Foreplay

(0-0)

It first started on a sweltering summer afternoon. I was sprawled on a couch in the house of my father and his wife Jill, half-heartedly watching TV. On the couch across from me lay Lonnie, Jill's daughter.

Lonnie was only two years older than me, but she had always seemed to carry the air of someone five times that. My father and I had lived with her and her mother for three years, but she and I had never formed more than a rudimentary bond. We certainly weren't related by blood or mentality.

Still, I sometimes felt bad when I masturbated about her. She was theoretically my sister...but fuck it. She had a great face, a taut body and shapely tits. I often had to restrain myself from ogling when she was dressed to go out clubbing, or to the beach.

"Turn it up," she lazily commanded me, waving at the television. She had her hair in a ponytail, and the top buttons of her shirt were undone. She wore small, tight shorts.

"Fuck off, you do it," I graciously replied. She rolled her eyes at me.

"Listen, kid," she said, as though I was eight, not eighteen, "you're a guy and I'm a girl, and you'll do what I tell you and grovel for the opportunity."

I laughed at her and she smiled at me too-sweetly while she undid another of her shirt's buttons. It sagged open, revealing a slice of blue bikini top stretched over the inside curves of breasts.

"This shirt's too hot," she said, matter-of-factly. "Turn the TV up and I'll take it off."

I was stunned. Was she serious? No, I didn't think so. She was judging me with those deep chocolate eyes. If I did what she said she'd just call me a pervert (as she often did) and carry on watching TV. Anyway, it wasn't like I hadn't seen her in a bikini before. Still, those peeking, blue-clad curves were awfully attractive.

I wondered where the remote was. I quickly spotted it: on the edge of the coffee table closest to me. I considered whether I could reach it without getting up. Somehow I knew that I had to keep my defence of non-effort at all costs. If I seemed like I was interested I had lost.

Rolling and stretching I pawed for it with my left hand outstretched. I was still balanced on the edge of the couch. I stretched out full length with my fingers and just managed to knock the remote into reach. Grasping the prize I rolled back into my sweaty groove.

I looked at her and pointed the remote triumphantly. And turned the volume up one notch.

Her face was still for a moment, then she shook her head slightly and let out a genuinely laugh. Dispensing with the remaining buttons, she wriggled out of the shirt and let it crumple to the carpet beside her.

"Very clever," she said dryly. I forced myself to look at her face, only taking in the glorious vista of her breasts from the bottom of my vision.

"The shorts then," she continued, "if you turn it up to a reasonable volume."

I clicked it up several notches.

"Good boy! Now roll over," she cooed wryly. But she wriggled out of her shorts, tossing them aside. I watched from the corner of my eye with my pulse rising and my cock swelling. I rooted my unseeing eyes on the TV screen while itching for the view of my peripheral. She was wearing a thong.

I couldn't stand it for more than a few moments. I looked over to her, my eyes brushing her body on the way to her face. The day suddenly felt that much warmer. All the fabric on her body wouldn't cover much more area than my two hands. Just the thought of my hands and the fabric in the same sentence made my pulse rise again. This was high-class spank bank material.

"Better?" I asked her with false politeness.

"Much," she chirped. "You should try taking your shirt off sometime."

I had to think fast. She was still playing. If I didn't take the bait would she lose interest? Or would she lose stop if she succeeded in telling me what to do? Nothing even remotely like this had ever happened before.

"It is pretty hot," I said lamely, and cursed myself. My shirt was already undone, I just had to peel it off.

She nodded, and overtly ran her eyes all over my shoulders and abs, smiling as if at a personal joke. I refused to reciprocate. I turned back to the TV.

For the next half hour I studied her from the side of my view, fantasising about her tanned curves and smooth complexion. I never found out where her father was from, but he had given her a fantastic subtle tint to her skin.

At the end of the show she stood and picked up her clothes. I sat up and she walked over to stand in front of me.

She bent down. Her near-nude breasts hung in front of me, full and ripe. I refused to look at them. My pulse was rising.

She put her hand out and laid it against my chest. Then it began to go down.

"You think you're smart," she said softly. Her hand was on my abs and descending. "But I know who's in charge."

Her palm was on my navel, her fingertips just tucking into the waistband of my shorts. I forgot to breathe. Then she pulled her hand away and walked off. Internally screaming in frustration, I turned to watch her effectively nude ass as she sauntered out of the room.

I'd stumbled headlong into a game. I didn't know the rules, but I knew I was one-up.

(1-0)

The next two weeks were thick with oblique contests of double entedres, her not-quite harmless touches and pinches, and general guerrilla tactics. She was working a lot and I was busy with my final year of highscool, so we didn't happen to be alone and unoccupied again until the following Sunday.

Dad and Jill were out somewhere for the morning. I was taking a shower when I heard the door click open.

There was no lock on the bathroom, but the shower could clearly be heard from outside. And you always knocked on the closed door by rule.

"I'm in here," I called, for want of anything better.

"I know," Lonnie's voice came back. "I'm just doing my teeth, don't mind me."

I continued to rinse myself off. It definitely felt strange to be naked in the same room as her, even if a shower curtain stood between us. Before I could think too much, and probably get an erection, I decided to meet her gambit.

"I'm almost done," I said. I heard her spit.

"Congratulations!" She called back. She wasn't going to leave. Well, that was her problem, wasn't it?

I turned off the taps and gave her a moment to pull out if she chose. Then, pulling aside the curtains, I stepped boldly into the steamy bathroom.

Lonnie wore a short satin singlet top (the twin imprints of her nipples attesting her lack of bra) and a purple thong. She was holding her loose hair back with one hand and brushing her teeth with the other.

As if it was of no consequence she glanced up and down my naked body. I felt obliged to reciprocate, noting the way her breasts swayed with the action of her brushing.

I turned from her to grab my towel and give myself a quick wipe. I heard her spit again behind me and rinse her mouth with water. I was tying the towel about my hips when she came past me toward the door.

As if it was the most natural thing in the world she reached up and pulled me down into a quick french kiss.

"Does it seem 'powerfully fresh' to you?" She asked. Without waiting for an answer she laughed and walked out.

It was pretty fresh actually. I stood there, wondering if I was dreaming. My towel was developing a bulge.

(1-1)

It was after that incident that I decided I couldn't stay on the defensive forever. I couldn't do anything so audacious as what she had (there seemed a powerful unwritten law about that) but for the next week the day-to-day games evened out. I instigated half the borderline dirty-talk, and playfully slapped her ass as she walked by. Her eyes became bright and sharp whenever I did, and she'd call me a creep or sick. But the next hour her breasts would accidentally brush past me, or her hand accidentally meet mine.

Three weeks passed in this war of attrition. There were no opportunities for a full-scale battle, so we had settled into our trenches. Then, at breakfast one morning, Dad declared D-Day.

"Kids," he said out of the blue, "your mother and I are going away this weekend. You know the rules."

We did. They effectively boiled down to "No Parties!". I didn't even risk a sideways look at Lonnie.

"No problem," I replied. She said something similar. Breakfast continued.

For the rest of the week I was in a kind of blissful terror. Two days. Thoughts of what might happen rolled around the back of my head constantly. I even considered that she might do nothing at all, just to screw with my head. Our daily jabs escalated to the point where it was in danger of losing all sense of subtlety.

And so, Friday evening at seven o'clock, we sat at the table, on opposite sides of a pizza box. The house was empty and silent. After finishing my half of the pizza I took a slice from hers.

"Hey, brat! That's mine!" She said. I shrugged.

"I take what I want."

She raised an eyebrow and me and we continued to eat in silence. We finished the last of it and I felt a slight hint of nerves. Would it start immediately. Would it never start?

"I'll be back in a moment," she said, and disappeared. To stop myself from thinking, I cleared up the table and rinsed the plates. I heard her return and dried my hands. I faced her.

She was sitting at the table with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. I didn't know what to think, except that the night was going to be very interesting indeed.

I sat myself across from her. I hadn't noticed before, but she also had a deck of cards. She'd put on some exotic perfume. She'd come prepared.

As I watched she sorted the cards into two piles: ten and above, nine and below. She pushed the later aside and shuffled the former.

"Ten or Jack means Twenty Questions, loser shots. Queen and we both do a shot. Kings and you can ask one question. Ace and you have to do a dare."

As she finished laying out the rules she put the pile on the middle of the table. Then she screwed the cap off the bottle and poured us each a shot. She lifted hers and looked me in the eye.

"Good luck," she said wryly and knocked it back. I followed suit, shotting the vodka neatly and barely tasting it. I felt its spreading heat, though, tingling all through me.

She turned a card. Ace, straight up. She snorted a laugh.

"Okay then," she challenged. "What do you dare me to do?"

Suddenly I was walking the tightrope. The dare was a two-sided sword. Too benign was as bad as too extreme. I called my course.

"Take your top off," I said. She looked at me critically.

"Fucking pervert," she muttered, but peeled her top over her head and dropped it. Her bra was purple satin and left nothing whatsoever to the imagination.

"Go on then," she said, her tone snappy but her eyes amused.

I flipped the next card. It was a ten, but she guessed "Vodka" by fifteen and I had another shot.

"You know, one or both of us is going to be really drunk if we play this out," I said. It was more conversation than an actual worry. I felt I could handle myself.

"Well, I'm game," she said. Her breasts were still exquisite and she still smelled like flowers and spice.

She flipped a King and looked at me consideringly for a moment.

"If you were going down on a girl, what five places would you kiss first?"

I looked at her and shifted. My pants felt tight.

"Lips, neck, belly and thighs," I stated, trying to keep the images from my mine. Lonnie smiled at me.

"Good choices," she purred.

I drew another ten, but this time she didn't guess and had to drink. She shuddered after it, and there was a sparkle in her eye already.

She drew a queen and groaned. I did my shot immediately and watched as she contemplated hers. It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, and three shots was probably quite a lot for a girl.

"Can I do it next time?" She finally asked. I smiled at her maliciously.

"You can do whatever you want, Ms. 'I'm Game.'"

"You bastard," she said and slammed the shot down. She made a noise like an angry cat.

I turned an Ace and closed my eyes. Lonnie cackled and kicked my calf under the table.

"No mercy!" She crowed. "Strip. Naked."

I was not in a position to refuse, so I did it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When my cock appeared, hard and upright, her eyes latched onto it. I sat down.

"Fucking pervert," I said in my best offended tone. Then more factually, "you know this means war?"

"Oh good," she shot back. "They say all's fair in love and war."

A jack and a third ten heralded two more games of twenty questions, which I lost. We took our time over them, so we were still in some kind of condition at that point, though I was buzzing.

She flipped a King, and asked her question immediately:

"Do you ever think about me when you masturbate?"

"Fuck," I thought and said. I wasn't sure it was wise, but I felt compelled to answer truly. Plus my swearing had already given it away.

"Yes," I replied. She bit her lip and smiled. It was a winning smile.

I drew a jack. She didn't guess and shotted. She put it down easily, seeming to be over her earlier distaste. She turned the card eagerly and then screamed softly in frustration.

Fate had handed me another Ace— or better yet, had handed it to her. I laughed, long and loud.

"Strip," I mimicked. "Naked. Make a show of it, and sit on my lap for the rest of the game."

"That's more than one thing!" She protested.

"No it's not," I reasoned quickly. "I'm telling you to strip, but I'm telling you just how I want it done.

Her eyes shone above her flushed cheeks, and I thought it was from more than anger. She stood slowly.

"I need music then," she said, moving over to the stereo. She knelt clumsily before it and searched through the CDs. She found the one she wanted and put it on to play.

She stood in the pre-track silence, shaking her head and mouthing "fuck you" to me. I smiled.

The music came on and she began to dance. I watched, naked, tipsy, and in complete awe. Her stomach twisted, her hips swung slowly, like a cobra waiting to strike. She ran her hands over herself: down her breasts and her hips to the insides of her thighs, pressing against her crotch. Then she danced to where I sat.

She turned around so I was presented with her tight, swinging ass and unhooked her bra, letting it fall. Then, inch by inch, looking over her shoulder at me, she lowered her track pants. Down, down, down, and I was presented with her g-stringed buttocks not two feet from my face.

She spun to me, her hair flying. Her perfume was like lust itself, and I finally, after years of imagining, saw those perky breasts naked. Her nipples were brown, as I'd known they'd have to be. My heart was raging.

My cock pressed against the side of her leg when she sat on me and wriggled free from her underwear. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, and her pussy was hot against my leg. I ran my fingertips from her thigh up to her ribs and back. She shivered.

"So," she said, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. "Your card."

It was a queen. She poured our shots. I downed mine, but she just looked at hers. With cat-like speed she seized me and kissed me furiously. Her tongue radiated heat as it swept around mine.

She drew back and panted. I smiled at her.

"I win," I declared. She grabbed my hair roughly.

"I don't care," she growled. It was a part-leading, part-forcing, part-falling way by which she positioned herself under me on the carpet.

"Fuck me," she commanded, and I did.

(2-1)

"I think I've got carpet burn on my ass."

I looked sideways to her. We were lying side-by-side on the floor beside the table. Her thighs were still thrown wide, presenting her pussy to the world at large.

"Was it worth it?" I asked lazily. The vodka and the exertion of sex had thrown me into a pleasant kind of half-sleep.

"Well, it wasn't as good as the one in half an hour is going to be."

I blinked at her. "I don't know if I can get it up. I'm kind of tired."

"I'll fix that," she replied dismissively. We lay there another few minutes.

"I told you you'd do just what I told you," she finally noted. I laughed.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Clearly you're just my big, obedient dildo," she said. I rolled my eyes.

"You're the one that was too horny to finish a drinking game, not me."

"I was bored of it," she said regally. Then, "get up."

She rose to her feet and I sat up.

"Oh, shit!" she exclaimed. I looked where she was. There was a large patch of sweat and fluids on the carpet.

"It'll come out," I said. She made a neutral noise.

"Ah well," she finally said and preceded to pack up the cards and drinks. She made me shot her leftover vodka, then led me to her bedroom. I stretched out on her bed, hands behind my head and legs crossed lazily. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head at me.

"You really think you've won, don't you?" She asked as if in disbelief.

"I did win," I said smoothly. She tossed her hair behind her shoulders.

"Really?" She asked dryly. "Come here and kiss my nipples, or I'll never touch you again."

The vodka was rushing in my head. If I refused and she came to me, that was the definition of victory. If I refused and she told me to go, I'd never see that supple, toned nudity again. I sighed.

(2-2)

Despite the situation, I enjoyed feeling her nipples harden under my tongue's careful attention. One of my hands cupped her ass and the fingertips of the other traced patterns over her back.

Eventually she pulled my face up to kiss me softly and thoroughly. A thought sparked into my head, and if I'd been sober I probably wouldn't have acted on it. I drew back and looked into her eyes.

"Suck my balls," I said, "or I'll never touch you again."

Her shock was almost palpable. There were several moments of stillness.

"If I do," she said slowly, "I guess that means we both win. If I don't we both lose."

"I'm glad you admit that," I said. Her face was unreadable.

She dropped slowly to her knees, putting her hands on my hips. When she took me in her mouth a thrill ran through my whole body. Her tongue was hot as it lapped softly at my balls.

After only a few glorious moments I motioned her up. She stood and looked in my eyes.

"Evens?" she breathed.

"Evens," I agreed.

We didn't put our clothes back on until Sunday night.