… CONTINUED
As I now had all six wedges, it didn’t take me long to get back to the hub, answer the final question correctly, and thus win the game. We emptied out both circles, then sat looking at each other. We both said it at the same time.
“Let’s get dressed and have another game.” I made a start and Lynda picked up her clothes and excused herself, saying she needed the loo. By the time she returned I had everything back on, and she was in a new outfit of shirt and jeans. I suppose she was cheating but I didn’t mind, and within a minute drinks and snacks had been replenished, the two empty circles were sat waiting on the hub, and we were sat waiting on the hearthrug.
“Highest throw to start?”
“OK.” I got a five and she got a two so I moved off first, but Lynda beat me to a cheese. She had of course chosen a pink, but proved that her knowledge of early 70s prog rock wasn’t as good as mine so her shoes were the first casualty. My first cheese question was on late 70s punk so my shoes were the second casualty. Lynda was back at the pink cheese within two moves and remembering Miss Jones’ first name in Rising Damp (it’s Ruth, same as the actress) saw my socks back in the corner. Then a question on Jules Verne defeated her and two moves later I had my pink cheese, and Lynda didn’t have her socks.
We then shot off in opposite directions, her towards the green cheese and I towards the yellow. Three moves later and I had the pleasure of seeing her shirt come off, but a tricky question on the Hoover Dam (turns out it wasn’t called that originally) saw me handing the dice over and minutes later my shirt came off too. It was at this point that I realised two things: 1 – Lynda had started the game with one garment more than I had, and 2 – had I only thought to bring a pullover, the rules would have allowed me to put it back on.
Five minutes later we had both lost our jeans and gained a cheese, her brown, mine orange. Miracle of miracles, I’d got a sport question right! (It was about the Le Mans 24 Hours.) So it was now three cheeses each, two clothing items to one. It was Lynda’s turn and she began working her way towards the hub, a short cut to the orange, but a wrong answer let me back in and I was on the green faster than a scratch golfer, and answering a simple question on atomic particles.
“Right – I want that bra.” She handed it over with a giggle. “It’ll never fit you.” I placed it on the ever-growing pile of clothes and made my next move, which resulted in a wrong answer, so I placed the dice in Lynda’s hand and snuggled up next to her. I licked both nipples and blew cooling air gently over them. They were as hard as pencil erasers within seconds, and I licked and chewed them hungrily. Lynda emitted little purring noises and slid a hand inside my boxers to find my manhood, which very soon was even harder than the nipples. Then she withdrew her hand, reminding me she had a question to answer. I continued to nuzzle her breasts and nipples while she made her move. I don’t recall the colour or the question (well I was slightly distracted at the time) but she must have got it right because she rolled again. She jumped over the hub, landed on a yellow, and got a question about Charlemagne, whom she’d never heard of. But guessing which century he’d been born in kept her in play, and her next stop was on the hub. She of course selected pink, and was asked the name of ABBA’s last album.
I groaned. Half the world’s population knows everything there is to know about ABBA, and the other half do too, they just don’t admit it. Of course she got it right.
“Everard, be a love and pass me that bra, will you?” I did and, being a gentleman, even fastened it for her. Then she made her move, landed on a blue and got it wrong. She handed me the dice, and in one move I was back on the green cheese square. A question on rock (neither punk nor prog) was successfully negotiated and I reached behind for the clasp. Her bra slid delightfully off, and her breasts were back in my hands before you could say … well anything really.
It was Lynda’s turn to groan, this time with pleasure. She arched her back, and collapsed onto the hearthrug. She kissed me deeply and erotically, while my left hand relinquished its breast and glided down her perfectly flat midriff into her skimpy little knickers. Fuck me, it was wet down there. My fingers slid into her love cavern as easily as a junkie slips back into a bad habit and caressed her G-spot, gently at first but with a rising intensity that matched hers. In the meantime my thumb had found her pink lady and it wasn’t long before she arched her back again, cried out in ecstasy and squeezed her thighs together so hard I thought she’d break my wrist.
She said, “Oohhh, thank you darling,” reached into my boxers, pulled out my cock and placed a chaste kiss onto its tip. She then replaced it and said, “Come on, let’s get comfortable.” She leaned against one of the armchairs and drew me towards her. My head was soon in her chest again.
“It’s still your turn.” I made no response. “I said, it’s your turn.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you, I’ve got a nipple in my ear. I’m comfy here, can you roll for me?”
She did so. “You’ve got a one. It’s orange whichever way you go.”
“Shit – sport again. Okay, towards the hub, please.” She moved my circle and read the card. It was yet another football question so she was back in. A three took her to a pink square and of course a correct answer, then rolling another three got her on the orange cheese.
“Oh, dear, you’ve got sport now,” I chortled. “What a rotten shame.”
“Shut up! I haven’t answered it yet, I might get it right.”
“Oh, look, is that a flying pig I just saw go past the window?”
“Sshhh!!!!” Lynda picked up the card and read it. “It’s a golf question. Only three players have successfully defended the Masters. Name any two. Well I know one’s Jack Nicklaus, but who are the others? Greg Norman? Gary Player?”
“Hey, that’s not fair! How many guesses do you want?”
“Oh, come on, I’m only a poor girlie,” she simpered with a silly smile.
“All right, one more. What about Sevvie whatshisname?”
“Ballasteros, OK I’ll go for him.” She turned the card over. “Nope, I only got the one, Nicklaus.”
We both stood up. Lynda slowly, smoothly and sexily, eased her panties all the way down to the floor, then stepped daintily out of them.
“So I’ve won then.”
“Won? Whadya mean won?”
“Well, I got you naked. It would make sense to end the game at that point, then all participants can get dressed and start again.”
“Good idea, we’ll do it that way in future then.” (Oh, goody, she wanted to do it again!) She moved closer and looked me in the eye.
“Tell me, Everard, did you know either of those other two players?”
“No, not a clue.”
“Then it’s a draw.” And she reached forward, pulled down my boxers, kneeled in front of me and planted another kiss on the end of my standing member.
TO BE CONTINUED …
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