****** Losing Streak by Steven Luria ******
===============================================================================

Losing Streak

Author's note (re. "Losing Streak", copyright 1999): This is a story about a
rite of passage, a formative event in the conversion of barely-acknowledged
fantasy and potential into honest acceptance. I draw upon my own enthusiastic
transition to an embracing of psycho-erotic elements that I had been able to
talk about, but in action, had always pushed aside to distrusted little corners
of my psyche. Thanks to a friend, I've been able to discover a forgotten garden
of delight in unlocking those potentials, and that's the discovery this story
is about. I've changed small details in the transcription of events for
purposes of unity, coherence, and discretion: in the following, names and other
details that could be used to reveal the identity of the woman in the story
have been altered or left out for the purpose of protecting her from unwanted
attention. If upon reading this tale you'd like to contact me, my e- mail is
sluria@hotmail.com and I'd be happy to hear from you. Of course, if you don't
want to read about such themes as heterosexual play, foot-fetishism,
domination/submission, and bodily excretions, then you won't want to read this.
Still interested? Great! Please, enjoy. -S.L.

"Busted!" Midori sang cheerfully, collecting my cards. "I win again."

I couldn't believe the run of shit luck I was having, just as it seemed the
gods had begun to smile benevolently, yes, even beam magnanimously in my
direction. Midori chuckled to herself and started shuffling as I removed yet
another article of my clothing and added it to the growing pile beside me.

We had gone out a few times with a other people since first meeting several
months ago in one of the capital bars. Nothing had led me to believe there was
any great chemistry, just a friendly connection. Still, nothing wrong with
that. I liked Midori. She was a flirt and seemed to enjoy trying to shock, but
the flirting had only ever gone so far. I'd never been able to sense any
seriousness to her intentions insofar as I was concerned.

Today it had been hot and sunny, and we'd hooked up with another few friends to
go swimming at one of the south mainland beaches. That had been the first time
I'd learned what Midori's body actually looked like and was able to appreciate
what I was missing. She was by no means a tall woman -- probably about average
height for a Japanese. She had full lips, black eyes that shone with good
humour, and unusually chubby cheeks that brought to mind a couple of shiny
apples when she smiled. Her medium length straight black hair was cut smartly
just above her shoulders and framed her round face like silk curtains. Her
hands and feet were small, and just a little bit chunky. Yes, she had more fat
on her body than most Asians to be sure, but as I discovered today -- without
meaning to study her -- it was distributed in all the best imaginable ways:
smooth, strong- looking thighs, a flat belly, full breasts, and a nice, rounded
ass. All of these were reasons why my former resignation had turned quickly to
excitement and optimism for the evening's prospects when after leaving our
friends and returning to my apartment, Midori actually suggested we play a game
of strip poker.

For the life of me I can't remember how the subject was first broached, and I
wish I could tell you, to give this story the verisimilitude it is due, but
alas, this is a true story, and in true stories, failings of memory must be
admitted. I can surmise we'd been talking of games, and I had mentioned it by
way of comparison of our cultures and their quirks, no doubt hoping for a bit
of Midori's teasing, flirtatious repartee (the best I would have been able to
expect), but she had surprised me by asking me to explain the game in detail,
rather than leaving it to safely drop.

"Don't you know of it?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it, like in movies, but I don't know how you play."

Well, the door was being held open for me -- almost with a knowing wink if I
were not mistaken, so I gave her the gist of the game, and then she practically
floored me by suggesting we try it. I am not normally such a poor judge of
character, but Midori -- she had a particular unreadability.

In fact, I was no card player and could barely remember the correct order of
winning poker hands; nor had I had any previous occasion to play strip poker -
- an oversight in my sexual education perhaps, or simply the result of growing
up in an era when such a game, along with "twister", and "spin the bottle", was
regarded as a quaint relic of a generation that humorously idealized "free
love" and "dropping out". But sixties fashions, minus the political naivete,
were enjoying a popular, if tongue-in-cheek renaissance. Why not also this,
tonight? Feeling a bit silly would be a small price to pay for seeing more of
Midori's lovely body -- perhaps all of it.

Thanks to our mutual ignorance of winning poker hands, we opted for strip
"black jack" poker, and to my delight, Midori also was unfamiliar with that
simple game. As I discovered during our few practice hands, she had little idea
of where statistically acceptable risk lay, and played on what appeared to be
almost whimsical hunches: I was sure to see her naked in no time!

Midori dealt another round: Eight down, king up for me. She had a seven
showing. "Stick or hit?" she asked, smiling. She was enjoying using her new
poker vocabulary. "Couldn't be better," I said. "I'm sticking with this." She
dealt herself another, keeping it down, just to keep me from knowing when I had
her or not. If she were cagey, she'd let me see them and study my reactions,
but this was her first game. My luck had to be turning around eventually! I was
down to my boxers and a T-shirt, while she sat there comfortably still her
jeans, a T, her bra underneath, a couple of rings, wristwatch, and one sock.
The other sock represented her only lost hand so far.

"I'm sticking too," Midori said at last, smiling, and we turned over our cards.
Hers was an ace. Midori clapped her hands and cheered. "Tie goes to the
dealer!"

Unbelievable! What irked me even more than losing so many hands in a row was
that she was winning with what I thought of as such foolish play. What was she
thinking, sticking like that with me showing 10? Off came my T-shirt. One more
lost hand and I'd get to see no more bare flesh on Midori than her toes before
we were done. I'd seen far more earlier in the day.

The next hand went to me, however -- finally -- and Midori peeled off her other
sock and tossed it at me in mock irritation. "That's it," I joked, "I'm winning
the rest of them." I'd been talking the talk since we'd begun with none of it
getting me anywhere.

"I don't know..." she laughed, and dealt me another wretched hand. This time I
busted trying to build from a 12 score and that was it. As I saw the fatal card
land, my heart sank a bit at the abrupt finish to what had sounded like it
would be much more fun for me. Oh well, we'd at least have a little fun with my
final capitulation, as Midori was obviously delighted she was going to see me
in the complete buff. I sportingly burlesqued a bit of a dance for her as I
slid my boxers down and posed, laughing. I was only a little aroused, not at
all erect, but Midori seemed happy with what she saw.

I sat down again. "Well, you won. Now what do we do? Play something else?"

"No, let's keep playing this!" she said.

I laughed. "Okay, that's great with me, but what am I supposed to do if I lose
again? I've got nothing more to take off!"

"Hmmm. I know: If you lose again, you have to do something for me."

"Oh? Like what."

"Like... I don't know but how about you start with give me a massage? She
cocked her head and put a hand to her shoulder. That would be so nice."

"Yeah, IF you win again," I said, picking up the deck and shuffling.

I managed to win the next round and smiled as she took off her shirt.

"I don't need this for massage," she said cockily.

Sure enough, I lost another round. "How do you want to be?" I asked her.

Midori thought for a moment and lay down on her stomach. "Mmmm," she sighed as
I knelt beside her, working my thumbs into her muscles. Her back was
surprisingly strong and she liked it deep. This was actually turning me on as I
felt very aware of my nakedness and of her head turned toward me, watching. My
cock hung still flaccid, but dangled heavily and longer than usual between my
thighs as I leaned into her and felt her hot skin dampen and her muscles loosen
under my handiwork. I've always enjoyed giving massages; it's something I know
I'm good at, going back to my rock climbing days when I had to know how to
massage, to keep my own muscles loose.

After about 10 minutes, she said it was enough, and I sat across from her again
as she turned on her side and curled her legs half under her, raising herself
with a deep sigh. We played again, and I lost again. I shook my head. "Okay,
Midori, what'll it be this time?"

Midori looked upward and put a finger to her chin as she smiled in brief
pretense of considering the matter. She'd obviously already decided. "Hmmm...
foot massage!" And with that she extended a leg and pointed her foot
expectantly toward me. I'm not predominantly focussed on them, but I can get
turned on by a woman's feet, and this struck me now as a very erotic gesture.
My conspicuously visible cock started responding almost immediately. Midori was
close enough that her foot almost touched my chest, and as I reached awkwardly
for it, she lifted it higher, teasingly grazing my cheek with her instep before
I caught her ankle tightly and started tickling her with my free hand.

"Nooo!" Midori squealed, kicking free. "Be NICE! Or I'll make you do something
NOT nice, next time you lose." Midori reclined comfortably and rested her feet
in my lap, watching me as I worked my thumbs into them. They too gradually
responded to the penetrating pressure and heat of my hands. I worked on first
one, then the other. Her feet became softer, hotter, and soon slippery with
perspiration. My cock had begun rising as the temperature in my hands and
Midori's feet rose, and she watched it with a smile, saying nothing. She let
this go on for a long time, her face flushed, probably enjoying watching me as
much as the sensations I was giving her. For my part, the longer and deeper I
massaged her, the more excited I started to feel, strangely, aroused purely by
the foot I was holding. It wasn't even what I normally thought of as a really
sexy woman's foot; it was a bit chubby, but it was definitely feminine, and as
I worked my fingers into it, I was becoming extremely familiar with every
contour, the shape and the softness, the feel of the skin and sweat,
particularly that growing heat and dampness. Her perspiration was forming an
oily lubricant for the massage. I couldn't remember having been so easily
aroused by just feet before.

At length Midori withdrew her feet from my lap and prepared to resume play.
"That feeling is sooo good," she said, languidly taking up the cards. "I
already decided what I want next."

Although losing at strip poker (badly) was now seeming not to be nearly so
disappointing a prospect, I was still competitive, and ached to see more of
Midori's body.

She shuffled the cards now. I watched her at her peculiarly Japanese,
lengthwise style, awkward, but adequate, and then she dealt. I'd have to win
quite a few times yet before things could really get interesting, I thought;
she still had two rings and a watch on.

Midori continued to play stupidly, and continued in infuriating fashion to be
rewarded for it, dealing another to herself for 5-under, for example, when she
had 17 showing, and me with a two- card 17, seven up -- an obvious losing hand
at that point. I watched in disbelief as a two landed beside her 17 and she
looked up and smiled cheerfully and turned over the hidden fifth, an ace.

"Damn it, Midori, you have horseshoes up your ass," I said and she giggled.
Don't you realize you had me at 18? That's the best I could have had! Tie goes
to the dealer, yeah?" She just shrugged and smiled. Maybe she was looking to
get naked and all this winning was starting to tax her creativity, but if so,
it wasn't showing. She never hesitated for a minute. She leaned back and
pointed her foot toward me a second time.

"This time, you can use your tongue," she said. Her black eyes held mine,
shining with anticipated pleasure.

I held her foot in my palm then, and together we lifted it level with my face.
My eyes swept over the curve of her instep, the swell over the ball of her
foot, that receded into the little valley under her toes, and I let myself be
drawn closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her foot as it shone
with moisture. My heart was pounding. I knew she could feel my breath now, and
she gave an impatient moan. I glanced down and saw that Midori had closed her
eyes and slipped a hand under the waistline of her jeans. I was surprised to
find that an almost lurid sight, the movement of the bulge of her little fist
underneath the denim as she rubbed herself. Let's not have any fastidious
delusions about what we're doing here, I reminded myself. In for a penny, in
for a pound. I looked back to her foot and was inflamed with desire even as I
asked myself WHY was I so turned on by such a thing when it was so obviously
drenched in sweat, and the thought this is crazy! entered my head. Maybe that
the very reason it appealed. My excitement mounting with the closeness of her
foot to my face, I was overwhelmed at last, and sank my nose deep into the
cleft between Midori's toes and the ball of her foot, and then... well, I
inhaled slowly and deeply, nearly fainting as Midori's tangy aroma filled my
nose and dizzied my brain like a powerful intoxicant. God! To my astonishment,
I drew several more deep breaths like that, never guessing (never having been
willing to admit to myself, perhaps) what a fixation it could become, just the
smell. But here I was now, luxuriating in my enthrallment to it. Slavishly, I
lowered my mouth to her instep and pressed my tongue against it, tasting her
saltiness, then traced my tongue upward to her toes. She pushed them into my
mouth with impatience and spread them wide for my tongue to find its way
through each crevice. I licked and sucked at her toes for perhaps 5 minutes,
long enough to have a lot of time to think about what I was doing, until at
last, I began to feel used to the sensation of an imminent heart-attack,
electricity surging through my body. My heart was beating hard throughout this
episode, hammering the blood through my veins with my throat registering the
impact of each beat. Mentally, I reeled a little at what I was doing, not just
sucking a woman's toes, but sucking Midori's very sweaty toes. I suppose this
is all old hat for any foot-lovers in the audience, but for me, it was an
epiphany. To this day, I find it hard to not think Midori's feet (among a few
other things) when I think of Midori.

With the other foot, she became more active, not giving me control, but rubbing
& mashing her toes into my lips, clenching them around my nostrils, and -- in
my mouth -- mastering my tongue with her digital explorations. If possible,
this was even more arousing, and I ached for release but held back, thrilling
to my own sweet torture and this novel form of "service". Given my enjoyment of
it, I wondered if it was fair to consider it payment for my loss at cards. But
Midori was rubbing her crotch furiously and at last quivered in obvious
pleasure. She gave up her pace-setting foot-domination of my mouth and nose,
and relaxed, gently pulling away again.

Whatever would happen next, I couldn't guess, but I began to look much more
favourably upon the current situation that had left Midori almost completely
clothed while I lay at her feet, naked and in service to her whims. I was no
longer impatient to see her body, but curious what would be my next duty,
assuming I lost again before it was up.

Lose again, I did, although I picked up a few rounds in the process. The rings
had come off, as had the bra. My next job was not a surprise.

"Lick my nipples," she ordered.

"Come here," I countered, and she took my cue, straddling my legs, still
wearing the jeans. I leaned back slightly, and slipped my right hand under her
crotch, pressing my thumb into the front of it and taking her weight on the
edge of my palm. She was soaking wet, even through the blue jeans! With her
breasts looming in my face, I began to play with them in earnest, wickedly
teasing her with my tongue by pressing roughly around her areolas only to glide
like a feather over the sensitive buttons. They began to feel like stones in my
mouth, and I thrilled to that intensely rigid protrusiveness. They demanded to
be punished, and so, as she ground herself onto my hand, I sucked, tweaked,
nibbled, and licked at one nipple while the other's breast pressed hot and wet
against my face in anticipation of its turn. With Midori on top of me like
this, I felt almost helpless, buried alive in her damp, pillowy flesh,
sometimes nearly suffocating under the heaviness of her full but firm, strong,
willfully thrusting breasts. And this, friends, drove me as nearly, though not
quite as mad as her feet had done earlier. The partitioning of her body into
tasks for my attention intensified our focus, but when I thought of my hand,
how I envied it, caught as it was under her cunt and ass, becoming increasingly
wet despite the heavy fabric between them. Her body bucked on top of mine
insistently, demanding more of me, but neither of us could act upon or voice
that obvious need, and somehow, I loved that as much as I ached for her. I
loved my disciplined enslavement, whether to her, or to the rules of our game.

I managed to lose the next round as well, which I think at this point was
maddeningly frustrating for both of us; her jeans, by now abysmally drenched
through, would continue to imprison her boiling pussy in their confines and for
the first time, Midori seemed at a loss for what to demand of me. For my own
part, I was at a loss to imagine how we could keep up such intensity without
her taking anything else off.

"You're going to have to owe me," she said at last, crawling toward me and
leaning her face over my turgid prick. "But for this, you'll owe me double."

"Oh God," I gasped, as Midori's fingernails gently raked through the hair under
my balls and her soft lips moved over my glans and took me in deeper, still not
closing, barely brushing with her her tongue as her warm breath encircled my
last three inches or so. She seemed to know that the slightest touch at this
point was almost too much, as when she brought her tongue to bear underneath my
shaft, the fluid, upward slide to the tip sent a jolt through me that made my
body shudder briefly.

"Please, don't make me come," I begged, "not yet!" She closed her lips over my
cock and waited, and I breathed desperately, teetering already on the edge of
shooting a powerful load into the back of her throat, as stoked to the brink of
orgasm as I was after all this time. That would be something, I thought
wickedly, that I'd enjoy doing, and it would be her own fault if it happened.
But for the game: I was too curious. I didn't want to gain release before she
was finished. At my age, despite the fact that I'm still in good shape and have
plenty of endurance, a second orgasm would not be the relatively quick and
equal or greater encore that it could easily have been even 5 years ago. It
would be a hard-earned and lower- yielding conclusion to an adventure I wanted
to see through at the most explosive possible intensity. The danger ebbed
slightly, and Midori, sensing my body relaxing, tightened her grip, twisting
her tongue around my straining shaft, sucking as she did so. The sensation was
unbelievable: my dick felt not a part of me, but an instrument of my torture. I
felt the muscles of my entire body clenching, and again, Midori backed off,
toying with me, playing me to my limits.

I groaned involuntarily, though whether through pleasure or agony, I was beyond
knowing. Was there any difference? Not anymore. I felt myself embracing this,
wanting it, wanting Midori's mercilessness, wanting her to torture me and take
me beyond where I felt I was capable of going. Time trickled onward, and my
body felt less and less my own property. I was given over to her, and with this
came a refreshing wash of liberation -- liberation from responsibility. I
didn't care if I came. I didn't care if I served Midori erect or exhausted,
conscious or in delirium, only that she use me, abuse me, drive me farther and
farther from the mediocrity of sanity. I began to move my hips, pumping into
her mouth unthinkingly, but at once, Midori would stop and push me away, and I
was grateful for the correction that spun out my agony of desire. When she
stopped at last, I felt instantly disappointed, found myself craving not merely
orgasm, but that queer sensation of losing myself to something more powerful.
Something was there, something I had not expected. What was it? It would wait
for me.

"Not yet," Midori chided in echo. "Now don't forget you owe me double."

"Anything, Midori, God, I'll do anything for you! I found myself saying."

"You'd better," she answered, then pressed her lips once more, softly, to my
beleaguered member and prepared to deal again.

The cards fell her way once again. We both laughed. "You can't win!" she
exclaimed gleefully. "Well, I don't know what I should do with you. Can I start
calling you 'slave Steve'?' I'm getting use to have you do whatever I make
you." She giggled, then stood up stiffly with a groan. "Maybe I should have you
pay for my next skiing vacation. Anyway, I gotta go pee." She squirmed,
stepping over me on her way to the john.

"Where, when, and how much?" I called after her in mock resignation. If I could
go with her, there might be a lot more fun in store, and at this point, I felt
that was surely worth it.

She turned again, almost in the doorway, and walked back the few paces back to
where I lay.

Midori smiled.

"Here. Now. All over your face... more than you ever imagine." She unzipped her
jeans. "Open your mouth."

What? It took a second for me to realize what she meant, what she'd thought I'd
meant, and that she was obviously joking. Wasn't she? Midori laughed, and swung
her hips from side to side as she slid her cream-filled jeans to her ankles,
teasing me; and then an even stranger thing happened: An actual image of what
she'd just described flashed vividly into my mind: I saw myself staring up into
Midori's engorged labia and glistening, sopping tangle of dark hair that
already showed through the soaked white panties she was wearing -- and this
much is quite understandable -- but in that heartbeat of a moment, another
sensation came over me and I found myself at the brink of the void, staring
back into that terra incognita of the rarified air and the overwhelming vertigo
I had experienced just a short while earlier, where heaven and hell became
laughably indistinguishable, and my mind was no longer my mind, my body, no
longer my body. A jolt of adrenaline seemed to violently surge through my heart
with the recollection and re-experiencing of that emotion in all its former
intensity. To my amazement, as if I were watching myself passively from
somewhere else and acted in absence of any will of my own, I lay back, not
taking my eyes from hers, and opened my mouth. I suppose I still didn't expect
her to go through with it. I don't know what I supposed. I don't think I was
even thinking about it. I was thinking how exciting it was to obey her, no
matter what happened, to trust her, because I shouldn't.

Midori did not dance and shimmy her way seductively out of her panties the way
she had done with her jeans. Her eyes regarded mine with seriousness as she
slid them straight down in a quick and blunt gesture. For barely a moment -- if
it wasn't my imagination -- she paused, then stepped forward without haste or
abruptness, but with simple lack of further pause that suddenly had me
trembling in panic at its quickness. Before I could take in that Midori -- my
God -- Midori... was at last naked before me, she was placing one foot on
either side of my head, and as I realized this and took in the view from
between them, her crotch was already descending toward my face! Before I could
absorb the reality that her crotch was descending toward my face, her copious
effluvia and pubic hairs had already engulfed my mouth and nose and I was
inhaling the powerful, woman- scent of her sex and sweat. Before I could begin
to wrap my mind around the idea that the same woman barely a moment ago had
been standing before me in her jeans, teasing and laughing light- heartedly,
suddenly now, now her hot, slippery labia were deep in my mouth and her weight
was fully upon my face. The ache of my jaw being forced open by her filling my
mouth and the hard tatami pressing into the back of my head from below,
Midori's ample, creamy thighs on either side of my head, my inability to even
see her face anymore, the cream that was everywhere, the realization of who
this was, that this was Midori, that I didn't know her (did I think I knew
her?), that this was her, and this was me, that this was here and now and not
conceptual and that this was going to happen: all that was taken in at once
even though I had watched, neither speaking nor moving as she had methodically,
even slowly set her pudgy (dominating!) feet into position and then had equally
methodically squatted. That I had done nothing to stop her was unfathomable,
and suddenly, although I should have found her pussy desirable, I found myself
disgusted as her cream oozed its way through my mouth. That feeling was buried
beneath my excitement and then her vulva began to open like a carnivorous
flower. Suddenly the thought of exactly what was about to happen at any instant
filled my consciousness, and a scream tore itself from my being and began its
quest for an audience in the world beyond. At the moment this happened, the
scream was met and doused by a coursing warm geyser from within Midori, now
spraying strongly, filling my mouth, sinuses, and throat with its slightly
salty, acrid taste. No, I did not try to push or throw her off me but instead
what did I do? I grabbed my dick, which I felt was threatening what felt like
an effort to tear itself free of my body, and I exploded, yes, with ecstasy,
yes in surging pulses (that splattered mostly all over Midori's back as I would
later learn) and as she urinated with abandon, my body shook as if she were
electrocuting me. And yes, I swallowed -- again and again -- and yes, with
ecstasy. Her torrent continued long after my orgasm had run its course, and I
continued to swallow; my belly filling incredibly until I felt barely capable
of holding more of Midori's piss, then at last, after what seemed ages, the
stream faded to a trickle. Several obscenely self-indulgent little spurts with
long pauses between them, and finally, the pressure lifted. I gasped for air,
stunned, having in a short time gone beyond my shock at what was transpiring,
to simple acceptance of it as my fate.

Midori raised herself further, stood up, and smiled. I stared up in awe at her,
paralyzed in a dream. She moved to face my feet and I saw what I'd done to her
back. It looked a little funny to me, puzzling, unreal. Midori sighed.
Everything was sluggish for me. I was in that post-orgasmic ecstasy in which
nothing mattered or meant anything clear.

"Now," I heard her voice as from a distance, "you owed me double, so here's
number two," and I found myself again underneath her weight, my jaws held
apart; Midori's asshole filled my mouth and as I stared curiously up at the
mess I'd made of her back, it bulged open....

Comments etc. are welcome.
sluria@hotmail.com

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