ScrabbleGO had morphed, under the ministrations of my wife, into ScrabbleGOSTRIP!
How? Simply by her insistence that I play 3 females, of my wife's choice of course -- so all expert players - at the same time. With each game I lost costing me one article of clothing -- and each game I lost by Resigning costing me two articles of clothing.
Much too soon, she was back the room, hands on my shoulders while I sat sweating in the chair in front of my laptop -- her fingertips digging in. "Both shoes. Now. 5 -- 4 -- 3 -- 2 -1..."
It wasn't easy. Reaching under the desk, around the hardon trapped in my pants. Got my right shoe off...working on my left. Sweat trickling down both my chest and my back.
"...0"
Clunk. The left shoe dropped literally.
"Too slow." The fingers dug in again. "Both socks -- quick, quick. 5 -- 4 -- 3..."
I didn't stand a chance of course. She knew it. I knew it. So of course once I'd belatedly added the second sock to the growing collection of her plunder, I fully expected more. The continued sweat trickles was about not-knowing what...
"Up. Quick. On your feet...."
I managed, albeit a bit weak-kneed.
"Slacks. 3 -- 2 ..."
Again, no chance. They dropped around my ankles but try clearing them from there.
"You're not learning," she teased again, "these next I think." Reaching under my shirt flaps she grabbed the thick elastic of my briefs. You got it -- down they went.
Hardon-plus. Shirt literally plastered to me...feet entangled now in both slacks and briefs.
Now I need to back up a bit and explain something. My work-from-home/Covid remote desk was a sit-stand model placed in front of our bedroom window: large window, with a view out over the road and scenery in the distance. I'd had the desk on it's lowest setting, so it was down below the windowsill.
And I'd been working there -- well, not working, playing ScrabbleGO there for quite some time, more distracted than present in the room so to the speak. So I'd missed the fact the sun had gone down, but there was a light on in the bedroom -- turning the scene behind the almost fully open drapes into a fishbowl.
With me standing there. Hardon hoisting up the shirt front...moisture spots clearly visible.
When the attractive neighbour strolled by. Stopped. Pivoted slowly toward the window. And stared, her smile growing.
"Now we have the makings of a really good CFNM scene," my wife chuckled. "Hold that thought," she added, popping out the open the bedroom door, then out the double doors onto the deck to the right of our bedroom window.
They began to chat.
"Lovely evening," my wife said.
"Yes," the neighbour nodded, smiling. "Getting better all the time." This latter with a slight cock -- no pun intended -- of the head to acknowledge what -- or rather WHO -- she was referencing.
"Yes. Maybe a glass of wine later?"
