The Poker Game

In my high school years, a few friends would gather about once a month to play poker. Gambling was not the draw; we played penny ante. To lose $5 in an evening was a lot. We considered it a time of male bonding. We smoked cigars and drank a little. Those were the days.
One of the girls in our crowd had heard about the game. She wasn’t anyone’s girlfriend, just a friend who was a girl. She was cute: seventeen, small, with perky breasts, slim, blond, and lots of fun to be around. She begged to be included, but we said it was a guy’s game. Besides, our girlfriends would be jealous if she came and they didn’t. That logic kept her quiet for a while, but then she had a new idea. She wanted to attend as our waitress. She said she would serve drinks and sandwiches and clean up, just to be able to attend. That did it. We agreed. We also agreed that we would never tell our girlfriends, either.
The fateful Friday night came. The game was at Stan’s house. His folks were recently divorced, so his dad had moved out. And, his mom was going through her adjustment phase of re-entering the dating game with a vengeance. Therefore, we had the house to ourselves until morning.
I arrived early to help Stan set up because Stan was my best friend. Lynne arrived right on schedule, about 15 minutes before the others. We set up in the dining room, adjacent to the kitchen. We oriented Lynne to the locations of the food and drink and cups and plates. Right on schedule the others arrived. The game began with six boys of the tender age of 17.
Lynne was stunning. She had dressed like a cocktail waitress: short skirt, white blouse, black hose, high heels. She took our orders as the game began, and served us professionally, complete with serving tray and hand towel.
About an hour into the game, we noticed something. Her blouse was unbuttoned one button further than before. And, when she reached for a glass to refill, the bending and stretching motion gave us the clear indication that she wasn’t wearing a bra. For Lynne, this was not a problem, since she was 17 and had B-cup breasts. She gave several of us a real eyeful. Her breasts were firm and rounded, upturned at the end. She gave no indication that she was aware of our stares.
Then, it dawned on me. Being normal, 17-year-old boys, Stan and I had given Lynne the once-over when she arrived. So had the other boys when they arrived. Since she was wearing a white blouse, the outline of her bra would have been clearly visible. If that familiar outline had not been there, we would have noticed. She must have removed her bra after the game had started. I’m not sure how long it took the others to piece this together. It took me about 10 minutes. But remember, we were only 17 and really naпve. The sexual revolution hadn’t started yet. An occasional feel was a memorable date. With a steady girl, you might progress to mutual manual and/or oral stimulation. Real intercourse was rare.
Another 15 minutes passed, and another button magically came undone. Then another. We played manfully onward, but our attentions were definitely divided. Her ministrations to our needs included more brushes of a breast across a shoulder, a hip across an arm. The turning point came when, as Jack folded after four cards in seven-card stud, and asked for a refill, Lynne came with a fresh drink and, after placing the drink, slid into his lap, asking, “I’m not much on this game. Why did you fold?”
Jack, always the gentleman, instinctively put his arm around her and picked up his hole cards. As he explained, she took the hand with the cards, folded them against her breast, and said, “Now I do know you shouldn’t show you cards until the hand is over.” Jack’s hand, hidden under both of hers, cupped a marvelous, firm breast and an erect nipple. I supposed it was erect because the other one was poking out the material of that stiff white shirt. As the hand ended, so did Jack’s free feel. As she hopped up, she made a point of looking back down at Jack’s lap, then asked, “Anyone else need a refill?”
Everyone needed a refill. She served us one at a time. As she returned on each trip to the kitchen, her blouse was open a little wider. She reached around Tom to place his drink on the table, rotating from left to right, putting a nipple in each ear along the way. For Terry, she faced him to reach across to his glass and brushed her blouse open on his nose in order to whisp her nipple across his lips. His reaction time was just slow enough to kiss nothing but cotton. By the time she came back with Rick’s drink, the blouse was gone.
Gentlemen to the end, we played manfully onward. She walked around behind us and rubbed our ears and necks with her fingers and breasts. Since she was behind each of us for a minute or more, we each had the opportunity to reach around and stroke her leg. But the one in the adjacent chair had the best angle. Only a contortionist could feel up a leg behind his back, but the player in the next chair had perfect access. I was the first to venture higher up her leg. Lynne obviously was in control of this situation, as she shifted herself to give an unhindered approach. My hand had gone up the back of her leg and discovered that she was wearing regular hose instead of pantyhose. The smooth flesh at the top of her thigh was warm and inviting. As I moved higher, expecting to find the bottom of her panties, I found only a bare bottom. She hadn’t worn panties, or at least had removed them at some time before any of us had gotten that far. I stroked and gently squeezed than luscious cheek several times before she moved on around the table. This voyage of discovery was repeated several times around the table. Stan was quicker than most, so he had more time with his hand up her skirt. He worked his hand between her legs, for which she accommodated him be spreading her feet to shoulder width. He stroked her slit apparently just right because her eyes closed and she turned her face a little upward. As she moved on to the next chair, Stan was obliged to return his hand. But he stopped to pass his finger under his nose, and then licked it clean.
With that, Lynne announced that Jack’s glass needed refilling, grabbed the glass, and disappeared. When she returned, the skirt was gone. She was left in high heels, black stockings, garter belt, and a thin silver necklace. For the first time we were assured that she was a natural blond. Her neatly trimmed bush had bikini-wax edged edges. Her pussy lips were neat and straight, but clearly puffy and wet. Her clit was a prominent little tube at the top. As she placed Jack’s glass in from of him, she sat in his lap and planted a big kiss on his lips. Jack was so surprised that he momentarily forgot to kiss back. But, soon they were locked in a battle of tongues as Jack’s hands stroked first one lovely part of Lynne, then another.
Suddenly, Lynne broke off the embrace, stood up, grabbed Jack by the shirt, and led him down the hall to the master bedroom. Jack stumbled once or twice along the way. Lynne closed the door behind them. After a moment of shock, we individually came to the conclusion that Lynne had wanted Jack all along, and this was the way she set about to get him. So, we went back to the cards.
Twenty minutes later, Jack sheepishly appeared at the door to the hallway. He stood there a moment, dazed and still blinking in the brighter light of the dining room, when a bare female leg hooked around him from behind. By process of elimination, we determined that it was Lynne’s leg. She rubbed it up and down Jack’s leg. Then a hand and arm appeared to stroke his chest, then his crotch. Still invisible to us due to her short stature, she took him by both shoulders and moved him back to his chair and sat him down.
For the first time since her reappearance, we now had a full view of Lynn. The garter belt, stockings, and heels were gone. Her pussy lips were red and curled outward. Her clit was still a visibly hard knob. Her throat and upper chest were flushed. And one more thing. There was a condom full of semen knotted around her necklace. The filled end hung down between those perky breasts.
Tom was sitting next to Jack. Lynne pivoted expertly and stepped over Tom’s legs to sit on the edge of the table, recently occupied, slightly open pussy in full view. She put one hand on his shoulder and leaned down to caress the obvious bulge in his pants. Then, grabbed his belt, pulled him up, and went back down the hall. When they returned, Lynne had two filled condoms on her necklace.
I had the good fortune to be third. Having recently been introduced to oral sex, I was anxious to try my new-found techniques. Fortunately, the condoms Lynne had purchased (and secreted in her purse that had been placed in the bedroom with the coats) were not pre-lubricated, so I did not get a mouthful of spermicidal gel. I let her undress me, then I laid on the bed on my back. As she started to put a condom on me, I stopped her and guided her hips toward my mouth. Apparently, she was unsure what to do, so I explained to her that I wanted her to cum like she had never cum before, and that I was going to do it with my tongue. In her fledgling experience, she had never been with boy who had put her satisfaction ahead of his own, so no one had ever eaten her out for more than a few minutes, and then only as part of sixty-nine. In her limited experience, her partner had always wanted to shift to penetration before she reached the top. She had had orgasms, but never this way.
After a little explaining, she straddled my head and gripped the headboard. I must give some credit to the two who had gone before, because she was already at a high level of sexual excitement. But, in all modesty, I must say that I used my tongue rather well, reading her movements to learn quickly what gave her the most pleasure, but not repeating one thing so much so as to wear it out. I ran my tongue first up one side, between her left lip and the shaft of her clit, up and back, then over the top and down the right side, avoiding the tip exposed by her erection. Up and down, up and down, then around, then dipping down to her hole and in and out and back again. Then I would suck in a lip and knead it between my lips, and poke the tip of my tongue up to her clit again. All the while I was squeezing first her buns, then her hips, then her waist, then her nipples, then cup her breasts gently. As she started to shake and hump involuntarily, I would suck the whole area around her clip and tease the end with my tongue. As she tensed, I would drive my tongue between the end of her clit and the surrounding flesh, around and around and up the length of the shaft, and at the same time ever so gently rub hernipples.
When she came, she nearly crushed my skull with her knees. I loved watching her perky, tight breasts, erect nipples, flat stomach, and downy pubes as she stretched and shook and stiffened and moaned. The two full condoms on her necklace swayed out as she rocked forward, then slapped back, again and again. After three times to the top, she couldn’t stand it any more and fell off my face. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings. Then she realized that I was still naked and hard as a rock. As her own loins pulsed and glowed and receded to semi-normal levels of sensation, she descended on my cock and balls like a girl possessed. She licked and sucked and massaged and rubbed and pulled and even nipped and pinched. This was before the days of HIV (in the mid 60’s), so condoms were for birth control only. You couldn’t get pregnant from sperm in the mouth.
When I knew I couldn’t last much longer, I grabbed her hips and pulled her to me, loosening her suction grip on my penis. She looked back questioningly. Although I’m no strongman, she was small, so I could virtually lift her off the bed and turn her around to mount me. She caught on quickly and made the position change smoothly. Fortunately for both of us, she recovered enough of her senses to remember the condom. She grabbed it quickly from the sheets where it had been abandoned earlier and rolled it down expertly. She impaled herself on my cock in almost the same motion. The combination of her own wetness, my saliva, and the fact that I was the third penetration in 90 minutes made it easy. She wasn’t quite down from the oral ecstasy of a few minutes earlier, so she immediately went back to spontaneous humping. She fell into self-awareness mode, not thinking about my pleasure but about hitting just the right spots for herself. That was fine with me because her obvious pleasure heightened my own.
I tried my best to keep from coming, to prolong the moment. But, when she came again, her pussy went through spasms that rippled up and down my cock. There was no holding back. I emptied myself into the condom. She flopped down on my chest, still engaged. Being so small, she was a comfortable coverlet of warmth and softness. Her pussy continued to throb, milking me dry. Seventeen-year-olds usually can recover their erections for a second round in less than a minute. In later experience, I found I could go three or four times (those were in years gone by, not now). In fact, sometimes I would pull out just before ejaculation because, in doing so, I could start again immediately. But not that night. I was done.
We dozed a moment, until someone flushed the toilet in the bathroom on the other side of the wall. The sound of voices from the dining room reminded us of the obvious next step. We kissed one time – our first, actually. She slowly rolled off and turned to recover the condom from my semi-erect cock. It pulled off easily. She deftly tied it with the other two on her necklace, three evenly spaced trophies, one at each nipple and one in the middle.
I pulled on my clothes and dutifully stumbled back down the hallway, Lynne hiding herself behind as usual. I paused at the door for the now usual show of her leg rubbing down mine and her hands patting my crotch. She put me back in my chair and pirouetted over Stan’s lap. She had seemed sluggish as we had left the bedroom and as she had maneuvered me to my chair, as though this had been enough. She had had three hours of foreplay, teasing us. After that she had had two hours of serious fucking. (Yes, I had taken an hour after Jack and Tom had each only taken 30 minutes or less. I suspect they only satisfied themselves without thinking of her.) But, her mission kept her going. She had set out to screw the poker club. Besides, her sexual tension was not altogether depleted. After all, she was seventeen, too.