This story follows after
The Loft Game: Kermit
if you'd like to get some idea of who the characters are and what the Loft Game is before starting this.
—C
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I took it easier on Josh in my dorm room the second time. Yeah, he lost the coin flip a second week in a row.
As we walked down the driveway after the game, he glanced over at the others leaving, judging whether they were within listening distance, and then asked quietly, "Same again?"
I was tempted to say, "You volunteering for me to take a ride?" just to tease him. Instead, I considered it. I wasn't sure about making this a regular thing. On the other hand, I wasn't in the right frame of mind to make that kind of decision just then. I was pretty worked up.
One more time doesn't mean forever.
"Okay."
I dug in my pocket. Keys, a slip of paper with a book title, a tube of lip balm... Josh held out a quarter. At my nod, he flipped it up, caught it, slapped it on his arm.
"Heads I win, tails you do," he said.
I saw the sour expression when his hand came away and didn't need to see the coin. "You know where my room is," I said and turned toward campus. I spent the walk stoking the fire... not that it needed a whole lot of stoking.
Mike had lost the game. I'd say every girl in the room won. I should have known something was up when Hannah didn't immediately start heckling him. At first, I thought it was familiarity: he was a junior, she a senior; him naked was probably old news. Then I noticed the huge grin on Megan's face.
"Remember when you ran your big mouth in September?"
A little "Ah!" came from Emily, as if she'd just remembered something.
"I remember. I know." Mike sounded resigned.
"So, who'll it be?" she asked. I had no idea what that question meant.
He hesitated. Megan waited patiently. I glanced around at the rest: Emily and Hannah looked amused; Josh looked as puzzled as me; the other boys had expressions that were somewhere in the vicinity of "Can we get this over already so I can go have a beer?"
Taking pity on my incomprehension, Emily whispered. "He bet her that he wouldn't lose before Christmas. If he lost, he had to pick one of the girls to strip him." She settled back, then leaned over again. "And the teasing-with-words-only policy is out the window, so think about that if he picks you." She giggled.
Holy shit!
"What if he won?" I whispered back.
"Neither will say, but she looked worried when anyone asked."
"Mike?" Megan prompted.
"You," dragged out of him.
"Good answer," Megan said. Hannah pretend-pouted. Emily laughed. Megan stood, gesturing with a forefinger for him to stand back from the table.
Each of the five guys I had seen in the game had an okay body. Josh was lean, a look that was my fav, as was Owen, who wasn't there. Thomas, also not there, was more average: nothing bad, nothing special. Carter was heavier, like someone who had played high school football, a little bit of pudge over a lot of muscle, someone who could grab a girl and toss her around, not that I'd ever had that thought or anything.
Mike was a bit short and wasn't carrying any extra weight either. He had this triangular face and curly hair. The effect was sort of elfin. But that's where the analogy stopped.
Where Owen and Josh were just healthy college guys and slender by nature, Mike was a starter on the soccer team. And that meant this was a man who could run for forty-five minutes at a shot and then do it again fifteen minutes later... and he did it most days. And when he didn't, there was the weight room. It showed.
I had already seen the chiseled abs and heavily muscled legs. Now I wanted to see what was under the shorts.
Megan trailed a finger lightly up his arm as she slipped behind him, then laid a kiss on his neck. I saw him shiver. Her hands settled on his shoulders, then slid down, caressing as they went: traps, lats, obliques. Workout videos let me put names to them. I saw his hips move as she stroked glutes.
Ass cheeks,
I grinned to myself.
Very nice ass cheeks!
"I know we haven't been real public about it." Her voice was soft, pitched just loud enough to carry across the room. "But I think a lot of you have guessed that Mike and I are together." I was staring at his face, enjoying the emotions playing over it, and saw surprise that she revealed that.
"You might have wanted to pick another girl, hon." She planted another kiss on the base of his neck. "I mean, Hannah would probably have just dragged those boobies down your side while she peeled your shorts off."
Hannah, predictably, gave a shimmy. Since she'd lost her shirt in the game and favored bras that spilled a lot of cleavage, all male eyes were distracted for a second.
"But since you're my boyfriend, I'm not bashful like she is." The ludicrous statement brought a burst of laughter from everyone except Mike, whose face was acquiring some color.
She put her chin on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around. She flattened her hands against the washboard of his stomach, wrists turning so that fingers pointed downward. Slowly, quarter-inch by quarter-inch, they descended.
"And you know, sorta by definition..." She paused, both speech and hands. "... every woman here is a bit of a voyeur." She drew out the moment, allowing the implications to resonate. "I know they'd like a glimpse of what I see every week after we leave."
At that, her fingertips dipped inside the waistband, lifting it away from his body to accommodate her hands. She still moved
so
slowly. The suspense was killer.
What I hadn't quite believed was going to happen... was happening, and I saw the twitch beneath the cloth as the expected started. I was suddenly conscious that my breathing had gotten heavier. A glance at Emily and Hannah beyond her showed they were rapt.
The thin cotton didn't hide the progress of her hands, and we didn't need the jerk from Mike to let us know when she made contact. "Ah ah ah," she admonished, clamping his body between forearms and hips to pin him. "You made the bet." He stilled. She held the pose for two, maybe three seconds. We could picture what the black fabric prevented our eyes from seeing. She whispered something in his ear, then resumed her progress, only the word "later" audible.
It was hopeless. Between the warmth of her hands, the enthralled gaze of three other women, and whatever secret intention she continued to breathe into his ear, Mike was lost. His face got red; his dick got hard. I watched the rampant tip emerge as she finally pushed her wrists out and down to drag the waistband lower, inch by slow inch, palms and fingers never losing contact with his body.
"You've got a wonderful cock," she said, just loud enough that everyone in the room could hear.
He does have a nice one. I wouldn't kick him out for eating crackers.
She knelt behind him to bring the underwear to his ankles. "Step out." Then her hands stroked back up, over thighs, fleetingly cupping a heavy sack, a light brush up along his length, a soft nip of teeth on his ass that caused him to jerk... and
that
caused him to bounce, to girls' laughter.
Again that low voice just audible to us, "Remember the second part. You're my toy for the entire weekend, which means you're driving to the apartment this way except for shoes. I want full access for the ride. Don't run any stop signs, or the cop's gonna get a show." She giggled again.
My eyes left his waist and went to his face. The brick-red was down past his neck, coloring the top of his chest as she continued to whisper something that caused his penis to jerk slightly and the flush to spread farther. It wasn't the nudity—he'd endured that more than once in his years playing the Loft Game—it was the simultaneous embarrassment and stimulation of being exposed erect, played with by his girlfriend: a weekend sex toy on display for her friends.
