The Loft Game: Elf on a Shelf

An easy home run. Emily had told me her brother was too shy to date. "Your girlfriend breaking up with you."

"Bzzz." I was shocked. "I made up the shit tonight so I could play. The girl I was seeing told me she didn't want to be tied down the rest of her senior year. However, last time you were here I fell asleep thinking about how you looked. So, not the whole night. I did think about it again the next day," he admitted.

"One whatever you say for you," I acknowledged. I picked up the shot glasses. "Arriba ..." It took twice for him to memorize the words phonetically—he'd taken German, not Spanish—and then we downed them. "So, girlfriend?" I prompted after we sucked the juice out of the limes. I wanted to find out how wrong Emily's intel was.

"Someone in my friend group. We started talking and then kinda went out for a few months."

"And?"

"She felt like she was missing out on what her friends were doing. Whatever. At least she did it before I bought an expensive Christmas present. Though I did bail on the Winter Dance because I didn't want to be the only solo, and all my friends were paired up for it. She went with someone else."

The words popped out without conscious thought. "If you need a prom date, pick up the phone." I avoided looking at his face until whatever reaction was gone. I was ninety percent certain it would be pleased. But just in case it wasn't, I didn't need any confidence hits when I was upping my boldness level this much.

I picked up the tequila and poured and pushed the boundaries out farther. "Two truths and a lie. I've done something sexual in your house before tonight. I set up my high school rival to have sex with my high school boyfriend. My favorite kind of porn is two-guys-and-a-girl."

I saw him lick his lips. The waters just got way deeper. I waited patiently, eyebrow arched. I'm not a mind-reader, but it was shooting fish in a barrel. He dismissed the third one because, hey, guys all fantasize about two girls, so why wouldn't a girl fantasize about two guys? For the first, Emily had had a party that first time I was here; something could easily have happened. That left the second one—who would encourage their boyfriend to cheat?

"Rival."

"Bzzz. It was the third. If there's more than two in a porno, I prefer two-girls-one-guy. Two guys is usually about DPing or spit-roasting and always seems so extreme. As for my rival, he was my ex when I did it, and she was welcome to him." I paused. "On the first one, what would you guess now that you know it's the truth?"

He was reluctant to say, probably for fear of insulting me.

"Maybe I made out at the party, got felt up a little?" He squirmed. I took pity on him. I suppressed every timid objection my mind made—and there were several—and went for it.

"The truth is, in the bathroom, I got myself off to a fantasy of having exactly the kind of evening with you that we're having right now."

It was throwing gasoline on barbecue coals, something I'd seen an idiot do once. I watched the pupils dilate, the neck grow flushed, the hands tremble for a second as adrenaline shot through his body. I directed it. "Your turn. Two truths and a lie."

He took his time. His face got redder as he nerved himself.

"I've fantasized about you several times since then." I didn't need a dictionary to know what "fantasized" meant. The mental image of a hand wrapped— He was on the other side of the counter, concealed from the waist down. Fuck!

The second one came slowly. "My most common fantasy is taking a woman I met on the dance floor into a restroom at a nightclub."

Another long pause.

"If you hadn't been sleeping in Ems's room, I would have knocked last time."

This one's tough. Guys have a bajillion fantasies; what're the odds that's his biggest? And he's not the type who goes to dance clubs. Bad intel on girlfriend or no, I'd seen the shyness when I first met him, the same stuff he was fighting right now. But—

I went with my gut, hoping he was honest.

"You thought about knocking quietly anyway but didn't because you weren't sure."

He flushed. Answer enough. "Three whatever I says for me." I pushed the shot glass toward him—I'd decided two was the right balance. "So, got your eye on someone else now that Miss Whatever is gone?"

Ethan might be shy, but Ethan wasn't nerveless.

"Yes. My eyes are on someone." His gaze met mine squarely. I took a deep breath. It wasn't intentionally playful, his words were exciting, but his eyes dropped involuntarily. The warmth of the tequila in my stomach made that more than okay.

There was one more itsy-bitsy thing I was dying to know.

"Three wins to one. Because I'm the nicest woman in the world, I'm going to give you one extra chance. Very slightly different. Tell me how many lies, Ethan." He nodded.

I held up one finger. "If I came around the counter right now, there'd be some evidence you were turned on." The almost imperceptible adjustment he made on his barstool told me that one wasn't a lie.

I held up a second finger. "You're wondering what 'whatever I say' means." An easy layup.

I paused to drag out the suspense. Third finger. "I'm going to have sex with a virgin."

Stillness. "Honesty is part of the excitement," I reassured. I waited.

"Zero lies."

"Then I'll let you go first. 'Whatever I say' means pretty much what it sounds like. But ... you can say no at any time." The almost-echo of what I'd heard so many times in the loft made me smile inside.

While he sat there and contemplated the virtual gift the choice was, I let my mind retrace his admission, travel back to earlier when I was alone in the bathroom getting ready for the night.

I'd stood there, looking in the mirror, and contemplated the possibility. Every guy I'd ever had sex with, from Max to Carter, had been with someone else before me. Christian, yeah, only one time with one girl, but still ...

The one to get a guy's cherry. God, it's too much! I wonder what he'll be like that first second.

I found it exhilarating to watch a guy's face and listen when he first slid in: Christian's long exhale; the soft smile that bloomed on Carter's face; even Josh's aggressive little grunt, although that was just into my mouth.

It's not being conceited for a girl to think that pussy—yeah, I was talking dirty to myself—has to feel a helluva lot better than their hands. Otherwise, guys would do nothing but jerk off all the time. Well, more than they probably did.

I turned off the water and reached for my towel. I let my eyes roam over the bathroom. Here? This was where he first got a good look at me. The silent drama played out in my mind. The door closing behind him. The whispers for quiet. The unveiling ... first me, then him. Watching his face behind me in the mirror as his hands closed over my breasts, as I put my hands onto the counter for balance and arched back, as he slid his—

No, I want to take my time—I let another word roll around my tongue, savoring—deflowering that man. I wanted him gasping and spent by the time I'm done getting mine.

Now, my attention sharpened back on the object of my lust. "I'm sure you want me naked. Should I start there while you think?" Without waiting for an answer, I stood and stepped back so he could see all of me.

As dorky as it sounds, I'd watched a couple of those "casting" pornos, wondering how women stripped sexily. In the Loft Game, it was either casual or jokey. I wanted something else. But those pornos were worse than useless. Instead, I'd found Miles Teller explaining to Analeigh Tipton exactly how in Two Night Stand. I wasn't a guy, but the way Miles had reacted when she took his advice ...

I turned away, not even a quarter profile, maybe an eighth or a sixteenth. I looked straight ahead, at the pervy Elf staring back at me, as if I were alone. As if Ethan were a voyeur watching me unawares in my bedroom. I ran my fingers through my hair, tipped my head back, shook it to loosen the waves.

I crossed my arms and grasped the hem of the T-shirt and drew it up slowly, pausing at the top, arms raised, while I worked my head and hair out the neck. Perhaps I twisted slightly in my wriggle, just enough that the side of my breast was clear to the observer's gaze.

I carefully worked the shirt right side out, stepped forward, and let it drop casually onto an armchair. I stepped back, not so facing-away now, still seemingly oblivious of being watched. I knew my left breast was in view, and because they turn out slightly, he'd see the engorged nipple.

I put my thumbs in the front of my waistband and ran them around to the back, then retraced their path as far as the sides. I slowly drew the panties down with just a little pop of the booty backward. I bent and worked them off each leg, first the right, then the left, moving slowly for balance, knowing how displayed that made me.

Straightening, I let the garment dangle from the fingers of both hands in front of me, hiding my bush as I turned. Only then did I acknowledge his existence, meet his eyes. He wasn't smiling now—the stare smoldered. Then I opened my fingers, and the lace dropped to the floor.

I held the pose, my weight on one leg, my lips wet and parted, hands and arms hiding nothing for a long beat.

I stole Analeigh's line, "Is that sorta what you had in mind?"

The hard, swallowing nod was answer enough.

"So, what's it to be, Ethan?"

"Will you give me a blowjob first?"

"Is that a question or are you telling me what you want?"

He took stock. "I would like you to give me a blowjob."

I put out my hand to invite him. As he came around the corner, there was plenty of evidence of that excitement I'd mentioned. I guided him onto the couch, then knelt.

For a girl who isn't totally keen, you're doing a lot of this. But my thought was amused. I'd not only accepted it as a cost of this side of my life, I'd embraced the fact that having something I felt that way about made the rest sharper. Risk balancing reward.

Of course, in a perfect dream-sequence, this would go differently. I wanted to do so many dirty things with him. I wanted him to strip slowly for me. I wanted him to get himself ultra-hard and then stand in front of me and stroke until he spurted over that taut belly. I wanted him to slowly kneel in utter acquiescence as I spread my legs. All in utter silence.

But I didn't want any risk of a skittish colt getting weirded out, and this worked to make sure he'd last through the dicking I wanted. Some other day, Charl.

Skittish? I thought a second later as he drew my head forward ... not toward his groin as I expected, toward his lips. He kissed me, gently at first, then with a tongue probing between my lips. One hand slid to cup my breast, the other moved from my hair down to the small of my back, from there to my ass. He lifted, boosting me toward him. Those lean muscles that slid underneath his skin weren't all show.

He worked me—my lips, my breast, and my ass—with mouth and hands in efforts almost possessive in their firmness. Then he pulled away, met my eyes, and sat back. I took that as a signal, slid his loose pants to the floor, and took hold of his rigid length. I lowered my head.

He sighed, a long "ooh" that thrilled me, as he felt the velvet sensation of lips engulf the crown. I pulled off with a slight sucking sound.

"Is this your first of these too?"

"Yes."

"You can come in my mouth," I said and returned to my work.

I blew him in long strokes from as far down as I could get up to the tip, tongue dragging along the underside. I used a hand to cup his balls and run my thumb along his perineum. It wasn't long before I felt the thigh pressed up against my breast begin to tremble and heard the hoarse breathing turn to panting.

I shortened my stroke, bobbing my head over the first few inches, faster and faster, my hand traveling the remaining length. I felt the first spurt and then a flood. I kept my motion going until I felt the abrupt, stilling touch on my hair when sensitivity kicked in. I froze my mouth around the head but kept my hand massaging the shaft and balls below, milking so that not one second of his orgasm was ruined. I swallowed what I could.

When I felt him relax and heard the final, long sigh of completion, I lifted my head to see his expression. Wonder. Job well done, Charl. I moved up his body for a kiss, watching for a jerk of negation. There was none.

Too satiated? Brain not working yet? It doesn't bother him? I didn't know the answer and didn't really care. I'd kiss a lover even after he ate me; it meant demerits if that wasn't reciprocal. I didn't push it, though, given his newbie status. I laid a couple of soft kisses on his lips, flicked my tongue briefly between his, and cuddled into his side.

"I guess it's your turn." He didn't sound the slightest bit grudging about that.

I moved around so I was straddling his lap and laid my forearms on his shoulders. "Yes, it is. One of my favorite things in sex is having a guy go down on me. So, I want to start teaching you exactly how I like it. That's number one. Second is that you can fuck me"—oh my, he likes that word!—"in any position you want the first time. After that, I get another round in my favorite."

He was a good student. Eager at first and uncertain beyond "tongue goes there." But with just a little coaching, I was purring along as his tongue would plunge into my cleft and then drag up until it laved my clit in a mixture of saliva and my wetness.

I was boneless against the warmth of the leather, hands caressing his hair, one leg cocked up against the sofa's back, the other draped to the floor.

"Finger. No, turn it upward and stroke. And suck now." The pressure on my G-spot combined with the steadily increasing suction on my clit was driving me toward euphoria. I started to press upward in time with his stroking. It broke the rhythm of his mouth at first, but he quickly adjusted, loosening his neck and shoulders to ride the motion with his mouth glued to my sex.

Unbidden, his free hand went underneath to pull me tighter against his face, strong fingers squeezing a cheek in the cadence. A natural talent for this.

I felt the tremors begin. I forced them away. Not yet. The insistent finger teased them back. It was more of a struggle to fight back the second time. Still not yet. He began to make sounds, little "hmm" noises that broadcast encouragement and his own excitement. It fueled my lust. The pressure of blood pounding in my clit from the vacuum was irresistible.

"Don't dare stop!" I exploded in a frenzy of hands in his hair, legs locked over his shoulders, hips driving upward into a mouth that pinned me against his hand.

When I finally was able to peer down at the sopping face, "Good beginning," I said.

"Good teacher." We both broke into laughter. I dragged him upward by his hair and locked my mouth on his, plundering his mouth with my tongue. Then I glanced lower and smiled with satisfaction at the renewed manifestation of his excitement. "Come up here."

I didn't need to ask twice. He scooted upward until his hands were above my shoulders, then I felt the tip press into my sopping slit. A half-stroke to get himself wet, a three-quarter to spread the moisture, and then I was impaled.

He didn't jackhammer me like an asshole—well, maybe there'd be times when I was in the mood for that and the guy wouldn't be an asshole. But anyway, this wasn't making love. Ethan was fucking. And who could blame him? He was buried in his first-ever pussy, and I'm sure it felt absolutely fucking awesome. I felt every thrust to my core, solid and meaty.

There was something breathtakingly erotic about looking up at the intensity of enjoyment on his face and knowing I was the first. I watched him, the mouth falling open to admit more air, the eyes getting far away as his focus shifted to the new sensations.

I could watch this for fucking ever.

It spurred me.

I wasn't worried about this ending too soon. He'd just come, and I have a short second fuse. It's my third that's a slow train. Each thrust spread me wide open, transmitting shocks to every delicious place in me. It was only a matter of minutes. Long before his muscles gave out or his self-control was exhausted, I felt the shakes start and the heat radiate out in ripples from my core. I stared at his mouth, focusing on that one spot to fight the dizziness of hyperventilation.

The shakes precipitously turned to bliss. My eyes closed of their own accord, and "oh!" I gasped out. I heard him answer with the same as he felt me clench down hard on him, and then again.

I rode the shocks, toes curled, fingers clenched on his forearms, mouth open in a long, wordless exhalation. Halfway through, I heard the deep groan and knew that he'd reached his own peak. He kept going, I'm sure milking every last ounce of his ejaculation, which let me milk every last aftershock of mine.

We stared at each other, two sweaty faces inches apart.

"You're not a virgin anymore."

"No." The grin was still adorable, and maybe just a little self-satisfied. We lay there. "I need a tiny break," he said apologetically.

"I know," I answered. "And we should probably clean up the couch." I shifted and he heard the sodden squelch where we were joined. "Then we go to a real bed and, quietly so we don't wake your sister, you're going to do that again with me prone on my stomach. And you're going to have to work for it, so I hope you ate your Wheaties."

The clock by his bed said 4:23 when I shifted from beside the drowsing man.

"I'm going to clean up and go back to her room so it's not super-weird in the morning."

"What about your third win?"

"Maybe I'll use that later."

"When?"

"If I get a prom invite, you should be worried." At the look of trepidation, I ruffled his hair. "But not too much and in a good way."

At the door, I turned back. "And it's okay with me if you take someone else to the prom. It's also okay if you practice any of that stuff before then." Leaving a man I'd shocked yet again, I slipped back into Emily's room.

"Relax," I said as she sat up and looked at me with sleepy, questioning eyes. "It's fine. I might get a prom invite." She sucked in her breath.

"Oh," I added. "I don't think you should call him baby brother anymore." I giggled. "And any more information is none of your business." Feeling quite wicked, I rolled over and went to sleep.

I left without seeing him in the morning because he slept in, probably exhausted. Emily had wanted me to come for the week, but Julia and I had already made plans to leave that day for Vermont to try snowboarding. And I wanted some one-on-one time with her to pry out what was so kinky she had refused to answer.

"Do I still have a ride back to campus?" I asked Emily as we stood in the driveway.

"Of course." She grimaced. "It was weird for me, but ..." She shrugged. "Hurt him and I'll hate you forever."

"Never. It was just a hookup. If he makes it more than that, I can be very gentle. And if he doesn't, he gets some pussy and I get some nice dick."

"Oh my God! Shut up! I can't hear that." But she was laughing as she clapped her hands over her ears.

I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks to norafares and MsCherylTerra for taking a look at it before it was published.

Winterim Term is about to begin and, with it, Chip's invitation to the main game. She'll be back for more Loft Game.