A Friendly Competition

*This is the first of a planned four-part series. Please let me know if you like this chapter/narrative and whether or not you want the series to proceed. All characters, unless otherwise specified, are 18 or older.

Warning: there is a lot of texting in this story.

If Lindsay is texting, it will be

bolded

with the designation

L:

If Stacy is texting, it will be

italicized

with the designation

S:

If Rachel is texting, it will be

underlined

with the designation

R:

*

*********

It was hot and I was bored.

Living in Miami in the middle of summertime without working air conditioning was not fun. My parents were quite wealthy and were paying for my apartment in a very upscale building. Apparently a broken AC and no repairmen for days on end were what their money was getting.

I sat alone in my apartment. I was dressed only in a tank top and a thong, trying to cool myself down as much as I could.

Growing up in Northern Vermont, I was very used to the cold. I much preferred it to heat. You could always put on another sweater or cover yourself in another blanket, but there's only so many clothes you can take off. I was about five degrees away from going completely au naturale. My flame-red hair wasn't doing me any favors; at least I wasn't roofing or gardening or something.

But I was stuck down here. My father had been a quite successful plastic surgeon and moved down to Florida when he retired early, right before I started college. I agreed to move near them and go to The U if they paid for it. Now both of my parents were off sailing around the world, and I was left in the heat wondering why they had made me do it if they were just going to be gone for 10 months of the year.

My sweaty ass was glued to the leather couch taking in another mind-numbing episode of Family Feud. It was too unbearable to actually watch anything remotely intellectual or engaging.

Steve Harvey reacted in some combination of horror, awe, and disgust at yet another awful answer (the family still kept chanting "Good answer, good answer," leaving me no choice but to assume they were actually mentally-impaired chipmunks). And that's when my life flashed before my eyes. This is how I would die. Lulled into pure boredom and idleness. I would undergo muscle atrophy and slowly wither away on the couch. Chances are the AC still wouldn't be fixed by the time my insignificant life slipped from the clutches of mortality.

Alas, I was saved by the bell! My phone rang out with a new alert. I shot up off the couch, ran to the kitchen counter, and grabbed it.

The text was from Stacy, one of my closest friends. We had been roommates during freshmen year and remained that way all through undergrad. She had moved on to RSMAS to study marine conservation, while I elected to go to U of M's law school. We had gotten separate places a few months ago, but still stayed in constant touch and got together most weekends.

S: hey, girlfriend. haven't talked in a day. what's up?

I had aired my frustrations regarding my heating situation to everybody on Instagram, so I knew that Stacy was aware.

L: fuck off. how are you?

S: ooh, someone's got their panties in a wad. i wonder what the issue could possibly be.

I was willing to play into Stacy's game, at least for the time being.

L: well, you know. ever since the red sox's division lead dropped down to 8 games, i've become depressed. what ever shall i do?

There was silence for half a minute. Stacy was a huge baseball fan, much more so than I was. For whatever reason, she had grown up a Padres fan, so I doubt she had ever witnessed a winning season in her lifetime.

S: fuck you.

L: well, well, well. oh how the turntables.

S: shouldn't that be how the iphones? oh yeah i forgot you live in the seventies.

Stacy commonly criticized my retro musical styles.

L: wtf? i'm actively disappointed in you. dad jokes and a fucking awful comeback rolled into one. you can do better.

S: yeah, well, you miss 100% of the shots you don't take.

L: -Wayne Gretzky

S: ... -Michael Scott

Part of what made Stacy and I get along so quickly is how common our interests were. Besides music, we both watched the same movies, liked the same sports, flirted with the same guys...

L: oh so you do have a vague knowledge of pop culture? and here i was thinking i was the one living in the seventies. it's good to know you're not a complete inbred cretin.

S: oh please, parks and rec is way better anyway.

L: we are not getting into this again. can we just agree arrested development is superior than both?

S: fine. at least we know you won't be killing any one-armed men.

L:?

S: you couldn't kill him because even if you left the door open, you don't have any air conditioning to leave on in the first place.

L: god fucking damn you! you did not need to bring j. walter weatherman into this. can i please, please, come over? i'm fucking dying over here.

S: not my problem. i'm just sitting here all nice and comfy in my cool apartment.

Stacy's parents were absolutely loaded. Her apartment building had a fucking rooftop swimming pool. They were only five minutes from the beach! Why do you need a swimming pool?!

L: do you have room for two? come on, Stace. help a sister out.

S: sorry, all filled up. unless of course you want to be my willing and humble servant. I shall call you Alfred.

She attached a photo with the text. It was a selfie of Stacy in bed sticking her tongue out at me. Next to her were two bodies, one man and one woman, lying fast asleep.

L: you whore. you'd abandon me for some cunt and cock? what about hoes before bros?

S: that's just how I roll. you should know me well enough to realize i could never turn down two gorgeous swedish exchange students.

Now, Stacy has a very well-hidden secret that everyone who's ever met her knows. She is a total and undeniable slut. Boobs, dick, professor, geriatric, Playboy model. She didn't care. As long as she got her rocks off or gained something from it.

In fairness, it should also be noted that I could be considered quite... loose-virtued as well. But in a different way than Stacy. She was much wilder and more free-spirited than I was sexually. If I lived in a suburban neighborhood, I would probably move along house-by-house one at a time acting as the perfect home-wrecker. Stacy would just organize an "impromptu" backyard-barbecue orgy with the whole neighborhood.

Between us, we had probably slept with every moderately-handsome (and probably worse than that) man on campus. I did it in one-night stands with a trail of broken hearts and shattered dreams left behind. Stacy did it in dorm-room bareback gangbangs. Each a total slut, but in our own way.

L: wtf are you still doing in bed anyway? it's 1 in the afternoon.

S: that's what happens when you spend five hours fucking the night before. but you wouldn't know that, now would you?

L: hey, fuck off. we both know i've slept with more guys than you.

It probably wasn't true, but I was going to defend my honor going down swinging. We both wore our lack of inhibitions proudly like a red badge of courage, for better or worse.

S: uh huh. whatever helps you sleep better at night.

L: wouldn't that mean that i was actually sleeping less at night?

I never missed an opportunity to pounce on a slip-up of hers. It was a sort of bond we had developed. I could give her shit. She could give me shit. But if anyone else tried to do it to either of us, they would have to face the wrath of two women scorned.

S: weren't you the one fucking yelling at me for making bad puns, you hypocritical fucktwat?

The mere mention of those two words together got me thinking about my own pussy. The excessive sweat on my body made the crotch of my thong cling to my pussy lips. It felt mildly pleasant, but reminded me of the throbbing in my pussy. I hadn't masturbated in three days. Fuck, I was getting hot, in more ways than one.

L: I wish somebody would.

S: what?

L: fuck my twat.

S: well, i would offer to take care of it for you, but as you can tell, i'm a little busy.

She attached another photo. Apparently both of the other people were now awake. Stacy had the man's cock in her mouth while the girl sucked on his balls. I actually had to applaud her ability to blow a man and carry on a texting conversation at the same time.

It was a very enticing offer. Stacy and I had played around a little bit with each other before, whether it be masturbating together, skinny-dipping, or getting to second base in a game of spin-the-bottle.

The only time we had ever actually fully had sex was on graduation night: a threesome during an incredibly wild party. I was absolutely hammered and high on both weed and coke, so I probably wasn't in the soundest of mindsets, but I still vaguely remember Stacy as an incredibly gifted muff-muncher. Not to say my own skills aren't quite refined either.

L: trollop. can you at least mail me some cold air to freshen up my place?

It was even hotter outside, so I didn't want to open up the windows. That had left my apartment incredibly stuffy.

S: hmmm, maybe. But since you seem so eager to challenge me, i demand that we finish something once and for all before i consider mailing you my air. If you win, i'll definitely let you stay over here.

L: could i use the pool?

S: i thought you hated it?

L: well i oppose the principle, but if it's there, i'm not gonna not use it.

S: whatever. fine.

L: great! now that that's settled, continue.

S: as i was saying before i was so rudely interrupted, we need to determine once and for all who the sluttier of us two is. no more thinly or thickly veiled insults. an actual competition.

L: i like the idea. count me in.

S: great. we can count up the number of things we do over like a two week period and assign them point values. like i just swallowed a load, so that would get me five points. snowballed it with another girl. one point.

L: hey, wait a second! a. those things happened before the game started, so they don't count. secondly, we need an impartial judge so that there isn't any biases or bickering. is that fair?

S: *sigh* i guess. who do we want as judge?

L: rachel

S: rachel

Our texts came in within three seconds of each other.

L: well that was easy. guess we're in agreement then.

Rachel was a super awesome chick. She seemed to be friends with literally everyone, capable of fitting into any clique at a moment's notice. You'd be hard-pressed to find a single person with a bad thing to say about her. She was the obvious choice for a neutral and discreet judge. Plus we were both pretty close to her, so I at least felt more comfortable sharing the details of the competition with her.

A message popped up on my screen from a group chat Stacy must have just started. Rachel was included in with both of us.

S: rachel. you up?

It took Rachel a minute to see the text and respond.

R: of course i'm up. it's 1 in the afternoon on a fucking weekday. the fuck else would i be doing? oh and hi lindsay.

L: hey rae. don't mind stace. she didn't get a lot of sleep last night apparently.

S: you're goddamn right i didn't.

L: anyway, we needed a favor from you.

R: elaborate.

S: genius lindsay has an idea stuck in her pretty little head that she's a bigger slut than i am. naturally i need to prove her wrong.

R: naturally.

L: no it's who.

R: what?

L: no, what's on second.

S: lindsay, don't you dare start this shit up again. Rachel, do you agree to do it or not?

R: to make a determination? sure. so you just want my opinion?

L: well, actually we were thinking more like a competition.

R: ooh, that is a much more interesting proposition. i take it you want me to be the judge then?

S: exactly.

R: cool. do you have any rules or a structure set in place?

L: no, not yet. that's sort of up to you, i guess. you get to design the game and determine how to prove which one of us wins.

R: oh wow, i think i'm about to get drunk on all this power. give me half an hour. i'll think up some good shit. you two come up with a prize. if we're doing this, i want to add some flair, so make the prize good.

I clicked back to the chat just with Stacy.

L: so what should the prize be? any ideas?

S: well i thought it would be you getting a day at my place.

L: yeah but that's kind of boring. i could do that any old day, and my ac will probably be fixed soon so i can stop martyring myself. rachel's right. we need something grander.

S: how about the winner gets a helicopter tour of the surrounding islands, then a five-star spa experience, and then an all-expenses paid night at the best hotel in Miami?

L: and how exactly do you propose I pay for that? my dad would freak the fuck out. we're not that rich.

S: okay, well then what about the loser has to buy the winner five hundred bucks worth of sex toys? something applicable to the tourney.

L: that could work. but something tells me you probably have every toy under the sun. like a shark-tooth dildo or nuclear-powered rabbit vibrator.

S: well if you have any other ideas, i'm all ears. don't just shut mine down if you don't have anything to contribute.

L: alright, alright.

I thought for a minute.

L: what about the loser has to unequivocally perform any task the winner tells them to. that seems more reasonable, and potentially topically relevant too.

S: i actually really like that idea. like a slave-for-a-day type-thing. but we have to clarify that whatever the task is it won't get you arrested.

L: is that protection for me or you?

S: i don't know. i bet we could both think of some crazy and potentially illegal shit if we tried.

L: lol fair. i think we're done with our part then.

We waited for twenty minutes for Rachel. My eyes were watching the Judge Judy re-run, but my mind wasn't actually taking any of it in. I was actually quite excited to see what Rachel was designing. Anything to get me into a potentially cool place or take my mind off the heat. Maybe it would involve going back to Vermont. A girl can dream.

Rachel did end up finishing her design and texting back.

R: alright, bitches. you ready?

S: hell, yeah. i can't wait to see what you've come up with so that i can definitively kick lindsay's ass.

R: okay. it is gonna be a competition of sorts. The idea is that there are 11 different increasingly hard challenges that you two have to perform within 24 hours of being assigned. whoever does them better gets the points associated with the challenge, which will increase in value. does that make sense?

L: i think so. Why 11?

R: because that's the number that i fucking wanted to do.

S: so what are they?

R: well i haven't come up with all of them yet, but they're gonna be great, i promise. when do we want to start?

S: the swedes are gone, so I'm ready to start now.

R: lindsay?

L: yeah, i guess. give us the first challenge.

R: alright, cool. so both of you will take some sexy selfies of yourselves. you can be fully nude, clothed, topless, etc. but you can't be engaging in any actual activity. they're just nudes. you will send them to me when you're done, and i will upload them to a porn site. whoever gets more views after one hour wins.

As soon as Rachel said the challenge, I knew I would win. Stacy was the perfect definition of a girl-next-door type. Her face was very young and she had pale skin to accent her soft features. She was quite skinny with small boobs and a flat butt. Her chin-length wavy-bob-styled brown hair made her look even more cheery and sweet, even though she added in blonde highlights to lessen the effect. Stacy was gorgeous, but looked like the type of girl you would want to bring home to your parents, which always made her unquenchable sexual appetite all the more surprising to people.

I, on the other hand, was much more outwardly sexy. I had long wavy red hair that came down to my lower back and a much more tanned skin tone. I was two inches taller but about 15 pounds heavier than Stacy. As luck would have it though, the extra weight went straight to my DD boobs and big butt, my two greatest natural assets, which gave me a great hour-glass figure. When combined with my sultry eyes, full lips, and slim legs, I looked like a pin-up model. Both of us were smoke-shows (a term I had recently learned from some lecherous cat-callers), but for this particular challenge, I knew it would be my boobs and not Stacy's innocent charm that would win out.

S: that seems more of like 'how pretty are you' and not 'how slutty are you.'

R: a slutty mind will take more provocative and enticing photos. it's as much about how you take them as what you're taking.

S: fine. how many should we send?

R: send me as many as you want. i'll cut it down to the ten best after.

L: when do we start?

R: now. this one shouldn't take long, so you only get one hour to complete the task. go!

Inspired by the new challenge, the thought of the muggy heat temporarily left my mind. The first thing I considered was the clothes I was wearing. I could go for a dress, or maybe some lingerie, or a revealing blouse.

Ultimately, I decided that my outfit of tank top and thong was mostly sufficient, although I did put on a pair of tight skinny jeans. Leaving something to the imagination, at least to start, always seemed to work better for me, maximize the payoff.

My apartment had big floor-to-ceiling windows on one side that overlooked the skyline of Miami. I decided this would serve as a pretty good backdrop.

I moved over to the window and started taking selfies. I took about ten at first, wanting to maximize the likelihood of a great shot. My favorite was taken from a perspective of just above and in front of my head. The camera got a great look at my face, down my tank top at the ample cleavage shown, and my round ass filling out the tight jeans in behind. I arched my back to make my boobs and butt stick out more.

Next came the stripping. I took my jeans off partially and slid them down onto the thickest part of my ass. I reached around behind my body and photographed the waistband clinging to the tight skin and pushing the top half of my butt up.

I ditched the jeans on the floor. Now it was the turn of the tank-top. I grabbed the bottom and pulled it up to my chest but stopped there. I wasn't wearing a bra on underneath, and I was showing a very large amount of underboob, which the phone captured perfectly. I had looked at enough porn in my life to know what men found seductive and sexy in photos.

The tank-top came off, baring my perky and full breasts. I had rather small areolas and nipples for the size of my tits, but they could get extremely erect and sensitive. I took a constant stream of photos of my boobs, including pinching my nipples and cupping them with a hand, as well as licking and sucking on my own nipple. I'd like to see Stacy replicate that.