Rules of the Game

"$200."

"You asshole!" Mike spat. Nick looked ready to lean across the table and smack him. I said quickly, "It's okay! It's okay! I accept." Quickly, I reached over and helped Nick place the chips on the table before me.

"You asshole," Mike reiterated.

"I can't believe you're even considering this," Jim said tightly. Robert sat cross-armed, drumming his fingers in a disapproving manner on his biceps. Steve looked seriously irked, while Gary gazed at me appreciatively. I could imagine him, imagining me without my locks. He would see it as fitting, no doubt. I would feel something along the lines of a full-blown, totally submissive sex-slave. I needed only a leash and collar to complete the image.

I stood up, and Richard stood up with me. "I have an electric trimmer in my room," I said, imaging myself in a barber's chair, shorn of my locks like a new recruit. I hoped Richard meant only to give me a boyish buzz-cut. I doubted it from his face-wide grin. He was seeing me in the barber's chair too.

"This is ridiculous," Jim grumbled.

"You better stop him while you can," Nick warned.

"Once he gets her behind closed doors, its Showtime," Mike completed for him. "There's nothing we can do about it."

Jim started to rise from his seat.

"Its okay. Sit down. I made my decision, sweetie." I pushed him back down by the shoulder. "You all have nothing to say in this. This is between Richard and me. If I decide to sell my hair, it's my decision to make. No one else's."

Steve shook his head in exasperation. "Lisa...?"

"I'm fine." I shook my hair around my shoulders, maybe not the smartest thing to do at the time, but oh well. I rounded the table to Richard and took his hand. "Your lady awaits. Let's see how I look as Rapunzel."

Leading him by the hand, ignoring his taunting grin back over his shoulder to the others, ignoring the anger and protestations or the others, I escorted Richard into my bedroom and closed the door.

* * *

I was confused. "Excuse me?"

Richard, still grinning like The Cheshire Cat, rocked excitedly back and forth on his toes, thumbs in his pockets, head nodding ever so slightly as he spoke. "I never said what hair I wanted to buy."

I blinked at him, confounded. Until it hit me.

"Oh." I looked down, blushing. Again. I should just paint my face red, I thought, and get it over with.

I stammered "I'm...I'm already bare down there" and blushed even harder.

"I know. We all sorta know that. But again, I never specified what hair I wanted to buy."

Relief. Abject, utter relief. He wouldn't shave my head. But did he mean to...?

"Oh, my God," I muttered. "You wouldn't. You don't."

His grin threatened to encircle his head, cutting it off just below the nose. I blushed until I thought my hair would ignite. My real hair, not the imaginary stuff.

"You just want to shave me," I said.

He nodded eagerly.

"You've never done that before," I guessed.

He shook his head side to side.

"You'll leave this alone?" I said, fingering my precious locks.

"I wouldn't dream of cutting it," he said. "Don't want to get scalped myself." He grinned wide at the pun.

Laughing softly, I shook me head and shrugged. I should have guessed as much. Men are such boys. It wasn't like I'd never been shaved by a guy before, either. Matt avoided the practice, but my boyfriend before, Rick, used to indulge in it. He'd shaved my pubes more than I had myself, and generally did a better job of it to boot. I shivered in anticipation. Goose pimples exploded across my chest. They made me shiver a second time.

"Okay. If that's what you want," I agreed demurely.

Escorting him into the bathroom, I opened the second vanity drawer and withdrew my shaver and bottle of shave gel. "Where would you like to do it?" I asked.

He looked confused. "Where do you usually do it?"

I pointed at the tub. "My boyfriend--well, my previous boyfriend, anyway—he usually shaved me on the bed so he could get close up and personal with the work." I grinned, remembering the many things he would do to me while shaving. Things I didn't think were conducive to hygienic well-being, but which pleased me, nonetheless. Things like...

I cleared my mind of that thought.

"I'd rather do it there," he concurred. Nodding eagerly, he stepped aside to let me pass. Instead, I got two bath towels from the closet, a pair of hand towels, a washcloth, and the large plastic bowl from the top shelf we would need to fill with hot water. I handed the bowl to him.

"Not too hot. You wouldn't want to burn me. But not too cold, either, Richard."

Grinning at his own flush of embarrassment, I left him to test the water and carried everything else back into my bedroom. I sat the towels on the edge of the mattress, knowing from experience he'd want to perform that little ritual himself. The shaver-head was brand new, replaced after my shave this afternoon.

What a treat, I thought, grinning. It's been what, a year? 14 months? Then I remembered that Richard was a novice at this and sighed. The gel would protect me some, I reasoned. The head was brand new. I was smooth already, so he wouldn't be obstructed in any way. I was thinking I should try to leave on the plastic cap when Richard, walking carefully so not to slosh water over the rim, joined me at the bed.

"What now?' he said.

"Well, you put that down right there—" I pointed at my bedside table, at the clear-spot I'd made at the edge, "--and I'll stand right here while you lay out the towels where you want them."

He looked confused.

"At the edge of the mattress," I suggested, "in the middle, wherever you'd like."

He looked at me for help.

"Rick usually lay them out in the middle." I mimed, indicating that he should orient them lengthwise, side-by-side, one overlapping the other in the middle for more protection. A bed could get awfully wet given the wrong circumstances. Nodding, he placed the bowl carefully on the table, picked up the upper towel and placed it on the bed.

"Perfect," I said. He spread the other, overlapping the two adequately, and then helped me assume my position atop them. With feigned nonchalance I leaned back on my elbows and spread my legs wide for him, like a butterfly. He blushed, shivering as he momentarily looked away. I reminded him he was not the first to see me this way.

"How many--" He gulped. "How many others?"

"Besides yourself tonight?" He blushed even harder. "About a dozen."

He froze in place.

"I'm not a virgin," I reminded him. "I'm 25. I've been sexually active since I was 13 years old. A dozen guys is not a whole lot when you figure."

"I didn't mean that," he muttered uncomfortably.

"What did you mean?"

"How many guys...have shaved you?"

"Oh," I said, feeling stupid. Of course he'd meant how many guys had shaved me. I lay there with my legs open, right? "You're the fourth," I said, wanting to kick myself in the butt.

"I'm surprised more of those dozen wouldn't have wanted to shave you, Lisa."

"More did," I teased with a grin. "I wouldn't let them."

He halted in the process of sitting down. "Why are you letting me?"

"Because you paid for the privilege, remember?"

"I paid for the privilege of cutting off your hair, which theoretically, I bought. That's what everyone thought, including you. This is...quite different."

I canted my head. "A bit more intimate, you mean?"

He nodded.

"I was intimate with Jim and Steve. It just follows that I should be intimate with you, also. Don't you think?"

"That would be worth a whole lot more than $200. More than I could afford. More than all of us could afford together. Lisa, I don't understand why you're doing this."

Oh, God, I thought. Here we go again. I have to explain myself to everyone?

I sat up, took Rich by the hands. "You paid for my hair. If it's the hair I don't have between my legs, who cares? It's just you and me in here. Whatever else I do with you is my business. And unless you mortally wound me with that thing--" I pointed at the shaver on the nightstand. "--I will make your time with me just as pleasant as I possibly can." To show him just how pleasant, I placed my hand behind his neck, drew us together and gently kissed him on the lips. It was a very long kiss. I never got my shave.

* * *

No. I not going to cheat you on another sex scene. The reason I did with Steve, is that it was too personal, too intimate an experience. Things were said and done that I don't want to share, with anyone else. I have no such compunction with Richard.

As the kiss went on, he lost any purpose of forethought whatsoever. He abandoned the bottle of shave gel in his hand for my left breast; the other found its way to the small of my back, and somehow, I ended up on his lap, legs either side of him, the hand on my breast fiercely unwilling to release its hold, the other moving constantly up and down my spine, into my hair, down to my butt, which it claimed proprietarily, one cheek a time, up and down my right thigh, back to my butt—it liked my butt a lot—then up my back for another tangle in my hair. I was amazed, after being made love to so fiercely twice in one night, that I had anything left for a third round. But, oh boy, I did.

"Oh, my God! Oh, God!" I gasped. I struggled instinctively for the nightstand and its box of condoms. "Help me, damn it!" I pleaded, unable to reach the damned things myself. I could feel my vagina producing gallons of raw lubricant. I could imagine it dripping out of me, onto his pants, droplets of molten iron. I felt hot as a forge inside: steaming, smoking, billowing flames.

His erection was huge, assaulting the material on which I sat. I wanted it in me. I wanted it in me now. Instead, I groaned as he laid me down on my back crosswise on the bed and eased that monstrosity between my legs.

"Oh, God, Richard," I moaned. "You're killing me." Then he began to rhythmically assault my groin with his trapped monster while assaulting the rest of me with his lips and hands. Gradually, I withdrew from the edge of orgasm and fell into an easy and pleasurable rhythm of lovemaking. I realized, forlornly, that in my rush to screw another cock, I'd psyched myself into wanting it more than I wanted to be made love to. Richard slowed me down, set me on the right track again. I French kissed with him as he held my hands tightly above my head, out fingers interlaced, his erection, still maddeningly encased in his trousers, grinding maddeningly on my clitoris, our tongues doing a sweet waltz. When he lifted his head, I breathed deeply instead of panting.

"You really know how to do this," I sighed. My orgasm was back, but firmly under control—his control.

"I've had a lot of practice."

"I envy your wife," I whispered, rising up to kiss him again. I loved how he grasped my hands so tightly in his own, how he held me trapped helplessly beneath him, immobilized, my legs either side of him, patiently awaiting a command. The way he moved in place like a powerful machine, like a human Cheetah. I imagined being stalked and taken down in the grass. Eaten alive.

"You could learn a thing from my wife," he said.

I didn't doubt that.

"Are you ever gonna fuck me, Richard?" I asked, almost pleaded.

"When I'm ready."

"Will I still be conscious?" I moaned. "I'm barely holding on here, Richard." He kissed me, bringing me closer to the edge. How could he fuck like this, I wondered, without fucking me?

He released my hands, placed them either side of my face. He knew how to kiss, better than any other man I'd ever kissed. No man had ever come close to Richard. No woman either, for that matter. I melted beneath him, like a Hershey's Chocolate bar, like candle wax. Eat me baby, mold me, I thought wildly. I left my arms outstretched on the bed above my head because that's where they belonged. I was in my position. But not for long.

Rising up, Rich yanked his shirt up over his head. I wanted to unbuckle his belt, unzip him, get him free, but I left it alone, staying in position. I was breathing hard; my nipples were hard; they ached, pitifully. I could smell myself with my arms outstretched. I imagined I smelled between my legs, too. I felt like a swamp.

He was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and that came off next. Then his pants, which he unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped, and then removed with maddening slowness. I suffered, from my position on the bed, in silence. He watched me, watched my eyes. My eyes went from his eyes, to the thing between his legs, up, down, up, down, nowhere else.

He was big. Bigger than Jim. Bigger than Steve. Bigger than Matt ever hoped to be. He was 8" long and fat, the head small in proportion to the shaft, not bulbous, but undersized for such a monstrous beast. It was veined and made of ugly colors, not pretty at all like Jim's erection had been. It looked like the cock of a werewolf. I couldn't believe what came out of my mouth.

"I'm afraid."

"Everyone's afraid their first time."

"No. I'm afraid of that," I said, nodding.

"That's what I'm talking about. That."

"Oh," I said, feeling foolish.

"It won't hurt you," he said, removing his left sock.

I laughed at that lie.

"I should say, I won't hurt you."

I didn't laugh, to not hurt his feelings. I suspected he'd hurt me no matter how gently he took me with that thing. It looked like something you'd bludgeon a person with in a dungeon. Speaking of which, it occurred to me how closely I resembled a woman on a rack.

Now undressed, he leaned forward and placed his hands atop mine, palm to palm. Then he ran them slowly down my forearms, up my biceps, over my underarms, onto my breasts, which he held possessively for a moment, and then down my ribcage to my waist. I shivered twice, violently, head to toe. He took my nipples between his fingers and tuned them slowly, back and forth. I squirmed beneath him.

"I'm going to do something to you," he said.

I was afraid to ask.

"I want you to hold absolutely still, spread your legs like you had them before, and close your eyes."

He intended to shave me, I thought. Well, that could be interesting. Not as interesting as...

I stopped thinking as he rose off me and indicated I should open my legs. I was cross-wise on the mattress still; knees raised. Spread like this placed my heels a good two feet from the mattress edge, my butt a little further in. Plenty of room to deploy the bowl and shave me clean, I thought. But shaving me was not what Richard had in mind.

"Oh, my God," I moaned. My back arched and my knees automatically sought the flatness of the mattress. Richard had licked me, his tongue sweeping the entire length of me from anus to the apex of my clit. I shuddered, clenched my hands and then grabbed two handfuls of sheet to immobilize them, keep them obediently where they were. "No," I moaned as he repeated the action.

Torture would be kind. Torture would be kind, compared to what he did to me then. After his second lick, Rich gently spread me apart with his fingertips and repeated his action a third time. His tongue got everything. The broad path it swiped clipped my anus, invaded my vagina, sanded my ringing clitoris, and bisected my folds until they formed their wet V, where it exited me. I groaned as he licked me again, arched my back higher, dislocated my hip joints, destroyed my fingernails, tried to will him out of my bedroom, reacted even wilder to his third and fourth and fifth lick. Then I lost any ability to count as he began to kiss and suck and nibble and lick all my individual parts. I gasped when his tongue plunged into me a mile deep. I writhed as he sucked my clitoris into his mouth and tried to unbutton it with his tongue. I damned near turned over and tried to escape him when he subjected my anus to a digital inspection.

I have never kept my legs apart during a clitoral orgasm before. I thought it impossible. He made me keep them apart, refused to let me shut them despite my spasming thigh muscles, the convulsions in my groin, the almost maddening compulsion to decapitate him with my scissor legs.

"Oh, God, Richard," I moaned. "Oh, God." This went on an eternity. And then he was gone.

Panting, disoriented, I looked up. I had to focus my eyes. I saw him standing beside the bed, framed in the valley of my legs. His erection pointed right at my mouth. It wanted me. It wanted me on it. I hesitated not even a heartbeat, and then I was sliding loose limned and rubbery into position on the floor (another position, all mine), and with trembling hands clutching my trembling thighs, I leaned forward and took him in my mouth.

"Go easy," he warned. "I'm all worked up from what I did to you."

He was worked up? He was worked up? I didn't see him down on the floor in response to an unspoken command from his cock. I didn't see him down here beside me being his sex slave. I didn't see him so incredibly aroused that I'd do anything he ordered of me, humiliation be damned. I nodded, showing I understood.

For a time, I just knelt there with the head in my mouth. My eyes were closed, and I imagined rather than saw the length of werewolf cock connecting me to him. Then he gently put his hands in my hair, urged me forward with the slightest pressure on my scalp, and I opened wide to let him slide in. I hoped he knew not to expect deep-throat from me. I'm not good at deep-throat to begin with, and the thought of deep-throating a werewolf made me fight very hard not to laugh. I laughed anyway, which made him laugh.

"That's a typical reaction," he said, rubbing my head lightly. I nodded my understanding and let him slide me onto him another inch. Then I took another inch. I kept inching onto him until his head fit neatly into my throat. And damned, if I wasn't deep-throating him just a bit, after all.

"It's easier because on the head," he explained. "It's small, so your throat doesn't immediately react with a gag reflex." My throat reacted then, and he reduced the pressure on my head and let me back away. Then he removed his hands altogether and I used the opportunity to demonstrate what I knew about sucking cock, and what I could learn from such a colossal monster. I did things with his cock, like sucking the head exclusively for minutes at a time, licking up and down the length along both sides, along the bottom and the top, and then sideways up and down the shaft captured between my teeth, that I had never done to another guy. I found myself completely wanton without shame. I would do anything, anything he wanted of me. Anything I wanted. I contemplated giving him anal sex.

"Would you like to fuck me in the ask?" I asked throatily.

"In the ask?" he repeated, laughing. I blushed, my moment of wantonness ruined by a typo.

"You know what I mean."

"I intend to fuck you in the ask," he said. "With or without your permission."

I nodded, showing I understood. He wouldn't use a condom, either. I understood that as well. And then he surprised me by urging me off the floor and onto me feet. He kissed me, arms at my side, surrendered, leaving me breathless.

"Get on your hands and knees on the bed."

I got on my hands and knees on the bed.

"Put your chest on the mattress and spread yourself apart for me."

I put my chest on the mattress, reached back and spread myself apart for him.

You are quite the little slut, I told myself.

I had to agree. I was suddenly very slutty. Totally and completely slutty, as my present position demonstrated.

"I'm gonna fuck you in the ass now."

He was gonna fuck me in the ass now.

"It'll hurt."

It would hurt, he said. I nodded, dizzy from hyperventilating. I hoped I wouldn't pass out. I wanted to feel the pain, all of it.

"First, I'm gonna fuck you in the cunt, though."