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Old 12-15-2017, 12:33 PM
Everard Everard is offline
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… CONTINUED


I called Lynda to see if she wanted to go out. It had been a few days since our Triv game, and I had spent some time thinking about how much fun it had been, and what refinements I might make to my rules to improve them, in the light of our experience. Lynda said she’d be delighted, and I arranged to pick her up at seven the following evening.

She opened the door with the phone in her hand. “It’s my cousin,” she explained. “She does go on a bit, it’ll take me a couple of minutes for her to wind down, have a seat while you’re waiting.”

I went into the living room. The Triv board was now on the coffee table, with the circles still in the positions we had left them, and the unused wedges, and pile of question cards, beside them. It wasn’t long before Lynda came in.

“Half an hour, a new speed record,” she grinned. “Usually she’s on for twice that at least.” She came over, stood on tiptoe, and gave me a gentle kiss.

“So,” I asked. “Where did you want to go?”

“Nowhere really,” she said. I must have looked surprised, then she continued, “I thought we could stay here and carry on with the game. Although of course we’re both dressed now, so we’re sort of starting again.”

“OK,” I said, and Lynda started preparing us some drinks and snacks. “I’ve had a bit of a think about my rules and there are a few changes I’d like to make. After all, with just the two of us playing, and six cheeses each up for grabs, AND points for being the first to throw a six, and for the first question, and for landing on the hub, at least one of us is going to be naked before the game ends.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Well, I think we should leave the cheese squares as they are, and forget about throwing a six and the point for the first question.”

“Yeah, fine. And the hub?”

Ah, the hub is too easy, because when you land there you get to choose the category. So my idea is, if you land there and win the point you put something back on, and if you lose it I put something back on.”

“I agree with that. Now, you were blue and I was pink, and when we left it, it was your turn.”

We put the board and other bits back on the floor and Lynda sat on the hearthrug. Before I sat down though, I removed my coat, as Lynda hadn’t put hers on. I am nothing if not a gentleman. Looking at the circles I could see that hers contained pink, blue and orange cheeses, and mine pink, blue, yellow and green. I rolled the dice, choosing my favourite pink square as my next destination. A question a on a 1920s stage play I’d never heard of sent the dice back to Lynda. Hers was for a green cheese just like my last one, which she won by knowing the chemical name for chalk so my shoes got thrown in the corner. And she got the next question right too, landing on a pink cheese square. She already had the cheese but could still score the point. I had no idea who wrote the musical Chess, but she did so off came my socks. Then she turned off towards the middle, got the next question right and landed on the hub.

“Now what am I going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well if I get this question right, I have to put something back on, but I’m still wearing everything.”

“You haven’t got it right yet! OK, modification to that rule – if you can’t put anything on, I have to take something off.” I could see she liked that idea. I forget what the question was about but she got it right so I lost my shirt. And damn me if the lucky little blighter didn’t storm through the next couple of questions and land on another cheese square, a yellow one this time. She wasn’t so lucky with the question though, something about the Hundred Years War so her shoes joined mine. I rolled the dice and got a one, putting me on a blue square and a correct answer landed me on the yellow cheese. I already had the cheese, and got the point too so Lynda reached under her dress and removed her tights. A brace of correct answers then put me on an orange cheese – which I didn’t have. The bad news, of course, was that it was a sport question, and Lynda read it out with relish.

“Who won the Wimbledon men’s final in 1992?”

“Andre Agassi.”

“How the bloody hell did you know that?”

“It’s one of the few I watched. Come on, dress off.” Lynda realised that wearing a dress instead of shirt and jeans had reduced her garment count by one. She hadn’t thought this through, had she? She was now sat there in bra and panties, and I was in jeans and boxers. We had drawn level (although not in cheeses).

My next question was a disaster, so I passed the baton to Lynda, well the dice anyway. She put me back in play though, by thinking Billy J. Kramer was the Mindbenders’ lead singer. I threw another two, thus landing back on the orange cheese. A question on archery tripped me up and lost me my jeans. A correct answer for Lynda put her in line for a brown (Arts and Literature) cheese. I grabbed the card.

“Seth Pecksniff,” I read, “Was a character in which Dickens novel?”

Hearing no answer, I looked at her quizzically, and she looked back suspiciously. “Are you going to try to put me off again, by saying Great Expectations or Pickwick Papers or something?”

“No, not at all, I’ve no idea what the answer is, I only know it’s not Martin Chuzzlewit.”

“You sod, it IS Martin Chuzzlewit! Get those boxers off!”

“You get them off.” She slowly moved over to where I was sitting. I stood up and she knelt before me. My erection was well on the way and she reached out and held it for a second, then gently stroked it until she had achieved the final few percent. Hooking her thumbs in the waistband, she slowly slid the boxers out of the way, before taking my cock into her eager little mouth, rolling it around her tongue. One hand held it steady, while the other delicately stroked my balls. Then just when I thought I could stand it no longer, she got up, sprang over to her side of the board and said, “Right, that’s enough of that, we’ve got to finish this game! I need a yellow cheese and you need a brown one.”

Lynda decided to take a short cut across the middle to get to the yellow. A correct answer put her within reach of the hub, but she overshot and got the next one wrong. So I threw, got one right, and landed on the hub. I chose blue and got an easy one about mountain ranges, so pulled my boxers back up. Another correct answer put me within reach of the brown cheese I needed, but my next move took me past it and onto a yellow square and a question I couldn’t answer, so I handed over the dice and Lynda’s next throw took her to the yellow cheese she needed. The card was asking for the name of the city where the Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated in 1914.

“Capital of Czechoslovakia wasn’t it?” I suggested helpfully.

“You’re doing it again, stop it! No ... Budapest? Or Bucharest? I always get those mixed up. Bucharest.” Then she turned the card over, to discover it was neither. The clip was undone, the bra fell away, and those fantastic tits came into view. I couldn’t help it, I had to go over and give her a huge kiss, while caressing both nipples.

Mmmm, nice … ” she murmured. “Come on, back to the game.”

My next move landed me back on the brown cheese but I didn’t know a thing about Picasso and admitted it.

“They didn’t stay on very long did they?” chuckled Lynda as my boxers landed on top of her bra.

Still, I got my revenge on her very next throw, where a wrong answer meant it was my turn again. My two questions were a pink and a yellow, both of which I got right, landing me back on the brown cheese. Lynda grabbed the card and read it. Which impressionist painter, it asked, painted Le Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe?

“Debussy wasn’t it?” she said with a wicked grin.

“Don’t you start! No I always get these two mixed up,” I said, imitating her earlier words. “Manet or Monet? Manet … Monet … oh, I don’t know. Manet.” And she turned the card over.

“Bloody hell! How do you KNOW these things?”

With a big smile on my face, I dropped a brown wedge into my only vacant slot, then went over and sat on the sofa. “Come here.” She climbed on to my lap, slowly and sensuously eased off her last remaining garment, then turned to face me. She gave me a kiss even more passionate and sexy than those from a few days previously, while at the same time lowering her now extremely juicy pussy onto my anticipating cock. Neither of us said anything for the next few minutes, bar of course the odd appreciative noise, then eventually that wonderful perfect earthquake arrived and shook us down to the bedrock. I’ve no idea what it was on the Richter scale, but there were more than a few aftershocks.

It was a few minutes more before either of us was able to say anything. It was Lynda, of course.
“Everard … I’ve just realised something.”

“What’s that, my darling?”

We still haven’t finished that bloody game.”


TO BE CONTINUED …
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