by Ben Karlsen

Terri had been married for three years, happily for the most part, except that Phil was still a full-time graduate student and they were barely scraping by financially. She found the classified ad in the Variations section of their city’s alternative newspaper: "Play a Sex Game for Profit," said the header. "A thousand dollars for one afternoon’s fun," it said. "Only uninhibited young women need apply."

She smiled as she made note of the phone number. She wasn’t exactly uninhibited, but for a thousand bucks she would play darn near any game right now. She called the following morning, after Phil had left for class. She didn’t like secrets, but Phil was a bit possessive, so this bit of exploration needed to be secret.

She found herself in a telephone interview, conducted by a woman named Lorena: Yes, Terri said, most people thought of her as attractive, with her long blonde hair and dark blue eyes. Yes, she had good legs, although she admitted that they weren’t long legs; she was only five-three. Yes – although she blushed about this question – her breasts were very sensitive sexually. Yes – now she blushed even more – she always had multiple orgasms during sex. What were her dimensions? About 35-23-34, she guessed. She worked out regularly, she told Lorena.

Lorena invited her to a 1:30 p.m. interview, with the possibility that she could go to work immediately. “We want you in a mini-dress,” she instructed. “No bra. Sexy panties. If it bothers you that a man might see you – possibly all of you – it won’t work out. What do you say?”

Terri paused to try to understand the gig. She loved sexy clothes. Being honest, she enjoyed guys thinking she was sexy, although it drove Phil crazy when men ogled her. But in the past, being sexy had meant short skirts and leg shots, not “all of her,” whatever that meant. Still, she didn’t know where this month’s rent money would come from, and she could always back out if things got uncomfortable. “Okay,” she said, “I’d like to come.” Terri heard Lorena chuckle, but the woman turned businesslike and gave Terri instructions to a location on the far west side of town.

Terri showered and carefully selected white string bikini panties and a pale blue mini-dress that barely reached her thighs. As she slipped the dress over her head, smooth cotton caressed nipples already fully erect. She scolded herself for being aroused. This afternoon needed to be about the money. Anything else would be a betrayal to Phil. But for some reason, she felt warm all over. And she felt her nipples pushing, hard, against the thin material of her dress.

She drove her nine-year-old Escort to Beckley Avenue and pulled into a parking lot behind a massive three-story Victorian mansion, tan with soaring green gables. Three cars were already there: a black BMW, a silver VW Jetta, and a sleek little Miata convertible, cherry red.

Terri took a deep breath, exited her car, and walked onto the rear porch of the huge building. She soon found herself in an ornate drawing room sitting opposite Lorena, an attractive brunette of about fifty. Lorena explained that an anonymous man of considerable wealth kept this house as his playground. He enjoyed a variety of sexual activities, and today he was interested in watching women wrestle.

“Just watching?” Terri asked, prepared to escape if the man expected any kind of sexual contact. Lorena confirmed that, indeed, only wrestling was involved.

Relieved, Terri decided she could probably handle that just fine, although she guessed that she would lose quickly if paired against a skilled opponent. Then a light bulb came on.

“Do I wrestle in my dress?”

“Yes,” said Lorena. "Mr., uh, Smith enjoys the visual of young women in dresses.”

Terri frowned. “But why might he see, you know, all of me?”

“Before I explain,” said Lorena, “I must inspect. Stand please. Pull your dress to your shoulders.”

Terri hesitated, but decided it would be silly to come this far and wimp out over a woman’s inspection. She stood and slowly lifted the hem of her dress, past her waist, past her breasts. The air-conditioned air felt cool. She noticed, again, that her nipples seemed to have a mind of their own. For reasons she couldn’t explain, being so vulnerable in this strange place was doing its best to arouse her. She reminded herself that Phil would want none of that; that she was just here for the money.

“Very nice,” smiled Lorena. "You’ll do just fine, if you decide to participate. If you do, by the way, your thousand dollars is in this envelope."

As Terri lowered her dress and returned to her chair, Lorena gapped open the envelope flap and thumbed through ten one hundred dollar bills.

“Mr. Smith is interested in a new variation today,” said Lorena. “Two other young ladies are here, a most attractive black woman named Elena and a brunette named Nanci. Mr. Smith will hold three straws. The three of you will draw. The shortest straw will wrestle against the other two.”

Although Terri knew little about wrestling, she knew enough to ask, “That wouldn’t be fair would it? Wouldn’t the two people win easily?”

Lorena smiled a worldly smile. “Yes. They probably would. Mr. Smith anticipates that possibility.”

Once again, the light bulb came on. “And they would strip her, right?”

Another smile. “Yes. That might very well happen.”

Terri felt her heart beating harder, although the odds were in her favor that she wouldn’t draw the short straw. Still, she had to understand the game. “What happens then?” she asked.

Lorena leaned forward, her eyes earnest. “The two girls might decide to take advantage of the loser’s vulnerable state. Afterward, Mr. Smith will ask whether she might enjoy a few moments with him. But that decision is strictly optional, having nothing to do with the money to be earned.”

Terri’s heart beat even harder, although she knew there was no chance that she would spend time with Mr. Smith. Still, the whole scene she was visualizing was new and different and frightening and, despite herself, sexy. She breathed deeply, trying to calm down. “Okay. I want to do it.”

Lorena picked up a telephone from the end table. “Our third player is ready. We’ll be right down.” She led Terri out of the drawing room, through a sprawling living room decorated in Roaring ‘20s ornate, and into a winding basement stairway. At the base of the stairway, she opened an oversized wooden door and led Terri into an enormous room with flooring consisting of thick blue mats. The walls were a deep red velvet material.

The two women waited at mid-mat, both at least five-ten, both wearing skimpy black dresses, both looking frighteningly well muscled and very intense. Terri decided she could be in real trouble if the short straw was hers.

Lorena made brief introductions, and Terri’s uneasiness increased as she looked into beautiful faces, one black, one white, that had a hard angry look. A door in the far corner opened, and a man clad in black slacks and a black turtleneck entered and smiled warmly at the three women.

“Welcome,” he said in a deep, confident voice.

Terri drew in a quick breath, deciding that Mr. Smith was movie star attractive with his piercing black eyes, sculpted face, and thick, curly black hair. Somehow she had expected a fat old guy with too many rings on his fingers. Mr. Smith approached the three women and extended his right hand toward Elena, the tip of three wooden matches protruding between thumb and forefinger. The black woman drew a full-sized match. He extended his hand toward Nanci. The tall brunette drew a full-sized match. Without comment, he opened his palm to show Terri the half-sized match.

Mr. Smith walked silently to the edge of the room and sat in a deep red lounger, sitting back comfortably, hands behind his head. “Proceed,” he said simply.

Terri turned toward the two women, her eyes wide, fear rising in her throat. She had hoped she would win the draw. She needed time to think. To prepare. To figure out how to even begin wrestling two larger women. But there was no time, and suddenly the idea that a man other than her husband might watch her humiliation felt very wrong.

She put up her hands as if ready to fight somehow, to grab someone or something. But Elena circled around behind her. Terri turned to face Elena and Nanci closed swiftly, grasping both of Terri’s arms just above the elbow, and pinning her arms behind her in a vice-like grip. Elena grinned almost evilly and approached from the front.

“You’re in trouble already, little bitch.” Elena leaned to reach for the hem of Terri’s dress. Terri twisted and squirmed violently against Nanci’s grip, but the vice simply tightened.

“No. I don’t want him to see me,” Terri sputtered. “No.”

Elena laughed out loud. “That ain’t the half of your problems, babycakes.”

She yanked Terri’s dress above her breasts in one swift motion. And she used both hands to caress and twist Terri’s nipples, a little painfully, mostly teasingly.

“God, no, stop,” cried Terri, trying to pull back, to escape somehow, aware that only skimpy panties covered her.

One of Elena’s hands continued to caress Terri’s left breast, but the black woman’s lips came down on the other breast, sucking, swirling, caressing. “Oh, oh, no…” gasped Terri, as jolts of erotic electricity raced through her, “I thought we were wrestling.”

From behind her, Nanci chuckled and tightened the grip even more. “We are wrestling, bitch.” Terri felt Nanci’s leg move closer, her thigh now against Terri’s ass, her knee forcing Terri’s legs apart, then rising between her thighs. And Elena's mouth wouldn’t stop swirling on her nipple.

Terri tried for anger, for resistance of any kind. “If we’re wrestling, let me go. Give me a chance.”

Elena worked Terri’s breasts for another long moment while sliding a hand between Terri’s legs, briefly caressing her clit through already soaking panties. Then she released, “Okay, babes, let’s hit the mat.” Terri stepped back and pulled her dress down, embarrassed to know that Mr. Smith had already seen far more than she had hoped to show; even worse, that there had probably been passion showing on her face.

This time Nanci hung back. Elena approached and the two women tentatively pawed at each other’s neck and shoulders. Then suddenly, catlike for a woman so large, Elena grabbed an arm, spun behind Terri, pushed her onto her knees then bent her forward, face down on the mat. Terri could feel the mini-dress riding up, almost to her waist. She reached back to try to cover herself, earning another laugh from Elena. Elena pivoted again, swiftly pulling Terri’s arms above her head, throwing her flat on her stomach. Now Terri felt Nanci’s hands on the waistband of her panties.

She struggled again, trying to free a hand to reach back, but helplessly in Elena’s iron grip. “No. No, don’t.” But the panties slid easily to her knees, and Nanci proceeded to deliver five stinging slaps to her bare ass. Terri’s pleading, “No, no, that hurts,” earned five more slaps, but on the fifth, Nanci’s hand moved between Terri’s legs, parting the softness of her thighs. Now Terri fully realized that the wrestling match was purely sexual. She struggled to free her arms, to reach back, to do anything at all about the hands beginning to caress her ass and her thighs. And then—as if Nanci had a roadmap to her passion—skillful fingers reached Terri’s clit. Terri gasped, twisting futilely to escape, then feeling her entire body begin to long for more of the touch, and for blessed relief.

“Spread your legs, bitch,” ordered Nanci.

Terri tried once, feebly, to resist. The two women had positioned her so that her legs were pointed directly toward Mr. Smith. She thought briefly of her husband. But Nanci again worked her clit, then invaded her with two fingers, then back to her clit. Terri could barely breathe. She realized that her body was now moving on its own.

“Spread ‘em,” snapped Nanci. And Terri opened her legs. Nanci continued to work between Terri’s legs while Elena whispered in her ear, “You’re gonna come, bitch, soon.”

“No,” whimpered Nanci, “I can’t. My husband would…” But Nanci had a roadmap, and Terri felt herself losing the last shred of control. “Please, don’t…” she pleaded, but she didn’t mean it.

“Spread wider,” ordered Nanci. This time there was no resistance. Terri opened herself, fully, and felt -- for the first time in her life -- skillful fingers on her g-spot. “Oh, God. Unbelievable! Oh, God.” She felt her hips lifting toward Nanci’s invading hand, rising and falling slowly, then faster, and faster still until bucking wildly. She felt her orgasm and her scream coming at once as she ground bare breasts into the mat and she opened herself totally—mentally and physically—to Nanci’s thrusting fingers. Terri’s orgasm went on and on, as if forever, the bucking, the screaming, the knowing that Mr. Smith was watching from his ringside seat.

The two woman stood over her as she lay panting, still flat on her stomach, panties around her knees, dress pulled to her shoulders. Then Nanci lowered herself onto the mat to slowly slip off Terri’s panties. Elena lowered herself and grasped the dress, pulling it over Terri’s head. They rolled her onto her back. This time Nanci worked her breasts with hands and mouth. Elena easily parted her defenseless legs and lowered her mouth to begin its assault.

Terri whimpered briefly, “No, please, you’re humiliating me. Please don’t.” But she didn’t mean it. She had never felt anything like a skillful woman’s mouth, spreading her, teasing her, torturing her, and finishing her, time after time. The women traded places. Terri was nearly unconscious, or felt that she was, except that her body continued to respond, time after time, if slightly weaker each time. And now she was theirs, totally, completely, sweetly, humbly. They began treating her gently, almost lovingly, kissing her deeply, and she responded, a completely sexual animal, unlike anything she had thought possible.

The two women rose, leaving the room. Mr. Smith, who Terri had almost forgotten, walked to her, and knelt beside her. “Would you like to have a glass of wine in my bedroom?” he asked simply.

She met the smoldering eyes, not even hesitating. “Yes. That would be nice.”

The bed was enormous. The wine was wonderful. At first he simply held her, cuddled her, kissed her lips, cheeks, and neck. Then he raised her arms above her head while he kissed her breasts and set her on fire, with passion she couldn’t imagine finding so soon. He tied her arms and legs to the bedposts, something he enjoyed, he said. She was fine with it. He undressed slowly while she watched.

He slid onto the bed between her thighs, spread helplessly for him. He positioned his cock at the rim of her soaking pussy, probing but waiting. “You’ll need to ask me for it,” he said softly.

She thought once of her husband, of his horror if he could see her now. The invading cock pulled back but returned to gently tease her clit. She closed her eyes and whispered. “No, I shouldn’t,” but she felt her hips reaching toward him. He slipped into her, but no more than a quarter inch.

“Spread your legs wider,” he commanded, but gently.

Her legs spread for him. Her cunt opened for him. But still he teased her. She felt an orgasm beginning to rise in her, to sweep through her, but he pulled back completely.

“Oh, no, no. Please don’t stop. Please fuck me.” And he entered her gently once more, but teasingly.

“Please. Please fuck me. Please.” And he took her, deeply, savagely, incredibly, while she screamed in passion, stretching against the soft rope, every part of her reaching toward him. He untied her, turned her onto her stomach, and tied her again. He slid two pillows under her, lifting her defenseless toward him, and he took her, hard, while she screamed and bucked under him. Later as he made gentle love to her, she said, “In a way I’m glad I lost.”

He smiled a devil’s smile. “Of course you lost, my dear.”