The game wasn't ten minutes old before the first clothes began falling to the floor. The amount of flesh being shown was increasing as blouses, shirts, skirts, and jeans were shed. Bob himself -- unused to the Texas Hold'em style of poker -- was down to his tee shirt, boxers, and socks.
After almost an hour, he wasn't the only one feeling the chill of the night on his bod. He looked across the table to Sophia, trying -- and failing -- to keep his eyes above her neck. She had been playing far too many bad hands and, after having her 8 high straight beat by a hearts flush, was down to her black lacy bra and panties.
Having Sophia living under his roof had been very hard on Bob. Even after a decade of marriage, he and Leena had managed to maintain a pretty satisfactory sex life. But having a sexy, teenage GIRL -- particularly with that oh-so-erotic accent -- so close to him, day in and day out, was making Bob think that maybe, just maybe, he might one day fulfill some of those sexual fantasies that he'd kept at bay for the entirety of his marriage.
He'd so often envisioned her the way she was now. Of course, he'd never imagined that when he finally got to see her in such a condition, that he'd be surrounded by friends, by neighbors, by strangers ... some of whom were feeling just as much lust for the young woman as he was and the others of whom were probably secretly hating the little bitch for attracting so much of the attention that they themselves wanted.
"One hundred," Sophia said, doubling the current bet. She looked up to her host -- her only opponent for the now two thousand dollar pot -- and smirked, asking, "I am raising you, Bobby?"
Bob smiled broadly at her words and her tone ... and the fact that as she'd spoken, her gaze had momentarily dropped lower -- much lower -- to where he most certain was being "raised" by her.
Over her month of living with the couple, the sensual Latina had often made comments or asked questions that Bob -- with his eternally dirty mind -- thought for sure were intentionally suggestive.
But he'd maintained his composure, kept his theories of her to himself, and -- obviously -- kept his hands to himself as well. But tonight, on the occasion of a strip poker game, her comment and glances and occasional lip wetting with her thin, red tongue were simply screaming to Bob, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME NOW!
Feeling his semi-hardened dick twinge with yearning, he wanted so badly to say YES, YOU ARE RAISING ME, but instead he just tossed a handful of chips out onto the felt.
"Reraise ... seven hundred."
Sophia looked down to the chips still before her. She didn't have seven hundred more.
Bob glanced over to the other table, looking to each of the women. While there was a great deal of flesh showing there, too, every breast was still contained within a bra or blouse. He looked back to Sophia, then to her chips, and said, "Decision making time, Sophia. Lose the pot ... or lose the bra." |