4 comments/ 9378 views/ 0 favorites History With My XXs Ch. 01 By: ex_riter It was a September Friday evening, in 1988, with just a hint of briskness in the blustery wind. Which added to the already complicated 'dressing dilemna'. For guys, of course, it was no issue. For us girls, only five items, with shoes and everything else counted separately – well, there was going to be a shortfall somewhere, and even more so as the temperatures dropped. Fortunately, my partner at the time,( let's call him Carl), was a mechanic so we had a vehicle. Even so, the few minutes we were outside, locking our coats in the boot of the vehicle – a seeming formality, but one that had been exploited quite ruthlessly in one of the other couples quite recently – and making our way into the block of flats was enough for my bare legs to develop prominent gooseflesh and for my upper body to require that constant arm rubbing for some warmth. So much so that I waylaid Carl outside the lift doors, and got myself molded to him, and my tongue in his mouth: a position I managed to maintain long enough to restore circulation, and therefore, some mystery before we got inside. (Let's call him) Will, our host, opened the door: my precaution downstairs immediately paying dividends when his eyes dipped to my hint of cleavage, only to bounce back quickly. (Let's call her) Tami, our hostess, looked breath-taking in a knee-length black skirt and white blouse, with spike- heeled shoes like mine. One of the things I liked about this group was the no-nonsense approach. We weren't friends in that sense. We shared an interest, and on the occasions when we met, every one of the six of us was prepared to do anything necessary to serve our own specific interest. That gave us a common bond, and in a sense made us closer than friends. So I never doubted for a moment that when Tami smiled at me, or at Carl – or for that matter that when Will smiled at me – it was the smile of a stalking predator. And that primal level of understanding produces an unparalleled buzz. It was the same when (let's call them) George and April arrived to make up the full complement. We quickly sorted out ale and or other drinks, as appropriate, and settled at the table. When Will, as host, announced the game and began to shuffle the cards – the buzz increased somewhat. It was a complex game, one I wasn't especially good at, and I'd had a difficult day, was just that little bit tired and de-focused. I recall clearly wondering if that was behind the game selection, if Tami perhaps, or George himself, had smelled blood in the water. I was well aware of the moist sensations between my thighs as I collected the first few cards. While Will dealt the cards, Tami distributed 10 white plastic 'poker' chips to each of us. And so we began... "Call"..."Call"..."Call"... To me, then. My hand a bloody mess, probably. I couldn't be sure because I didn't really understand the game. And I couldn't ask because that really would be blood in the water. And everyone was staring at me because the hand had been moving along quite quickly. And my knickers were sticking just that little bit whenever I moved, symptomatic of a condition not renowned for promoting composed thought. So I played a pair...hoping. And evidently got it wrong. April and Carl, bless him, put the boot in – so that when it came back around to me, Tami smiled faintly and said, "You're in for 7, luv." 7 of my precious 10 chips were slipped, seemingly by someone other than me, into the pot. Prudence dictated a strategic withdrawal. But Prudence as a little voice is irritating and my logic went something like 'if that was the wrong pair then my pair close to the other end of the scale must be right.' The immediate, if subdued reaction, from everyone gave me the sickening sensation Prudence would have been wise voice to follow . Which, by the way, made my treacherous female sexual centres positively outspoken. Translation: my nipples were rampant and the moist sensation was spreading down both thighs, "It's now 13 to you, luv." Tami reviewed my situation helpfully when the play had gone full circle again. Sliding my chair back just enough, I reached down and levered off my spike heels: taking a glance in the process and discovering all 3 males would be moving about soon to ease some pressure inside their respective slacks. Straightening up, I put both shoes on the table – our rule being once you'd used up your initial (10) chips you had to supply collateral for the next 10 chips, and every ensuing 10 chip purchase, in advance. Tami counted out the chips and all but 7 of them went directly into the pot. Thinking if I sat still, the guys might make mistakes, I said, "Call." It was April who got there first. "You can't do that, luv. As the initiator of the hand you can only fold or play." Of course. Now I remembered. Diabolical damn game. Don't ask me the name, but I had remembered by then that having effectively set up as 'banker' I would be responsible for more chips even If I folded. So I played the highest card left in my hand. Then sat there, as though it was all happening to someone else, while everyone else weighed in on the slaughter. I was vaguely aware that the to date passive threesome, Tami, Will and George, were placing the largest wagers –and that that was because they had the most chips left from their initial 10. I also recall being extremely aware of how erotic barefoot could be...especially being the only barefoot person in a sexually charged atmosphere. Carl cleared his throat and I stopped wriggling my bare toes against the cool lino floor. I looked at my cards, turned them back face down on the table. Tami, bless her heart, resolved my arithmetic dilemma. "You're now in for 26, luv." Of course I was. 20-plus meant I would have to tip my hand, so to speak. One shoe on each foot and a total item count of 5. Do the math, boys and girls. Sliding the chair back again, a few inches, I unhitched my skirt and slipped it off, down, carefully not lifting too far off the chair, stretching down rather than bending and finally depositing it on the table. Will's wry grin seemed self-congratulatory, as if he'd guessed right when he kept glancing at my boobs. Which he had. I refused to even glance in the direction of George. George had a huge cock. I'd sucked it in the past and wasn't at all sure I wanted it inside me. But I wasn't going to risk eye contact with Carl either, and neither of the two other women would be easy to face down -- and Will's grin persisted because he obviously knew how uncomfortable my position was, so I stuck out my tongue at him. Which earned a laugh from round the table and some release of pressure. My thinking then went: they were all but played out on their initial 10 chips. Everyone of them. Had to be. So they might not risk pressing too hard from here. In fact, Prudence was ignored again for a more attractive voice, a voice this time arguing if I went right at them – played the right card and pushed – I might even bluff them out of the pot and get back every item on the table. That tactic was how I finally came to be reduced to my panties. After one hand! Only to be faced by the same game. So I dropped out early. Only to be faced by the same game. So I dropped out early. Did I mention predators and blood in the water? When the same game was declared yet again, and I was going to have to stump up my knickers after the 1-chip ante, I realized they weren't faffing about. They were all arrayed against me. The game might be called whatever, and I still don't recall the name, but in their minds it may as well be advertised as 'Strip-Elle' and they were going to keep doing over muggings here until I was naked and beyond, given the chance. So when Carl set himself up as banker, I did hope...well, you have to understand Carl was vehement that if I got into trouble at one of these evenings he wouldn't give me the 'bloody sweat from my testicles', unquote, but he'd always said it with a smile and we'd always rutted like rabbits after he said that, and he did fancy me – of that I had no doubts whatever – so, there was just the faintest chance that... So I nailed my colours to the mast. It was a wrench and wriggle job, girls, no way I was hefting my tush from the chair, but once they'd landed on the table Will was quite overt and simply reached out and fingered them whilst George looked desperate to do so... I should probably explain where we were overall in the game. Not that I cared beyond my own bubble, really. I was naked of course. Tami was fully clothed, including both shoes. Carl, Will and April had both shoes on the table. George was shirtless but that didn't really count because it was tacitly accepted that George was April's submissive and would respond to secret signs to get her off the hook – but that she most probably, unless desperate, wouldn't sell him out completely. So it was me on the bubble and no one within light-years... And I played that way. I stayed in, not really expecting any signal from Carl, but nonetheless deep down assuming he would bail me out, somehow. Probably at the very last moment, the bastard, but he would, wouldn't he...of course he would. And then I was out of chips and holding my breath and he kept the hand going, Just as he'd said he would... So that was that. Naked. Bankrupt at the table and naked. Me... History With My XXs Ch. 02 So it was me on the bubble and no one within light-years... As anyone familiar with Part 1 will know. And I'd played that way. I'd stayed in, not really expecting any signal from Carl, my partner, but nonetheless deep down assuming he would bail me out, somehow. Probably at the very last moment, the bastard, but he would, wouldn't he...of course he would. And then I was out of chips and holding my breath and he kept the hand going, Just as he'd said he would... So that was that. Naked. Bankrupt at the table and naked. Me As my grandmother used to say, 'there's no point in sugar coating reality – it can still taste just as sour on the first full bite and then you're out good sugar.' Bankrupt at the table and naked and with no one amongst the other five even close to sharing the limelight with me. And no one, including my partner, Carl, prepared to do anything except exploit my situation ruthlessly. And no reason they should. I'd been naked only once, briefly, and that was more or less my choice at the very end of one of our sessions. Everyone else had spent at least a little time in this predicament, and more than once. I'd relished putting each and every one of them through their paces. George, poor sod, had paid the price for a bad night for April and covered for her by throwing in perfectly good hands – the rest of us were convinced he'd done this – but he'd been naked by 9 pm and we'd been quite quite nasty to him. That was the night I'd sucked his huge cock, every 30 minutes throughout the night, to torment him, and that was the night I decided I'd rather not internally accommodate the monstrous organ—and now it seemed entirely possible, unless I stepped very lightly, that I might have to. But it was Tami, the predator at heart, who worried me even more. Her stint two sessions ago had finished with Will not even opening the boot to provide her with her coat, for the entire weekend, which they spent at an inexpensive hotel at the seaside. I did return her clothes, at the start of our next session. But it wasn't difficult to tell she'd revel in revenge. That was, actually, more or less my thinking process. Less than 30 minutes had elapsed, making this the earliest anyone had ever been naked. Me. With all of the terms and conditions outlined above. You see, naked and bankrupt meant there wasn't anywhere for me to go and there wasn't anything for me to do. I just had to sit there in that close little kitchen, surrounded by clothed people playing cards – for at least 3 –plus hours -- and wait until someone won. Winning being to accumulate 60 chips. At which point she or he took possession of me. He or she could go on playing, or not. The key thing for me was they could do as they liked with me (short of permanent marking or injury). Ask Tami how that worked out, when I not only put her through it throughout the evening, I also kept her clothes 'for the weekend.' Which gave her husband, Will, the opening to leave the boot locked and kidnap her into what amounted to naked sexual slavery for the weekend. And it was going to be a long long night for me. And I wasn't sure I wanted any of them to garner that much control over me. I certainly didn't want to sit there while it played out. Fretting. And...well, I should explain that alternatively, I could be provoked into speaking. Since there were few rules around what players still in the game couldn't actually do to me, any sound from me would be construed as "a complaint" and then I would become her or his property, to right the balance created by my 'inappropriate complaint', until someone formally won me. In other words, our little group had it worked out to make these evenings sexual adventures for all concerned, with elements of dominance and submission built in to the equation. Short version: I was going to be someone's sub, starting soon probably – and quite possibly I was going to be passed hand to hand. And I was helpless to prevent this, or to influence the 'who' or 'when'. And I was not anticipating any mercy, from anyone. And the room temp had shot up dramatically so no doubt I was flushing crimson. I may even have been breathing erratically, the way you do – because boys and girls I was flat out, humiliatingly, randy to the point of no return. And Tami struck straightaway, opening the window to my immediate left. "Clear some of the smoke," she said, perfectly reasonably. Since in those days everyone smoked and the room was becoming stuffy. So the cold air blew right on me, and slid down my body. And it would go on blowing on me, and sliding down my naked quivering body for hours. And hours. So I took the initiative, in the form of the third alternative. "I'll double down..." That set the already charged atmosphere crackling. Tami, helpfully of course, slipped out of the room for 2 books. One was slid across the floor, and I pulled it under the table with my foot and put my foot on it. (FYI, for those who have seen the pic, you can see the book. Oh, and FYI, it was Carl who took that pic—and any number of others. Although he didn't take all of them for that night) The other book would remain on the table unless I lost. At which point, for the remainder of the evening, anyone could move the book anytime, anywhere, within reasonable distance, and I would have to keep each foot on a book. I would have to do other things too. Lots of other things. Unless I won. But that was unlikely. Doubling-down was exciting because the odds were stacked impossibly against, well, me this time. Everyone who doubled-down had lost. Even Carl, albeit much much later in the evening during one session, when I had pushed him over the edge and finished up winning his ass for a time. So I had traded initiative for...well, I did mention my pussy was pulsing and my nipples, exposed directly to the chill breeze, were sensitized enough I was afraid I might moan out loud if anyone so much as brushed them. So I fell on my sword...and doubled down. They selected the game I couldn't handle. The game that had got me into this mess. My 10 chips were gone after the first round of the table. It was that simple. They simply raised each other until everyone had done so and I was out of chips. De facto defeated, I winced as the second book landed heavily on the lino floor. Tami merely smiled, lighting another cigarette. It was all me now. It was me who had to force my weak knees out of the chair. It was me who had get one foot on each book. It was me who had to stand there, stark naked, in front of these 5 people – for the first time in our 9 sessions. It was me who fluffed out her hair, feigning nonchalance. It was me sweating out the details. Details like Carl passing around the camera so everyone could take their own pix and keep them. Details like the way Will casually reached over to pluck gently at my pubic thatch. Details like peaking, right there, mere moments after I'd lost... Full view. No denying it either. I'd been cacophonous. I 'd clenched Tami's helpfully proffered forearm in one hand and Carl's hair in the other. I'd cum and cum and cum. Earning the nickname 'Slag'. "Slag?" "Yes, sir," I stepped down from the books and retrieved the bottle, crossing the room to collect a fresh ale. Then I spent the rest of that hand standing beside Will whilst his free hand explored my tush and down under, one finger tracing my swollen and oh so hypersensitive pussy lips. Knowing he would announce, as he did, making it all very light and therefore utterly destructive, that "Slag seems to be very wet. Has anyone else noticed?" Before being allowed to return to the books. Which had moved just that little bit farther apart, stretching me a little more... And who knew George was that talented with his hands. Well, presumably April...clever girl. I mean he was uncanny. He had a finger bang on my clit from the moment he made contact. Completely. Utterly. Helpless. Me. No one could stand there and ignore that. But I couldn't even string whole thoughts together. He simply went on playing the hand in question whilst I disintegrated. I tried desperately but couldn't keep from shaking and quivering...I couldn't stand still, let alone keep both hands behind my back...and through the increasing haze I could see people watching closely now, grinning... George had 'won', through my ill-discipline – Tami's phrase – the right to,well... I was leaned forward, forearms and elbows on the table, whilst George slid his chair back beside me. The others took a break between hands to sip drinks and smile and quip at my expense. I know the camera whirred repeatedly but I was soon beyond that level of conscious observation. I think it was two fingers and the pace was slow, slow, slow, slow, then fast and hard until I was hanging on grimly but I wasn't really hanging on at all because it was out of my control – especially when he expertly altered speed and depth. I think today they call it 'forced orgasms'. I just thought of it as hell and every time I surfaced George's fingers were still there, sometimes slow and gentle so I could feel every movement, every response ripple of my internal muscles, sometimes pounding like a piston. Somewhere along the way, Tami and Will, now seated opposite, had taken one forearm each and I was face down on the table, and I did wonder at one stage what the other residents of the block of flats thought about the noise emanating through the still open window. But that was fleeting because his fingers shifted gears again and, well, thought wasn't possible... "Slag?" "Yes, Ma'm" I'd been caught, my right foot not in contact with the book. They'd left me alone, in my own haze, in fact floating in never-never land, for a while. Pleading cramp wouldn't make any difference though. "Slag?" They were ganging up. "Yes, Sir." Carl held up his empty bottle. To Tami, I said, "Ma'm, would you like me to get the hairbrush for my much deserved spanking before or after I fetch sir his ale?" "There's a wooden spoon in the drawer. You can get both at the same time." "Yes, Ma'm, thank you Ma'm" I hobbled down off the books and limped across the tight kitchen space. "Slag is a bit smart-arsed..." That was George, whilst I was rummaging the drawers looking for the wooden spoon. "... She will be, yes," Tami chuckled. I was desperate to find it now, not wanting to provoke anyone further. There it was, wedged in the back: forcing me to have to bend into a spread-legged semi-squat to work it loose. "...Speaking of which," April joined the conversation, "Carl, how does Slag feel about anal...?" Visions of George's huge cock ripping me in pieces blocked out the contents of the drawer.... I jumped, absolutely panic ridden when hands cupped my waist from behind. I started to plead... would've begged...would've got down on all fours and offered absolutely anything – after all, my pussy already felt like I'd been ravaged by a chimpanzee – I couldn't take any more, honestly...couldn't!... would have grovel, kiss feet, whatever... But he was quicker, his voice soft. "Relax, it's me." Carl! "Since I've just won her ass I think I'll do the honours," he said, in his light hearted tone that caused everyone to chuckle, and me to actually sigh with relief and exhale slowly, as he used his feet to ease mine farther apart. Which may not seem like the act of a white knight. But it was...he WAS my white knight...at least for that moment.