I hang it over my curtain rail, so I can see it as I slip on a pair of brand new french knickers (also in black, of course) and my dressing gown as I do my hair and make up. I pay minute attention to the small amount of mascara and lipstick I put on. I curl my hair just a touch to give it that slight wave that he told me once he liked. I spray a little perfume on my throat and breasts. All the time my eyes flicking back to my dress, so eager to get into it. The sooner I get into it, the sooner I get it taken off me...
Finally after much checking of the time, I slip it on, smoothing it down over me, checking that my bare nipples aren't *too* obvious under its clinging material. Back in front of the mirror I admire its lines, checking that it doesn't show off my ass when I bend a little. It is rather short, falling to mid thigh, but it's on the right side of slutty. Just.
Grinning, I imagine my boyfriend's reaction to what I have on, then I complete the outfit with a pair of black stockings and my smart flat shoes. Simple but sexy is my motto for this operation. Classy but... easy? Am I looking too whory? I recheck myself in the mirror, reassuring myself that I'm desirable but not too obvious. No, I'm fine. The stocking tops are well above the line of my dress, my ass is covered, my breasts entirely swathed by the folds of the body of the dress.
I'm good to go, and just in time too as I said I'd be there at 8.30. I grab my bag and slip out of the house, calling my goodbyes through closed doors to both parents. I jump on a bus and within a few moments I'm round the corner from his house. My stomach's churning a little as I straighten my dress and check my make-up in my small mirror, then before I know it, I'm approaching the house, the bedroom, the bed, where he'll be laying me down tonight.
I kinda expected to be the first one there, but when one of his friends answers the door, beer in hand, I figure what the hell, its a party right, it must have started early.
That it started earlier than I thought quickly becomes apparent to me as I hear yelling and laughing from the garden. The guy who let me in wandered off as soon as I walked in and so I hang my bag up in the cloakroom and look around for my boyfriend.
The lounge and the kitchen are empty, it seems everyone's in the garden. Not that I was expecting him to be waiting behind the door for me to arrive but still I'm feeling a little put out and kind of alone as I step into the kitchen, filled with beer, bags of snacks and one guy opening bottles whilst drinking quickly from another in his hand.
I ignore the beer dude (he feels like a 'dude') most blatantly as I brush past to get to the garden where finally I see *him*. He looks so perfect. I take a stolen moment and watch him before he spies me. He's wearing just a pair of long shorts and those beat up old trainers he refuses to throw out. His chest has finally caught up with his face and arms and is becoming more bronzed with the summer sun. His chest is quite hairless and I do adore pressing my face against it, teasing those small nipples with my tongue. He's just a little toned but kinda skinny with it. Right now he looks as much like a god as any skinny teenaged boy can do.
I feel my nipples harden and my crotch heat just a touch as I idly wonder how white his ass will be under those shorts. I've never seen his ass properly. I will soon.
My gaze widens to take in the four or five guys with him, friends of his who I don't really know. All sat around on patio chairs and benches, laughing and swigging from bottles and cans. Finally he sees me and I wave shyly from my place by the doorway where I'm stood like a shrinking violet. He beckons me over and I sit by him, he pecks me on the cheek and I try and join in with the conversation and laughter. He doesn't ignore me, but I feel selfish and want him to myself.
If I could, I'd stand up and pull him to his bedroom right now and the rest of the people here be damned. I just feel a little uncomfortable in the company of so many people I've not met before. The outsider, self conscious of my every action and very conscious of my attire. The eyes of the other guys tracking over me don't help my comfort, every time I look around their eyes twitch away from my legs or my breasts. 'Shoo' I think to them 'this is only for *him*, stop ruining my perfect night with your lecherous looks'. Other than a few meek attempts at glares, thinking is all I do.
The next hour or two passes in a similar vein, we get to chat a little by ourselves, but more and more people seem to arrive and I wonder exactly how popular my boyfriend is. Maybe we've just got gate crashers. Music fills the background of people talking and laughing, dancing, messing about. Everyone here seems to be having the time of their lives, everyone but me that is. The few moments I have with him seem almost stolen and without fail are interrupted by one or another of his jackass friends dragging him away with promises of something which is cool for him to witness.
I tire of the evening very quickly, wishing almost that I was drinking to help get myself into the party spirit. I chat idly to a few people I half know to pass the time, sneaking away to the bathroom as often as I can to have some time to myself to relax. I remind myself during one of these many breaks that everything I endure now will be worth it in just two or three hours time when I finally get to feel him between my thighs.
I'll not bore you with the next couple of hours of what, to me at any rate, were like something which belong towards the end of Dante, instead we'll just skip on via a montage of guys cannonballing into the pool, beer cans stacking up, CDs being changed and people being sick, often not in toilets. It was *that* kind of party. A success by most people's standards.
My only measure of success for the night though was how quickly I could get undressed and on that measure, the evening was failing. Badly.
Around 1 am people start drifting off, either away from the house or into a passed out version of sleep. After checking most of the house I finally find my guy playing poker with some of his friends in one of the guest bedrooms. I slip up and lean into him and watch the game.
It's safe to say that I know very, very little about poker. I know the basics, like 3-of-a-kind, full house, and so on. I know there's things called a flush, a full house and a straight, but as to which of these is best I haven't a clue. Once you get past four beats three beats two of the same value card, I get lost. I've just rarely ever played it. Now canasta I could beat anyone at...
So I concentrate instead on how good it feels to be in the crook of my boyfriends arm. How he smells, although by now he's a touch ripe. I might have to suggest a sexy shower before the main action. He leans in to kiss me quickly between hands and underneath the beer and smoke on his breath, it's fairly obviously he's been sick at least once tonight. All the alcohol will have killed any germs by now surely. Small comfort really. Maybe I can get a few cups of coffee into him before he gets into me? And toothpaste. Definitely toothpaste.
Pondering all this as the game goes on in front of my unfocused eyes, I finally snap back into the real world with my guy swearing heavily at one of his friends, but in a friendly way. Well generally friendly. One look at the table confirms my suspicion that he's lost all his money. He finishes his little outburst by asking who wants another beer and then goes off to get the drinks.
More uninterested than ever, I watch the game continue without him. Five of his friends are left playing for pounds and fifty-pence pieces. It seems that Josh is doing best, a huge pile of silver in front of him, with Dave and Peter almost out of cash. Phil and John aren't doing too badly, but then again they never seem to bet that much and John seems two minutes away from unconsciousness.
My boyfriend finally returns, staggering, and hands out the bottles. Really, how much can one person drink in a night? None of the other guys here seem to be as pissed as him. He does remember to bring me a lemonade, rather than a bottle of beer, unlike the previous times he's gone to get me a drink tonight. I'm fairly sick of carbonated liquid by this point, but a lemonade is better than a beer. Except it's warm. And flat. Wonderful...
I leave the glass on the sideboard they've dragged into the centre of the room to act as a card table and usher him and his fresh beer to the double-bed, our back
s to the wall, leaning against it, trying to get cuddly with him. His eyes and attention remain fixed on the game, laughing at poor bets and worse hands. Like he's the expert...
I sneak in a few kisses when his mouth is free of his latest bottle. I try and whisper secret sexy things into his ear as I suckle on the lobe. I run my fingers along the neck of his bottle and down his bare chest. His reactions are... limited... to say the least. A quick grope of my breast, a foul French kiss, and slurred garbled sentences, which I'm sure are not on the romantic side of sexy talk.
I finally give in trying to lure him away to his room and lean back with him and watch the game some more. He fails to notice my freshly frosted mood and it is quite possible he fails to notice me at all. We make no effort to speak to each other for a full 10 minutes, until it gets too much for me to deal with, this awful silence, I'm almost in tears at how our night has been ruined. I blame his friends.
That is until I turn to look up to him, and my apologies die in my throat. He's out cold. Head tilted back against the floral wallpaper, eyelids barely flickering. A snort escapes from his mouth followed quickly by the most disapproving sigh ever made from mine. I shrug his arm away from my shoulders and scoot off the bed. A soft thump makes me turn my head to look back to him. He's fallen to his side, face first into the bed-cover, still half sat, twisted around the waist most uncomfortably.
Right now all I wanna do is punch him, kick him and slap him til he wakes up then dump his sorry ass in a way that leaves him feeling as utterly awful as I do right now. The things I've done for him... the things I've promised to do for him tonight... and he. Falls. ASLEEP.
If audible disappointment was an Olympic event my tsk-sigh dismount from that bed would have easily have scored a 5.8 or a 5.9 from the assembled judges. As it was though, the only audience I had was my boyfriend's loser buddies. One of them asks what-the-fuck's up with me, then the others start laughing when they see my prostrate date. I roll my eyes in mock disapproval to hide my very real and wrathful disapproval.
One of them, Josh asks me if I want to join in the game, clearly hoping for another sucker to bleed dry whilst he's on his lucky streak. I shake my head and explain how I can't play poker and anyway I have no cash on me. The first, as I explained before, is true. The second however is a flat out lie, but as none of them saw me arrive with my bag, none of them are to know that. It gets me out of a situation which can only lead to my embarrassment, demonstrating my utter ineptitude at a game I've never played before.
'How about strip poker then', Dave calls out. Suddenly my need for revenge on my stupid passed out (now ex-)boyfriend finds a possible outlet. Could I? Really? All five? A spark lights in my stomach, making it churn.
I excuse myself without answering, heading to the en-suite bathroom in his parents room, figuring that might be less horrible than the main bathroom. I'm only going there to make my deliberations. If I do this I want to make sure it's with a full understanding of what I'm doing and not some rash decision.
After wincing at the contents of the toilet bowl, I put down the lid and sit on it, flushing it five times in a row just to make sure the contents have totally vanished. Whilst I flush like I have severe OCD, I weigh up the pro's and cons of what I may be possibly about to do. Am I really going to be such a slut and fuck five of my boyfriend's best friends as he lays passed out in the same room?
Well he did promise me I'd get laid tonight. I have been expecting sex after this party since I was first invited and *he* clearly isn't interested in me enough to stay sober to even give me a five minute quickie. So why not. Let him wake up tomorrow and hear how all his friends got to play with his best girl right in front of his face. Maybe one of them will even take pictures just for him...
The thought of that turns me on so much, in so many ways, that I have to struggle not to get myself off right there and then. Instead I check my make-up, stealing a little of his mother's mascara in passing. I make sure my underwear and stockings are straight and head back to the guest bedroom. Furtive looks and the trail ends of whispers greet my arrival, then they all look over at me as I walk in. Clearly the subjects of myself and strip poker have been the only topics of conversation since I left. They all seem more alert than when I left and Phil actually blushes as I smile at them.
'So what are the rules?' I ask as I sit down in the seat left vacant by the piece-of-shit now gently snoring on the bed. This is greeted by an unbelieving silence. Finally Josh answers, clearly feeling lucky in more ways than one tonight.
'Shoes and socks don't count, only visible clothes can be removed. Worse hand after two swaps loses'
I look down as see that they're all barefoot and, excepting a be-trousered Phil, wearing shorts. Above the waist to a man they're wearing t-shirts, four of which I recognise from my boyfriend's wardrobe. I look back up to Josh to nod my agreement, finding his eyes on my chest, possibly trying to determine if I wore a bra tonight or not. Where as earlier this would have left me sighing and feeling slightly soiled, now all it does is make my nipples harden. Maybe they want him to see them thru the folds of my dress. Maybe I want him to be able to tell all that stands between him and my bare breasts is just this little shift. Well he'll find out soon enough. They all will.
The cards are dealt to my renewed explanations that I've really never played this game before, this is met with ever growing smiles. John starts to tell me something about different kinds of poker and what kind this one is, but I hear very little of it, nodding every so often for politeness only.
Instead I'm checking them all out as thoroughly as they're checking me out. Josh is kinda cute I guess, though not really my type, quite big and broad, clearly works out quite a bit, short black hair. He knows exactly how cute he is, which is sually the sort of guy I can look right by. Phil is a little bigger, not fat exactly, but a little chubby in the face and not exactly svelte in the waist. He has quite an open face, still quite boyish in many respects, smooth skin around his jaw and upper lip betrays the fact that he's still to start shaving properly.
John and Dave are both, well normal, I guess. Average heights, their arms toned a little, brown hair gelled up in alarmingly similar styles. These guys should call each other before they go out and co-ordinate haircuts. The last is Peter, by far the quietest of the group, almost shy but with a knowing and intelligent look in his eye. He's quite short, only just taller than me in these heels, and fairly skinny. If he were taller he'd look quite gangly, but he does have quite an angelic face underneath a mess of light brown curls.
So these are the guys I'll be playing with tonight, I guess. I smile to myself, if a girl's to have a random orgy then she really could do much, much worse than this collection. I start to wonder what they have in their pants as I lift my cards.
The first few hands I get through clothed, to my disappointment as Dave and Peter both lose their tops and Josh rather leeringly pulls off his shorts, just to be different. He can leer all he likes, because I'm leering right back, my eyes grabbing a hold of the bulge in his CK's, only to be left hoping that there's more than meets the eye under that snug cotton wrapper.
Phil removes his top also, blushing mightily, clearly unaccustomed to exposing his slightly wobbly stomach to anyone, let alone used to disrobing in this type of situation. The air is thick, the drinks have slowed as the cards are concentrated on. As I get a fifth good hand in a row (3 kings is pretty good right?) I excuse myself and go downstairs to hunt out an unopened can of coke.
I return to find my boyfriend still out for the count and an air of innocence in the room as the five guys sit with their fixed hands. Each only swaps one card. I swap two, twice. Surprising, and with statistical implausibility they all have extremely good hands. I lose my first hand. Finally.
I sit there for a moment as they look at me, none of them daring to encourage me, just in case I back out. I squeeze my thighs together hard, feeling my clit start to tingle in the way that it does when a guy kisses down my stomach before eating me
out.
Standing I smile and reach for the tie behind my neck. Once this is undone I'll be stood there in just my panties and stockings, my bare breasts, hard nipples, on display to them all. I undo the tie slowly. Making them wait, looking to each of them to enjoy their anticipation of my near nakedness. They don't even know I'm definitely braless under here...
...they do now. My dress drops perfectly to the floor and I sit back down, throwing my cards back into the middle of the table. Josh takes a long swig from his bottle, his eyes staying glued to me the whole time before commenting that I have great tits. I thank him and give them a squeeze with both hands, my finger and thumb on both sides meeting to pinch out the nipples fully.
The already tense atmosphere just got 200% tenser. I try and sneak a peek at the two crotches that are in my eyeline to see if I'm causing more than just staring, but the shorts are pretty baggy on both sides of me. I'm hoping to find out soon tho.
3 hands later and I'm starting to think I should become a professional poker player or something. I've clearly won them all, once with a straight. Apparently. Go me. The result of this success on my part has been the de-shorting of Dave, John losing his top and Josh being reduced to just his snug pants. He's not looking much more promising down their either. Dave on the other hand was defiantly semi-hard from the quick glance I managed to snatch before he sat back down opposite to me after the last hand.
The staring at my breasts isn't diminishing, which may be aiding my winning streak. Admittedly I have started playing with them between hands, just cupping them, or stroking the nipples teasingly. Wanting to see how far I can push these guys before they forget all about the cards and just start playing with me.
The ninth hand finds me with a pair of threes, which even I know is rubbish, but Peter has a single 8 as his best card and joins Dave in just his underwear. As he's sitting to my right I get a good long look at the tenting of his boxers. I lick my lips without realising it then meet his eye. I'm not quite sure I've ever seen anyone blush quite so much. I giggle and pick up the next hand.
The Rougher Explicit Collection of Stories Box Set Compilation Page 9
