A French FuckRoulette

“A Pair of sixes.”

“Three sevens.”

“Full House. Queens over threes. Pay up, Andrea.”

Agonizingly slow. Still, closer and closer. Both had
lost (first their left, then their right) spike
heeled sandals. Their deliberate card playing and
movements made those losses seem like hours ago.
Nevertheless, the sight of their shapely legs,
lovingly caressed by their ultra sheer hose, anchored
my attention. Their petite feet were expertly
pedicured. Their fingers perfectly manicured. Very
minimal make-up was expertly applied. The barest
hints of their perfume fogged my brain, which swam
with visions of things yet to come.

Now, Andrea had just lost her bet, and so, her left
stocking. Slightly intoxicated, and with a shy smile,
she reached under the hem of her slinky dress and
teasingly peeled it off. Karen and I leered as the
sheer black stocking was slowly replaced by a
stunningly gorgeous, bare leg.

Despite knowing their nature, this game had come as a
surprise to me.

***************

I had met these ladies through a mutual friend at a
cocktail party over a year ago. Both Andrea, a
shorthaired blond, and Karen, with her shoulder
length, raven hair, were then, as now, dressed to the
nines. They were both “girl-next-door” beautiful.
Each had her own arrestingly good-looking features.
Certainly, even on their worst day, either could
attract any man of their choosing in whatever room
she happened to be. When together, the sight of these
two friends naturally inspires lust filled fantasy.

Knowing they were out of my league kept me from
trying too hard. Perhaps this allowed our
conversation to flow naturally. I found them to be
smart, funny, and altogether interesting. In a short
while, I swear, I began to forget just how good
looking they were. Friendly interest from both seemed
to be returned my way. However, despite the
“friendly” tone of our conversation, outrageous
flirting and double entendres increasingly crept into
their speech. They seemed to enjoy shocking me this
way. Several times I was left stammering to their
bemusement. I tried to keep up but confess I was no
match for either and certainly not for both at once.
Each cautioned me that the other was “zany…
outrageous… willing to dare anything”. Yet, each
continued to act with the decorum our surroundings
suggested.

We found I shared many of their varied interests. As
the party ended, we agreed to meet for dinner later
that week. As time passed, we continued to meet for
tennis, movies, baseball games, plays, cocktails,
lunch, “Happy Hours” and more. Whatever activity one
of us suggested, the results were an uproariously
good time. They even dragged me off to (God help me)
a ballet. Astoundingly, another great time was had by
all. We openly drooled over the dancers: I over the
ballerinas, Andrea over the male dancers and Karen
over both.

Yes, I learned that while Andrea was straight, Karen
was bisexual. There apparently was an unspoken
agreement between them that, through the years, had
kept Karen from ever seducing Andrea, despite Karen’s
obvious (at least to me) attraction to her. Though
never mentioned, this agreement apparently now
extended to me. No matter how ribald the banter, a no
two of us ever explored that obvious ground.

We all have other friends but enjoyed each other’s
company most. We all dated. So far, none of us had
found regular, satisfying sex partners. In fact, for
all their apparent sexual aggressiveness, amazingly
they weren’t all that sexually experienced. Andrea
confessed to having had two prior lovers. Karen
boasted five encounters (three men, two women, all
enjoyable only for the moment). And so, our unusual
relationship grew.

And they were thoroughly, wonderfully insane.
Whenever together, invariably one of them would say
or do something leaving us in hysterics. In truth
though, Karen was the “zany, outrageous” one. Andrea
tended to be somewhat more conservative. Both were,
however, merciless cock teasers. Wherever we went,
their daring outfits never failed to achieve the
desired level of male attention (all of it). I was
their favorite, but joyously receptive, target. They
relished torturing me by making us exchange our
favorite sexual fantasies while playing “footsie”
with me. Suggestively dancing with them at clubs left
me weak. Watching them torment other men did provide
some relief and amusement. And, Andrea and I always
had great fun observing Karen stalk another female
(we provided the color commentary).

No sex occurred between we three unless you count
kisses, hugs, occasional tickling and some playful
pinches and gropes. They both frequently swore that
the day would come when they would ravish my helpless
body. But this was all in fun and in keeping with
their screwball personalities. None of us thought to
cross the line. Correction, I thought of it
constantly, but I refused to allow myself to screw
this up. Being with them was simply too much fun. We
were enjoying things so much the way they were and, I
guess, were fearful of going the next step. Until
now…

***************

Andrea’s cousin’s bridal shower “sucked to a nuclear
degree” according to Andrea. They had managed to
sneak out early, called me, and invited themselves to
my apartment. I greeted each with a peck, a grope and
a freshly made Margarita.

“They’re goddamned born again druids or something,”
Andrea loudly complained. “No male strippers. No sex
toys. And, (I’m sure this must be illegal, she
noted), NO BOOZE!”

Karen breezily agreed with Andrea’s evaluation. Then
she was off on a new, but related, tangent. “Where’s
your porn?” she asked while striding towards my TV.

“How do you know…?” began Andrea until she was cut
off by an “Oh, c’mon!” look from Karen. She replied
with “I surrender” gestures.

“First drawer to the left of the VCR,” I answered,
unwittingly confirming my pervert status. Well, it’s
not as if that issue was ever in doubt…

They poured over my modest collection and made a
joint selection. We settled in to talk and drink. In
time we leisurely drifted into our second pitcher of
Mexico’s gift to the world. The movie required our
frequent critique of the on-screen action.
Everything, including some of the sex scenes, were,
naturally, ridiculously funny. But, when a strip
poker scene in the movie came on, a subtle change in
atmosphere occurred. They exchanged a look that was
ragged when they were finished with it. Wordlessly
they had come to an agreement.

“Why are strip poker scenes always so poorly done?”
asked Andrea. Ahh, the opening gambit…

“Pure realism,” I replied with a smirk. “In real
life, without fail, four losing hands into the game,
females declare the game over.”

“Ooohh, let’s get ’em, Kar. Dems fightin’ woids,”
Andrea laughed.

“Yeah, get a deck and prepare to be very
embarrassed,” Karen dared. Her grin was part playful
and part panthress.

Continuing the gag, I produced a new deck of cards.
When they sat down at the table looking ready for the
first deal, I froze for an instant realizing they
were serious.

***************

“…And don’t forget how thirsty losing makes you,”
giggled Karen, referring to the mandatory shot of
tequila a losing hand always brought. Andrea balled
up and discarded her stocking and accepted the
proffered drink. We’d all been drunk in each other’s
presence at one time or another and never to a bad
result. But I began to worry that, should one of us
get sloppy drunk now, it would divert this little
lust train from the depot.

“Maybe we could skip the loser’s shot,” I began.
Thinking I was suggesting a total liquor ban, both
immediately began to protest. A compromise was
reached and the bottle remained on the table for
whoever desired more. We all liberally continued to
partake but only as needed.

Eventually, we all reached the critical state. Andrea
was clad only in a very thin black bra and panty set.
Earlier, when losing continuously, she showed
delightful flashes of embarrassment. Now, as we had
“caught up”, she grinned seductively and looked
determined not to lose again. Karen wore a thong (a
really, really nice ass peeked out of it) and a
matching red camisole. Having lost the last hand, I
was reduced to my underwear.

“I’m sooo disappointed in those boxers,” teased
Karen. “They are, you understand, boring beyond any
standard.”

“Sorry, ladies. I wasn’t expecting company and my
Spiderman Underoos are still in the wash.”

Karen’s moment of truth came first. I assumed this is
where we’d come to our senses. Wrong again. Although
she mumbled an “Oh, shit!”, there was no hesitation
at all. She rose and smiled. She crossed her arms in
front of her, grasping the hem of the camisole. She
then slowly lifted it over her head. My brain
screamed a trite, but eloquent, “WOW!”. The next deal
found Andrea with a Queen high losing hand. Despite
Karen having pushed the envelope, she faltered and
flustered. Fortunately, only minimal coaxing from us
was required and Andrea, too, was happily topless.

Somehow I managed a shaky “Your deal…” and pushed
the deck to Karen. For the first time I saw a tremble
in her hands as she slid out the cards to us. Good.
At least I wasn’t alone. God dammit to hell! Jack
high was the best I could manage and I wondered just
how difficult this would get. Andrea, though, busted
an inside baby straight.

“Well… Well…” Andrea said with a weak, trembling
smile and a hopeless look. “I’ll need another shot
right now, thank you. Another, please. Thanks.
Well…” she said again.

Talk about “grinning and baring it”. Andrea, now
smiling coyly, looking embarrassed but yet lustfully
enthusiastic (how did she do that?!), hooked her
fingers in the waistband of her French cut panties
and slowly slid them off. She had a neatly trimmed
pussy. The sight of her, gloriously naked, caused the
blood to pound in my head and my cock.

“A slow turn on the runway, if you please, Miss
Andrea,” quipped a beaming Karen. Andrea, blushing
beyond all reason, complied and strutted her stuff.
“Y-e-s-s-s, and now if you’d part your legs and bend
over for us, please?”

“Backwards?” she asked full of innocence.

“Nobody loves a showoff, dear,” Karen replied without
missing a beat.

How she could be stark naked and move so demurely
baffled me, but she did. Andrea, legs slightly
parted, bent at the waist making me struggle for
control. She peeked around her own nude form and
seemed relieved at our open mouthed admiring stares.

“Yes, very nicely done,” applauded Karen. Indeed, her
well-rounded ass and her pussy, which looked to be
gasping for cock, were breathtaking.

“Well, we should discuss new rules. I have nothing
left to bet,” said Andrea, fighting to regain some
composure and control.

“Usually, after someone is nude and loses again, he
or she, must do whatever the winner wants…” I
ventured, hopefully. Andrea lowered her head and
eyes, smiling bashfully.

“You know full well that we frown upon the usual,”
Karen quickly interrupted, hands defiantly on hips.
Andrea shot her an alarmed look. “Perhaps now we can
safely end this game…” she saw my immediate pout,
and hastened to add, “…and, of course, begin a
different one.”

“Karen…” Andrea began worriedly.

“You obviously have something in mind…” I quickly
interjected, heading off any possible protest from
Andrea.

“Oh, how about Russian Roulette?” Karen deadpanned.
Here, four long beats of silence ensued.

“You are soooo fucking insane! I’m outta here!”
Andrea cried, reaching for her clothes. “But before I
go, what the fuck’s the matter with you?!”

“Way to spoil a mood, Kar!” I joined in. “What the
fuck…?!”

“Wait! Sorry! Sorry! Hold a sec…! It’s the booze! I
didn’t mean… C’mon guys, after all this time you
know better than that,” She began and then paused.
“OOOH… Yeah… What I meant was: “French Roulette.”
Her demeanor flashed from frantic apologist to that
of a smug, lust filled, evil genius. She waited,
expecting instant comprehension. Instead silence and
blank stares ensued.

Finally, Andrea waved her home, “OK, C’mon. Let’s
have it.”

“First the stakes,” she began. “High. But not as
high, or as final, as the Russian version. The losers
become the sex slaves of the winner for the rest of
the night.”

“Hmmm. OK. Let’s say you’ve got my attention back”,
Andrea allowed. “Just don’t freak me out any more.”

I paused for dramatic effect while pretending, in
exaggerated fashion, to consider the stakes. “Gee, I
don’t know… (followed without pause by)… well, if
I must…” I said in my best Groucho. It definitely
didn’t deserve it, but they chuckled politely anyway.

“Please do continue,” Andrea urged Karen onward.

“Look, we’ve been talking about sucking his cock for
some time now,” said Karen. Andrea glared at her and
was again blushing furiously. Once more, I was
rendered speechless. “Here’s the bet,” Karen quickly
continued before Andrea could rally a defense, “We
proceed in rounds. First round, we take turns of one
draw on his cock. Round two, we each take two draws.
And so on…”

“Take a draw?” I puzzled.

“Lips slide down the shaft. Lips are dragged back up
the shaft while sucking. This is a draw,” Karen
exasperatedly explained. “Don’t try to tell us you
never had a blow job.”

“No. No. I’ve never heard the mechanics of it
referred to this way, that’s all.”

“May, I continue? Thank you. The rest should be
obvious. The loser is the one who winds up with a
mouthful of cum.”

“And just how, pray tell, does he lose?” Andrea
wondered, the conversation having raced her past her
initial horror at Karen’s disclosure.

“Point taken. Hold a sec…”. Karen paused, though
I’m sure she had this worked out in advance. “God,
your gonna love this. He has to keep from cumming! If
he lasts past round, lets say 30, he wins and we’re
his slaves. If not, he joins the other loser in
submission.” Hmmm, no downside to me. If I managed
to hold out, I’d more than satisfy myself with them
later.

The tequila, apparently, and her developing interest
in the rules, pushed Andrea right along. “So, we’re
both trying to make him cum, although into each
other’s mouth,” she considered. “And he’s…”

“…And he’s getting more and more desperate to cum
but mustn’t,” Karen finished.

I know what you’re thinking. And had I been a little
more sober, the implications would’ve hit me sooner,
too. I’ll leave the task of double checking my math
to you. For now, trust me. The arithmetic progression
of one to thirty “draws” would equal 465 sucks on my
cock. Now multiply by two sets of luscious lips. I
sure as hell wouldn’t be winning. Still, deck
hopelessly stacked, I sure as hell wasn’t going to
protest. I knew of no one who would.

Hilariously enough (for them), strategies quickly
began to evolve. “This is awesome! You’re a genius!
Let’s say we’re on round 15. You might consider five
slow sensual sucks followed by ten fast, ardent sucks
hoping he’s left on the brink for your opponent,”
observed Andrea.

“Yes,” replied Karen. “And whatever pattern you
settle on, ideally, when his need is most urgent, the
sensations briefly stop for a change of partners.”

I began to instinctively point out the inherent
cruelty involved. Andrea, eyes wide and sweetly
innocent, quickly brought me to heel. “Does that mean
you’d rather not play…?” Another brief silence. We
began.

A coin flip gave the honors to Karen. She unashamedly
climbed out of her thong. My, God, She was shaved
bare. “For this to work, you’ll have to lose those
drawers, my love,” she purred. I complied.

They took the precaution of tying me spread eagle to
the bed to prevent me from “interfering”. She began.
I was transported. The first few rounds went quickly.
By round four, both settled on slow, sucking motions.
Neither of them considered these rounds important.
Not so for me. My dick was steel almost from the
moment they had entered my apartment. Their
outfits… the porn… the poker game… They had no
idea what agony they were inflicting. Bullshit. They
knew.

By round seven, they were varying their strokes as
their whim. On and on. Up and down their heads
lovingly bobbed. It was Heaven. It was Hell. But
Dante, that bastard, forgot to warn us about this
particular circle. I recall at certain points, for
God knows what reason, shots of tequila being pressed
to my lips. I was beyond caring. In time,
successfully completed rounds brought sorority-sister
style giggles and speculations as to how much farther
I could go. This, of course, was merely their clever,
but transparent, way of increasing the intervals
between actual sucking. If somehow I could manage
revenge, it would indeed be sweet.

Round eleven saw a gag placed on me. I was babbling
incoherently, and, it seems, disturbing their
concentration. Yeah. Uh-huh. Right. Round 19 brought
a slip by Andrea. In drawing her lips up my shaft,
she briefly lost contact with it. “Foul! Foul!”
screamed Karen, laughingly. They staged a mock
argument over a possible penalty as I moaned and
writhed. Eventually, they took pity and continued.

I held on, heroically, I might modestly add, until
round 26. Karen looked confidently at Andrea. “You
know that he’s ready to pop, don’t you?” Andrea
gently took hold of my throbbing member as if it was
live ordinance. In fact, it was.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered huskily to it. “Hold
out for me and splash pretty little Karen. I’ll make
sure you’re treated right for the rest of the night.”
Counterproductively, she was rubbing it against her
cheek.

“No fair trying to bribe him,” Karen sniffed.
“Totally useless, at this point,” she further
observed, “but unfair nonetheless.”

Andrea fought the inevitable by lightening and
slowing her strokes. I was desperate to lose at this
point. My hips bucked wildly seeking sufficient
friction for my poor tormented cock. Her light touch
was maddening. Eighteen “draws” into Andrea’s turn,
the universe that was my scrotum imploded. It then
rocketed up and out of my shaft drenching Andrea’s
mouth and throat. My spasms seemed to go on and on.
She gamely tried to swallow it all. She did well
allowing only some to escape to her cheeks, her chin,
her tits. Karen was quick to her aid, lapping up the
wayward sperm from Andrea’s quivering body. She
devoted more time than needed to clean Andrea’s
swelled and stiffened nipples. Neither Andrea, nor I,
thought to quibble over this.

They untied me and we caught our collective breath. A
fresh pitcher of Margaritas helped speed our
recovery.

No, I won’t pretend to know when or how, but I was
not the only one who had enjoyed an orgasm. And yes,
my lovely lunatics did naturally revive faster than
me. And you, I suppose, could do better.

Andrea and I gushed our approval of Karen’s devious
game. She graciously acknowledged our kudos. Her nude
curtsey was a sight to behold. We briefly attempted
more conversation before Karen again seized control.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat and smiled wickedly.
“I find it laughable that you both are hoping I’ll
forget and that you’ll be spared the consequences.”
We maintained our silence and hoped we looked
innocent. Karen would have none of it.

She sat up and lay back on the headboard, propping
pillows behind her. Her arms eased expansively wide
(her tits looked magnificent) and she beckoned Andrea
towards her. “You, my lovely little slut-slave, will
begin the rest of the evening by pleasuring me with
your tongue. Start with a kiss and work your way
slowly down,” she said regally.

Andrea fumbled, hesitated and began to stammer, “I…
but… Karen… I thought… wait…”

“Andrea,” Karen purred, steadily locking eyes with
her prey, “it’s time for this. You know it is. When
we started this game you knew this could happen. Part
of you wanted this to happen. You needed it to
happen. You lost. Come here now and pay up.” She
continued on with her patter, sweetly and
hypnotically. Andrea’s resistance melted with every
inch of her approach. I felt I should applaud Karen’s
method and gradually increasing success but was
fearful of breaking the spell. They gently kissed and
caressed for a long time. Andrea shivered deliciously
with each of Karen’s strokes.

“You. Stand closer with your hands behind you. I
want to watch your cock rise and swell as she works.”
Happily, I couldn’t disappoint on this score if my
life depended upon it.

Andrea worked sensuously and enthusiastically. All
inhibitions had fully evaporated. She began to
orchestrate Karen’s orgasms with shocking expertise.
She might never have done this before, but it was
readily apparent she had thought of it often. Her
tongue slashed at the nape of Karen’s neck and
tormented her rubbery erect nipples. En route to her
clit, it paused for an eternity, fluttering on
Karen’s midsection and causing Karen’s abs to ripple
uncontrollably. Karen had been fighting to remain
still, hoping to prolong the pleasure. But now she
could not refrain from slowly pushing Andrea’s head
farther down. Gently, but forcefully, she guided
Andrea’s lips to her baby smooth pussy. Andrea’s
tongue began its slow, loving assault on Karen’s
clit.

Between sighs and gasps of pleasure, Karen motioned
me to get behind Andrea. Andrea’s ass was thrust
proudly into the air as she continued her labors.
Karen silently mouthed her next command to me, “Fuck
her. Fuck her.” The unexpected invasion by my cock
made Andrea gasp for breath. Regaining her senses,
she returned to her task. They both were groaning and
panting now.

We all enjoyed the gentle rhythms. Time, I suppose,
passed. Then Karen, toes pointed, and with the grace
of a gymnast, raised her widely spread legs up, over
and onto Andrea’s shoulders. She allowed several
seconds for Andrea to become comfortable with this
position. Cunningly, she had pinned the unsuspecting
Andrea in place. She again covertly caught my
attention (no small feat) and mouthed her new command
to me, “Her ass. Fuck her ass”.

The exit of cock from cunt elicited a disappointed
groan. The touch of the tip of my cock to her asshole
was electric. She said nothing but violently swung
her head “NO!” Her rear however strained ever
backwards to aid my entry.

Whatever the hell those combined body movements
signified, Karen had ensured that Andrea wasn’t going
anywhere. In I gently thrust. After several strokes,
I convinced myself all was well. Had I wanted, I
could have remained motionless. Andrea was now
repeatedly impaling her ass onto my cock using steady
backward thrusts. With laudable persistence, she also
refused to quit her efforts to erase Karen’s clit
with her tongue. In time, like slowly toppling
dominos, we serially came and collapsed.

“Any survivors?” I whispered into our heap.

“None,” they hoarsely replied as one. We disentangled
and started to collect ourselves again. Karen
drowsily began to pour another round. Andrea stood
and stretched leisurely. Yet again, I am blessed by
such a vision. I reached for a pillow.

“Not yet, cowboy,” Karen cautioned. “I haven’t
bounced on your dick yet.” She ignored my whimpers
magnificently. Turning to face Andrea, but continuing
to address me, she added, “And I have further plans
for her, too.” Andrea suddenly became alert and
apprehensive. She paused and appraised Andrea’s nude
body lovingly. Then she called over her shoulder to
me, “You do have fresh film in your camera, don’t
you?”

Andrea’s final blush was picture perfect.

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