Game of Love

Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission.

Case 2000-1

"Game of Love"

by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________)

Copyright 2004 by Richard Williams All rights reserved.

Chapter 3 - Outcome

Room service at the Oxford was ready for our favorites. Sophia and I sat quietly in our robes at the little table by the window, looking down on the activity on 17th Street, and got our fingers sticky with the jam from our English muffins. After we had indulged in the inevitable laughing and then the licking of each other's fingers, we wiped them on the white linen serviettes and she poured coffee for both of us. Cream that I poured out swirled mysteriously through the hot contents of her cup, and then she spoke.

"There's something about the way that we wrapped up the evening that makes it hard for me to remember all the people in this case. It seems like you must have been awfully busy juggling all of those personalities." She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Just how much DO you remember from last night?" I inquired. She grinned and stretched catlike in the chair, then crossed her legs. Her robe slipped from her thigh, and she smoothed it back with her hand, slowly, remembering. Her eyes glanced upward, as if she saw again the pleasures that had carried her off into private dreams.

"Well, let's see," she struggled to get back to our start-up conversation. She grabbed the little notepad and pencil from beside the telephone, and began to jot down names.

"Joe Martinez is a rugged guy who came to this country with nothing but his personal drive and integrity." She checked off his name.

"Good start! He's the one who started all this off."

"His daughters, Carol and Crystal. Carol was about to get engaged to the son of a prominent area business couple, when things started to go wrong."

"Yes, keep going!" I urged.

"Nathan Twill, some kind of football star... and he's interested in someone with a bare back at the class lake party."

"Class President Cynthia Slidell."

"Just a minute, let me think...." Sophia murmured. "Hmmm. How about another, and that'll get me going again."

"I'm sure it will!" I leered, intentionally misunderstanding her. She swatted me with the room service checklist.

"Tony, my dear young investigator," I contributed. We both sat silently for a moment, thinking of the young man murdered as he helped my friend Dean cope with rogue French intelligence agents on the fringe of the Denver Summit Conference.

"Oh, how could I forget: Zack, Rich, Roberto - guys who Carol had gone out with - each touched her in a different way, right?" Sophia was on a roll again.

"Mr. Simmons - the high school science teacher that Crystal said that Carol should have chosen for a fling!" She remembered another name that likely would not come up again.

"Why is it that you can remember the names of all the guys who Carol had a thing for at one time or another?" I laughed as I finished asking Sophia that.

"Well then, you dredge some more names up!" She leaned back in a way that highlighted her breasts in her robe, and took a long, slow sip on her coffee.

"I think it needs more cream," she added, giving me an arch expression.

"Okay........" I covered her bid and upped it with names that I knew would raise her envy, whether she wanted to admit that or not.

"Madeline Tremont, the international studies coordinator from back at the university."

"Yessss," Sophia agreed, drawing out the one syllable.

"Fawn Ramirez - likes to gamble... hits the casinos in mid-morning. She's under 21, but it's the usual... she looks older, and she has a cute smile, and perky breasts." I stretched out the description as a tease.

"More?" She playfully gritted her teeth. At least, I think it was playful.

"Miss Nubile - I don't know the name of the receptionist at the Ultra-Platinum Room."

"Even more?"

"Carla and Jerry - in the Ultra-Platinum Room."

"Uh-huh...?" She looked puzzled.

"Shelly - on the stage in the Ultra-Platinum Room."

"Was she pretty?" Sophia sounded genuinely curious.

"Yes. But I wasn't able to watch her for very long." My penis began stirring as I remembered what had happened that night. Should I tell Sophia about Sherrie?

"The blonde, Susannah -- a wedding band... ...had this opportunity in Reno at a convention for a risqué evening, but of course, no sex. And the linebacker she had sex with."

"Where was that?"

"In the Ultra-Platinum Room."

"Monique Tomas, my Portugese collaborator in the Oporto - Macao ESP Link tests." I tossed in a name that would come up again.

"Let's go back to that."

"Back to what?"

"Back to the Ultra-Platinum Room. There are obviously some parts here that I didn't hear yet."

"We kind of got distracted, and then you fell asleep." Should I tell her about Sherrie?

"So, we have time now. And I'm wide awake!" She saluted me with her coffee cup. "I think I'll hold off on that extra cream for a bit." She looked pointedly at me and adjusted her robe so that it covered her thighs completely again.

And so I recounted for her the story that I had reviewed in my memory after she had fallen asleep the night before. Starting from when I cleared out the balance on my credit card account with Joe Ramirez' advance, we worked through from beginning to the point where Sherrie and I had headed into the pillows of one of the Ultra-Platinum side rooms, still telling ourselves that we were "just looking."

Told in this way, in sequence, it came out more easily than I had thought, so far. And, I did not need to offer any graphic details, as Sophia could guess what had happened next. She was more interested in what had happened after we left the room.

=======

Almost as soon as the last wave of our wrenching orgasm had swept over us, Sherrie and I were whispering together. In the background, we could hear holidaying housewife Susannah scream with delight as her newfound linebacker pumped her full of the enthusiasm her marriage lacked.

Further off, we could hear the mingled, seductive music that backgrounded Shelly's performance on the rotating stage.

"Damn!" was the first thing Sherrie uttered.

"Damn good or damn bad?" I queried.

"Both. Hey, I don't mean you-- us-- that was the damn good part. I mean my project just washed out with our hormone flood." Her expression changed from lip-licking "good" to frowning "bad" as she whispered hoarsely to me.

"What project?" I vaguely remembered that she knew who I was, which had been a surprise.

"Remember when that gal at the front desk asked if we were together?"

"Yes. I guess we are now." I tried a lame joke. Sherrie ignored it.

"Well, remember how she said that they were on the lookout for investigating agents? I'm one. Or I was one, until the moment your cock touched my pussy. I don't know what in hell I'm going to do now."

"Let's get out of here!" I whispered back, raising my voice a bit to be heard over Susannah's whimpering tears of joy. Their gradually shortening bursts told me that she and someone, presumably her linebacker, were accelerating up the on-ramp to bliss again.

Sherrie nodded agreement, the golden charm on her necklace moving in sympathy through her still-heated cleavage, her nipples displaying their firm demand for more kisses. My penis swung to and fro on its own as my body struggled with the pros and cons of coming inside her again, now. We DID have to get out of there!

We tossed the white robes over ourselves, and headed for the door.

Leaving the alcove, we stepped over Susannah and her lineman. She was gently teaching him how to more carefully pleasure her, now that she had enjoyed having taken the edge off his horniness. Glancing back, we saw Shelly in the center of things, seductively signaling a group of frat boys onto her stage. This casino was a place that made gambling more than a game.

Miss Nubile smiled coyly at us as we rushed out. She handed us the key to our dressing room with a delicate twirl, as if she knew something very clever.

"A copy of your video tape is waiting on the side table in your dressing room." She purred.

I looked at Sherrie, and Sherrie looked at me, her eyes intentionally crossed as a comic signal to keep going and not ask questions. Down the hall we scurried.

"Did I catch something about the way she said that?" I asked.

"You did. Notice that she said a copy. I think I know what we'll find on the tape. It happened to several of my colleagues." She whispered that in drawn out sentences as we went through the hall.

We were all business as we washed up and got our clothes on. Sherrie nudged me twice, as if playfully, when I started to say something specific, letting me know that we might still be on an open mike or hidden camera or both.

Past the preoccupied slot players, out the door and into the dark street we hurried.

"I've got one of the "home-office" suites in my hotel, so I've got a videotape player," I offered.

"I guess we'd better see what they've got on us." Sherrie was glum. We drove back to my hotel in her car. The hotel staff very professionally avoided noticing my new friend, although privately they must have been puzzled. Most newly-paired couples heading upstairs did not look so tired and despairing.

"Let's find out if I still have a job with the investigating team or not." She murmured this in a resigned tone.

Sherrie flopped down on the bed while I popped the casette into the player. She didn't even bother to switch on lights. I had left the curtains open, and the lights of Reno were bathing our room. Even as low as she was feeling now, there was still something very attractive about her in that setting. Some people, I decided, just have an internal glow. The screen popped on with a blue glow of its own, lighting our faces. A logo appeared, and then a "thank you to our guests" message from the management of the Casino de Amour. It described how so many guests had said that they wished they had a souvenir of their night at the casino, and now, thanks to modern technology they could have something to take with them.

And, the promo continued, how did that technology work?

"Due to the active nature of many of our guests' fun-filled evenings in the Ultra-Platinum Room, traditional automated video techniques produced unsatisfying fisheye results, especially in low light conditions. With our new CALF, Computer Assisted Lens Focusing, the camera lenses will zoom in on an area of the room showing the largest percentage of skin tones associated with motion." And then there was a bunch of stuff in fine print, like a new car ad.

"Maybe you could run it past this stuff," Sherrie muttered. But the promo was dissolving into the scene from the alcove in the Ultra-Platinum Room. I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed beside her. I was beat, too.

"Oh, God!" Sherrie exclaimed, sucking in her breath. The casino's video system caught a perfect picture of us hurrying toward the camera as we sought a nesting place for our urgent mating. Still, there was nothing over the edge of behavior expected of her as an undercover operative.

And then there was a kind of pause. We had situated ourselves at the edge of camera range as it turned out, and the camera's computer began guiding it a bit crazily around the alcove, trying to reestablish us as the center of its image.

It caught a bit of my legs stretched out, but as hers were drawn up, the picture did not show who I was stimulating. And then it happened!

The camera started to slowly work up my legs, but in doing so, picked up the athletic motions and light complexions of blond Susannah and her lineman in the background. In a dizzying zoom and pan, it adjusted itself to a perfect image, his muscular butt pumping a half-time band rhythm deep into the need of the thrill-seeking housewife.

Sherrie and I watched spellbound, as the housewife's fingers curled more and more tightly around his rippling biceps. She was pulling him down onto her, now holding him in such passion that we could see her fingernails scratching him. He was on top, and bigger than her, but we could see that she held him as if he were the one submitting to her will, a decade or so's worth of sexual frustration being canceled out now. His limbs flailed almost helplessly when she was not clutching them. We were nowhere to be seen in the picture. There was sound, and even our sighs were lost in the other couple's urgent, animal messages.

On the bed, it was like a curtain was lifting for Sherrie. We simply watched. As the tape rolled through the machine, and Susannah dominated the picture, my friend the investigatrix felt better and better. A couple of times, the automated camera quickly searched the room, once catching a barely visible ebony hand twirling in an almost balletic way.

It was a sweet reflex of Sherrie's that I knew meant that it was when I was kissing the soft undersides of her breasts, but the camera seemed to lose interest when it compared us to the other couple, and never showed our tender touching. Automation was wonderful!

In fact, as we watched the video, waiting for what we expected to be the incriminating evidence that would either blackmail Sherrie into silence or end her career, I noticed that her hands would idly twirl. It was such a cute habit for a woman who was so tough. Her right hand idly caught the bedpost, and gently stroked it as the video rolled on.

The camera even liked staying with the other couple as she began to teach him how to actually make love. They would move around to one of the new positions she was showing him, and it would lock onto them again. Even when they paused for her to kiss him into new hardness, the computer loved her camera eye-catching golden hair and crisply focused on her bobbing head as she admired his hard-on and then gleefully swallowed him.

Finally, the CALF picked us up again as we hurried out of the room. That was it! For a moment I felt disappointed that we were not considered interesting enough. I hit the rewind button. Then the silent woman at my side exploded with joy!

"They screwed up! They didn't get us! They can't prove we did anything!" She bounced up and down on the bed like a teenager and then hugged me. The television clicked back to a news report. Fred Francis of NBC blabbed on about something.

=======

"Uh, oh!" Voiced Sophia. "After watching a video like that, did she just keep it sisterly?"

I paused, took a deep breath, and then resumed my story.

"You can imagine for yourself, I'm sure, but I'll tell you about it."

=======

Sherrie's enthusiastic hug brought me full against her, and we rolled around on the bed. As we became aware of each others' reactions to so closely watching the video, our tussling and teasing slowed. Sherrie's tongue darted across her lips, and she sighed.

"Let's celebrate your keeping your job!" I caressed her through her blouse, tenderly finding her nipples pushing up beneath her bra.

"Yes!" she whispered emphatically, and for the second time that night we were at each other's buttons, snaps, zippers and clips.

This time, she gently urged me onto my back, and pressed herself against my freed manhood, pleasuring herself with me as it firmed in her fingers. She reminded of my coeds, who learned that way of quickly bringing me back up to meet their urgent needs as a helpful expansion of their knowledge.

But this was different, as Sherrie knew the sweet secrets of touching already. She absorbed all of my attention with her strokes, smiling confidently as I became a part of her.

We barely spoke, concentrating on keeping pace with each other, spiraling higher and higher, until at last the insatiable itch overcame her control.

Sherrie rose high enough that my penis glided off of her clitoris, and then plunged my staff deep inside her heat.

This time, with the slower pace and without the distractions of the Casino alcove, I felt every centimeter of my progress into her. She wiggled a bit, so that she could find the right angle, and then let a sigh turn into a throaty purr as my pressure met hers in the perfect spot.

I swam back and forth through her, savoring the rough contact of our pubes clashing, and the long draw back. I flexed my secret muscle as I drew away, spreading the silver fluid for her from my tip that would make each returning pass go easier, deeper, smoother. My balls cranked madly to prepare for what would come.

This ebony dream leaned back confidently in my arms for a moment, bringing her breasts to a beautiful arc over my head. Her gold necklace swung hypnotically over me. She paused, and a wonderful, womanly smile spread over her. It kept spreading, beyond her face, bringing her whole body into it. Her hand twirled gently in the air for a moment. Then her tongue flashed out to her lips.

Holding her tightly at her hips, I exploded deep within her own orgasm.

Flexing, pushing, holding her again, she squeezed every ounce of pleasure out for us. And then we fell back exhausted. The first rays of the sun lit up our glowing, tired bodies as we lay stretched out across the covers.

For a while, we cuddled and giggled as we watched a local news reporter interviewing a State Senator about the need for Family Values to be a part of the "modern gaming industry." Sherrie cradled my balls tenderly, lovingly stroking them as the senator described how opponents of gaming had tried to suggest that it exploited any human desire it could get its hands on. This, of course, was false, he emphasized, as her kisses trailed across my tummy, but nevertheless, State agencies even now were warming up to the job of seeking out any casino that crossed the line to use sex as a lure.

As the television switched to a Sport Utility Vehicle commercial in which a lanky blonde raced through rugged country to a rendezvous with a guy who had forgot his shirt when he had yanked on his jeans, Sherrie took my half-staff as her teasing tool and caressed herself into another orgasm. I tried to make careful mental notes of the precise locations where she had most enjoyed pleasuring herself. It was fun to feel her gently coaxing fingers draw out my after-cum, and feel her applying it to herself as though it was a magic potion.

She tossed her head back joyously at one point, and glanced over her shoulder at the television, then spoke in her rich, sensuous voice. "It's a shame, isn't it, the way that sex gets into everything!"

She was all business as she washed up. But if one looked closely, and I did, there was a twinkle in her eye and her step was bouncy-- for someone who had barely slept. I wanted to crawl under the covers and close my eyes. Luckily, room service was quick with the continental breakfast, and we sat for a few minutes to chat.

"I have to get into my office and report on this. Of course, I'll have to omit some parts. And I can't be a witness in a court case, or they can ask a lot of questions that I'll have to answer. But with the information I've got, I think that there will be other ways of shutting them down." The investigator in her was coming to the surface again.

"Do you come to Reno often?" Sherrie looked hopeful. I told her that I did not, and told her a bit about Sophia.

"I hope this will be all right," she said in a concerned tone.

"It won't be all right, but she knows me well enough to understand." I spoke the truth.

Sherrie let me kiss her at the door.

"Good-bye" -- it was quiet, anti-climactic. And then there was a knock on the door. Sherrie peered out the peephole.

"Were you expecting a young Hispanic woman just barely stuffed into a tube top?" She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "It isn't the hotel staff."