The Loft Game: Hula Girl

But no, even wondering about how to cope with later didn't change now, which was envisioning what was going on in that room: Logan's mortification fading away as she knelt to her task; the sprawled male figure; that first descent of an open mouth; his gasp—Zach would, I was sure—the slow bob; breaths getting faster and heavier; quiet outcries I hoped would become loud enough to hear through the door.

The finish ... "You have to let them finish," Hannah had told me when she'd explained the rules of what went on here. What would Logan do?

"I hear this is your first loss," Victoria had said. "Sooo, Logan ... what do you do at the big moment?" It elicited only more blush and a slight stumble toward the door with downcast eyes.

"I hope it's not gag," Victoria called after her with a snarky little smirk.

"Zach doesn't keep secrets, so we'll know soon enough," Owen contributed as the door slammed. He also laughed, but his tone had none of the edge in hers. He glanced over at me. "Hey, you'll be the only mystery. What about it, Chips? Care to tell us in advance?"

"Well ... not spit," I said mildly. It was fake, a façade of bravado over a sudden rush of adrenaline. Unbidden, my mind pictured doing what Logan had just done: standing and walking to the back room under the watchful eyes of a roomful of people. People who, friends or still just acquaintances, would feel the same quiver of excitement at my embarrassment that I felt at Logan's, and who would have no hesitation about indulging it at my expense. I had no doubt I'd be as red as she had been.

I saw every one of those eyes on me for a second: girls' in pure humor, guys' mixing in speculative eagerness.

"That'll be you someday," Luis promised, the dark thrill he got from teasing me evident.

We all feel that. We're sitting here, aren't we?

Every nerve tingled. There was dread. But at the same time, it made my enjoyment of this moment so much more intense. It was the Kingda Ka roller coaster at Great Adventure or the bungee jump Julia had talked me into one insane day last summer.

The risk makes the thrill. Adrenaline junkie.

There was a sound, a tenor "mmm" instead of the gasp I'd predicted. There were chuckles out by us, but a shiver rippled through the room nonetheless.

Oh my God. I'm so hooked on this!

"That is sooo like her," Emily said. She was in my dorm room, impatient for the scoop on my first main game.

I started with meeting Victoria. "I was scared of her."

She leaned up against my arm and put her head on my shoulder. "Don't sweat Victoria. My first main game she cornered me and said, 'Don't be that bitch who fucks this up or I'll fucking kill you.' I was scared too even though I'd spent an entire semester in the green game with her. But you'll see; she's not always that way."

"She's pretty intense."

"About that. She—" She glanced away for a second, thinking. "Talk to her sometime about the game." As I started to shake my head in refusal, she pushed. "She won't take your head off; I promise. You should do it."

Fat chance. "Do girls bail often?"

"I don't know about often. One a year maybe? That's not a lot when you consider."

Jill yourself off in front of a crowd of voyeurs? No, it's certainly not a lot.

"Have you been there when someone quit?" I asked. "What does everyone do?"

She got quiet again. "Once. It wasn't major drama. The guy didn't feel cheated."

I digested that. Someone took the loser's place, I interpreted.

"She just plays green now sometimes," Emily said.

"Who?" I saw her frown. "Oh! Never mind. None of my business." But just because I recognized that there were some things private if you weren't there when it happened, didn't mean I didn't speculate inside. I couldn't figure it out. Everyone was either in the game, didn't know about the game, or seemed too ballsy to be that girl. I haven't met everyone.

"Have you ever ... you know?" I asked.

"No. I'm dreading it."

"Me too."

She pulled back off my shoulder so she could look at me. "You won't bail, will you? Please say you won't."

"No. I'm not a welcher." As I said that, I remembered my debt to Anthony from New Year's. He didn't remember it, but I did ... and I wasn't a welcher.

Fuck, it's going to be embarrassing to remind him! Talk about sounding like a ho. "Hi, Anthony. Not for nothing, but would you like a blowjob?"

"So, your first game? I know you didn't lose because Logan texted me all, like, OMG about Zach popped her main-game cherry. She said she nearly died." Emily laughed. "So, how 'bout you?"

"You owe me big time!"

"What'd I do?"

"You didn't tell me that it was Texas Hold 'em instead of Draw. I could've used the heads-up to read about strategy before."

"Hannah was supposed to tell you when she invited you."

"Well, she failed. She owes me too. But you're my friend and shoulda warned me. I was freakin' lucky I got good cards."

She winced. "Sorry. We like it all one table instead of having to split things, but Hannah was sup—"

"Nope! Epic fail by both of you, and you both owe me," I repeated. "Hey, want to go to Daytona Beach with me at spring break?"

"Oh, I can't." She looked distressed, like maybe she felt she owed me a little too. "I already have tickets to Cabo with my friend from high school. We planned it before I even met you. Hey, maybe you could come with. There'll be a couch."

"I'm already committed to Daytona."

"Maybe we could do something in the summer? Or next year."

"Don't freak out. It's okay."

It happened. Of course it did. There's no way it wasn't going to, sooner or later. It just happened to be sooner.

Was it blind luck? Of course not. Luck of the draw is luck of the draw, but players can stalk someone nonetheless, and the guys were stalking the new girl. The girls helped too ... some of them. Not Em. I don't think Hannah. But Victoria and Brey had, taking delight in really initiating someone, popping a main game cherry, as Em put it.

Please. Please, God. I'm begging you.

The pregnant silence stretched until it was almost unbearable.

PLEASE!

"Let's go in the back," Owen said. The sparkle in his eye told me he'd known exactly what was going through my mind.

I stood and moved out of the dim light that surrounded the table. It wasn't like the green game where we had normal lighting all around the room. That was good for seeing the clothes come off and watching the loser trudge away to visit Andrew and Kim. The main game had a different agenda.

Last week, Owen had called, "Lights," as Carrie came in from outside, and she'd moved to the set of dimmer switches I'd never paid attention to. The lights over the door to the little room flared. I hadn't realized they were only half strength before. The recessed spots directly over the center of the table that shone tight cones of illumination down on the playing surface remained on. Every other light went out. Once my eyes adjusted, I could still see as people stood to strip in the indirect light. In some way ways, the demi-lit forms were even more alluring.

But the step from the table toward the back room was like stepping out of an anonymous audience onto a spotlit stage. Every bit of mortification was on view. My skin, which had felt warm a half hour ago, felt like it was on fire now. I had no mirror, but I'm sure what had been pink was now fiery crimson.

It was not—specifically, I mean—that everyone in the room knew what I was about to do. There'd been a lot of times when Julia had dropped me off at my house, and Christian had said, "I'll get out too." Julia had known damn well we were headed for the camper and what was going to happen in it. And in December, Hannah had known what was going on in Carter's room just as I'd known what was going on between her and Owen one wall away.

It was that my forthcoming actions had been turned into a spectacle.

And that was the point. That was the whole voyeur-vibe that was the heart of the Loft Game. That was why, even though I had no doubt that Logan had given more than one blowjob in her life, I had felt the burn of excitement watching her stand and stumble to give one to Zach. Not because she was horny and he was cute, nor because she loved him and wanted to make him feel good.

Because she had to. You gambled, you lost, and now get on your knees. No one said that, but it was the subtext. That was the meaning of that pat on her naked ass as she preceded him through the door.

"Technically, they're not supposed to until the door closes, but some of the guys push it just a bit. Remember me talking about being a good sport back on your first day?" Hannah had advised me ... warned me ... earlier about hands. One more thing for people to ogle.

That was the vibe, and every one of us had felt the kink in our psyches lurch in response as that scene unfolded and turned us on.

Now I was that person. The one whose reluctance was fuel for fire in people's bellies.

It started, the "helpful" suggestions about technique. Reminders that there was a pillow on the bed if the rug wasn't enough padding and "Kleenex in the drawer." Jokes about gag reflexes and pearl necklaces.

"Don't worry," Brey taunted, "they say it's good for the skin."

"I read that's not proven," Carrie said. "Hey, Chips, you could be a case study."

Was I about to get a facial?

I wouldn't have tolerated it from a boyfriend. But can you impose boundaries like that? I didn't know the protocols. That's deliberate, I bet. They want your first time to be jumping in the deep end.

The inevitable question from someone who hadn't played last week, my response repeated in gleeful shouts from those who had heard my answer.

"Look at those headlights! Oh my God. New girl's TOTALLY turned on doing this."

I refused to give Victoria the satisfaction of letting her know she got to me by covering my breasts with my arm. It was nerves-tension, not arousal. I wasn't turned on. I wanted to die.

"Open wiiiiide," Hannah called.

Is she warning me or just jerking my chain? You'll know in a minute, Charl.

I focused on Owen's eyes to avoid theirs or staring at my feet like I was cowed; I was tougher than Logan. His, at least, were hooded with lust, leaving room for only a faint bit of humor. They roamed my body boldly, from traitorous breasts to the trimmed triangle between my legs. I could see the hint of fullness in his jeans. I knew he didn't care that anyone saw. There was no polite veneer in the Loft Game: he was the victor, and he would claim his prize, and everyone knew it.

My knees felt weak. I remembered Logan's slight stumble and hoped they didn't tremble as I moved forward.

"Shaky knees, Chips. Don't worry, you'll have them on stable ground soon enough."

I shot Emily a glance of pure hatred for that comment. I got back a simpering sweet smile in return. I stepped through the door after Owen and shut it behind me.

I immediately felt better. I didn't love giving BJs; that's a known fact. I wasn't turned on right now; that was also a fact. But it was just a thing to get through, a few minutes of effort and a minor moment of "bleh." Taunting though, I was really having stage fright over that ... way more than I thought I would.

This part is easier.

That trace of humor was gone from Owen's eyes. For the last hour, he'd watched six women get progressively naked. When Brey had called my final "all in" and flipped over her aces to my ace–king, he'd known which girl it was going to be if he could pull off the win. Everyone had. Every person, particularly every guy, had turned to me with smirks.

And the girls hadn't done well tonight. Barring a miracle, I'd known I was toast half an hour ago, that Luis was naked but that was all it was gonna be for him.

I'd held hope that the winner would be Carter simply because at least familiar territory. But he'd followed Luis into nudity, and I knew I'd be with someone new. I hadn't even enjoyed the visuals of five guys going full Monty as I watched fate approach.

Now, that hour of visual foreplay, that stimulation of knowing he'd be the one when Chips became a true veteran of the Loft Game, had stripped everything but the desire in his eyes. I knew that later he'd take Hannah into his room, and they'd fuck until every bit of built-up lust had been spent. "But first," those eyes said, "first, I'm going to have you ... right here, right now."

I let him kiss me, accepted the tongue and palms cupping my ass cheeks and pulling me tight so that my breasts mashed against him. I'd known that was coming.

"You can kiss a loser guy in the back room and grope a teensy, tiny bit if you want," I'd been told. "Especially if you like the visual of a woody when they go down on you. Not too much, though. You can't edge the poor sucker. That wouldn't be fair. Just a cheap thrill and then on to the real stuff."

And of course, I knew it went both ways even without it being said. So, I accepted being felt up for a moment and then stepped back.

"Umm. Is there some ... I don't know ... some usual ..." I trailed off. Saying "way to do this" was stupid. Of course I knew how to do what I was going to do. But he understood what I meant.

"If you ever bring a guy back here, it'll be pretty much any way you want it that isn't being a total bitch. Same goes for me now." A flicker of humor burned through his lust. "Don't worry, there's an unwritten rule: nothing in the hair."

He paused to see if I'd object. Objection didn't even occur to me. I was too busy with the unanticipated intrusion of an image: Owen on the floor, his head tipped back on that bed, while I knelt over him and chose my moment for that first touch of lips and tongue. Suddenly, I wasn't not-turned-on. I'd have him—

His next words jerked me out of my raunchy reverie.

"I want it with me standing, and not a lot of teasing around with kissing and licking, just enthusiastic. I want eye contact, and I'd like you to do all the work."

Him standing over me, my eyes looking upward, dick-in-mouth while going for it—that painted a mental picture that I comprehended.

He wants it to seem submissive.

A split instant of rebellion disappeared when confronted with a memory of my own fantasy just moments before. The jolt of recognition brought acceptance.

He's not being an asshole. If that's his thing, I can do it.

I nodded, and his face lost its searching look, the look that said, "Have you got what it takes, newbie?" I watched the hunger flood back and his expression turn remote as I transitioned temporarily from Charl-Friend to objectified Charl-Prize.

He stood there with an expectant look. It took me a second, but I got the hint. Face still hot but shakes disappearing now that the moment was here and it was one-on-one, I stepped close to him and knelt on the rug.

He'd lost his shirt, so I gently tugged the tongue of his belt free of the buckle. He kept his hands at his side, not helping me. I pushed the ends apart and popped the button on his jeans. I drew the zipper down and felt the hard length underneath my knuckles as I did.

Not gonna be tiny.

I worked the denim down far enough, reached for his boxers, then heard his negative "Uh-uh."

He wants to be fully naked.

I pulled the pants free as he laid a hand lightly on my head for balance and stepped out each leg in turn. I grasped the elastic of his boxers and drew them down, exposing his cock to—

Oh!

Hannah hadn't been jerking my chain, not totally. It was average length, at least in my experience. I was glad of that, the jokes about "gag reflex" and "anyway I want it" had made me anxious.

But its girth was like an old-style Red Bull can now that he was turned on, thick and meaty ... and getting more ready by the second.

"A little hand is okay, but mostly mouth."

Got it. No jacking you off. One no-hands BJ coming up.

I took a moment to run my eyes up and down his lean body. I didn't have to fake appreciation, but I made sure I showed it. I let my eyes linger on his cock for a bit longer, ran my tongue over my lips to wet them. Then I tipped forward and took him into my mouth. The last of my nerves fled as I focused on the task at hand. The same determination that I'd felt with Josh took hold.

I don't want to be just okay.

I reached around and grasped the cheeks of his ass with my hands. I made my mouth as soft and wet as I could and hollowed my cheeks from suction. Not a race to the finish, but not slow either ... enthusiastic.

I scooted my knees even closer, right in between his spread feet, so that craning my neck wasn't as hard. I made eye contact and held it. I could tell by the little movements of his eyes that he was alternating watching my eyes and watching my tits. I could feel the gentle tug of their weight as they swayed in time with my motion. I took encouragement from the excitement in his expression.

He was a solid rod now, and I felt the tiny strain of something larger than I'd experienced before. I consciously relaxed my jaw muscles and let the act consume my attention. His breathing got heavy and deep.

Channel his fantasy, I told myself. Do not have him say you were just okay.

I let him bump the back of my mouth gently, not enough to make me retch for real, and made a "gnk" to let him know. I saw the silent catch of breath.

I pulled off fully. Before he could protest, I did something I'd never done before. I ducked and leaned in farther to take his balls, first one then the other, ever so gently into my mouth. With exquisite care not to hurt him, I let my tongue stroke over his scrotum, using his ass to pin him so that no sudden move caused disaster. Inches from my eyes, I could see the precum I'd tasted before leak from the tip and the twitch along his length with every stroke of my tongue.

I bet this feels dangerous to a guy, trapped between teeth. Danger is exciting.

Then I released him with a little "hmm" of pleasure. It was feigned, but I was turning necessity into pleasure ... the pleasure of exciting someone, of being thought good ... and I hadn't met a guy yet who didn't like vocal encouragement.

In that vein ...

I took him in halfway, then backed off. I swallowed saliva, letting him see me do it. "It's larger than I'm used to," I murmured and reapplied myself.

Oh yes, I thought, feeling his sharp reaction, that worked.

I made maximum contact: as deep as I could, lips a perfect, firm seal around his shaft, and my tongue velvet pressure against the underside as the head of his cock rasped across my palate.

I felt the tiny tremors in his legs start.

Can he keep his balance when he comes?

I cupped his ass firmly with my palms and pushed my forearms into the sides of his thighs. I couldn't hold his weight, but I could steady shaky knees.

The first spurt took me almost by surprise. He closed his eyes at the last moment, and that gave me a half second of warning before his hips pushed forward and the warm, salty taste flooded my mouth. I didn't pause. I increased the pace, making each stroke long and full so that it tripped up over the ridgeline where the head started, where so many nerves were. He groaned loudly.

They'll hear that, I thought with vague alarm. I turned my mind away from that fear and concentrated. I let him spill into me, the cum running down my throat as the spurts came, quick swallows one after the other without breaking stride. When they seemed almost done, I pressed myself tightly and lost eye contact as my lips and nose buried in his pubic hair, unmoving as he gasped out the last moments of his orgasm.