Game of Love Ch. 02

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As if gliding on ice, an evening-gowned hostess appeared with our passes for the Ultra-Platinum Club. She led us through the admiring crowd, and I was struck by the way that this Black woman carried herself. I realized that she understood how silly this was, too-- we had won because we had lost more money in the machines than most of these people could get their hands on. Now we were being treated like royalty.

Doors hissed open, and our guide stepped back at the entrance to the richly furnished lounge, as though she was not permitted to go further. She motioned for us to step inside.

For a moment we stopped. The skimpily dressed attendant at the tv monitors was watching one screen with rapt attention, rubbing her palms rhythmically against her thighs as she focused on the closed circuit scene. Now she was licking her lips.

I turned to look at the other guest. "We haven't been introduced. I'm Richard."

"Yes, Professor, I know. I'm Sherrie." She smiled.

I about fell over. She half-motioned for me not to say anything. The nubile young woman behind the counter looked up at us.

"Oh! Excuse me. I got busy there. Are you together?"

"Uh... no..." Sherrie said. "Actually, I just kind of want to look around."

"Me, too..." I added.

"Fine, but you have to change into playclothes, though. You might change your mind." She grinned at them. "You're sure you're not together?"

"Uh, would you like it if we were together?" Sherrie asked.

"Oh, yes, but you don't have to be. But, like, the Chamber Master, he likes it, because he says that the Gaming Commission and the Liquor Commission never send couples, cause it's too personal. I mean, for them, they get too involved or something. They're the reason that you have to change into the gowns that you'll find in your changing rooms."

Sherrie laughed, and segued perfectly into agreement with Miss Nubile.

"We were just kidding you. Richard and I are together. Does that make you feel better?"

Miss Nubile laughed in relief. "Oh, of course it doesn't really matter. But here's a card with your dressing room number on it. It's a double. Number 9 is way down that hall-- it's a busy night. Oh, and here is a 'just-looking' pack for each of you. Please follow the instructions printed on the wrapper."

The door hissed behind us and a thin blonde in her late 20's came in, looking a bit edgy. A guy who could have been a football linebacker clumped in next. It was busy. We headed down the hall toward the end.

The room was decorated in neutral tones, and heated to a degree that made the idea of taking our clothes off seem like a good one. We dithered for a minute or two, reading the instructions on each other's `just-looking' packs, mispronouncing the French and German translations and trying to identify all the different Asian alphabets.

"Ahem...." I finally cleared my throat. We were not getting anywhere. "It sounds funny, because I have been with naked women a few times, but I'm not used to sharing a dressing room with one."

"That's okay," Sherrie chuckled, "I have four brothers, and we grew up in a little farm house. You won't see a naked woman here, but you're welcome to watch."

With that, she began an fascinating series of contortions, something that I have always wondered how women do, which resulted in her ending up in the issued long, flowing, sleeveless white gown. Her mint-green bra went on the top shelf of her clothing locker, along with her hosiery, all without me seeing more than a flash of extra chocolate. Then she turned slightly away from me, and in the blink of an eye, the mint-green of her panties joined the top shelf. She popped open the little pouch that was included in her `just-looking' package, and reversed her sleight of hand to tug the issued panties up to snug at her waist.

"Well, now you go ahead and do it." She grinned at me. I was hopeless in this situation. I just turned away from her, and stripped off my clothes. Before pulling the gown over me, I slipped the issued jock strap up my legs and tucked myself in. That was easier than I might have imagined, because the situation was not as sexy as it sounds. Why did Sherrie know who I was? What would happen next?

What did happen next was that Sherrie teasingly murmured "nice butt for an old man" and slapped me playfully on the rear. I turned around and saw that she was watching me, presumably for the whole time. I grabbed my gown from the peg, and pulled it hastily down over my jock-protected penis.

With a frisky step, she led me back down the hall, toward the inner doors of the Ultra-Platinum Club. We were joined partway by the nervous blonde.

"I heard you say you were `just-looking' and that's me, too. Can I stick with you for a bit?" She looked appealingly at Sherrie and me.

"Sure, yeah," we agreed. Why not?

The inner doors whooshed open, and we entered a long hallway. I realized only later that the slightly-perfumed air was probably a part of the entire set-up, perhaps laded with pheromenes; what I knew then was that the edgy blonde had begun to relax, and that I had begun to notice just how sexy both she and Sherrie were.

With the sleeveless gown, Sherrie still projected a confident sweep as she walked down ahead of us into a series of curving corridors. Her breasts were firm enough to hold the gown out in an attractive line, and with the sleeveless cut, enough of her breasts were visible from the side to make one think of further possibilities. In fact, her appearance made me think of drawings of ancient Egyptian goddesses. That whole effect was enhanced by her decision to keep wearing the gold necklace that she had worn into the casino. I wondered how she got along with cats.

The blonde, Susannah was her name, I learned, was only wearing one piece of jewelry that I could see-- a wedding band. As we walked, her story spilled out. Married without enough thought, feeling trapped, not wanting to be unfaithful, and suddenly this opportunity in Reno at a convention for a risque evening, but of course, no sex planned.

Suddenly the corridor opened out at what turned out to be the performance floor level of an amphitheater. Ahead of us, people were standing, noses pressed against the glass of what at first looked like an upscale hockey arena. These fans, though, were not excited by goals being scored-- I could see that they were intertwining in couples or groups as they watched whatever it was.

"Carla, it's going to be better than you ever imagined" A big man, named Jerry, was encouraging, in a blustering way, his little woman. He bullied her into taking one of the theater style seats.

As part of the audience finally sat down, we could see what had caught their eye. In the center of the revolving stage behind the glass, an attractive woman was pleasuring herself. It was someone named "Shelly" -- we noticed her name on an electronic sign over the glass divider under the heading "Coming Attractions".

"Just before you guys got here, she came right over to the glass and made like she was licking the breasts of that woman over there!" A helpful onlooker filled us in on what we had missed. The three of us, soon joined by the football player, stood in awe of the whole scene.

Actually, the newcomer stood in more than awe. Apparently, he did not have an interest in wearing a `just-looking' jock strap. His gown projected outward further and further as he watched Shelly's skin take on a glow. I noticed him eyeing Susannah.

A musical cue seemed to indicate time for the people by the glass to sit down, and we made our way up into more theater seats the circled this sexual arena. Above the seats, and off to each side of them, we could see curtained boxes, as in an old opera house. We were trying to take everything in, but it was overwhelming. And as we looked back down the aisle stairs that we had just climbed, we saw Carla and Jerry being led by hooded attendants into the arena where the eagerly sensuous Shelly awaited them. A costumed Chamber Master spoke briefly with them, as if offering final instructions,

I suppose that the complimentary seatback condom dispensers should have been a clue that a lot of the customers did more than just looking. While I had seen live sex shows before in the Orient with Monique Tomas, my Portugese collaborator in the Oporto - Macao ESP Link tests, this felt like something different. It was clear that Carla and Jerry were not professionals, and that Carla was awfully frightened. At first.

Slowly, seductively, Shelly drew them into her, drawing out the inner urges that would convert their energy into the raw sex that began to engulf them. Petite Carla had gone from fear to ferocious lust, and Shelly winked at her catlike, as they understood each other's needs. Jerry's desperate entry from Shelly's rear was only icing on their cake, his urgent pumping keeping the bass line rhythym for their soprano duet.

It must have been when Shelly's tongue was deep in Carla's clit that I began to notice the changes happening around me. Susannah and the linebacker were holding hands, and by the time I looked back, they were contorting themselves over the chair arms in an embrace that suggested something by Rodin crossed with Picasso.

Our linebacker acquaintance's hand slid up Susannah's slender thigh, pushing the gown out of the way. She gasped as his hand continued unhindered into her tight, blonde curls, pushing aside the tattered remains of the `just-looking' panties, beginning to pleasure her with his huge fingers.

Both Sherrie and I looked at each other in amazement, for different reasons, as it turned out.

"Did you see what happened to her underwear?" I whispered.

"Yeah, I thought that was just happening to me!" Sherrie responded in low, but more seductive tones. "Mine soaked through and dissolved a couple of minutes ago... and it felt wonderfully creamy!"

"You mean there was something in it, some stimulant?"

Beautiful Sherrie responded to my question by grabbing me over the seat arm and French-kissing me. It felt so natural to react in an embrace, and let my hand caress her breasts through the gauzy gown. It was so natural that I barely noticed as the dampness from my penis spread through the `just-looking' jock. And our kissing was noisy enough that I did not hear the slight ripping sound as it gave way, nor did I immediately realize that my previously discretely tucked away self was now a tentpole stabbing outward in my white gown. I did notice the pleasant feeling as some kind of cream coated me from the decomposing jockstrap. I needed to be in Sherrie now!

All around us, couples were eagerly grabbing under the white gowns, flinging them aside, burying their heads under them. We raced up the stairs to the curtained boxes, flipping open curtains on intertwined lovers till we found one unoccupied.

More Egyptian looking than ever, Sherrie flung off her gown and reclined on the numerous pillows in the box, her gold necklace flashing between her proud, ebony towers. I knelt between her legs, slipping on a condom as she enjoyed the feel of my legs against her restlessly moving thighs. I knelt to kiss her straining nipples, and enjoyed her hoarsely whispered response: "remember, we're just looking!"

=======

Now, I lay in bed in the Oxford, wondering how WOULD I explain that to Sophia?

To be continued.

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