The Best Erotic Stories.

College Daze III
by A.B. Seass

Crazy! Completely, utterly insane. Glancing up at the unblinking camera attached to the wall opposite, near the ceiling, I swallowed -- hard. Every 10 seconds it would snap a picture, relentlessly: transferring the image captured to anyone with a computer, just as it would to the open laptop near my right elbow.

6:58. Two minutes. I took a deep swallow of my beer, needed the moisture. Isn't it ridiculous how almost all of you can be wet, and your mouth dry as dust simultaneously? "Ridiculous" was another excellent word. To sit here, for five hours!-letting god knows how many people watch!-while god knew how many women took runs at me!

How on earth had I got myself into this mess?

But of course I knew that answer to that one. Only too well. She'd bought me, plain and simple.

'And what's in it for me?'

'All you can eat, and drink. And me, of course -- any way you want, provided you're good enough to stave off the competition. But if you're not, well, you're just gonna have to bite the bullet and display all you got to the whole wide world. And the rest -- whatever the rest may be.' She'd added a quick nibble on my earlobe, in course of which she mentioned a sum of money I found more than acceptable -- 'win or lose' -- before she slid quickly out of the booth, pausing to drain off her beer. 'In short, I'm offering you business combined with pleasure. So what do you say?'

All while I was still waiting to inherit from grandfather. Bit of a problem this "waiting to inherit" encourages you to spend money you don't actually have. Besides, I'd been on a privatecam site before (with Ginger and Linda...oh, and Randy). So I'd nodded, grinning.

'Good! Email me via the site in the morning and I'll send you the address. Bye.'

6:59! Palm slippery on the beer bottle. Or perhaps the bottle was damp? Regardless, the contents were helpful and I consumed another sizeable quantity. . Forcing me to email for the address had ensured that I would visit the site. Not that I wouldn't have anyway! "Erect"..."Member" indeed! Believe me when I say that was more than a login and password combination -- more even than her "private joke" -- IT had been all of that, all night long. And, being a Marketing student, she'd been good to her word about the hype:

The LIVE CAM image when I'd entered was Alicia, still in bed, obviously practising a spot of self help. Albeit with the sheet pulled up, looping down just enough to expose her pert round right breast. Under this delightful vision was a write-up...

One for the ladies?! I've met this truly HUNKY guy. He's coming over tonight...7 pm sharp!!! And I just can't stop fantasizing about him, about what's going to happen ...I've been fantasizing about it all night long! You see, he thinks he's a chess player. But is he??? He's marginally better than I am...Maybe...

Another image had been superimposed here...of a chessboard set up, waiting, on the diningroom table...

So I've challenged him, on your behalf! STRIP chess... no quarter asked, nor given. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. For Him!!! YOU can "expose" him for what he is!!!

The rules are simple: * if he beats you once, you're out *if he holds you to three draws in a row, you're out (although you're still welcome to look on and cheer, of course) BUT... * beat him, and choose what he discards * beat him three times, any or all of you ...And we can ALL share in the fun

After all...all girls together, eh??? << giggle>>

GAME GOES TIL MIDNIGHT, REGARDLESS ... so let those fantasies roll



All told, it had been incentive enough for me to start the day with a quick wank of my own. A not very discreet, quite emphatic wank as it happened...

Not that I need've worried about losing my edge, as it were. I was decidedly randy as I sat there, taking deep swallows of beer, waiting for the clock inset in the laptop to tick over to 7 pm...

I have to admit it took a little time to get used to again...Having the camera pointing down ... And having the image from said camera, constantly changing, taking up half the screen on the laptop... While my challenger's moves, via the CHAT ROOM facility on the site, came up on the other half of the monitor every 90 seconds or less.

And yes, it was different to be there on my own. Without the incentive and distraction of real live women in the room.

But fortunately, the first three challengers proved to be fodder. So much so that my confidence grew considerably. I began to relax, actually enjoy myself. I even more or less forgot about the camera -- just as Alice had said I would -- and even the image of myself on the half-monitor became less disconcerting. Though not enough that I wasn't careful, one might even say discreet, when I unzipped my jeans: just to ease some of the pressure caused by my throbbing hard-on.

And did that feel good! So much so that I also risked the tiny catch, and plucked from time to time at the thick elastic of my briefs -- not hard: just enough to let the cooling air in from time to time. To chill out, as it were. Reduce some of the irritating effects of perspiration -- you know, expecially down around the balls.

Sherry, however, was another matter entirely. She was ruthless, and innovative. An offensive-minded opponent who pressed continuously. The sort who can create mistakes. And I felt obliged to concentrate, to ignore the perspiration as best I could. In fact, I was fortunate to hold her to draws in the first two games. Then she beat me -- slicing open my defences with a brilliant move from which I simply couldn't recover.

I smiled, reading the congratulatory messages addressed to her in the abruptly active CHAT ROOM. In fact, I was in the process of peeling off my teeshirt, already had the hem very nearly up to obscure my view of the monitor, when she stopped me:

S: No-no, not the shirt. The jeans, if you please.

Amusing that, "if you please". Not only clever, but a sense of humour into the bargain. Why not? Damned jeans were a pain anyway. Too tight. Too confining. So, shrugging and smiling, I unbuckled the belt and hefted my rearend the inch or so necessary to slide off the jeans.

Of course the briefs went a little askew in the process. Causing a moment of panic...What if they can see past the edge of the table?!...But of course they couldn't: a fact I confirmed when I bent down to table level on the pretence of collecting my jeans for holding up. So all that was required were some adjustments and discreet wriggling about -- while the bulge tenting the hem of the teeshirt, despite the constraints of my briefs, was outrageous. But the air on my legs was a welcome relief. And the air wafting around my balls and cock positively delicious. I even toyed with the idea of tucking the elastic down and under my balls, decided against it, finally.

The clock read '8:12'.

And the relief was short-lived. There was simply no escaping the pressure applied by Sherry. I mean, she really had me sweating, especially during the second game after her victory: when she actually had me again...Until she left me the single small opening I needed to go on the offensive long enough to eek out another draw. After which, the third successive draw was relatively easy.

I was using the hem of the teeshirt to mop perspiration from my neck and forehead, chuckling mentally at the image this would produce, when the phone rang. Confused, I looked around -- eventually locating it on the coffetable in the adjoining livingroom.

It was Alice, her teasing tone laced with amusement. 'I really thought she had you on the ropes there.'

Flopping on the sofa, legs up and back braced against the padded arm, I smiled and said: 'Sorry to disappoint you.'

'Oh, it's early yet.' She chuckled.

Ever noticed that briefs never have enough fabric? If you pull up that thick band of elastic to cover the tip of your cock, your balls are caught in a vice. If you ease the tension down there, you wind up with your cock pinched by the elastic. I'd been noticing this for some time now, of course -- was growing used to discreetly easing things about, using the tabletop as a screen, to compensate. So I was taking a swig of my beer when the altered note in Alice's chuckle alerted me. To something. But what?! Glancing over, I found myself staring into another camera...

"Bedroom, diningroom, kitchen, bathroom and livingroom," she'd said.

...Christ! I'd forgotten. Worse, my right hand was inside my briefs, via the stretched leg-hole, fondling my swollen hypersensistive balls. And it had been delicious, relaxing. Now it was nightmare!-the room temperature shooting up toward critical!

'Don't feel too bad,' Alice chuckled -- a low throaty chuckle that seemed to go down my arm and hand to my balls, 'you've just increased my membership considerably. Now stop playing with yourself and get back to work...'

Unnerved by the image on the computer -- well, unnerved and turned-on, to be honest -- I took a few moments to pad into the kitchen, quickly snatching two more beer from the fridge, using the time to gather myself. Even so, I made rather a meal of the next game. Although I still managed to despatch that particular challenger, and two or three others in quickish succession.

So life was good again. I was relaxed, enjoying myself...Plucking at the briefs, reaching inside to finger my hard-on, even raising my beer to the camera in a mock toast.

Until Linda. Hard work was Linda. Another aggressive opponent. Although I did manage a draw against her in game one, before she caught me out -- and pressed home her advantage.

Once again there was the outburst of enthusiasm in the CHAT ROOM. "9:27". Too early. But as there was nothing for it... Besides, they'd already seen my stomach and pecs -- several times... I was once again peeling off the teeshirt -- now damp as well from the perspiration -- when the following message flashed across the screen:

L: Not the shirt -- the briefs!

Okay-okay. Don't get your panties in a twist! If you're wearing any, that is. Interesting thought that...Linda sitting out there, starkers -- safe in her anonymity: maybe fingering her moist swollen pussy... I coughed, clearing my throat. The damned things were restrictive as hell anyway. Besides, they were easier than the jeans. No buckles, no tiny catches. Just heft and peel. A little chilly, mind -- the first time warm bare flesh touches down on a seat -- and my hard-on now threatened to burst the front of the teeshirt. But there was lovely cooling air wafting up my legs, brushing over my thighs, carressing my balls. And when I plucked out the hem of the teeshirt slightly -- well, it was heavenly...It really was!

Linda was lying in wait, however. With or without panties. The threat of her expertise augmented by the need to remember to corral my own cock and balls in one hand whenever I came out of the seat enough to move her piece on the board. All told, something of a feat of concentration to stave her off effectively.

Concentration that was destroyed utterly when, during game three following her victory, I happened to glance at the image on the monitor for the first time since we'd resumed play. To discover that in easing my own stress I'd tucked the hem of the teeshirt in between my hard-on and my lower belly -- and that my fingers were in fact fingering only the engorged tip of my cock...So that when I'd risen to make her move for her, my balls and most of my throbbing shaft were fully exposed. Shocked, I stared at the monitor -- or more precisely, my own exposed genitals -- and yes, I was wondering just how many people were relishing the view -- and would go on relishing this particular view for another - what?-30 seconds?-40? And how many times had I flashed all I had already?

Completely non-plussed, I took a deep swallow of my beer, willing the image to "refresh". Now! Only of course it didn't. And of course Linda noted my discomfiture, exploiting it ruthlessly -- the bitch -- just as I would've done had our roles been reversed.


The result of all this being that the clock had very nearly run out before I realized it, forcing me into a hasty move. A hasty incautious move. Which she again took full advantage of -- thus placing me under massive pressure. So that I was really squirming, and wriggling, and sweating. And constantly tucking the teeshirt between my thighs, around my balls -- which was not only uncomfortable, but also must've amused my unseen audience no end. It certainly would've amused me: watching some woman, some guy for that matter...The poor bitch or sod being pushed around, terrified at the prospect of having to strip naked...

And when I did finally manage to force a draw -- Whew! -- I was wrung out. I mean spent. Not to mention out of beer. Which required a trip into the kitchen, to the fridge, my enormous quivering hard-on tolling and metronoming and bouncing about inside the teeshirt every step of the way.

But it felt wonderful, cool tile floor under bare feet...The chill air from the open fridge... So I lingered there, gathering myself, opening and swigging from the fresh cold beer -- idly scratching at that annoying itch which perspiration sets up once it gets into your pubic hair, fondling my balls and cock...relaxing. Holding up the hem of the teeshirt, waving it about -- the way you do -- to create a bit of breeze.

All the while there was the kitchen camera, unblinking -- capturing image after image... One of which, albeit in silhouette, with my cock curved out in full view, greeted me when I returned to the "hot-seat" and happened to glance up after checking the time -- "10:02".

Then, still not recovered from the shock -- heart-pounding and mouth dry -- it was Sherry.

S: I know I've had my go. But I've been watching, closely, and I've worked out your weakness. Are you up for a re-challenge?

In a moment of weakness, not thinking clearly -- face it, embarrassed and turned-on at the same time, I nodded my consent..

She was good to her word. I finally lost the shirt, literally...

The CHAT ROOM traffic was spectacular. I stood there, erection curved hot and taut to my lower belly, relieved. Yes, relieved. Actually chuckling as I read the chatter and sipped my beer.

Until one particular message caught my eye. To wit:

T: Don't let him sit down to play. You've got him on the rack, s-t-r-e-t-c-h him

Swallowing, hard, the beer bottle frozen in mid-air, I focussed on the clock. "10:17"! Forfeits!? Sherry with her blood up, confidence flourishing...And almost two hours to work me over. The equation, when it registered, send such a jolt of electricity through me I almost ejaculated on the spot.

I had to sit down, and did.

S: Did I say you could sit down? Stand up, if you please.

Excessively polite bitch..!

Impossible. Standing there in front of god knew how many prying eyes, trying to concentrate. Sherry knowing the "aces" she held -- going straight for the jugular, or rather the artery farther down: the one that throbs through your cock -- tormenting me continuously in the process.

S: Rook to Queen 6. Should I demand he shave those lovely balls of his?

Lean across, hard-on brushing across my stomach -- wobbling and jouncing -- to make her move for her. Straighten up...concentrate! For Christ's sake!-why did you do that?!

S: Bishop to King's Knight 5. Or should I "administer" a spanking?

H: How would you do that?

Hand trembling...Damn! Think. Umh..?

S: I saw a large wooden spoon in the kitchen. We'll be able to tell whether or he's "applying" himself properly by the reddish tinge on his lovely tush. Nice move...turn around and show us your lovely tush again while I think this through.

Turning back again, hard-on swaying -- well, I needed to keep her "sweet", didn't I? -- to find yet more chatter:

T: I vote for shaving. All that lather slithering and oozing... :-)!

H: Or we could have someone else administer the penance???

L: Now there's an idea...

S: Knight to King 6. Check.

I groaned, leaning across, one hand cupping my cock and balls, to tighten the noose around my own neck.

L: Don't let him hold himself like that.

S: Agreed. Don't touch yourself, please.

A noose she cinched tighter and tighter and tighter...

In fact, it was a noose she was make the most of -- taking me three times in succession -- each time reserving judgement, keeping me sweating, letting my already over-active imagination fester. Until...

I knew who was at the door before I opened it. Well, who else could it be?

Alice grinned, reaching down and cupping my cock-and-balls. 'So, they left it up to you,' she teased, her fingertips worked me over, forcing me onto tiptoe as I backed awkwardly into the apartment, into the livingroom. 'Do I get the razor first?-or the wooden spoon? Oh,' a little squeeze for emphasis, 'and remember to smile pretty for the camera.'

At which point, I lost the battle. Gave vent to an ejaculation like Old Faithful. One sharp enough and hard enough to wobble my knees, and take my vision away -- and which seemed to go on and on and on...As it turned out arcing my spunk onto her, the front of her coat, even her bare shapely tanned legs.

So that I was no sooner recovering my breath, sort of...At least my vision was clearing somewhat, enough to see her to see her pointing down, at her shoes, smiling...'Naughty boy. Naughty naughty boy. Before we even start I think you'd better clean that up, don't you? So down you go and lick it off...'


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