History With My XXs Ch. 01

It was a September Friday evening, in 1988, with just a hint of briskness in the blustery wind. Which added to the already complicated 'dressing dilemna'. For guys, of course, it was no issue. For us girls, only five items, with shoes and everything else counted separately – well, there was going to be a shortfall somewhere, and even more so as the temperatures dropped. Fortunately, my partner at the time,( let's call him Carl), was a mechanic so we had a vehicle. Even so, the few minutes we were outside, locking our coats in the boot of the vehicle – a seeming formality, but one that had been exploited quite ruthlessly in one of the other couples quite recently – and making our way into the block of flats was enough for my bare legs to develop prominent gooseflesh and for my upper body to require that constant arm rubbing for some warmth. So much so that I waylaid Carl outside the lift doors, and got myself molded to him, and my tongue in his mouth: a position I managed to maintain long enough to restore circulation, and therefore, some mystery before we got inside.

(Let's call him) Will, our host, opened the door: my precaution downstairs immediately paying dividends when his eyes dipped to my hint of cleavage, only to bounce back quickly. (Let's call her) Tami, our hostess, looked breath-taking in a knee-length black skirt and white blouse, with spike- heeled shoes like mine.

One of the things I liked about this group was the no-nonsense approach. We weren't friends in that sense. We shared an interest, and on the occasions when we met, every one of the six of us was prepared to do anything necessary to serve our own specific interest. That gave us a common bond, and in a sense made us closer than friends. So I never doubted for a moment that when Tami smiled at me, or at Carl – or for that matter that when Will smiled at me – it was the smile of a stalking predator. And that primal level of understanding produces an unparalleled buzz.

It was the same when (let's call them) George and April arrived to make up the full complement. We quickly sorted out ale and or other drinks, as appropriate, and settled at the table. When Will, as host, announced the game and began to shuffle the cards – the buzz increased somewhat. It was a complex game, one I wasn't especially good at, and I'd had a difficult day, was just that little bit tired and de-focused. I recall clearly wondering if that was behind the game selection, if Tami perhaps, or George himself, had smelled blood in the water. I was well aware of the moist sensations between my thighs as I collected the first few cards.

While Will dealt the cards, Tami distributed 10 white plastic 'poker' chips to each of us.

And so we began...

"Call"..."Call"..."Call"... To me, then. My hand a bloody mess, probably. I couldn't be sure because I didn't really understand the game. And I couldn't ask because that really would be blood in the water. And everyone was staring at me because the hand had been moving along quite quickly. And my knickers were sticking just that little bit whenever I moved, symptomatic of a condition not renowned for promoting composed thought. So I played a pair...hoping.

And evidently got it wrong. April and Carl, bless him, put the boot in – so that when it came back around to me, Tami smiled faintly and said, "You're in for 7, luv."

7 of my precious 10 chips were slipped, seemingly by someone other than me, into the pot. Prudence dictated a strategic withdrawal. But Prudence as a little voice is irritating and my logic went something like 'if that was the wrong pair then my pair close to the other end of the scale must be right.' The immediate, if subdued reaction, from everyone gave me the sickening sensation Prudence would have been wise voice to follow . Which, by the way, made my treacherous female sexual centres positively outspoken. Translation: my nipples were rampant and the moist sensation was spreading down both thighs,

"It's now 13 to you, luv." Tami reviewed my situation helpfully when the play had gone full circle again.

Sliding my chair back just enough, I reached down and levered off my spike heels: taking a glance in the process and discovering all 3 males would be moving about soon to ease some pressure inside their respective slacks. Straightening up, I put both shoes on the table – our rule being once you'd used up your initial (10) chips you had to supply collateral for the next 10 chips, and every ensuing 10 chip purchase, in advance. Tami counted out the chips and all but 7 of them went directly into the pot.

Thinking if I sat still, the guys might make mistakes, I said, "Call."

It was April who got there first. "You can't do that, luv. As the initiator of the hand you can only fold or play."

Of course. Now I remembered. Diabolical damn game. Don't ask me the name, but I had remembered by then that having effectively set up as 'banker' I would be responsible for more chips even If I folded. So I played the highest card left in my hand.

Then sat there, as though it was all happening to someone else, while everyone else weighed in on the slaughter. I was vaguely aware that the to date passive threesome, Tami, Will and George, were placing the largest wagers –and that that was because they had the most chips left from their initial 10. I also recall being extremely aware of how erotic barefoot could be...especially being the only barefoot person in a sexually charged atmosphere.

Carl cleared his throat and I stopped wriggling my bare toes against the cool lino floor. I looked at my cards, turned them back face down on the table. Tami, bless her heart, resolved my arithmetic dilemma. "You're now in for 26, luv."

Of course I was. 20-plus meant I would have to tip my hand, so to speak. One shoe on each foot and a total item count of 5. Do the math, boys and girls. Sliding the chair back again, a few inches, I unhitched my skirt and slipped it off, down, carefully not lifting too far off the chair, stretching down rather than bending and finally depositing it on the table. Will's wry grin seemed self-congratulatory, as if he'd guessed right when he kept glancing at my boobs. Which he had. I refused to even glance in the direction of George. George had a huge cock. I'd sucked it in the past and wasn't at all sure I wanted it inside me. But I wasn't going to risk eye contact with Carl either, and neither of the two other women would be easy to face down -- and Will's grin persisted because he obviously knew how uncomfortable my position was, so I stuck out my tongue at him.

Which earned a laugh from round the table and some release of pressure.

My thinking then went: they were all but played out on their initial 10 chips. Everyone of them. Had to be. So they might not risk pressing too hard from here. In fact, Prudence was ignored again for a more attractive voice, a voice this time arguing if I went right at them – played the right card and pushed – I might even bluff them out of the pot and get back every item on the table.

That tactic was how I finally came to be reduced to my panties. After one hand! Only to be faced by the same game. So I dropped out early. Only to be faced by the same game. So I dropped out early. Did I mention predators and blood in the water?

When the same game was declared yet again, and I was going to have to stump up my knickers after the 1-chip ante, I realized they weren't faffing about. They were all arrayed against me. The game might be called whatever, and I still don't recall the name, but in their minds it may as well be advertised as 'Strip-Elle' and they were going to keep doing over muggings here until I was naked and beyond, given the chance. So when Carl set himself up as banker, I did hope...well, you have to understand Carl was vehement that if I got into trouble at one of these evenings he wouldn't give me the 'bloody sweat from my testicles', unquote, but he'd always said it with a smile and we'd always rutted like rabbits after he said that, and he did fancy me – of that I had no doubts whatever – so, there was just the faintest chance that...

So I nailed my colours to the mast. It was a wrench and wriggle job, girls, no way I was hefting my tush from the chair, but once they'd landed on the table Will was quite overt and simply reached out and fingered them whilst George looked desperate to do so...

I should probably explain where we were overall in the game. Not that I cared beyond my own bubble, really. I was naked of course. Tami was fully clothed, including both shoes. Carl, Will and April had both shoes on the table. George was shirtless but that didn't really count because it was tacitly accepted that George was April's submissive and would respond to secret signs to get her off the hook – but that she most probably, unless desperate, wouldn't sell him out completely.

So it was me on the bubble and no one within light-years...

And I played that way. I stayed in, not really expecting any signal from Carl, but nonetheless deep down assuming he would bail me out, somehow. Probably at the very last moment, the bastard, but he would, wouldn't he...of course he would. And then I was out of chips and holding my breath and he kept the hand going, Just as he'd said he would...

So that was that.

Naked. Bankrupt at the table and naked. Me...