Innocent Milf

Chapter 13

We had both been told to go to room 3--the library where we had started. There, eight of us relaxed in overstuffed chairs or on the sofa. "Agent Hardrock" and his date--a pretty brunette in a blue dress--had already claimed one side of the sofa and gestured for us to take the other side. After a quick glance at each other, we agreed and flopped down beside them. Waiters brought spritzers for us and one of the former dealers stood at the front of the room. I scanned my dossier, frantically trying to memorize every detail. Cary was doing the same with hers. The room was deathly silent except for the announcement that the second group could now begin reading their dossiers.

Ten minutes passed too quickly, and my folder was collected from my hands. The dealer stood at the front of the room, arms crossed. It suddenly occurred to me that these guys had been

paid

to be here, and probably had some very strange ideas about each of us. I wondered what they would tell their friends or family about this party tomorrow.

"Agents," the dealer announced, "you have a lot of work to do. You have part of the nuclear code, but if you want to get more, you need to find your suspect. Your contact has provided you with information, but Soviet agents interrupted you and destroyed your dossier. You are being interrogated now, and must trick your Soviet captors. So, you will tell them two true things about your suspect, and one false thing."

Everybody nodded along; we all got the gist. After a moment, the brunette (who looked to be about the same age as Cary was pretending to be) raised her hand. "Where are the Soviets?" she asked, words slightly slurred.

"You will all play the parts of Soviet interrogators when the agent who has been selected is standing in front of you. Once you have told your two truths and a lie, the rest of you will vote on which is the lie. If the majority of you guess right, the agent must pay the penalty. If the majority guess wrong, you get a point. The first four people to four points will get their bonus for the next game."

"What's the penalty?" It was Cary's voice. I nodded, wanting to know as well.

"The lead interrogator will draw a penalty card from this deck and you must do as it says," the dealer announced. As he explained how the lead interrogator for each round would be chosen, I glanced at the deck of cards. It looked like the sort of card game you would get at Spencer's Gifts--naughty challenges all the way through.

"Agents who won at poker earliest, you will start."

I gestured to Carla. "Ladies first."

Carla walked to the front of the room and cleared her throat. "My suspect works in an office as part of his cover. He is a man. He eats at the same restaurant every Thursday evening."

The rest of us turned to one another as Carla fidgeted back and forth. "I bet the suspect is a woman," I said. A few of them raised their eyebrows, so I continued. "Believable, doesn't change the details of the two true facts, 50/50 shot that we guess incorrectly."

"Watch out for this smart guy," muttered the tousle-haired guy who looked like a surfer. I had heard him introduce himself as 'Swelling' earlier. He nodded in agreement. We all exchanged glances.

"Second fact is the lie," announced Agent Hardrock.

Carla frowned and folded her arms. The dealer nodded. "Correct. Draw a penalty card!"

Hardrock drew a penalty card and read it aloud. "You and your contact must lift up a baseball from the ground and finish by holding it between your two noses for a count of ten. You have one minute or the next penalty for each of you will be two cards." The dealer obligingly produced a baseball and set it on the ground in font of Carla, who glared expectantly at me.

Too late, I realized that

I

was her contact. This had backfired. Smirking and chuckles erupted through the room as I flushed and stood up. I gave Cary a glance and squeezed her hand before moving to the front of the room with Carla. Both of us knelt on the ground in front of the ball with our hands behind our backs.

"Go!" the dealer directed. At first, we tried to have me nose the ball up to her knees and along her legs; the sequined skirt of her dress was uneven enough that the ball got caught in the wrinkles fairly easily. The problem came when we realized that if either of us tried to stand up, the ball would roll off her hips.

"Okay, I think I have an idea," I said, still leaning precariously close to her thighs. "I'll try to stabilize it with my chin and squat down. You stand up by leaning forward into me, and then I can bite onto it and push it up until you can catch it between your boobs."

She nodded. "Let's move. We don't have a lot of time."

It mostly worked. As I squatted over her, nearly sitting on her thighs, I bent almost double. The baseball was able to fit into the hollow of my chin. I nudged it up slowly to just under boobs, super aware of where I was. I tried not to sweat, and willed my dick to behave itself for just a few moments.

Carla stood up sinuously, and I followed, half-knelt beneath her cleavage with a baseball balanced on the hollow of my chin. I could feel her heart beating rapidly. The sequins on her bustline shimmered. Serpentine as a stripper, she rolled back and up, and I rolled the ball onto her cleavage. She squeezed her shoulders towards her chest, momentarily trapping the ball while I stood and reset, knees complaining.

From there, we basically stood close together and rolled it up each other's chests until it was beneath her chin. I slowly opened my mouth, bit into it, and gingerly stood to place it against her nose. She leaned forward a little bit to put pressure on it, and I released it from my mouth, mashing my nose against it.

But we were out of time. The rest of the group cheered and jeered, even as the dealer announced that the next time either of us was due for a penalty, we would draw double. Cary gave me a sympathetic look, mixed with something else. Carla rolled her eyes. "There was no way we could have made that work," she muttered. I privately agreed--I wondered if all of these challenges would be similarly unfair.

My turn was next. "My suspect is a Turkish expatriate. They always carry a handgun. They never sleep in the same building two nights in a row."

I lucked out--the group thought the last detail was the lie, when in fact my suspect always carried a knife.

And so it went. As I suspected, more of us ended up with penalties than not, and most of those penalties were either explicitly compromising, or intended to be so difficult as to basically guarantee double penalties going forward.

Cary's first penalty was to do a sexy pole dance for one minute--using a random contestant as the pole. She blanched, and I could see her debating whether to back out of the whole game, but the randomized contestant was the brunette in blue. Cary still looked nervous, but nodded and appeared to think. "Get it, Heather!" called Hardrock.

After a moment's hesitation, Cary took off her spiky heels and placed a hand on the brunette girl's shoulder. What followed was more Flashdance than pole-dance, but none of the rest of us complained. I could clearly see some belly-dance coming through as well. I had given up trying to convince myself out of a boner by thinking about baseball or homework, and settled for trying to tuck my dick partially into my waistband as I sat.

Three rounds took half an hour, after which I had vamped down an imaginary runway, faked a goofy orgasm face (which luckily made everybody laugh), and invented a dirty limerick which almost actually rhymed. Cary had done her "pole" dance, crawled across the floor like a cat while pretending give herself a tongue bath, and--blushing furiously--demonstrated five sex positions. She was allowed to pick the positions and her partner--as long as it wasn't me. She chose Carla, who raised an eyebrow but slinked over with no complaint. I could hear "Agent Hardrock" and "Agent Swelling" murmur in disappointment.

She showed missionary and doggystyle first--although she didn't know the names for either. After that, she appeared to freeze, but rallied and ordered Carla down on the ground, mounting her for both cowgirl and reverse cowgirl. For the last, she thought about it and had Carla stand behind her while she held the edge of the desk for standing doggy. Carla had been slowly rocking back and forth each time to simulate things, and the sight of Cary's breasts bouncing with each "thrust" was enough to drive me to distraction.

"Standing doggy? That's sort of the same as doggy," Agent Swelling objected. Heather looked at him scornfully and shook her head. "Trust me," she said, "It's not." Hardrock and I burst out in laughter at that.

"That's all five, right?" Cary asked. "Because otherwise we have to start doing

Kama Sutra

gymnastics."

"I'm game," Carla grinned, with a shrug. Cary fanned herself in mock exertion. A lock of her hair had shaken loose as Carla rocked her back and forth, which made her look both naughtier and more desirable. Carla whispered something in Cary's ear which made her eyes widen a little and chuckle nervously.

"Man, you two sure are at the right party," Alex--"Agent Swelling"--said quietly to me. "Once Anne and I are done tonight, I'd be all over her in a second.

Schwing!

"

My heart was hammering, but I breathed slowly. "She knows what she wants, and so do I."

When she sat back down next to me, I could feel the heat coming off of her. She leaned against me and murmured "This really

is

like being back in college. If we don't get a chance to be alone pretty soon, I might go crazy." The pure

want

in her voice made me dizzy.

"What did she whisper to you?" I asked.

Cary rolled her eyes. "She suggested that I must be saving the best positions for later," she answered. I chuckled hopefully.

One more round, and both of us got away without a penalty. The dealers tabulated some scores and announced the top three contestants who had kept the details of their suspects the most secret. Cary was on the list, but I wasn't. The dealers announced that the winners of this round would have their time for the next challenge cut in half, with assurances that it was actually an advantage.

The dealers passed out additional small cards to each of us as we all reconvened in the ballroom. Mine read "Your suspect is in danger--to find out where they are staying before he is assassinated by Soviet counter-agents, you must find the address of their secret safe-house.

Donita Holnight

." And on the other side, another name and some numbers:

Kitty Bristol

.

2340617.

As we exited the library, we encountered the other two groups. Ty was already standing in front of them making conversation and laughing about the challenges they had done in their own rooms. All right, he said as we approached, now that we're all here, we can start the next one before we take a break. You are all at a fancy United Nations ball, crowded with international spies. Your suspect's confederate has a card with what you need, but will not give it up willingly--they have hidden it somewhere on their person." Chuckling--some nervous, some not--broke out as we all realized that this was basically going to be a groping game. "You will be responsible for keeping the secret of your own counter-agent as well. The goal is to leave the encounter with both cards--your own and the one you have found on your target's person. Your target's name is on the front of your card. The name of the confederate you are trying to locate--and therefore protect--is on the back of your target's card."

So I would be looking for 'Donita Holnight" whoever that was. And if I could find her hidden card, I was sure that the name on the back of it--as Cary's was on the back of mine--would somehow play into the next game. Ty had really thought this through.

"We can hide the card anywhere on ourselves?" Tiff asked.

Ty cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, and we all laughed at his implication. "No sticking it in your mouth, up your butt, in your nose... or anywhere else. You get the idea. This is a dancing game--we're all going to be out on the ballroom floor dancing. When you hear the chime, we guys rotate counter-clockwise and dolls rotate clockwise. You need to try to get to your target and locate their card within the time limit."

It made sense now--the winners of the interrogation game would have less time out there, and therefore a better chance of keeping their cards hidden from roving hands. "Multiple dances," Ty announced, "for a total of ten minutes. If UN Security--" he pointed to the dealers, who had all put on sunglasses, "--see you struggling or making a scene, you're eliminated. So be discreet. You never know who is watching!"

We headed as a group back down the hall to the ballroom where it occurred to me that regular strip poker was probably still taking place. Sure enough, as we entered we saw a few dozen partygoers gathered around tables--all placed around the edge of the main dance floor, leaving it clear. Some of them were still more or less fully clothed, and others were very much less so. I happened to catch a glimpse of the couple that we had passed on the way in--the girl was still in her dress, but the guy had given up his pants and shoes already.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled, squeezing Cary's hand. "It looks like we'll have an audience."

Cary didn't answer for a moment, and I glanced towards her in concern. Her gaze flitted back and forth between tables, taking in the small crowd of half-dressed graduates. Many of them eyed us curiously as we entered. After a moment, she chuckled nervously. "Boy, it sure looks like it. I hope we're not expected to take anything off again in here."

The red-vested staff guided our group towards a series of temporary partitions away from prying eyes--those of the crowd and of each other. They explained we should use this opportunity to hide our cards.

"Doing okay?" I asked Cary. "Are you getting uncomfortable?"

"Testing my limits, more like," she replied. "I'm glad I've had a few drinks. I could probably use another--not that

that

has been any problem. Any time I so much as wet my lips, somebody is offering me another drink. Probably hoping I'll get less picky about my company if I'm wasted." She pushed her hip up against me. "But a few more apple daiquiris won't kill me. I'm glad we came. This is already a memorable night. And I'm glad my stepmother insisted on sending me to finishing school now. This might be the first time it has ever really been useful."

Relieved that she wasn't anxious, and almost as relieved that Sascha had talked me into a month of ballroom dancing classes earlier in the year, I stepped behind my partition. After a moment of thought, I lightly curled my card and stuck it between the layers of the starched French cuff of my shirt sleeve. The double layers held together by cufflinks were already pretty thick, so a small card wouldn't be very noticeable.

And then, just to throw things off, I pulled off my left shoe, put it back on, and tied it loosely enough to draw attention if somebody clever were watching for changes. As we all lined up, Cary took my arm and leaned against me. "Your shoe is almost untied" she murmured

sotto voce

.

I accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and gave Cary what I hoped was a devilish grin. "I knew you'd notice. I hope somebody else does too."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh my God, you are wicked!"

"I'm a spy, Miss West," I answered, with an air of injured dignity.

She looked confused for a moment, but cooly retorted, "Miss Bristol, you mean." She emphasized it with a little wobble of her breasts. I almost choked on my champagne. Her hip ground up against my groin as she leaned forward towards me. "And I see that Steele is an appropriate name as well."

"How could it not be, with you in that dress?" I replied. It didn't hurt that half of the attendees around us were down to their underwear. Even though I only had eyes for Cary, seeing a lot of college-age cleavage around me wasn't making my night any worse.

"Okay, everybody spread out in two circles--guys on the outside, ladies on the inside." Ty's order rang through the ballroom on a speaker. He was having way too much fun with this, and it showed in his energized tone of voice. "Dance any way you want, but stay within a few feet of your starting place so that you know where to rotate," he added.

I found myself standing across from Heather, the brown-eyed brunette in a dress of rucked sapphire velvet who had come with "Agent Hardrock." I was pretty sure now I had seen her as a senior at Prom last year in the same dress--it was hard to forget. Tonight she was also wearing sparkling earrings, a bracelet, and a glitzy multilayered necklace that looked super expensive--if the jewels were gems and not glass. I couldn't tell.

"Steele," I introduced myself, in the same cornball Connery voice. "I've seen you around already."

She swallowed. "Oh, uh... Cassidy Rider."

"May I have this dance?" I asked, proffering an arm--the one without the card tucked into the cuff.

As the music started, I soon learned that I was over-prepared for the dancing part of this game, so I concentrated on slowing down to my partner's speed and making sure that I felt where her hands were at all times. She never came close to figuring out where I'd hidden, appearing to focus most of the time trying to dance. Even though she wasn't my target, I used the time to practice moving my hands around her as if searching. Turning her in a little spin was a good chance to look for the edge of a card poking out here or there. Bringing her close gave me an opportunity to feel if she had it tucked in a garter.

A chime sounded; I bowed, she curtseyed, and we rotated. I could see Cary across the circle taking confident steps towards Ty. I hoped he would behave himself--more or less. That he had invited me to his fancy party spoke for the strength of our friendship. I would just have to trust that he'd stick to the spirit of the game he had invented. Besides, Cary wouldn't let him get away with anything too outrageous.

My new partner was Tiff from the card game, although she now introduced herself as Wanda French. Despite smelling of alcohol more than before, she was a good dancer. Her hands moved towards my pockets a few times, and I made a show of spinning her around once or twice when it seemed like she was getting close to finding my card. For my part, I made a few halfhearted pats at her bottom and bustline to make it seem like maybe I was looking for her card as well.

As we rotated, I found myself with Ty's girlfriend Nancy--aka Sandra Straddle. I wondered if Ty had come up with all of these cheesy names himself, or if Nancy had helped. At first it seemed as if Nancy was too tottering drunk to be able to dance, but I soon found that it was mostly an act; she used her stumbles and trips to grab onto me and try to search out any hidden card in my belt, cummerbund, or back pockets.

I returned the favor by spinning her around so that she was facing away from me and lightly fondling her as I ran my hands up her sides and belly. She stuck her butt against my groin and wiggled a little, before giggling and twirling away as the chime rang. Across from me, Cary was smoothly disengaging Dan's touch as it attempted to trail up her thigh towards the split in dress. She was slightly flushed.

Carla was a handful in more ways than one. She pretty aggressively tried to search me, so I concentrated on a lot of complicated footwork to keep her busy. She had seen my partly untied shoe and did a lot of tango-esque movements in which she was stretched low or almost lying prone. I let my constant foot movements suggest that she was too close to where the card was. I could hear some encouragement from the poker players gathered around, some of whom were just watching the dance rather than playing their own game at this point.