: Don't let him hold himself like that. S: Agreed. Don't touch yourself, please. A noose she cinched tighter and tighter and tighter... In fact, it was a noose she was make the most of -- taking me three times in succession -- each time reserving judgement, keeping me sweating, letting my already over-active imagination fester. Until... I knew who was at the door before I opened it. Well, who else could it be? Alice grinned, reaching down and cupping my cock-and-balls. 'So, they left it up to you,' she teased, her fingertips worked me over, forcing me onto tiptoe as I backed awkwardly into the apartment, into the livingroom. 'Do I get the razor first?-or the wooden spoon? Oh,' a little squeeze for emphasis, 'and remember to smile pretty for the camera.' At which point, I lost the battle. Gave vent to an ejaculation like Old Faithful. One sharp enough and hard enough to wobble my knees, and take my vision away -- and which seemed to go on and on and on...As it turned out arcing my spunk onto her, the front of her coat, even her bare shapely tanned legs. So that I was no sooner recovering my breath, sort of...At least my vision was clearing somewhat, enough to see her to see her pointing down, at her shoes, smiling...'Naughty boy. Naughty naughty boy. Before we even start I think you'd better clean that up, don't you? So down you go and lick it off...'