The Evolution of Snaes and Ladders

Students play adult version with forfeits

Progression story with a competitive group of university friends who take kids' games and wager on them.

A special thanks to RF-Fast for helping to proofread and ensuring the story is in good shape.

The Evolution of Snakes and Ladders

Chapter 1

I should have learned my lessons from the Ludo fiasco and cut my losses. That had cost me £40 I couldn't afford, a month of washing up. And vacuuming the communal areas of our student house in just my skivvies. Think tighty-whites, but a bit greyer from age. But that's the problem being the newbie in a house with 5 other students, all in their final year.

Three other guys and two girls, although the guys often had their girlfriends around for game nights. I didn't always lose, but often enough that it annoyed me. However, I'd three older sisters and was used to people ganging up on me that way. In the end, I'd gotten pretty good and inserted a metaphorical blade into their troika of power and prized it apart. Setting them against each other and conquering. In a way. Usually, it ended up with them arguing and me avoiding a drubbing.

However, as Christmas approached in my first year, and with the rest of the house planning on skiing holidays with friends from Boxing Day for two weeks. I expected to be alone. Money was tight and things at home chilly, with my parents and younger sister reinforced their battlements in whatever issues they invented daily. The house was large and pretty nice for student digs, and I'd bought into the house policy of homebrew from day one.

There were 6 of us and it took 6 weeks to complete a batch. So, we had about 40 pints of beer each week. Although, with the girls, we had a second stream of wine, but it was only about 10% alcohol, but it still got you drunk, eventually.

Then Miranda spoiled my plans of slobbing out, plugging my games console into the big communal TV and drinking, wanking and playing video games. Not necessarily in that order. She didn't appear to like me for some reason, although I suspect it was that I called her Miranda. Which was her name, but she was experimenting with people calling her Miri. I pointed out that it meant Bitter or 'of the sea', which automatically put me in her bad books.

On Christmas Eve, I walked from my room in a t-shirt and no trousers. Expecting to spend the night eating mince pies, watching crappy TV, and ending with a midnight wank, to welcome in Christmas. Well, we all celebrate in our own ways. Instead, I found a pissed off Miranda in the living room swearing into her phone, using terms that would cause a sailor to blush.

Luckily, she didn't see me, and I dressed before returning. But I'd heard enough to figure out her friend had fucked the guy she'd been planning on fucking on the holiday and the shit hit the fan. I returned to the kitchen, poured me a pint of beer, and her a pint of wine.

She glanced at me and gave me the slightest nod of appreciation as I handed her the drink. We'd invested in several sets of Bluetooth headsets for the TV, so people could listen or talk. OK, the girls talked, and the guys listened to whatever crap was on the TV. Which was often better than the crap the girls were on about. But to be fair, the other guys talked as much bollocks.

I was watching a movie and was shocked when a cushion hit me.

"Thanks." she said, raising her half empty glass.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No!"

"Thank god!" I replied with feeling.

That earned a chuckle, and she unplugged the headphone from the TV so we could both watch. The beer and wine were consumed at a pace. Then I brought out the large box of mince pies my grandmothers had baked together. Having competitive grandmothers was a boon. Frangipane and many variations gifted me enough to last for weeks, or so I thought.

She woke me up sometime after midnight and I sat up from the couch, covered in flaky pastry and feeling a little sick.

"Bedtime." She slurred at me, grinned and then sniggered. "I meant our own beds." And staggered off.

To be fair, I wasn't in that much better shape. I downed a pint of water and peed, then refilled my glass before going to bed with painkillers in reach.

When I woke, I was relatively un-hungover. Which was a bonus. I got up in a good mood and even remembering Miranda was here hardly dampened my mood. After showering, I started my traditional family Christmas breakfast. A lightly toasted bagel, topped with Boursin cheese and smoked salmon slivers on top. A few lemon drops, coffee with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice with champagne.

Since I'd been making this since I was about 10 (I never got the champagne until I was 16), I made enough for Miranda as well as myself. Then I had a dilemma. Miranda scared me a little, but the coffee and champagne needed drinking before they got cold or warm, respectively. So, I knocked on her door and waited.

"What?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

"Breakfast." I replied and entered the room.

Although, to be fair, I was on the balls of my feet, expecting a projectile at my head at any moment.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"I made you breakfast. As I never expected you here, I have no gift for you, so this is it."

"Does it come with painkillers?"

I grinned as I'd expected that. Placing the tray on her bed with the pills in view, I retreated and returned to my breakfast. Calling my family to wish them the best.

Half an hour later, Miranda appeared in her dressing gown and carrying the tray.

"Thanks! But don't take this the wrong way..." She stepped close and kissed the top of my seated head.

She sat, still looking tired.

"I feel bad for asking this, as I was taking the piss out of you for saying you're 'billy no mate'. But I've no food in and I really don't fancy wandering around town for an Indian or Chinese takeaway for my Christmas dinner. Any chance you have enough to share?"

"I've already made you breakfast." I said, trying to sound put out. But I couldn't pull it off.

At home I loved to cook and found a shared kitchen horrible. And another tradition for Christmas at home was to cook enough we could eat off left-overs for days.

"Tell you what. If you help peel spuds and stuff, I'll think about sharing."

It was funny watching her go through indignation and other emotions to realise it was worth it for food.

I didn't have a turkey but a large chicken and with all the trimming, roasties, stuffing and so on. We were both on the verge of a food coma by 3pm. waddling into the living room, she put on Miracle on 34th Street, then shocked me by snuggling up with me.

"Don't get any ideas. I used to watch this with my grandpa like this." She said,

I'd honestly no ideas, but the booze, food overdose, and a warm girl pressed against me. It zonked me out like a cheap candle.

"Will? Are you awake?" Miranda asked, and I opened my eyes and saw it was after 7 pm.

"Yeah, why?"

"I've been waiting for the latest Dr Who special for months, and it seems wrong to watch it alone."

She handed me a fresh drink, and to my surprise, she sat next to me. In fact, she pressed up against me again.

"Put your arm over my shoulder."

Awkwardly, I did as she asked and noted my hand dangling over her chest. And I was very aware it would take little to cop a feel. Not that I would, even if Miranda didn't intimidate me. After the Christmas special, she got up to refill our drinks, then returned to sit next to me. Only this time she lay with her head on my thigh, watching the TV sideways.

Unfortunately for me, she put on a movie with a lot of nudity and sex scenes. A few times, I prayed she would not notice that I got hard, but after the movie, she got up and said she was going to bed. However, she gave me a look that confirmed she knew I'd been erect. Her eyes lingered on my crotch a moment before she smirked and left.

Given my original plan was to make the most of being alone to wank, I was primed to do it. But knowing Miranda would know I'd be doing it was weird, so I went to bed and left myself alone.

Chapter 2

I was woken in the morning with a knock on my door, but by the time I had my eyes open, Miranda was already inside my room. Obviously adopting my kid sister's technique of knocking while already entering the room. Hoping to catch me at something, but claiming she'd technically knocked first. Miranda had a mug of tea in one hand and a plate with a boiled egg and soldiers [toast in strips for dipping].

Unfortunately, my bedside cabinet was covered in books, so she couldn't set it down. Sitting up quickly, I took the mug and squeezed a space to put it down. Looking back at her, I saw a smirk on her face, and I hardly needed to look down to see the reason. I always slept naked and always woke up with an erection.

Taking the plate and trying to cover up the bulge in my duvet. But it's too light and I'm too hard to balance it over the top to hide it. So, I resorted to placing it a little lower on my legs. Miranda sat on the side of my bed and glanced at my bulge again.

"So, what boxing day traditions does your family have?" She asked.

"Jigsaws. Set it up on the kitchen table and we all work on it until New Year's Eve. What about you?"

"Usually a lot of dog walking. But I've an idea. When you're up, we can play Snakes and Ladders."

"The kid's game? Oh right, house rules, right?"

Her grin confirmed that.

"So, how does it work? Forfeits and prizes, I suppose."

"Yep, but I'll tell you the details later. Eat your egg before it goes cold." She paused at the door to look back and smiled. Which was a little worrying.

After I ate and showered, Miranda explained that the Snakes and Ladders were going to be different, as there were only two of us. And as we were going to be alone in the house for nearly two weeks, we'd only roll the dice once with breakfast, lunch and dinner. That way, the game would last most of the holidays.

She showed me dozens of small envelopes, filled with a forfeit of a prize, which might be a forfeit for the other player. The penalties and prizes were lower in the lower half of the board. Each envelope had the square number of the head of a snake or the foot of a ladder. Followed by numbers 1 to 6. This, she explained, was so we'd roll the dice to see which we got. So, she couldn't rig the game against me.

Miranda also explained that the longer the snake or ladder also increased the penalty or prize. Just before the others left for their holidays, we'd all attended a party and won a pile of raffle prizes. Including a large Christmas hamper. As an example of what we were playing for, she said that if you managed to roll and land on the ladder in square 1. The prize was 3 miniature bottles of wine from the hamper.

She rolled a 5, and I only rolled a 3, so neither of us hit a snake or a ladder. I was going to suggest a second roll, but she'd already set the rules. Instead, we wrapped up warmly and went for a walk in the local park. It was cold but clear, and we enjoyed the number of kids with new bikes or skateboards running around and screaming.

After a lunch of toasted sandwiches filled with leftovers, we rolled again. She landed on 10 and I hit the ladder on 8, taking me up to 30. Rolling again to see the prize, I opened the envelope and read it out.

"Select an opponent and choose what they wear for the rest of the day. You can only choose from clothing they own, or you do. NOTE - both underwear and outer clothing are required. But your opponent may forgo your choice, but not wear anything else."

I groaned. "What does that last bit mean?"

"If I were to select a mini skirt for you to wear, you could skip it, but not wear anything else instead."

Part of me was tempted to insist on going through her drawers to see what underwear she had. But this was our first forfeit, and if I went all out, it would probably bite me in the arse. Instead, I chose a baggy sweatshirt and jogging pants that are big even on me. Along with white boxer shorts and a pair of hand knitted, and frankly itchy socks, my grandmother knitted for me.

Miranda looked both relieved and disappointed, which was confusing. She came back into the kitchen a few minutes later, holding the waistband of the pants up. I smiled and she let go of the trousers and they fell to her feet. I grinned as she held her arms out to her sides.

To be honest, I'd never seen her legs before as she always wore jeans, and they were nice legs. The sweatshirt came down to mid-thigh and covered her underwear.

"And does the underwear stay up?"

"I had to roll the waistband over 4 times, but just about."

"There is a cord in the trousers."

"I know. I just wanted that for comic effect."

She pulled the trousers up and turned away to re-tie them. In the process, I got a quick peek at her bum in my boxer shorts. It was nicely plump, and I could easily see the crack from the waistband folded over many times. I was sure from the front I'd have seen her pubes easily. But I dismissed that idea immediately. Having her see the bulge in my pants twice in 24 hours was not something I wanted to make a habit of.

We came together again around 7 pm to graze the leftovers again. Cold chicken and pigs in blankets, stuffing balls and even cold roast potatoes. Afterwards, she rolled her dice and landed safely on 14. I rolled a 2 and swore as I landed on the snake on 32. My forfeit was the same as the one I'd given to her at lunch time.

Miranda was far less hesitant to humiliate me and ran off to get the clothes she'd already selected. A denim mini skirt, a white blouse and a pink bra and panties. I groaned and wished I'd not been so lenient with her at lunchtime. I returned 10 minutes later in discomfort. The bra was pointless, and too small to fasten, but I wore it to play along. The shoulders of the blouse strained at the seams, as did the buttons. The skirt, surprisingly, was OK.

But only compared to the knickers. It wasn't surprising that I'd never worn a thong, and I had a newfound respect for women. Having what felt like dental floss between my buttocks was not a sensation I was going to get used to. Or at least I hoped not. It was still early in the game. I was worrying about what the forfeits were going to be when we got above 50.

Miranda laughed herself, nearly sick until I got us drinks. I sat and swore as my undercarriage felt like it was being torn off. With that, she offered me an olive branch and said I could change into my own underwear. Not only for my comfort, but that she was worried I'd stretch hers too much.

I came back far more comfortable and with the blouse unbuttoned. It was still tight, but bearable. Although, I caught her eying my exposed chest and stomach, which was nice. I'd spend a long time working on my six-pack and decent pectorals. She sat on the sofa at right angles to the one I sat on, and we watched the TV.

I noticed Miranda glancing over often and I paused the TV.

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

"So, why do you keep looking at me?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I kinda thought you were a scrawny beanpole."

I managed to bite back my reply that she was just a short-arse.

"You're more ripped than your usual outfits reveal."

I smiled. "Thanks." Then I switched to an exaggerated female voice and primped my hair. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

We both laughed and resumed watching the TV. Taking it in turns to refill our drinks. The homebrew was set up in the kitchen, so we had to do it frequently. One time when she was in the kitchen, I heard swearing. She came back with my sweatpants in her hand. A wine stain down the front.

"Sorry I made a mess." She said. I shrugged. "And how the hell do you wear these freaking socks? They're itchy as fuck."

"I don't," I replied.

She glowered at me and tossed the trousers and socks at me. Then tucked her feet under her as she sat again. I figured as she'd looked at my legs, it was ok to look at hers. Although, that might have been my drunk brain making bad suggestions.

The movie we were watching ended, and I'd had enough to drink, so I said I was going to bed. Miranda nodded drunkenly at me, then her eyes widened.

"Hang on a minute." She said and her leg shot out from under her.

She scrambled to her feet and staggered off to her room. Leaving me reeling from what I'd seen, if even for just a moment. To free her foot from under her meant her knee was pointing up. Revealing my baggy boxer shorts under the sweatshirt. And up the gaping leg of the underwear was a cleanly shaved set of lips.

I'd just stood up when she returned with something in one hand.

"I got this last week, forgetting everyone else was away." She held up a spring of plastic mistletoe. "I demand a Christmas kiss."

I grinned drunkenly and leant forward to kiss her cheek. Only she had her eyes closed and her lips puckered. I froze, confused. Did she really want me to kiss her properly? She opened her eyes and saw me leaning over to kiss her cheek. Her other hand came out and pressed on my chest to stop me.

"Nope, a proper kiss, or it doesn't count."

I would not argue. She wanted me to, and it might be the only chance. Our lips met, a little hesitantly, but her tongue touched my lips, and my tongue joined hers. We were kissing with increased intensity when my arms wrapped around her. It seemed to break the spell, and we pulled back.

"Not bad. With a bit of practice, you'd be pretty good."

"And you'd let me practise?" She grinned and shrugged, then turned and left the room.

Chapter 3

In the morning, I pottered around the kitchen, but as it got close to 11 am, I made Miranda a coffee. I wanted to make sure things weren't weird after last night. Knocking on her door and waiting until she called me in.

I offered her the coffee, and she sat up and reached for it with both hands. Her duvet flopped down to her waist, revealing a pink camisole top that was faded and rather thin. Her breasts filled it nicely, and I quickly looked away.

"Thanks," she said. "But I really need the loo." She sipped the coffee and set it aside. Then threw back the covers.

She was wearing loose grey cotton shorts, and the memory of the momentary pussy flash last night flooded my brain. Miranda was at the door before she turned around.

"Give me 15 minutes to shower, and we can roll the dice." She picked up her coffee and left me alone in her room.

When she walked into the kitchen later, she was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.

"I did some calculations, and I think we need to roll the dice twice each time, otherwise the game might last a month. And as it's nearly lunchtime, we might as well do those rolls as well."

We took turns, and on her final throw, she landed on the 32 that had thrown me back down to 10. I was a gentleman, and didn't laugh, but she caught my smirk.

"OK, let's see what the penalty is?" She rolled and opened the envelope. "Crap! I put that in, hoping you'd get it."

She handed me the paper and I read it out. "Wearing your sexist underwear, clean the communal areas of the house. Remain in your underwear for the rest of the day and do not hide out in your room."

"It's not that bad." I commented. "Remember Ludo?" She grinned.

"Not a lot of point in getting dressed, was there." She said,

"How about this? Rather than you do all the work, how about we share? I do one room and you the next?"

"Kinda defeats the point of doing it in my underwear if there is no one there to watch. We can clean together."

When Miranda returned a few minutes later, I realised just how much she'd have missed out on if I'd got that forfeit. My sexiest underwear was just my underwear. Miranda obviously had options. She came in wearing matching underwear. Orange fading towards yellow. The bra gave her a more impressive cleavage than I might have guessed and was fairly sheer. I could easily make out the outlines of her areola. The panties were pretty high cut and topped that off with trainers, marigold rubber gloves and a can of pledge. Which was weirdly sexy!