Hurricane Party

Dave handed the deck to Brittany - kind of challenging her to actually follow thru. She confidently dealt and the game began.

It was kind of surreal as the first few hands were dealt and played. On the one hand, nothing "important" was happening: just playing cards and watching "unimportant" items of clothing being discarded: Eric's shirt. Dave's shirt.

But then I realized that there was excitement in the air. Electricity. All of us kind of daring each other to continue. These "unimportant" items still being crucial since they meant that we were "in." That we were actually going to do this. That we were all committing to stripping naked in front of each other - our close friends and our adult children / siblings / spouses - and then to accept "forfeits" which hadn't been given any limits. No limits!

My naughty inner self was buzzing. This was Soooo wrong! So NAUGHTY!

So delicious!!

My panties were wet. Just full-on wet.

And my naughty pussy was purring and silently egging me on: "do it. Do It. DO IT!!"

It took me a couple of hands to realize that my general knowledge of poker wasn't really directly applicable here:

First, at least in these initial hands, I had to adapt my strategy not to win, per se, but, instead, not to LOSE. The only thing that really mattered was "not having the worst hand," so I needed to play to avoid having "nothing" instead of playing to have the best possible hand.

And Second. Well. As the atmosphere buzzed and the game got going, my naughty little pussy buzzed along with it and asked me, "Well? Do you WANT to win the poker hands - or do you want to win THE GAME?"

Oh. Oh, yes. Perhaps I *wanted* to "have to" strip. Piece by piece. Slowly revealing my nakedness to my husband. My best friend. Her husband. Her *son* for ghod's sake. Oh my god... I'm thinking about stripping in front of Butch!! And my *own* son!! How awful! How utterly irresponsible! How deliciously NAUGHTY! It became as if I was outside of myself, watching myself play this game of Chicken - in the form of a game of strip poker. The more perverted I realized it was, the more it turned me on. And the more I looked around the table at peoples' expressions, the more I saw them going through the same emotions: curiosity, embarassment, anticipation, and lust. Lots of lust.

As the dealer's deck passed from player to player, there was a moment before each deal was started. A moment of playing that game of Chicken: who is going to chicken out first? Just how far is this going to go? The mood of our little Hurricane Party had instantly changed. No longer boredom and irritation, but now, as the incessant rain and howling wind continued. As the heat and humidity still enveloped us, our mood had changed to excitement. Electric naughtiness. Anticipation. Daring each other to go on. To continue toward a perverted destination.

Then we arrived at the "moment of truth:" Brittany and Missy had tied for low hand. And since shoes and socks didn't count, any female loss "crossed the line:" something was going to be removed that wasn't supposed to be removed in public. Shirt. Bra. Shorts/skirt. Panties. Those were the only choices.

Our daughters were going to have to take off something "inappropriate" in front of their brothers, fathers, and mothers.

I expected a long decision moment.

Actually, I was dreading that someone would call our bluff. Speak up and say how we were all just kidding and that we couldn't go on with this. Stop the game.

Yes, I was dreading that someone would stop the game. How awful of me that I *wanted* to continue. Wanted to play this out - both literally and figuratively. Wanted to wallow in this incredible feeling of being so naughty!!

And just as I found myself about to clear my throat to speak. To be a responsible mother. To stop our daughters from revealing themselves, Brittany spoke up. Loud and clear: "Mr. Reynolds, I believe the rules said that I can choose who I want to have remove my forfeit clothing - and you're it."

Brittany gracefully stood, stretched out her arms, looked Chuck straight in the eye, shooting a defiant glance to her father and me, then back to Chuck, and said, "Please take off my panties for me."

Silent pandemonium as various combinations of eyes met, then fled from each other - not wanting to confirm that we were - or weren't - going to call this off. I mean, this crossed the line, right? Right? My best friend's husband had just been invited... no... instructed... to remove my daughter's panties. Right there in front of all of us. To reach up under her skirt and pull off her *panties*.

I mean. Well. In a sense it was outrageous. But in another sense, Brittany had already had her panties down in front of all of us - so it wasn't really outrageous. Was it? Didn't one of us "responsible adults" need to stop this?

But as we were struggling with the moment, Missy pushed us over the cliff by looking at her brother sitting next to her and confirming her earlier looks at him by directing, "Butch," (batting her eyelashes at her brother) "please remove my panties for me."

and before anyone could make a move to derail the game, Brittany walked over to Chuck, pulled her skirt up as high as it would go - totally revealing her panty-clad hips and legs to him - then grabbed his hands and put them on the waistband of her panties, daring him to *not* follow the rules of the game. Daring him to NOT strip her and bare her pussy to the group.

Chuck shot us all a helpless glance, then locked eyes with Brittany and slid his thumbs into the waistband and pushed down. Down. Over her hips. Over her thighs. Over her knees. And off her feet. Winding up with his face mere inches from her now-exposed (and shaved-bare) pussy - before he straightened up and handed Brittany her deflated lingerie.

Brittany smirked at us all - still holding her skirt up to completely expose her pussy - then hung her panties over Chuck's ear - before reluctantly letting her skirt drop and re-taking her seat.

We could all feel the line being crossed. We all were complicit now. And it felt good. Felt exciting. Felt so terribly wrong.

Brittany scooted her chair back up under the table and raised her eyebrows at Butch. "Well?," she taunted, "Your turn. Let's see you strip your sister!"

Missy hopped up, wearing a little "Daisy Mae" top and shorts, spread her arms, and directed the fire in her eyes - at her brother. "Strip me!," she commanded.

"But. But how do I take off your panties without first taking off your shorts?" asked Butch, clearly lusting to see his sister, but not wanting to take advantage of the situation.

"You don't, silly," replied Missy. "Strip me, then put the shorts back on."

"Oh... O... K..." Butch could barely form words, but moved his hands to Missy's waistband, popped the button on her shorts, pulled down the zip, and tried to work her tight little shorts down over her hips. Her sweet, feminine, swelling hips.

With some hip-action help from Missy, he finally achieved the removal and her shorts slid down her legs to pool on the floor - revealing cute, hot-pink panties on his sister.

Silence around the table. Rain and wind outside.

"Well, go on!" directed Missy. "STRIP me!"

Butch's hands trembled as he returned to her waist, gently hooked his fingers into her panties, and pulled - as Missy hula'ed out of her underwear, slowly revealing a trimmed, red-haired bush.

Everybody's eyes locked onto Missy's revealed pussy. So Missy prompted Butch yet again, "STRIP me!"

And he did.

Winding up with his hands on the floor - pushing her panties over her feet - and, like his father with Brittany - with his face right in her red bush - staring close range at his sister's revealed ladyhood.

Silence.

Rain. Wind outside as Butch just stared at what he'd fantasized about so many times.

Missy giggled a little and did a little pirouette - showing off her tight little ass as well as her pussy, then she reached for her shorts to put them back on.

But Brittany cleared her throat, "Ummm... as I recall, the rules are that once an item is taken off, it remains OFF. Isn't that right, Dad?"

A moment of recognition, and Dave, staring at Missy's little red bush, croaked, "Uh... yeah. Yes. Uh, yes, that is correct. You're not allowed to put the shorts back on."

Missy began to protest, but then looked at the eyes staring at her. At her pussy. At her bare pussy. And she liked the feeling of being the center of attention. From her brother. From my son, Eric - whose stare was utterly focussed on her. From my husband. No. I wasn't upset with Dave for looking. I mean. I knew he'd be looking - when we started the game. From Chuck. Yes, from Missy's father - staring at Missy's revealed pussy. And, yes, even from me. It made me think of how *my* pussy looked - those years ago - and how proud I'd been - looking at myself in the mirror, apprising my body.

So. Missy threw her shorts and panties across the room, eliminating them from the allowed items, then did one more slow turn - showing off her body - bare from midriff to floor. Belly, hips, pussy, tight little butt, thighs, calves, and feet - before sitting - bare-bottomed - and pulling her chair up to the table again. And eliminating any thought of stopping the game by asking, "OK. Whose deal is it? Let's GO here!" and smiling at Brittany.