uncensored #1- what else could I do

He told me to strip, to go into the room, and take off my clothes, right here and right now. What else could I do?

How did I get here? I was thinking this as I walked willingly through the door he held open and then closed behind me expecting me to do exactly what he asked, or pretty much ordered me to do: strip. What else could I do?

I was committed. I knew it, and when I give my word or make a promise I am loathe to break it for anything. I had agreed, after all, and was in my right mind when I did so. A moment of carelessness maybe, of frivolousness, of accepting what has turned out to be a challenge, there was no catch, I knew what I was doing, albeit perhaps a little more flippantly than I should have So now, what else could I do?

The bedroom turned out to be very minimal, it had a bed, naturally, a large king-sized, plain white sheets stretched and neatly tucked with a single long pillow at the head. A plain, beige blanket draped over it hanging down on three sides. Two of the walls held paintings, above the bed a photograph of the Eiffel Tower in the depths of winter, on another Picasso’s ‘Blue Nude’. I recognised it as it’s one of my favourite paintings. A bedside table either side, again minimal in design of light wood. The whole room was bright but not sterile, plain, perhaps a little over-neat. You could have said a little unimaginative but not, it was careful, thoughtful, full of pauses in its conversation to give an onlooker the time to reflect. There was a personality at work here, though one most enigmatic, one which teased the imagination out of hiding. Rather than imposing itself on you, it merely suggested possibilities.

In black skirt and spotted light-blue sleeveless blouse I found myself being embraced by it’s curious intentions. A corner lamp, a larger set of drawers, all matching wood, a wooden bowl with a set of keys, no, two sets of keys, two apples, deep red, three satsumas, a single stalk of red grapes, a deep quite exotic red with that kind of bloom you get on the tastiest ones. Atop the drawers were some ties, neckties, different designs, one flowing shades of blue, another diagonally-stripped, another with abstract flowers of yellows and greens.

I stood at the foot of the bed, no sounds permeated the room as though now hermetically-sealed. There was a hook on the back of the door from which hung a fawn-coloured leather belt, and there was a chair, wooden-framed, darker than the rest of the furniture, a white padded seat. Then I heard a voice from outside the door, too low to make out the words but it snapped me back to the moment, to where I was and more importantly why I was here, and the word, strip. What else could I do?

I felt the weight of the commitment, of the bet, and there was in my mind at least no turning back, Despite apprehension I was also curious, as I always am, as to how far to allow myself to go in situations I find myself in, as such there was an inkling of thrill too, of that dizzy weightlessness of air.

I sat down on the bed and took a few deep breaths, and to think only a few hours ago we were playing an innocent game of strip-poker, although, to be honest, when is such a game ever innocent.

I had a good run in the game too, not having to remove anything but my cardigan and ankle boots with the other six ending up in all manner of undress, with the game ending only when someone was entirely naked, which eventually happened, not me of course. The loser was called Peter who, for his sins, was placed in the position, front and centre, to reveal all and sundry to us. How he managed not to get an erection while utterly exposed thus, I got no idea, he clearly had amazing self-control. I, for one, wasn’t disappointed it was him, being he had a very nice body as it turned out. Of the three girls I fell the luckiest, with one having just left in her knickers.

More drinking, more chatting, one by two by three all left until just me and Dan were left, him being the one I’d made the deal with and who has told me to strip to honour it, the deal we made afterwards when he suggested one more spin of the bottle before I went, and for double-or-nothing, which he defined as the loser stripping down to the bone for the other to see. I actually agreed, what absurd sense of confidence made me do it I do not know, being that the odds were equally against us both, 50/50. I was sure I would win having done so well earlier, thinking I was on a lucky streak.

How wrong I was.

The bottle spun as with bated breaths we watched nervously, though I suspect me more so than him despite my all-found confidence. He’d also suggested a forfeit on top, to add a little spice, he said, so while it spun I wracked my brain for a forfeit for him. It wouldn’t have mattered as when the bottle came to a silent halt its narrow end pointed directly at my left knee, at me. What else could I do?

I unbuttoned my blouse while staring at the blue nude and wondering about who the model might have been, I could’ve been if I was around at the time of course. It fell from my shoulders and arms. I stood up and pulled down the zip at the back of my skirt and let it fall to the floor leaving me stood there in my underwear. I knew I had further to go, strip meant everything and as I’d lost this was my lot.

I unclipped my bra and pulled it away, my nipples exposed to the room’s minimal air. Just my knickers remained which I apprehensively pulled down, their pink and white-laced cotton soft along my bare legs. I placed all my clothes on the chair, conscious of making the room untidy. I sat on the bed, cleared my throat and knowing he was just outside the door, announced I was ready. He didn’t waste any time, the door opened instantly and he came in, his eyes fixed on me, his grin wide, my face blushing to burning as I sat there totally naked on the end of the bed, knees together, arms across my breast. What else could I do?

He told me to stand, I hesitated but did, trying to not be clumsy in the process. He watched me, moved closer, asked me to step forward and turn around. I did, what else could I do, a deal was a deal. I kept one arm across my boobs and the other between my legs, I turned in tiny steps. I couldn’t cover my bottom having no hands left to do so. It was only seconds but felt like minutes with my back turned to his gaze. It felt surprisingly erotic, albeit nerve-wracking.

He liked what he saw, he said so. I was flattered. I turned back around to face him and was told to drop my arms, again using the ‘a deal is a deal’ and the deal meant everything. I did, partly reluctant, partly with a growing sense of anticipation, perhaps even liberation. So, I was naked, so what. My pale skin, nipples, shaved sex all on show now, and my embarrassment.

After several more minutes of drinking me into his hungry eyes he mentioned the forfeit. For a moment there I’d forgot and perhaps hoped, or not, he had too. I was to get on the bed face the headboard, grab it and stay there on my knees. I wondered, was that it, the forfeit? It would and did put me in a hugely compromising pose, even more so than I already was. I agreed on condition of no photos, in case that’s what he had in mind. He agreed, and I did as he asked, took hold of the headboard and posed on my knees feeling indelibly conscious on how I’d look from behind, my buttocks, between my legs, the backs of my thighs, all on uninhibited view. What else could I do?

I stifled peculiar feelings of arousal which were leaking form my unconscious mostly definitely into the conscious. This was, despite how weird it seemed, exciting. Even though I couldn’t see him behind me I felt his eyes boring into me like hot irons, into my curves. A rush of warmth rippled through me, in particular the thighs and hips.

Now it was apparently time for the forfeit proper. I should say something but didn’t. I felt the mattress shift as he climbed on the bed behind and at once his fingers were moving along the backs of my legs stifling anything I was about say. I trembled, grasping a sliver of air through my teeth. It was electric, exhilarating, shutting my mind to all else as he explored such a tender part of my body, a part I find almost impossible to resist.

What else could I do?

(continued in “uncensored #2- this far?” . . . . . . . . . . )

© Emmaleela