The Dancer's Deceit Ch. 02

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All Rights Reserved. All characters depicted herein are over 18 years of age.

Summary: When Jake and Alyssa meet, it's an instant love connection. She's amazing in every respect and everything seems perfectly idyllic. Her friends, who keep finding ways to get her out of her clothes, may start to drive a wedge between them. A trip to the bar with her new friends leads to another night of questionable choices.

The Dancer's Deceit Chapter 2 -- The Rotten Egg

Friday night was an amazing date night. She finished her classes by 2:00PM, and her dance workshop by 4:15. She showered, dressed extra sexy, and we had a wonderful evening together. She was chattier than usual, joking and making me laugh, affectionate, and seemed to always want to be touching me.

I was having a difficult time getting out of my own head. The night before, she had gone to a small party at her friend's dorm room and, through a series of events that included a failed attempt to shotgun a beer and a resultant beer-soaked outfit, a dice game with dubious rules, and an overserving of vodka, Alyssa had ended up completely naked in front of five guys. All the while, I'd been working on a huge paper for my master's degree, watching a near-constant stream of photos coming into her laptop from her phone, documenting the gradual shedding of her clothing. I was really trying to be supportive and not jealous or controlling. I wasn't thrilled that she'd gotten naked with her guy friends, but nothing had really happened, I did trust her, and she was acting very loving.

I chalked my anxieties up to my own insecurities, and pushed any negative thoughts from my mind, almost like a walking, talking meditation exercise. If my brain started to head down a darker path, I would distract myself with positive conversation. When I began obsessing about her flashing her boobs during the dice game, I would start a conversation about her second semester showcase. If I jealously recalled her standing naked in order to put on her bra, I complimented her hair, her humor, or her mood. I was able to stay in the present, and throughout the course of the evening I felt more and more confident that I had nothing to worry about.

We had gotten together near the end of the prior school year when she was working on her end of semester showcase, and I was working backstage, programming and running the lighting board and special effects for the performers. One afternoon we sat down on the stage together to map out all of the different lighting queues she wanted, and the fog machines timing and density, and before either of us knew it the security team was kicking us out and locking up the building, and we only had half of her performance mapped out. We had talked for over five hours, neither of us aware of the passing of so much time. We went to dinner together and had been an official couple ever since.

We'd both grown comfortable over our nearly eight months together using the "L" word with one another, but Friday she kept pausing our conversation to look into my eyes and say things like, "Do you actually know how much I love you?" or "God, I'm so lucky to have you. I love you so much." I think all of my positive, loving talk was having an effect.

It was over dinner that I scared myself. I was fixating on an image, one of the pictures I'd seen, of her from behind, bottomless, with her pelvis tilted slightly so that her gently parted lips were visible from between her clearly spread legs. At the time I was certain that her body position was proof that she knew just what she was showing them. Scrambling wildly in my brain for something to say to distract myself, I blurted out "When we get married, where do you think you'd want to live?"

We hadn't discussed how serious or casual our relationship was. Ever. It was mentioned in passing once, within the first month, that we were both in college and didn't want anything too serious. I heard the words come out of my mouth, and I froze, terrified that she was going to get up and walk away from me. "When we get married?" Who says that?

She looked shocked for a moment, then tears sprang to her eyes. "You think about that? About being married to me?"

I decided I needed to lean into it. The damage was done, so if she was going to dump me, I might as well roll the dice. "Well, sure. I love you. I've never been happier than I am when I'm with you. I'm not saying I want to go pick out a ring and book a band tonight, but, yeah. Is that okay?"

She was over the moon. The "I love you's" and the "I'm so incredibly lucky's" came faster and with more intensity. Back at her dorm room, she was even more cuddly and affectionate, even getting misty eyes. Not in a highly sexual, "let's get naked and you get right up there inside me" way, but in a very cute, warm, loving way. Don't misunderstand: the sex was amazing, every bit as erotic, but more tender than the night before. I was a little impressed with myself that I could perform again after the thorough draining she'd given me.

Saturday, while we were still in bed wondering if we should go have breakfast or wait 20 minutes and have lunch, she got a text. Pat, Steve, and the rest of the guys were going to the bar that night, and she and I were both invited. She seemed eager, so we both accepted and confirmed the time and location.

Now motivated, we got out of bed, dressed, and went down to the school dining hall. She decided to wait for a turkey on wheat, but my hunger pushed me in the direction of the leftover breakfast foods, and I grabbed the last egg sandwich on English muffin and was almost completely done eating before she got to the table.

Justin, Terry and Zach were included in the group text, along with Pat's roommate, Alex. All of the guys except for Alex had been with Alyssa when she'd gotten naked. I was struggling again to keep it all in the proper perspective, but it was made more difficult when Pat texted "Wear something sexy for us!" with a laughing emoji.

She looked nervous, laughing it off as a joke, so I shrugged and told her that she could wear whatever she wanted, that it wasn't my decision, and that I thought she looked sexy in anything. It felt kind of awkward to me. She was noncommittal, decided to deflect with humor, and sent back the skull emoji to suggest that she'd laughed so hard that she'd died.

I left her to go to my own dorm, shower, and dress. Because of campus logistics and the location of the bar, she insisted that I just meet her there, since it would add almost half a mile to my walk to come and get her. She texted me a quick selfie in her full-length mirror to ask my opinion on her outfit. She was wearing a bright, multi-colored, mid-calf length handkerchief-style dress with her orange cotton tights and chunky heeled black boots. She had a complementing pashmina around her neck, and had her long hair tied back in a flirty, cute, high ponytail.

"You look adorable," I complimented.

"Thank you! I decided against sexy. They shouldn't think they have that kind of control over me!"

"You've failed miserably. You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen," I replied sincerely, earning several heart emojis.

"Last one there is a rotten egg!" she texted back. It was one of her jokes. A cute throwback to childhood, she would tag me and then take off at a run, or goad me, as tonight, to get me to hurry.

I arrived just before 9:00 PM, which was the planned time. It took a few minutes to find them at a booth in the back -- I was the last one to arrive. They wereat a table for six, but Alyssa had squeezed in on the end, and they were managing. With nowhere to sit, I stood behind her. Very soon, we all hit the dance floor, the guys had a few beers and Alyssa finished her vodka and water, and then ordered a plain seltzer water for her second drink.

I was having fun getting to know the guys. Alex was a real comedian and had us all laughing the whole time. There were long stretches of time that I didn't even think about the fact that all but one of the guys at the table had seen my girlfriend naked, and a quick hug or brushing of my hand across her cheek seemed to do the job of pacifying any negative feelings.

I'd had my misgivings about Pat, to be honest. I'd met him and Steve a few times before, but briefly and very casually. I'd heard a lot about him, of course, and knew that they were good friends. They had a couple of business classes together, and Alyssa had been teamed with Pat on a group project the prior semester, and during that process they had found they all enjoyed one another's company, which Alyssa assured me was purely platonic. After hearing about Pat's take-charge role in her stripping, I wasn't sure how I felt about him, but he was charming and respectful of everyone in the group, and I found it difficult to hold a grudge. I could see why she was friends with him.

After about an hour, I started to not feel great. At first, I thought that the beer wasn't agreeing with me, and I ordered a vodka and water. Just before 11:00 I went to the bathroom, and realized it was something worse. Hoping that it had passed, I tried to go back into the table, but by 11:15 I was pushing people out of my way to get back to the toilet. The leftover egg sandwich had been a bad choice, and it seemed like I had food poisoning.

Alyssa wanted to come back to my dorm with me to take care of me. I had thrown up twice already, and I could tell it would soon move south and back. I think she caught on to what I meant, and I made her promise not to come over, even after she got home. "I really don't want you to see me like that," I repeated.

She wanted to insist, but she respected my wishes as I jumped into the rideshare car. Thankfully it was a short drive, and the fifteen-minute walk from campus to the bar was less than a five minute ride home. I had to stop in the public bathroom on the first floor of my building, and then dragged myself, feeling even worse, back to my room. I had just changed into comfortable sweatpants and a long-sleeve when I needed to sprint back down the hall, barely making it in time. Half an hour later I went back to my room, hoping that the worst of it was over, but feeling chilled. I pulled on my thick terrycloth robe and laid down, tucking my feet under the covers. To pass the time, I fished my phone out of my jeans, and saw a few texts from Alyssa.

"We all hope you're feeling better!" was the first, with a selfie of the seven of them outside in front of the bar. The text had come through just after 11:30, which was only about 10 minutes after I'd left. I thought it odd that they would all be outside, but I was touched that they'd sent their well wishes.

The second message had come slightly before midnight. It looked like they were all back at her dorm, and they sent another group picture. It didn't look like anything that I would disapprove of was happening, but it did make me nervous, and I wondered why they left the bar so quickly after I did. The accompanying text said, "I'm so sorry you're sick, baby. Please let me know if I can do anything for you. I love you! I'll ditch this party and be at your bedside in a heartbeat if you need me there." She included five heart emojis.

I responded briefly. "I'm fine. Have an amazing time tonight. You deserve to have some fun and not worry about me. I'll hear all about it tomorrow. I Love you!"

I laid the phone on the bed next to me and closed my eyes, still feeling a little off and weak from what was happening to me. I think I might have dozed a little, but I didn't actually fall asleep because when another wave of stomach cramps hit me, I was not at all disoriented. I jumped up and ran down the hall to the bathroom. A few messages had come in while I was there, and after a few minutes I mustered the energy to fish the phone out of my bathrobe.

"All of the guys said they'll help you if you need anything, too. Just text us!" This was sent from Alyssa on the group chat. It had likes from all of the guys, and a follow-up from Pat. "We mean it, man. If you need anything, any one of us will come over. Food poisoning sucks."

I hearted that in response, then switched to the text chain from just Alyssa.

"We thought you would like to feel like you played along with us!" There was an accompanying picture, and it looked like they'd propped the phone up in an empty spot in their circle. They were playing the dice game again, but this was obviously a posed shot. They were sitting on the floor, all smiling and holding out their drinks to the camera. I scanned everyone quickly; Alyssa was shoeless, but everyone else was exactly as fully dressed as they'd been at the bar. The fact that she'd taken her shoes off when she returned to her room didn't surprise me, but I was a little concerned about them playing the game. Both dice showed a six on top.

Another picture. "I really miss you! We're having a great time!" The phone looked like it was in the same spot. In my weakened state, I half registered that Alyssa's dress seemed a bit rumpled and askew, but I didn't pause to think what that might imply.

"Should I stop texting you? Are you trying to sleep? I hope I'm not keeping you up. I love you baby!" This text was accompanied by a close-up kissy face, and I could tell she was getting drunk by the heaviness of her eyelids, and the light flush on her cheeks. It had been sent almost ten minutes prior.

I typed my response, fumbling and fixing too many misspellings. "I'm good. It's fun to see the pics. I'll let you know if I go to sleep. Or I'll just stop responding." I added a couple of smiley faces, and the green puking emoji.

She replied right away with a close-up of her smiling, laughing face. The first thing I noticed was that she had changed. I could only see the tops of her shoulders, but she was now wearing a white, spaghetti-strap camisole that I recognized as one of her sleep shirts. It had a scoop neck but wasn't very low cut, and was higher under the arms. She liked its tightness because it didn't bunch up on her when she slept. She included several hearts.

"The guys want me to flash," came a text on the group chat. "I told them they have to check with you!" with a winky face.

I wasn't in the mood for this. If I said "no" straight up, I would look like a possessive jerk in front of her and the guys. If I said okay, I would look weak, like I didn't care. I felt backed into a corner, and it was even worse because it was on the group chat. Everyone was waiting for me to reply.

She had flashed her boobs last time, and it wasn't that bad, really. It had even turned me on a little. I trusted her not to take it too far, and the time I had spent with them made them seem at least somewhat trustworthy. I knew that if one or two of them tried to take things too far, at least a few of them would step in to stop it. "Not my boobs, so not my call."

I had fully intended to type more. I wanted to somehow say that she was to do nothing more than that. Flashing only, and just a little. Another wave of cramps hit me, and I started sweating again, clouding my thoughts even more, so I just hit send. She would know what I meant after the last time.

"I'm going to make the guys put their phones away," she responded. "Just in case. I haven't decided yet."

I shot back a thumbs up, only half understanding what that meant.

Ten minutes later I was walking back to my room. I was cold again, and my T-shirt was a little damp with sweat. I laid down, shivering and with chattering teeth, and pulled my covers up over my robe. I checked my phone again, and there was a picture waiting for me that looked almost magazine quality. It was a close-up, chest and above. She looked like she was pensive, but with a smirk on her lips. She had one leg pulled up by her chest, and her chin was rested on the orange tights on her knee. The smallest sliver of bare skin on her thigh was visible. She really was so beautiful, and I hearted the picture.

Almost immediately after came another image, accompanied by a single line. "This is Pat. If you liked that one, how about this?" This was zoomed in a little closer, and captured from her forehead to her navel, showing me her blushing face and coy smile, and her bared breasts as she was lifting her shirt, flashing the camera.

This was kind of my own fault; I had given permission. Not wanting to seem like it was bothering me, I hearted that picture, too. Pat responded back immediately with two more of her flashing, and in these I could plainly see that her nipples were very erect. I scrolled back to check. In the first picture, one semi-hard nipple was pressing lightly against the tight white cami top while the other was hidden behind her knee. In the first flashing picture, they were popped a bit, but very visibly not as hard as in the newer images.

I started typing, then erased it. I repeated that action three more times, nervously realizing that they were all watching those three dots appear, then vanish. Finally, I decided I wasn't going to change anything from my bed, and I had to trust her. I gave a thumbs up.

No messages came for a few minutes, and a new wave of cramps sent me scrambling for the bathroom once more. I spent almost half an hour but when I returned to my room this time, I somehow knew that it was over.

I seriously considered a shower, but decided it was too much work to grab all of my accessories and my towel, and I wasn't feeling great. Instead, I stripped, put on a clean pair of sweatpants that hadn't spent any time on a public men's room floor, replaced my robe, and climbed into bed. I remembered my phone when I heard it fall to the floor as I adjusted the sheets. I had a few more texts from her.

There were three more pictures. The first was, by now, standard fare. Framed navel up, she appeared to be standing, flashing the camera. The shirt was pulled up high, in front of her face, hiding her expression from me, but her posture indicated humor. The second and third were, surprisingly, showing nothing. One was a group selfie, a small strip of her bare belly between the hem of the shirt, which rested just above her belly button, and the bottom of the frame. All the guys were tight around her, and it looked like they had set the phone on her desk with the timer. The final picture was just her, close up again, obviously highlighting her erect nipples pressing against the thin fabric of the tank top. She was smiling brightly, with a deep blush on her face.

The final message was a simple text. "Are you asleep? I'll stop texting. I hope you're feeling better. Good night."

It was almost 2:00AM, and that had arrived about ten minutes prior, so I assumed the party was over, or almost so. I could live with her flashing her boobs a few times. What was the harm, really? I decided not to text her, and I set my phone aside and fell into a light, disturbed and fitful sleep.

I woke just after 6:00AM. The sweatpants, bathrobe and covers all combined to a stifling heat that had felt great when I had been feverish four hours prior, but now woke me up. I stripped, and my brain, still half asleep, jumped instantly to Alyssa. I groped for my phone and found a slew of new messages waiting for me. Mostly pictures.

I quickly scrolled through them and felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Many more of her breasts, and a few closeups of her pussy. Scrolling back through, I could see in some that she looked bottomless, in just the shirt, but a pinch-zoom into them showed that she was wearing a black thong that I recognized. It was a plain, tiny, low-rise panty that had a very narrow waist string. I remembered the first time I'd seen it. On the front was a very small triangle of plain black cotton fabric, and the small strip of fabric made me appreciate the slang descriptor of "floss." The connecting waistband was also impressively thin. I was told that she used to have many more of them, and once wore them under her yoga pants to minimize panty lines, before she started eschewing underwear altogether.