ScrabbleGo Had Morphed

ScrabbleGO had morphed, under the ministrations of my wife, into ScrabbleGOSTRIP!

How? Simply by her insistence that I play 3 females, of my wife's choice of course -- so all expert players - at the same time. With each game I lost costing me one article of clothing -- and each game I lost by Resigning costing me two articles of clothing.

Much too soon, she was back the room, hands on my shoulders while I sat sweating in the chair in front of my laptop -- her fingertips digging in. "Both shoes. Now. 5 -- 4 -- 3 -- 2 -1..."

It wasn't easy. Reaching under the desk, around the hardon trapped in my pants. Got my right shoe off...working on my left. Sweat trickling down both my chest and my back.

"...0"

Clunk. The left shoe dropped literally.

"Too slow." The fingers dug in again. "Both socks -- quick, quick. 5 -- 4 -- 3..."

I didn't stand a chance of course. She knew it. I knew it. So of course once I'd belatedly added the second sock to the growing collection of her plunder, I fully expected more. The continued sweat trickles was about not-knowing what...

"Up. Quick. On your feet...."

I managed, albeit a bit weak-kneed.

"Slacks. 3 -- 2 ..."

Again, no chance. They dropped around my ankles but try clearing them from there.

"You're not learning," she teased again, "these next I think." Reaching under my shirt flaps she grabbed the thick elastic of my briefs. You got it -- down they went.

Hardon-plus. Shirt literally plastered to me...feet entangled now in both slacks and briefs.

Now I need to back up a bit and explain something. My work-from-home/Covid remote desk was a sit-stand model placed in front of our bedroom window: large window, with a view out over the road and scenery in the distance. I'd had the desk on it's lowest setting, so it was down below the windowsill.

And I'd been working there -- well, not working, playing ScrabbleGO there for quite some time, more distracted than present in the room so to the speak. So I'd missed the fact the sun had gone down, but there was a light on in the bedroom -- turning the scene behind the almost fully open drapes into a fishbowl.

With me standing there. Hardon hoisting up the shirt front...moisture spots clearly visible.

When the attractive neighbour strolled by. Stopped. Pivoted slowly toward the window. And stared, her smile growing.

"Now we have the makings of a really good CFNM scene," my wife chuckled. "Hold that thought," she added, popping out the open the bedroom door, then out the double doors onto the deck to the right of our bedroom window.

They began to chat.

"Lovely evening," my wife said.

"Yes," the neighbour nodded, smiling. "Getting better all the time." This latter with a slight cock -- no pun intended -- of the head to acknowledge what -- or rather WHO -- she was referencing.

"Yes. Maybe a glass of wine later?"

"Certainly. I'll just finish my walk. 20 minutes? Thereabouts?"

"Perfect..."

Coming back into the bedroom, my wife said: "I've had an idea. Each exchange you lose from here in will cost you a button -- and, "she paused, "Never mind, one thing at a time, eh."

I was nodding, throat dry. Watching the neighbour move off up the road...

My wife tapped me on the shoulder, gestured toward the screen. Leslie had played 'HERS' for 13 points. Since I had only 11 total...well, "Be interesting to see where you start -- popping off buttons, I mean."

What DID she mean? The top button was already undone...reaching for the cuff earned me another squeeze on the shoulders.

"Nooo," she was speaking quietly, directly into my right ear. "TWO buttons, please. Now. 3-2..."

Since the top button was already open, I quickly popped open the next two below that.

I tried word 'TIF' next...got the Invalid notice.

"Oh dear," my wife chuckled, "You ARE rattled. Another button, please."

"But..."

"Two buttons. Quickly, don't keep her waiting."

I undid the two buttons...opening my shirt down to the navel. "I don't have a play."

"I know." She leaned down, closed her teeth on my earlobe.

Enclosed abruptly in the red haze of pain, I popped off the two remaining buttons on my shirt front...but they were small, put up a fight as it were, finally releasing only after I was soaked once more in sweat.

She peeled the shirt down around my lower back, fully exposing me and partially trapping my arms. "Cuff buttons next."

"I can't..." and I couldn't, reach them.

"I know. I'll do them for you. For permission to use the soft frond flogger all night."

Diabolical bitch. If I said no, she'd use the cane instead. "Yes."

"Excellent. Now, what are you wanting me to do about this game you're losing to L++++ (the neighbour)? I think L++++ should be here soon so you really should decide..."

"Concede my turn?"

"One suggestion. Although I think L++++ and I should get to wax you if you do that --especially the cock and balls you kept protected to the last."

"Resign."

"Excellent. And L++++ and I will wax you wherever we choose...agreed?"

Teagan was new. But up 23 to 18. She pounced on the next exchange -- then I got another Invalid against Isabella. Once again, without a play...I passed. Without a word, my wife took hold of my hair, pulling me back in the chair. Agony washed through me on the first perfect flick of the flogger to the glistening circumcised tip of my cock.

"Oh dear." Not sounding in the least sorry, she wrenched my hair again -- and delivered two more strokes of the flogger: each with deadly accuracy, to my swollen balls. "That's for letting Teagen take you 11 to 2. So are these."

NINE, count them...9 straight blows to my cock and balls. Then it was my wife's face directly over mine, smiling. "I suggest unconditional surrender."

I did. Once there was moisture in my throat to speak.

Meanwhile, Teagen had taken me again -- 11 to 4.

It was going to be a long long session of torment and humiliation.

Lifting her wineglass for a sip: her eyes twinkling mischievously of the rim of the glass, my wife said, "a photo for your opponents, AND, for L++++ and anyone else I name, AND," note the emphasis, "a suitable amusement of their individual choice -- at your expense of course." That was her definition of Unconditional Surrender -- for now...

"Of course," I'd replied, sipping my own wine for the moisture needed to speak. "Certainly."

"Good."

Back online, Isabel went on kicking my ass -- as in me filing for 4 points, while she was filing for 23. That sort of thing.

I soon realized it wasn't just about the words chosen. It was also about the location chosen for the words -- to prevent your opponent from having openings for their words. (If you follow?)

But I didn't realize this until after I was out of buttons -- and owing a flogging: for making the bottom most button the last to undo. Which my wife volunteered to perform for her three female allies.

And did she ever lay on the crop. Part way through, assuming I must have annoyed her quite a bit recently, knowing she wouldn't let up voluntarily, I begged her to switch to the soft frond flogger. She made a show of considering this, while laying a solid blow to the backs of my knees then up the centre of my back -- before stepping around front to my left: using the crop to lift my cock and balls, bouncing my cock and balls ominously -- as though carefully selecting a spot to begin the next beating.

A beating she administered with the soft frond flogger. But don't let 'soft' fool you. With an expert wrist action she managed to make ever stroke a lightning bolt -- and they came with amazing speed and accuracy. Until I was begging again -- this time flat on my back with my legs up and splayed so she could continue beating me at her leisure.

Then she was hovering over me: one hand working my balls, the other stroking me. "Cum, and I'll take you on to the next place already naked."

"Please." It came out plaintive, helpless.

"Good. I win, you lose. Now, when we get where we're going -- it's just next door..."

L++++'s place!? WTF!!! Bad enough having to put up with the bitch's harrassment and torment...but to have to do it on her home turf!?

"Please!"

"Please don't make me...?"

Interrupting quietly but firmly, my safe said: "Please what? Don't leave you to her tender mercies? Maybe I'll insist on updates? - pix, vids-- every half hour or so? Does that seem a suitable compromise?"

What could I say? This was at once the worst nightmare and best fantasy possible.

"Go on -- get your naked ass and cock over there. I don't think she likes you much so keeping her waiting would be a b-a-d idea..."