All Hallow's Eve: The Game

Not much of a dare, Sylvie thought. Although, he did say 'skirt.' He already knows what I'd be wearing underneath. What's he up to?

She did not bother to text back, feeling a strange sense of urgency. The time on her phone read 9:41. She would indeed have to hurry to get to the ground-floor cafe before it closed.

Darting to her closet, Sylvie snatched up a pleated plaid skirt of black and red, as well as a short-sleeved, button-down top. She jerked up the skirt and was still buttoning the top as she left her apartment and headed down the hall to the elevator.

This is crazy, she told herself as she rode down in the elevator, watching the numbers counting down on the display. I'm giving in way too much to this stupid game.

Yeah, and it's the most fun you've had in a long time, Syl. So just go with it.

She slipped between the metal doors of the elevator as they parted on the ground floor and quick-stepped toward the cafe. It was a small, cozy affair with a simple order counter featuring over-priced coffee drinks, with half a dozen tables at which to sit.

She smiled at the girl behind the counter, who tried her best to smile back. "Hey, Jessy," Sylvie said brightly.

The girl gave a half-hearted reply. "Don't usually see you down here so late."

Sylvie shrugged. "Got a lot of work to do," she replied, eyes darting over the menu. "Um . . . just a caramel macchiato. Need something a little sweet."

Jessy nodded, punching in the order. Sylvie paid with her debit card and took a seat at a nearby table as she waited for her drink.

The phone buzzed.

Somewhat nervously, she glanced down at the screen and tapped for the new message.

<Now we find out how daring you want to be,> it read.

Sylvie's heart fluttered momentarily with nervousness. The message was quickly followed by another.

<Without getting up from the table, take off your panties.>

Sylvie's eyes bulged. Where she sat, she faced the counter behind which the gangly young barrister was fixing her coffee. There was only one other patron in the little cafe, a middle-aged man she did not recognize, who sat by the window overlooking the city lights beyond. She was not being directly observed, yet still, the idea of removing her panties in such a place . . . .

Her fingers trembled as she messaged back. <I can't do that.>

<Then the game's over.>

Sylvie swallowed thickly. She didn't want to give Ron the satisfaction of her loss. At the same time, the nature of the dare was a challenge that stabbed at the core of her straight-laced upbringing. The impetus to meet it, to clamor out of her shell, was compelling.

Her eyes darted about. Neither the barrister nor the middle-aged man were looking at her. Now or never, she thought, setting her phone upon the table. Quickly, and as deftly as she could, she slipped her fingers beneath the hem of the skirt, momentarily lifting up from the wooden chair beneath. Thumbs hooked beneath the waist of the frilly red underthings and shimmied them down her cheeks, then her thighs.

She took another glance around, before looking down beneath the edge of the tabletop. Her panties hung conspicuously from her thighs, just above her knees. She quickly snapped a picture, then sent it along to Ron with a message: <No it's not.>

"Caramel macchiato," called the barrister, setting a styrofoam cup on the counter above the brewing station.

Sylvie's head snapped up, eyes wide and furtive. "That's me."

The young man behind the counter gave a tired smile and stepped back. Obviously, he was not going to bring the drink to Sylvie's table.

Shit, she thought. She cast her gaze about, and while no one was looking her way, she felt exposed and vulnerable as she pushed back from the table. Pulling the panties back up would be too obvious, she reasoned, so . . . she pushed them further down, and let them fall about her ankles as she stood. Stepping free from the garment, Sylvie stooped quickly to scoop them up, then approached the counter to retrieve her coffee. She was very much aware of the cool, conditioned air wafting between her legs, which contrasted with the emerging warm, faint wetness there.

"Thanks," she said, before turning back.

"Have a nice night."

The phone vibrated in her hand. She set the coffee down and tapped the screen.

<That's one of the sexiest pictures I've ever seen.>

Sylvie chewed her bottom lip as she typed. <I guess this is what you meant by naughty excitement, huh?>

She put the phone down and sipped the hot coffee. Her gaze wandered around the cafe, then to the doorway and the broad corridor beyond.

And at that moment, a figure stepped past the doorway, conspicuous in a beige and black uniform, utility belt sporting everything from a pistol to pepper spray. He was slender of build, pale-skinned, with shaggy black hair. Sylvie stared at him, frowning. I didn't know we had a security guard, she thought.

He paused in the doorway, his own phone in hand as he played some banal game or some such, the screen glowing beneath his face. His head tilted up and canted in her direction. He smiled thinly, but the eyes above betrayed an almost predatory expression. Sylvie felt a sudden and undeniably chill.

She looked away, then sat back down at the small bistro table, hoping the security guard would just continue on. She felt suddenly foolish, holding a pair of wadded-up panties in her hand.

She realized she had received another message from Ron. Shaking fingers brought it up.

<Naughty is good, don't you think?>

Sylvie made the effort to calm herself. She did not know why the mere sight of the security guard put her on edge. But at the moment, and in light of wanting to see the game played out, she made the effort to ignore her feelings.

<Sometimes,> she sent back.

Ron was quicker to text than she expected. <Four down, six to go.>

Sylvie stared at the screen, a smirk playing across her face. <Bring it,> she typed.

The next dare arrived after several anxious moments. Sylvie read the screen.

<Go to the lobby. Pretend to drop something and pick it up. Don't bend your knees. Take a picture showing whatever is behind you from between your legs.>

Sylvie balked for a moment. The game was, indeed, getting riskier. And naughtier. What if she did what Ron demanded and there was someone behind her? The skirt she had donned was fairly short and loose, and bending over, straight-legged, would certainly expose the most intimate part of her body.

But if I don't do it, then the game's over, Sylvie told herself. She huffed. Why the hell is this stupid game so important all of a sudden? I should just go back to my apartment and finish my paperwork.

My incredibly boring paperwork, for my incredibly boring job, which supports my incredibly boring life . . . .

Sylvie took a deep breath. Fuck it. let's do this, she told herself, and rose from the table. Eyes following the lines on the floor, she quickly made her way out to the lobby and turned toward the bank of elevators. Fortune favored her; the hall was empty.

She hesitated just a moment, again feeling a draft between her thighs. She could not ignore the naughtiness of the situation, the way it made her feel unexpectedly excited. The closest she had ever come to being so risky in public had been a brief topless flash at a spring break party years before. But then, she had just been one girl in a crowd doing the same thing.

This was much, much different.

And it was turning her on.

"Oopsie," she chimed softly, letting the wadded-up panties fall from her hand. With her phone ready, she bent over at the waist, feeling the material of her skirt slide up the smooth globes of her naked buttocks. Cool air contrasted with the growing heat emanating from her sex. She took up the panties while angling the phone to snap a picture. With a mischievous giggle, she straightened and depressed the elevator call button.

Her face fell as she looked at the picture. Standing directly behind her, some thirty feet back near the lobby's front doors, had been that very same security guard. Facing her. Smiling. He'd had a perfect view of her exposed privates.

With a gasp, she spun around, dreading that she might find him standing there, leering at her as he often did. But he was not. Sylvie could see no sign of the man.

Her phone trembled. She nearly dropped it.

<Got the picture yet?> she read in the messenger window.

She breathed out, forcing herself to be calm. <Stupid security guard saw me,> she responded.

<No kidding. Really?>

<Yeah, really. I better not get in trouble for this.>

<For what? So he caught a flash up your skirt. Not like it's against the law to go commando, right?>

Sylvie jogged her head back and forth. Okay, maybe not, she thought. She typed another message. <I just hate that it was him. I'd rather have anybody but him get a peek of me like that.>

<What's so bad about him? He's just a security guard.>

<He's creepy,> Sylvie sent back. <Like Psycho creepy.>

<Don't worry about him. We're halfway there.>

Sylvie chuckled ruefully, then remembered that she had not yet sent the picture to Ron. She had to admire his not being pushy about it. She did so quickly, adding another message: <Your picture, as requested.>

Ron's reply was not immediate, nor was Sylvie surprised. The wait, however, still had her fidgeting, especially concerning the shadowy proximity of the security guard, who could have been anywhere.

Finally, Ron's response arrived. <Lol, yeah I can see the guy in the pic. I think I'm actually jealous of him.>

On impulse, she started to type a flirtatious response, then stopped herself. <I don't wanna talk about him anymore.>

"Um, excuse me."

Sylvie looked up at the sound of the girl's voice. Jessy from the cafe approached, holding Sylvie's styrofoam cup. "You forgot your coffee."

With an embarrassed blush, Sylvie took the cup. "Sorry. Don't know where my mind is."

"No biggee," said the counter girl, eyes darting for a moment to the pair of frilly panties in Sylvie's hand. She gave a quizzical look, but said nothing about it. "It happens. Have a good night."

Sylvie sighed, rolling her eyes as Jessy headed back into the cafe. Great. First Mr. Creepy the security guard sees me flashing my puss, now the girl from the cafe knows I'm commando. Great. I'm gonna have to find a new apartment after this, I just know it . . . .

<You're getting me in trouble,> she texted.

<Me? I'm not doing anything. You're the one flashing strangers.> Ron's message ended with a raspberry smiley.

Sylvie glared at her phone, as if Ron would somehow be able to see it. <Just give me the next dare.>

The elevator bell chimed, and one of them opened. As she started to enter it, her phone buzzed. She paused to read the new message.

<Go to the lounge at the east end of the lobby.>

Sylvie frowned. She had hoped that Ron would have her go somewhere else, somewhere she was not likely to encounter the security guard again. But no, of course not, she thought ruefully, even as she headed away from the open elevator.

At one time, the east end of the lobby had been a sort of social area. There were numerous broad couches which faced a massive bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded a fairly impressive view of the city below the hill upon which Hunt Tower sat. In the modern era, it was a place for tenants to hang out and quietly sip their coffee while taking advantage of free wi-fi.

At the moment, it was dark and unoccupied. The faint radiance of the glow of the city allowed just enough light to navigate by. This particular part of the lobby was canted a bit off from the lobby hall, so that only someone at the entrance of the room would be able to see within it.

She looked around briefly, satisfying herself that she was alone, then set her coffee upon one of the small, hourglass-shaped plastic tables.

<Okay, I'm here,> she typed to Ron.

<Good. Take off your clothes.>

She stared at the screen, dumbfounded. Is he fucking serious?

Agitated fingers pegged at the screen. <No way.>

Ron's reply was once more quick. He had obviously expected her reluctance. <Come on. No one can see you, and it's dark. All I want is a silhouette of you against the windows.>

Sylvie lowered the phone, looking around. The lounge was silent and dark, with hazy shadows painted on the walls from the amber glow of the city outside. Stepping to one of the immense windows, Sylvie felt a shiver of deliciously naughty excitement course through her. Never had she ever considered removing her clothes in such a place, but the darkness, the hour, the fact that it was Halloween, and Ron's silent but omnipresent challenge encouraged her to be more daring than she ever thought she would be.

She was inexorably attracted to the notion of being a woman willing to take risks. To do something so far outside the norm for her behavior that anyone who knew her would think her crazy. Strangely, she found that thought appealing. But she was still reluctant.

She cast her gaze back to the entrance of the lounge. The hall beyond held a faint glow of the lights further down, but practically none of the illumination penetrated more than a few feet into the chamber. And, as silent as it was, she would be able to hear anyone's approach long before they discovered her. Time enough, at least, to duck behind one of the couches. Or so she reasoned.

Her phone buzzed. The glow of the face was like a flashlight in the darkness as she read Ron's new message.

<Giving up?>

A catty expression crossed her face as she composed a reply. <You still haven't told me what I win if I finish the game.>

She waited as the phone went dark. Several seconds passed before it lit up again.

<You get to call the shots next time.>

The message certainly piqued her curiosity. <Oh, yeah?> she sent back. <So I get to humiliate you instead?>

<Sure. But I'll only go as far as you go.>

She chuckled wryly. Ron's willingness to switch roles sealed the deal, even if, at the moment, it was only an empty promise. But that promise of control, empty or not, triggered the last release of her inhibitions. <Just remember that when I'm in charge,> she sent.

<Like you said, bring it. Where's my pic?>

Sylvie chuckled as she returned to the table upon which she had set her coffee, and placed the phone beside it. Oh, you're gonna get your picture, she thought. And then some.

With another glance toward the hall to assure herself she remained alone, Sylvie quickly shucked off her top, followed by the frilly red bra. The cool air danced enticingly across her nipples, making them pucker. On impulse, she caressed her breasts for a few moments, lighting up the nerves and making her nipples jut out even more. Then she unsnapped the skirt and let it fall to the floor.

Nervousness and excitement jockeyed for prominence as she stood fully nude in the lounge. The combination of emotions titillated her in ways she had never imagined. She was aware of a growing sense of true sexual arousal; more than heat between her thighs, she now felt conspicuously wet. A tingling sensation crept around her groin, circling in toward her clitoris like a patient hawk.

You want a pic, Ron? she thought as she took up the phone and stepped back to the window. Well, you're about to get more than you expected . . . .

She stood before the window, legs slightly splayed, facing her phone. Turning off the flash, she snapped a picture. Looking upon it, however, Sylvie decided it was not quite teasing enough. So she turned to one side, arched her back, holding the phone out at arm's length . . . .

She took several such pictures until she was satisfied she had the right one. It showed her obviously nude from mid-thigh up, with the nipple of her right breast outlined against the hazy glow of the city. There was just enough light upon her skin to make it obvious she was fully nude.

That oughtta do it, she thought as she sent the picture to Ron. She began to dress as she awaited his response.

From the hallway came a faint scuffling sound, like that of shoes upon carpet. Sylvie froze, halfway through pulling the skirt up her thighs. She was essentially naked, and if caught, the mortification and embarrassment would be too much.

Hurriedly, she snapped the skirt around her waist then donned the shirt. With only the bottom two buttons affixed, she warily approached the hallway.

But as her eyes scanned the corridor beyond, she saw nothing but carpet, wallpaper, and sconces. Slowly relaxing, telling herself her mind was playing tricks on her, she went back to the table in the lounge.

After more than a minute, she frowned at the phone. What, is he jacking off or something?

The tingling between her legs lingered, and Sylvie found herself slipping a hand beneath her skirt to lightly massage her pussy through the lacy panties. A jolt of sexual tension shot up through her body, making her suck in her breath.

Maybe he is jacking off, she thought excitedly, indulging in a sudden fantasy. Maybe he's laying back on his bed, looking at pictures of me and getting so turned on, so hard . . . maybe he's fantasizing about fucking me. Maybe he wants to push my legs back and shove it in, or bend me over and take me from behind . . . maybe he wants to go down on me and lick me until I scream--

Sylvie bit her lip, pressing her fingers more firmly against her clit. She whimpered, shifted on her feet, pushed the material covering pussy aside. She sighed aloud as naked fingers massaged her naked clit, delving between slick, slippery lips.

The vibration of the phone upon the hard plastic table jarred her back to the moment. She jerked her hand from beneath her skirt and, with a heavy, breathy sigh, took up the phone.

<That is seriously the sexiest picture I've ever seen.>

Sylvie smirked. <I bet you say that to all the girls.>

Ron messaged back a few moments later. <Right now, there aren't any other girls. Just you.>

A soft smile crossed Sylvie's face. <Oh, you sweet-talker.>

<I mean it.>

She rolled her eyes. Don't go getting serious on me, she mused. <Well, I wanna finish this game. I'm getting a little, uh, itchy.>

<Itchy?>

Sylvie chuckled. How clueless men are, she thought. <Yeah. Itchy. You know, like horny?>

<Oh,> came Ron's reply. <Seriously?>

<Surprised?>

<A little.>

Sylvie shook her head with a thin smile. <What's the next dare?>

She sat as she waited, sipping from the caramel-flavored coffee and wondering where the game was going to lead. She leaned back on the couch and casually pleasured herself, fingers languidly stroking up and down along the lips of her pussy as she waited.

The phone lit up and buzzed. Sylvie was quick to take it.

<Go to the women's bathroom in the lobby.>

Sylvie grinned. She could already tell where Ron's directions were leading, and for the first time since the beginning of the game, she welcomed it. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other, she headed out of the east end lobby and back into the main corridor. Only briefly did she dread that she might encounter the security guard.

She passed the now closed cafe, seeing no one either beyond the metal mesh gate that had been lowered over the entrance of the establishment, or anyone else in the lobby. It seemed that, for all the world, she was alone in the long, broad hall. That suited Sylvie just fine.