“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 short-haired 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 in. 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, 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 the three of us 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, was, 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 her 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.