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Bull Or Bare - Note NSFW Thread

“Well, it looks like everyone is in agreement.” Riley said with their hand already in the center. “I promise to be truthful on whether my stories are truthful, and be respectful of everyone’s privacy and boundaries. And I’ll do it on whatever crazy Norse Goddess Molly mentioned.”

Riley was excited to get started, and see what Story Connie has for them. Riley looked over at Connie expectantly, still taking more drinks. At this point their inhibitions about getting naked in front of strangers were a distant memory, and Riley was just looking forward to seeing the others undress. “I think you’re up, Connie.”
 
"Well, I'm up for trusting you all with being fair on the tasks if you are." The stewardess was the adventurous type. She had endorsed the veto provision more for the benefit of the others than for her own comfort. So that being mostly agreed, though still depending on Heather's good graces, the preliminaries were concluded.

And that left Connie the monumental task of setting the tone for the others. Which gave her a choice. She could just ease into this thing. Something mild and a little naughty like dipping her toe into the pool. But Constance was not big on half-measures. She opted to do a cannonball. The formalities now concluded, she cleared her throat, leaned forward, and began talking in that sing-song voice of hers. By her tone, one might have thought she was pointing out the exits in the rear of the plane.

"Okay. You know I’m Connie. Pronouns are she, her, hers. And you all know what I do for a living. Sometimes you get lucky with a destination, and sometimes you don't. Last May, I was one of the lucky ones. I got to fly out to Prague. Well, maybe unlucky at first. LAX to Praha is a looooong flight. But once I was back on the ground, I was pretty much all aces, and ready to take on a town I've never seen before.

"It was two in the morning, but jet lag is jet lag, so I wasn't getting to sleep any time soon, so I say to myself, "Might as well see what this place has to offer. So here I am walking around the town at this ungodly hour, looking for someplace I can settle and have a drink. There’s this one place the music’s blasting from, so what the hell, right? I go in. There’s a cover – and the girl at the counter is giving me a few funny looks as I’m paying it – but hey – I’m the foreigner here. Whatever it is, I’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Connie stopped here and took a big swig of liquid confidence for talking about what came next.

“Soon enough came fast. It wasn’t a bar. It was a strip club. Kind of – the definition of strip club over there is a biiit different than over here. There’re about six stages. Lovely girls on each stage peeling away to a crowd gathered around her. Most of them are all smiles. Going the extra mile. Giving me a wave as I pass, poor oblivious moron that I am. The stage over there,” Connie pointed over towards a corner of room, “has got a crowd. A big one. I’m curious, so I sidle to the bar, get a drink, ask what it’s all about. And the bartender, a cute blonde wearing the littlest black dress with big bazooms in her own right, just winks and says Take a look, in that heavy East European accent that I thought only happened in movies. She hands me the drink, a complimentary ladies’ shot of something with Kahlua or whatever the local coffee flavored stuff is called – and then I’m having a pink lady that night on honor of – well when in Rome – Prague in this case, right? – And it’s got her cherry red lipstick all over it. Something of a practical joke on the American I’m sure.

“So, thoroughly liquored up, I’m off to see what’s happening at the main stage. It’s not so much what’s happening as who. She’s a looker to be sure. Five foot six, shoulder length chestnut hair, eyes green like emeralds, face round as a peach, skin like a porcelain doll. Most of it is on display as she’s down to last two bits – she’s playing with the clasp of her black leather strapless bra holding back the most gorgeous pair of D-Cups I’ve ever seen, and her matching black thong is riding up her nice tight little ass.

“Rosie Lowe’s How’d You Like It is sliding out of the speakers and it’s competing with the hollers and catcalls – the crowd is on fire and she’s the smoke. It’s infectious, and I’m not immune, so a let out a little, “Woot!” of my own as the catch comes open, the bra flies into the crowd, and the D’s fly free just as God in Her Infinite Wisdom intended.

“The dancer stops.” So did Connie. By now her eyes were shining, reliving the moment as she was retelling it, savoring the memory as she would a freshly baked pie or a twenty year single malt scotch. She waited a full fifteen seconds before taking another sip from her bottle and continuing.

“I am a deer caught in the headlights. She scans the crowd, which has gone pin-drop silent, though the song’s still coming on strong. Our friendly neighborhood bartender lends a hand with a whistle and a finger pointed in my general vicinity. Our nearly naked friend finds me and locks on with laser-guided precision. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

“She gives me one of these.” Constance crooked her pointer finger several times towards her face with a wicked smile. “You probably know what that means. I… couldn’t quite remember. Given the situation, I’m sure you’ll forgive me for that. She steps forward, off the stage. The crowd parts for her like the Red Sea. And then there she is, a vision in G-String, close enough that I get a hit of her perfume, this spicy-floral-fruity fragrance that I can’t help but imagine licking off her body. She says, Come, in a deep sultry voice slathered in Slavic intonation, and I nearly do the synonym right then and there. But that’s not quite her plan yet. She holds out her hand. I… take it.

“She leads me back along aisle 69 through the crowd. I am Lena, she says. I answer, Constance, as we walk up the stairs. And there we are. Her and me. Lana slips behind me, her breath murmuring orders in my ear. Dance.

I am new to this game, and I’ll win no awards for my steps that night. I shuffle left, then right, then left. I’m more or less moving to the beat. I can feel her body pressed into my back, the heat of her body emanating through my shirt. Her hands creep around me, popping each button with barely a touch, marking each one with a little encouragement. You do well, Constance. Pop. They are watching you Constance. Pop. They see only us Constance. Pop. You are beautiful Constance. I can only stutter, “Y…you am..maz…zing.” I want you Constance. One quick flutter of fabric and I can now feel that warmth directly on my skin. My shirt flies off into the crowd, a souvenir for a lucky fan.

“Lana’s hands are around my waist now, the sensation of her fingers dancing on my bare skin is giving me goose bumps. My skirt is next and it goes much more quickly. I dance around a little as she unzips me and teases it off my hips. I hear Kick, Constance and am in no state to refuse orders. It goes flying into the audience with a speed that only an ex-varsity soccer midfielder could arrange – and the crowd roars its approval. The whole thing is turning into one massive aphrodisiac, though it’s still more the approval from behind than up front that’s driving me onward. Take off the stocking for them Constance. And here I am in my pink lacy undies, peeling off a stocking, taking my sweet time, all the while Lana’s rubbing against me, kissing my neck repeatedly for what I think is for show, but hoping is not. My hopes are fortified with the next order, Take off the other for me.

“I do as I am told and am thankful for the opportunity. For once, she just watches, licking her middle finger and drawing it up her own magnificent torso to show me how much she’s enjoying this. When it’s off, she takes it and nudges the other to me with her foot, so I take the hint. I follow her lead as she flings it around a few times and lets it fly. Part of me is asking how the hell I’m going to get back to the hotel, if and when I ever go back – right now the only thing I took off that’s still on the stage is my shoes. But most of me just… doesn’t… care.

“We’re facing each other now. She comes forward, puts her left hand gently on the pit of my back and pulls me in. And we’re kissing. My knees are buckling. I grab on for dear life. Within a second, her tongue comes for a visit. I’m making all sorts of muffled noises. I think I might be begging for more. It’s hard to say. I’m not really up to asking anyone who could give me an answer. Her hands creep up. It’s pretty obvious what she’s looking for. She finds it and undoes the clasp with a snap of her fingers. One hand sends my bra soaring off the stage while the other keeps holding me for more of the making and the out.

“Yours truly is now topless.” Connie stopped for a moment and took another swig, daring the trio with her eyes to imagine her boobs. “She slowly pulls away for the big reveal. The crowd likes it. Probably not as much as hers – hers are magnificent and very, very real. She appreciates mine though – she bends down and shows her appreciation with a tug of her lips and a flick of her tongue. I make a sound that probably sounds like a cat who’s fallen into a salmon factory. She pulls back, takes my chin, and coaxes me forward to return the favor. But even here I’m thinking it’s as much part of the show as anything else. This might happen every day.

“She looks at me with those big green eyes, and says, You know what is next Constance. Now I’m not a particularly prudish person – and you think I’d been through a lot already, but I still turn bright pink. And that means all over. But hey, grand finale. And a story to tell – well not my grandkids, but who knows? Probably three strangers I share a room with in Dallas one night. So I go down, and my fingers loop through the thong. They’ve got a little twist tie, which I undo, and I slip off the little number, kiss it for good measure and send it over to the crowd. I still don’t know what happened to all our clothes. There’s probably scattered in apartments all over Prague, framed and hanging on walls throughout the city.” Connie smiled at the thought, and blushed a little.

“Lana is naked, and she is glorious. Perfectly shaven, naturally. Just a woman for whom naked is a state of transcendent being. And now… it’s Connie’s turn. I come back up. I am now facing with my back to the audience. She starts working down. A kiss here, a lick there, I’m about ready to faint. She gets to her knees, not coincidentally also my hips and smiles, playing the crowd which has once again, gone dead silent. She waits.”

So did Connie for five beats.

“She slips her thumbs into the sides, slowly but surely dragging the panties up, around, and off my cheeks. I try not to scream as her breath from her lips up her tickles my lips down there. One foot goes up, then the other. Bye bye panties.

“So the song winds to a close. The naïve American stewardess has been stripped nude. It’s over.”

Connie folded her hands to finish the story. And then went on.

“Only it’s not. Because Lana is not coming up. She’s staying down. And exploring. Her lips. Her teeth. Her tongue.

My pussy.

“Let me tell you. I will never be able to fake it with anyone who was in that Club, because they heard the real 100% Constance Meadows. She was probably down there for less time than I imagined, because when she brought me backstage to raucous applause, we still had a lot to do and we did it. Hooray for private rooms.

“But the punchline comes in the morning. Here Lana is, loading me into a taxi wearing nothing but my trusty flats and Sasha’s overcoat that’s that blonde bartender, and a story for another round – and she hands me her card. And says, You come back, Constance. Next time, you munch me.”

Now the story was done. Connie sat back, a smile on her face as she met each of her roommates’ eyes in turn. “So tell me, what do you think. Was that on the level, or did I make the whole thing up? Bull or Bare?”
 
Molly had sipped her wine straight from the bottle while reclining back in the couch, left leg crossed over the right while listening to Connie's story. It had seemed like the story of an innocent and naive young airline hostess lost in a nig foreign city she had never before visited, walking into a strip club by accident and Molly had nodded when Connie stated that European strip clubs were very different from the ones in the US. The first and perhaps most obvious difference was that strippers in the US rarely dropped their g-strings while in Europe it was the default ending to a stripshow. The other difference, which the story seemed to focus on as it progressed, was that in many clubs the show didn't stop at stripping. In Germany and most of the Central European countries, such as Poland, Hungary, Slovakia and the Czech Republic, there were often elements of live sex, to various degrees, on stage. Usually just rather vanilla, soft core girl on girl stuff but in the seedier clubs one might see the female strippers giving blowjobs to male strippers, or even to members of the audience if they paid extra. Now that is another rather significant difference between Europe and the US. In many European countries prostitution is not only legal but regulated like any other profession, the Czech Republic being one of those countries, even if brothels and other such facilitating institutions are illegal.

So fare everything was good and Molly enjoyed the opening salvo from Connie with a knowing smile spread across her face. It was what came next that seemed to be more than a little over the top. It was a most erotic and imaginative tale filled with subtle details that lent credibility to it. In the end though it simply seemed rather unlikely, even in a Central European strip club, for a dancer to invite a random non-paying stranger from the audience up on the stage and involve her in the show while discarding the amateur's clothes to the audience as casually as Connie described it. Up to the moment when Connie's shirt had been sent flying to the cheering crowd Molly had imagined Connie in her uniform but she figured that no matter how aroused and mesmerised by the situation Connie had been she would have objected to having her uniform spread to the crowd just like that. From there on the tale simply got less and less credible which in itself didn't stop Molly from zooming in on Connie's chest with a widening smile as she imagined her breasts which were easily the second largest in the room. It was of course never easy to truly imagine a pair of breasts while tucked into a bra but in Molly's mind they were perfectly round seen from the front while having a perky, almost cheeky, silhouette seen from the side. She also imagined the nipples and surrounding areolas to be quite large and pointy, the kind of nipples that almost always showed through tight tops. With an almost male chuckle she deemed Connie's breasts to be most beautiful and took a swig from her bottle.

"I have a question," she said after Connie had finished her story with the question that had given the game its name.
"I assume we are allowed to ask questions before making up our minds," she added and since she had already made up her mind regarding the veracity of the story she continued without waiting for a consensus from the other three.
"Was this your first sapphic experience?"
She looked Connie straight in the eyes and her smile took on a curious quality. She waited for Connie to respond before calling the story Bull.
 
"Q&A for the T&A, huh?" Connie nodded. "All right. The answer to your question is no, it wasn't my first time with another woman. Maybe I'll give you that story on my next turn."
 
Hardly a lie detector, but accustomed to the white lies of the film industry, Heather was used to taking a rather sceptical view of things, especially in the presence of strangers, like she was now. Ready to judge the authenticity of the flight attendant’s imminent story, she set her eyes on the young woman, like watching a play, allowed her to relive a snapshot from the past, and a not so innocent recollection at that as time would soon prove. It wouldn’t have surprised Heather really, had she got to learn that a sinful soul lurked beneath Connie’s cheerful smile.

Although she would have personally preferred the quite enchanting small town to the west of it, it indeed was a beautiful city, Prague. She had eaten one of the best ducks she ever had while gazing upon the ornate symbols on the astronomical clock. If she was allowed, she had to argue with the hospitality of the people though. Safer than Budapest, more dangerous than Vienna, the city had a rather active nightlife if she recalled correctly. If she were to delve into it, the darling stewardess could have surely unfolded an entertainment of cabaret.

The point of the game was to doubt the stories of the night. And Heather was, of course, ready to search the flight attendant’s story for small hints of suspicion. That aside, she had to give it to Connie though, it was quite a gripping narrative what she listened to. The well-depicted story of the woman could have easily filled a page in an amorous novel, or a few pages in this case. Since the raconteur’s profession was not about writing stories, but the comfort of passengers during a flight, it admittedly strengthened the believability of the woman’s tale for Heather.

Not in disagreement, but Heather shook her head, brown strands of hair swaying behind her shoulders. While the stewardess’ narrative progressed into a little mischief, the woman twisted her hair to wear it in a quick bun. “Lena, you mean.” Her arms still raised, she couldn’t help but point out how the dancer’s name changed throughout the story. Surely, not something that would make her deem the story faux as she guessed the flight attendant must have been more interested in things other than her partner’s stage name at the time.

A thrill-seeking fish out of water, or rather, a venturesome bird left the skies in the storyteller’s case, being seduced into a one-off stage performer; the summery of the flight attendant’s story Heather thought. Considering the night in question, there must have been many eyewitnesses who could verify the foreigner-turned-stripper, if they had been looking at her face that is. Too bad, they must have been several thousands of miles away from the hotel room to attest to Connie’s spontaneous show. Far away from home, had the charming flight attendant really given a rather detailed presentation of herself to an unfamiliar audience? Had she let a skilled stripper turn her into an unpaid entertainer for the amusement of a crowd? Heather could only guess, really. Thinking if the gleeful stewardess indeed had what it would take to double an already joyful crowd’s amusement as the story implied, she eyed the storyteller, her half-closed eyes gazing up the woman’s stocking-clad legs, examining the appeal of her protruding chest, for the sake of seeking the truth, of course. And she didn’t fail to come to a conclusion, which she chose to keep to herself for the time being. However, it wasn’t enough to make an educated guess.

It would have been easier for Heather to make a decision if she had played a stripper in a film. On the other hand, if the woman’s stirring depiction of events could actually manage to make the actress imagine a pair of pink knickers flying in her direction, Connie must have been telling the truth, right? “Lovely.” Only, instead of following her instincts, Heather decided to listen to the voice of her logic, which told her that the best time to fabricate a story should be when one had the most to wear. In other words, the very beginning of the game. Considering her expressiveness, she made herself believe that the young woman couldn’t have made it all up. Yeah, there could have been indeed a devilish stripper that had taken her breath away, and possibly, more than that. However, she also thought the events might have been altered to some degree. Only one thing was certain though, the flight attendant surely entertained her with her rather striking storytelling.

Tilting her head a little, squinting her eyes some, Heather eventually made up her mind. “I’m afraid I would call Bull.”
 
Riley felt flush just listening to the story. The combination of the alcohol and erotica, made Riley red in the face, and they could feel a boner returning. If this is the story that sets the tone for the night, Riley doubted they could keep up. Hopefully they would understand an 18 year old wouldn’t have as crazy stories as a globe trotting, flight attendant, that now sounded like an exhibitionist.

But was it true? Riley didn’t doubt that Connie seemed like the kind of person that would go along with something like that, but some of the details seemed outlandish and then some. After Molly asked her question, Riley decided to use it as a tie breaker. No way someone orgasms from their first lesbian experience in front of a crowd of strangers.

“Well Connie, either that’s true and your an exhibitionist, or it’s Bull, and you should write erotica. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now and say Bare.” Riley was already enjoying themselves, and had a big grin on their face. “I hope you won’t mind me taking the easy option, and just taking these off,”Riley said as she took off her hair clip and choker.
 
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Her question answered Molly allowed for the other two to make their calls while actually eyeing Connie who possibly might not be quite as innocent as her looks suggested and once again imagining those breasts which according to her story were supposedly real stunners. She took a sip of wine from her bottle and once Riley had given Connie the benefit of the doubt she shook her head at the airline hostess.
"Nope. Sorry. No way that story happened the way you told it. I call Bull."
Her smile then widened and she rested her left arm on the back of the couch as she leaned back into it.
 
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Connie got up and stretched, raising her hands above her head and joining them together as she arched her back. "All right Riley. You called Bare, so strip for us, Honey." She sat back down, eyes on the shy yet beautiful non-binary student as she waited for them to pay their allotted tribute. Riley earned an appreciative whistle for their efforts, along with a warm, "I can't wait to see more of you."

Once they were done, Connie stood again with a chuckle. "All right, that leaves my two Challengers. Drum roll please." Connie waited for the drum roll and, when tensions were just high enough, she extended her hand with a broad smile and declared, "I know it seems bizarre and unlikely, but that one really happened, Hand to God. Sooo..." She leaned forward, first to Heather, then to Molly, which took a bit of swiveling. "So what do you Sweeties want me to take off of you, and will you be giving up a second piece or taking a Dare?"

God help her, but she was already enjoying this a lot. And it wasn't just the fact that she had "won" this one. Yes Connie had in a sense "won" this one, but as much as she savored the action just ahead, she was also already looking forward to paying a few penalties herself.
 
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A hair clip and a choker, Molly nodded slowly to herself as Riley got away easy and cursed herself for not having thought of putting on more clothes after having showered. Being barefoot as she was Molly counted how many times she could lose a round based on the clothes she was wearing, three and then she would be in her birthday suit. If at least she had kept her jacket on, or put on socks and her boots but it was a bit late for that now. She therefore decided to go for one item of clothing and one dare. If she was honest she was kind of curious what tone Connie would set for the dares.
"So, do I take of my t-shirt myself or does that fall to the winner of the round?" she asked with a hint of a smile at the idea of Connie removing her pale green, long sleeved t-shirt.
"And after that I'll take a dare rather than lose two thirds of my clothes in the first round."
 
Two different viewpoints among the listeners, however it seemed they all would share a common consequence as the young woman’s tale turned out to be true. The young student had already obeyed the rules of the game, freed herself from the clutch of a hairpin and a neckwear. Apparently, in the first round of the game, everyone would find the opportunity to warm up a little, except the storyteller herself. Given the context of her story however, Connie didn’t really need to warm up anyway. After all, if she had been bold enough to strip for a foreign group, doing the same in front of a much smaller audience in the privacy of a hotel room should have been trivial in comparison for her.

Hearing that little chuckle of the woman, Heather could already guess she was wrong. And soon enough, the stewardess confirmed it, verified how she had actually turned into a little stripper that night. Understandably, the flight attendant looked quite happy about deflecting her challengers. In this case, winning side’s joy didn’t necessarily mean the others’ disappointment. Of course, being right had its charm, but Heather didn’t mind to be proven wrong either in this case. If anything, it amused her really. Full-time stewardess, occasional stripper. A little bird who had been fallen to the seduction of a showgirl, at least once in her travels.

“Alright little bird.” Her inner analogy reflected on Heather’s speech as she stared back at the victorious flight attendant. Ironically, the authenticity of her past undressing also meant that the young woman could keep her clothes, for now. “You’ve won.” She admitted. Carrying a subtle smirk, she slightly shook her head from side to side in a mixture of admiration and ridicule. While the other challenger audibly wondered how she should carry out the deed, the bare part of the game, Heather unassumingly leaned down in her chair. She had been expecting to pay the lobby another visit, mostly to ensure a more comfortable ride back to the airport when it was time, so in a way, she was lucky to have her shoes and socks on, or unlucky depending on one’s point of view.

Unlacing her trainers, the woman take them off in the background. “One.” As the half-messy bun on top of her head would indicate, she had a hair tie that she could have removed. Unwilling to make any compromises on her orderly look though, that little accessory probably was the last item she would take off. Next to that, the earrings and the single bracelet on her left wrist that she couldn’t bother to take off and on every time she took a quick shower, they were most likely to stay on as well, as Heather doubted her companions would oppose to that.

There was already an imminent dare. At the moment, she didn’t want to add another one. Even though her trainers now neatly stood next to each other under the chair, Heather didn’t straightened herself back up. Leaning down still, instead she reached for her ankles. Electing to bare twice, she proceed to roll her socks down. Yes, Molly’s question was still up in the air. But she also doubted Connie would wish to remove her footwear herself. Under such assumption, she took her socks off, tucking them into her shoes. “Two.”

One of her eyes clenched shut with a well-placed smooch on her opposite cheek. It wasn’t a small one either as that pleasant noise rang in her closer ear. Perhaps a consolation prize for losing the challenge, which she didn’t mind having. “Oh, someone’s happy to win the round.”
 
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"Tweet Tweet, Very." came Connie's merry reply, acknowledging Heather's new nickname for her with good grace. "And you did deny me the opportunity to remove your owed items, which, well is not a big thing since I'm not that into feet, but still I think I deserve a little something, don't I?" The stewardess couldn't suppress a chuckle. "And there you are looking so sweet. Besides, won and lost are relative terms. No one really loses in a game of Bull or Bare."

Connie's face warmed a little at the thought of what a mutual win might look like, and she slowly rotated again, first to fix Riley in her gaze, judging them very scrumptious indeed, before focusing on her second challenger - the one who had posed the procedural rule question in the first place. One that Constance had answered but was all to happy to demonstrate again.

"Molly on the other hand..." Connie's lips broke into a smile here, "She's decided to forfeit something that practically demands I exercise my rights as a truthful storyteller." Her gait was slow and measured, a visual reminder of what happened to her in Prague and how she was going to enjoy a bit of that on the giving end now. She reached over to the inestimable Mx Bloom's T-Shirt, grabbed it by the hem and started pulling upwards. She hadn't quite missed the comment about two thirds, but was still pleasantly surprised by the implication as she suddenly found herself face to face, so to speak, with a pair of pert sweet glorious breasts. She deposited the shirt near the center of the field of play, She couldn't quite manage to turn the discarded items into a pile as she would have preferred, but maybe that would come in time.

"Let me just say that I'm definitely liking the way you look, Molly Sweetie. You do seem to enjoy to live dangerously." By doing so, the artist had pretty much committed everyone else to at least the same level of nudity in the future. The die was cast. Connie bent over and showed her appreciation much as she had with Heather, placing a big wet kiss on the other woman's cheek, or intending to anyway.
 
Molly watched Heather take off both sets of footwear, shoes and socks with a little smirk. Somehow she hadn't quite expected her teenage crush to be quite so modest but she also realised that she was the only one who had not thought ahead when she got redressed after the shower. If only she had kept the slippers she wore when going out for a smoke, but Molly was the kind of person who enjoyed being barefoot and rarely wore shoes, or socks for that matter, unless she needed to. When it came to the lack of a bra that was something she had never liked to wear. She mostly found them to be uncomfortable and on the rare occasions she wore one she always kept pulling on the straps. Really the only times she wore a bra relatively regularly was at the gym, but that was a sportsbra without hooks or adjustable straps, basically it was just a tight tank top with a bit extra support, and the reason she wore it to the gym was not really for comfort but to minimise any reason for the guys to stare at her breasts.

It was not that she didn't like people looking at her breasts but that she wanted to choose when to sexualise them, which of course was at times impossible due to the way certain men, especially of the older generations, almost seemed to view any pair of breasts as free to stare at, some even seemed to consider it a compliment rather than just creepy. The same was sadly equally true of asses and to some extent the crotch.

But now, as Connie approached her with that smile still lingering, it was very different. Molly knew that withing moments her breasts would be on full display for the others to see, and she expected them to look, wanted them to look. She could feel goosebumps of excitement spread across her skin as Connie began to slowly pull her t-shirt up and over her breasts. The nipples were stiff, perhaps partly from the slight change in temperature but mostly from excitement. During that brief moment when the sight of her small round breasts could only be seen by Connie she couldn't resist pushing them out a bit towards the seemingly not so innocent air stewardess, perhaps in the hope that they would touch her hands or even her breasts but she had no such luck.

She smiled at Connie's compliment and responded with an insinuative smile and a wink. Then when she realised Connie was leaning in to kiss her on the cheek Molly's smiled widened and at the very last seconds adjusted her head just enough for Connie's lips to make contact with her own. It was obvious to anyone in the room by now that the young Scandinavian artist was quite smitten by the whole situation.

Then as Connie stood back up Molly also stood up and pulled her shoulders back to give Riley and Heather a good view of her breasts before giving Connie a wink.
"And what do you have in mind for my dare, my dear?" she asked, not entirely sure what she hoped for, another kiss perhaps, or a grope, or ... whatever it would be she was excited about actually being the first to both bare a significant part of her physique and to do a dare.
 
Molly's little shift took Connie by surprise, but only in the best of ways. She could feel her toes curl, and since she was wearing a pair of foam flip-flops, it would be pretty evident to the others too, along with her habit of painting her toenails in ten different colors starting at one end of the rainbow and ending at the other. With a flush on her cheek and a smile on her lips, the stewardess confessed, "Well played," to the woman in front of her who had already displayed many talents along with a healthy portion of sweet delectable skin. This was quickly becoming a night to remember.

Between them, Molly and Heather had already ripped through two plans Connie had made. Plan A was to have the two of them kiss, but Heather opted to remove a second item. Not that Connie was complaining. She could do math as well as anyone else, and by her count, within one go-round of the group, she'd be telling her second story in her undies at most, and by the third she'd be bare-ass naked and knee deep in dares. As far as she could tell, the others were on the same schedule. There'd be lots of time to see everyone kiss to her heart's content and then some. Plan B was to kiss Molly herself, but that horse had already left the stable. Again, simple math indicated that this could be very well be the only thing she personally got to take off of the beautiful blonde pixie in front of her, but one never knew exactly what the fates had in store. Still, this was dare number one, and like with the story, this is what would set the tone, so she'd have to make it good.

The brunette slipped off her watch and tossed it at Riley. Accessories be damned, they shouldn't count, and Connie was already chomping at the bit to get to the good stuff coming off. "I'll need you to time us for thirty seconds, Sweetie." She turned again towards Heather, a look of pure confidence on her face. "Watch me now, Tiger Kitten." After all, if Heather got to have a name for her, it was only fair that she get one for Heather as well. Ma'am was simply not going to cut it.

And now it was Molly's turn.

"OK - here's the dare," she began as she sat cross legged in front of the erstwhile challenger. "You get to sit in my lap for thirty seconds and let my hands travel where they may. What you do with that precious time is entirely at your discretion. I trust you'll make it interesting. Honey. Time starts when Riley says go. Riley Sweetie, say when..."
 
Molly sat quietly enjoying the residual taste of Connie's delicious lips on her own. It would have been obvious to anyone watching that face how the cogs turned inside that pretty little head trying to come up with a good dare. An excited smile spread across Molly's face in anticipation of what was to come and even though of course she was aware of the eyes of the other two drawn to her breasts she didn't look at them. For those moments of silence she only had eyes for Connie, seeking out the air hostess' brown eyes with her own pale blues. Then as the dare was announced Molly simply nodded slowly and gently pushed Connie towards her seat until the air hostess had no choice but to sit back down there. She then straddled her lap and without breaking eye contact she asked Riley to announce every ten seconds of the allotted thirty.

She lowered herself down into Connie's lap, adjusting her seat so that her crotch made contact with the air hostess' lower abdomen. She wondered briefly if Connie might be able to feel the heat emanating from Molly's crotch through the three layers of fabric between her own warm and already slightly moist sex and Connie's skin. Leaning in closer to Connie's face her own bared breasts now touching Connie's still covered breasts she gave a nod to Connie that she was ready for whatever was to come. No matter how badly the day had begun it was going to end gloriously, of that Molly was as sure as she had ever been about anything ever before.
 
Riley wasn’t sure where to look with so many things happening. Heather’s pieces removed were small as expected, but when Connie removed Molly’s top, Riley blushed, and averted their gaze. Riley felt pretty stupid, the whole point of the game was for people to look at each other naked, and Riley knew they’d be on display in just a few rounds anyways, but they still had trouble staring blatantly. Finally Molly got up and proudly displayed her beautiful breasts, and Riley decided to look straight on.

This was by no means the first breasts Riley saw, but these were the first breasts of a full adult. Riley loved the size and shape, and found themselves fantasizing about both squeezing those breasts, and having those breasts. The alcohol had really lowered their inhibitions, and Riley just stared with their mouth agape. They felt a small boner return fully to their pants, but paid it no mind this time.

At first, Riley was glad They were right about Connie’s story, but now that Riley saw what the dare was, they wondered if they picked poorly? Would Riley be intertwined with one of them, if they chose bull instead? It was too late for that now, but there would be plenty more rounds ahead. Riley caught the watch, and waited for it to get to the beginning of the Minute, before announcing, “Go!” Riley was over their embarrassment, and wanted to watch the show closely.
 
Connie could feel a soft trickle of sweat work its way down her back as Molly situated herself into her lap. She could hear her heartbeat drumming in her ears as she waited for Riley to begin the count - the anticipation was practically burning through her already. The closeness only fed the situation - from here Connie could feel the warmth of Molly's body, take in her heady scent, feel the softness of those magnificent bare breasts pressing through the fabric of her own blouse, and just so slightly sense the heat from Molly's nethers, and certainly feel that of her own with the moisture there beginning to make itself known. With one kiss, Molly had proven she was able to make Connie want her; now she was pressing on the borders of making Connie need her.

As the start was called, Connie's lips proceeded forward and picked up where they had left off - separated far too soon from Molly's last time's taste, now she could drink until she had her fill. Her lips parted in seconds and her tongue reached out, searching for it's place inside Molly's mouth, practically dancing once it would get in. Her hands wasted little time either, though for at least ten she focused on the contours of Molly's back and the ridges of her spine, and another five to stroke her sides. Her hands would reach the front, even as they competed with Connie's body, desperately pressing in of its own accord. Fingers flickered up Molly's belly, through the divot of her navel, reaching the soft rise of her breasts, gently gliding and perhaps even tickling as they made their way to the areolas and the nipples themselves. She had enough time to take in their shape and their texture, and at the last second give one little tweak with her forefinger and thumb, hopefully just enough to keep Molly going, and yet leave her wanting that much more.

Time ended and with Riley's announcement, lips and body reluctantly parted. "I should have asked for at least a minute," the air hostess pouted, teasing as she sighed, waiting patiently for Molly to allow her to rise. But there was also truth in it - there was so much more that she wanted; so much more to be had. And like Molly, she knew only one thing at this point - the night was promising to be wondrous in ways she was only beginning to realize.

To that end, she endeavored once again to bring the other two back. First, the stewardess walked up to Riley to retrieve her watch, even if it was just going to find its way to an end table anyway. That wasn't really the point. The point was that it gave her the opportunity to bend down after another cheery, "Thanks Sweetie!" and attempt to plant a kiss on their cheek just as she did with Heather and attempted with Molly only to be so delightfully foiled in her attempt. She could have attempted to breach the lip barrier like Molly had, but she'd leave that up to Riley - it would be interesting to see how forcefully the Scandinavian beauty had broken the ice with that.

And that left Heather. As Connie turned to face her, she smiled again. "I think that concludes my turn. I happily admit I enjoyed it. But with that, I yield the hallowed role of Storyteller to the Divine Tiger Kitten of Room 1217, Heather Clemence." The brunette bent deeply with an extravagant wave of her hand in the star's general direction. "So what tale shall you be regaling us with today, Heather?" she asked as she sat back down by the bed. "I am all pins and needles." It wasn't a joke - she truly was excited for what was to come next, and the way that she looked directly at her semi-famous roommate for the night clearly indicated as such.
 
The second their lips touched again, on Riley's command, more or less, it was as if every sensory receptor in Molly's body was turned up to eleven out of ten. Her hips began to move, slowly rocking her crotch back and forth against the lower parts of Connie's abdomen. At the same time she was pressing her breasts into the uniformed brunette's. This way she did not allow much room for the woman whose hands were exploring the naked skin on her back to grope her breasts but, nipples were rubbing against nipples and within the shared breath of the kiss there were soft moans coming from them both. For a moment it was as if they were the only two in the room, two strangers thrown together by chance, into a vortex of lust. It was a sensation Molly was quite familiar with because of her predisposition for becoming enamoured. In love with love, some might explain it, and perhaps that was the simple truth of the matter. She had never truly asked herself why, as with so many other traits of her personality, only concluded once and for all that it was who she was.

And finally, with mere seconds left on the allotted time, there they were, Connie's hands on her breasts. A single exploratory grope for Connie to take in shape, weight and texture of Molly's breasts before leaving her with the pleasant sting of a double nipple tweak that had Molly groaning out loudly with pleasure and then a sigh of disappointment as Connie's lips disengaged from her own. It had been an eternity in thirty seconds but still so far from enough that it was with the utmost reluctance Molly rose to her feet and slowly backed away from the brunette's lap. When she sat back down on the couch her nipples were rock hard and tingling from the tweak and her crotch was almost pulsing with desire.
"At least," Molly agreed.
"But I'm sure we'll have the opportunity for both seconds and thirds before the night is over."
 
Riley enjoyed watching the show in front of them. They’d seen girls make out in front of them before, but Molly and Connie seemed more eager and experienced than anything Riley had witnessed before. As Riley counted each 10 seconds, Riley didn’t want the show to stop. Riley ended up letting them go at it for an extra 2 seconds, hopefully not long enough for anyone to notice.

Riley blushed as Connie kissed her on their cheek. Riley shyly replied, “You’re welcome,” and handed the watch back. Riley then eagerly waited for the next story.
 
Feeling the spotlight on her, appreciating the supposedly curious glances and probably patient souls of her immediate roommates, Heather triggered the second turn of this garment-hating game. “I reckon it wouldn’t be as wild.” Compared to a naked dance in public, her story would be more private and discreet. “Or as amorous, I’m afraid.” Heather added. “A drama, you might say.” Come to think of it, the woman reconsidered the defining theme of her story. “And a crime.” Leaning back, she got comfortable in her seat. “For me? Oh, that would be horror, beyond any doubt. I trust, that would be fitting for a stormy night, for I will be telling you how I died.” She commenced narrating her tale…

It was 1930s, so to speak. A roaring decade of wine and jazz. Colourful in a sense, but also black and white. And crimson red. Definitely a period Heather would have liked to experience, in real life. The production values were honestly splendid, especially given the relatively small budget of the project. The set was almost a time machine. A gateway to a more poetic time frame. At least, the film depicted the era as such. It offered radiance, while omitting the common disputes of the age. The charm of playing the mysterious, it had attracted her the most about accepting the role, and not a particularly handsome payroll. The up-and-coming director she was supposed to work with, he was quite promising as well. At the time, he had already two well-critiqued films under his belt. And, of course, a convincing potential for further success. It was a good investment for her career. Now thinking about it, it hadn’t really paid off as well as it could have. Heather, however, never regretted accepting the role. The story was interesting, the story that involved the good, the bad and the ugly, so to speak.

“No. I haven’t played any of them, if you do wonder,” she claimed, “I played the victim instead.”

Her character’s ulterior motives had never been explained in the film, why she ruined so many lives, what she planned to accomplish. How she could see the future in her dreams, know how the people will die. It didn’t really matter though, as the story was about accepting one’s fate. Instead of being afraid of the future, it was about living the moment. Her character had seen her own death, dreamed about how her blood soaked the bedsheets when she drew her last breath in her conquered bedroom. The killer was not clear however, the images too blurry to be certain. She could guess the suspects though, future culprits of her cold-blooded murder. A rich gentleman, a cruel mobster, and a dirty, penniless brute. Electing to stay at the centre of this dangerous triangle, she slept with them all. Let the wealthy spoil her with expensive gifts, allowed the gangster to drag her around within the unyielding grasp of his hands. Got dirty in the slums in various ways. Beaten quite often, but sometimes held the leash as well. Using the sinful allure of her body, she subtly pulled their strings, made them fight for her in a selfish game of flattery and abuse. She convinced the emotionally vulnerable gentleman that his wife wasn’t the right person. Stole from the mobster to live large. Tested how long she could stay untainted among those who walked lowly streets. It was rather fun.

“Fun to play the seductive, that is.” Heather elaborated. “You may say that they are just actors, paid to be bewitched in the name of following the script. And you’d be right.” She nodded. “But that isn’t the interesting part of the story, you see.”

The set was like a rollercoaster ride for her. Contrasting fantasies to explore. For the sake of filmmaking, of course. Tender, dangerous and kinky; all in the same picture, chasing each other like the adjacent spokes of a wheel. What could have been completed in only a few months had lasted more than half a year. Mostly since the director wanted to shoot the scenes in chronological order. Something that cost time and money, but helped the actors better adopt their fictional identities. There wasn’t any nudity per se, but the themes and implied moments were quite suggestive.

“So, not every one of you might have come of age to watch it at the time.” Without pointing any fingers at anyone, Heather suggested.

Dancing with these men in such a ‘playful’ manner, toying with the varying values they individually possessed; it was a dangerous game. It didn’t feel right, but certainly felt good. It was her last meal however, as the death row inmate of the prison called life. Bitter, sour and sweet, it was a dish of many flavours. Tricking the men with the faux promise of delightfulness, she ended up screwing them all. Only, in different ways. They thought they were using her, but it was really the opposite. One of them lost a fortune, and the weight of his name. Another said goodbye to the little dignity he had. And she cost the last his family. Although not exactly the same, they all had a reason to take her life at the end. Which one would do it though? Who would be first to think she deserved not to draw breath anymore. Whom she had screwed the hardest?

“I believe you all got it right. It was the posh gentleman, alright.” The storyteller revealed what the film actually didn’t.

Only satin silk of her nightgown to clad her birthday suit, she lay across her double bed one night. A loud bang from the front door, and she raced to shut the door of her bedroom. Trapped within the accent walls, she finally understood that was the end. Heavy thuds of her intruder neared, and eventually stopped on the other side. Now, only a weak door stood between her and her mysterious murderer. She was afraid, but also curious and accepting. To look upon the last face of her life, she complied with her fate and opened the door. “Oh… You.” She managed to tell before the camera panned away from her. As the credits rolled, that was the untimely end of her character’s story, and the beginning of Heather’s really.

To stay during the production, the studio had rented a relatively small but stylish flat in the city. The filming finally finished, she was preparing to move out. It was another job done, but there were some lingering questions. Not about what had been shot, but things that had been left to the audience’s imagination. She wondered it too, how such a kindly gentleman might have done it? The kindly actor who played him sported the qualifications of the role in real life as well. It could have been interesting to hear his take on the murder. Before she would move out, Heather initiated an indeed quite interesting discussion about it with him. Back in the day, those dreadful media outlets wrote something about how a certain actress ‘vandalized’ her apartment before her departure. They surely liked exaggerating things, made quite a fuss about a little disorder, some broken furniture and a puddle of shattered glass.

“It wasn’t the whole flat as they wrote it,” Heather alleged, “Only my bedroom.”

In her still orderly place, Heather asked him the question after some small talk and, of course, a couple of drinks. She had just played a wicked seductress, and certainly had what it would take to trigger a tension of sexual nature. All of a sudden, her bedroom began to look awfully similar to the last set of the film. It promised a rather tempting opportunity for method acting. A spontaneous occasion, no carefully crafted script required, only daring ambition. “Dare to show me?” She rubbed the right spot to unmask hidden desires. And he proceeded.

“That was all before my prison term. Needless to say, I was rather bold. Defiant.”

The harsh wall pressed against her back, hands cruder than hers firm around her neck. Some people just had a thing for choking. A hidden kink in a pipe that otherwise conveyed well-mannered waters. He played the part quite well, squeezed her throat with a distinct bulge over his trousers. She was supposed to die on the bed though, paint the sheets with her vital fluid. He perhaps didn’t squeeze her throat that tight, but she kicked him quite hard. Delaying her imminent ‘demise,’ she ran off. Until adamant fingers around her ankle brought her down. Lying with a flattened chest, she could only manage to climb back up with aid of the lean legs of a nearby table. However, not before he did. Only telltale signs of arousal distinguished between real distress and twisted fun. A vigorous chase blazed in her bedroom. On her part, it was really a struggle. She could only run so much though. And soon enough, she succumbed to her stubborn pursuer. Toned arms lifted her up, only to toss her frame onto the bed, where she belonged. By the time he pinned the woman under his weight, his glorified body part almost looked like it was going to pierce through his trousers, all the while she herself felt like her bra was tighter than usual. It must have looked that way as well, as he grasped the hills atop her chest. One of his hands shifted from the brunette’s bust to her neck. Her back arched, her legs aimlessly flailed in the background. Not all of her squirming was in vain though as she managed to sink her teeth into his hand. Abandoning his plans of a clean ‘murder’, he reached for the ornate lamp on the nightstand. Lifting it up above his head, the gentleman-turned-murderer slammed it down.

“Not into my head, obviously.”

Playing dead, her supposedly limp legs fell onto the soft mattress. Her clenched fists now relaxed, Heather lay motionless on the crumpled bed sheets. Lips slightly parted, eyes wide open. Until a cough eventually forced her to drop this private act.

“So, as promised, this is how I died.”

All that talk about her throat, or talking in general, made the woman thirsty. Whether it was true or not, she hoped it was entertaining to listen to. Regardless, that was the end of it, her little story. “Do you have any questions I shall consider?” Heather offered. “I have only one, which you should know.” Whether it was true or not.
 
Riley listened to the story engaged. Unfortunately, they had never seen this movie before, but looking at Molly’s face confirmed that the movie must have happened. It did sound like a good movie, and Riley definitely wanted to see it some other time, even if it had been technically spoiled. Riley started imagining what it would be like to be pinned down like that and be handled so roughly. The question was, did what happen after actually occur?

“Well Heather, unfortunately I have never seen the movie, despite how good it sounds. So I will ask one question, what actor played this gentleman-turned murder? If it wasn’t someone famous, could you describe how he looked? I could definitely see Liam Hemsworth doing this, though maybe that’s because I’d like to imagine Liam Hemsworth doing this. But if you tell me it was Morgan Freeman, I would have to call Bull.”
 
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Aware that her profession as an actress could cause her listeners to be a tad sceptical about her stories, Heather was willing to respond to any question that might be puzzling her young companions’ brilliant minds. And soon enough, one of them stepped forth to satisfy her curiosity. The youngest member of the group, in fact. It was an inquiry about the cast of the aforementioned picture, or an excuse for the owner of the question to mention the appeal of a certain blonde actor. Of course, anyone who browsed through the cast credits could find the questioned name, and hers too in there. Still, Heather didn’t want to reveal said name herself, as it was, or sounded to be, a quite private affair.

‘If it is not someone famous,’ what should have really been an ordinary phrase earned some glares from the woman. An unpleasant stare at that. It was no secret that her career was in a steady decline. In a different hotel, within the walls of another suite, someone else could have been very well making mention of Heather using the same words, not someone quite famous. A concerning thought to empathise with, losing the weight of her name and turning into just a set of descriptions instead. Hair type, hair colour, height, age and chest size.

Fortunately, she knew how to soften the mood she herself disturbed by her sharp glances. “He would have narrated it quite well though.” She claimed, while electing not to share some of the unfortunate allegations why it would have actually made the story more believable if Morgan Freeman was involved. Narrowing her eyes and offering a subtle smirk, she continued. “Oh…So that’s what you’d like? Your own burly hero in bed.” Heather didn’t shy away from making her own little investigation.

“He was a brilliant English actor named James. Leaner, and a couple of inches shorter than your hero.” The storyteller shared some details about the actor she had an affair with. “Blonde hair. As I was at the time.” After a bit of thinking, she elaborated further. “I believe one year younger than me.” One of her forearms idly lying on the armrest, her fingers curled around the rounded corner of the chair. “Capable, I’d say.”
 
Riley noticed the glare of Heather, though Riley couldn’t imagine what they said that caused it. The alcohol made Riley more comfortable around everyone, but they were still a bit uneasy around Heather. She was a bit more intimidating than the rest.

Riley responded to Heather’s quip while blushing from the combination of alcohol and embarrassment, “Depends on my mood. I’m bi, but if I get my choice for men, I do like the Hemsworths.” Riley was admitting to things they never would have sober.

Riley began to imagine the scene Heather described with James Leaner. It seemed slightly surreal, but actresses lived surreal lives in a way. It definitely was an exciting tale, and Riley found themselves smiling at the thought of it. But was it true?

In the end, Riley used their own fear as their tie breaker. Heather had a hard glare on Riley, and they didn’t want their first dare to be from Heather. “I’ll pick Bear.” Riley said, as they stood up, and pulled down their white shorts, resting over their purple tights. Still no skin was revealed, but that would change soon.
 
Molly watched Riley suffer through a number of emotions under the stare of the movie star, it was after all what Heather was even if perhaps her star had been fading considerably since her days as cute but feisty child star on tv. Then again she was still in the business which could not be said for the kid that had played her brother on that show. Part of her hoped that Riley would call bull but it seemed that once again Riley decided to play it safe and chose to remove their shorts. The teen could afford it too since they were by far the one with most clothes on.

Molly on the other hand couldn't afford to be that frivolous with her bares as she only had two more items of clothing to remove. She took her eyes off of Riley and looked at Heather instead. Molly had seen the film when it came out. It had premiered on cinemas in Sweden a week after her fifteenth birthday and she had gone with her twin brother Leo and a cousin of theirs. It was the first timme she had laid eyes on Heather and it had not taken more than a few semi-dressed scenes before she developed a crush on the dark haired beauty, a crush that would last all through her late teens and lead to a quest to find and watch all films and tv shows she had appeared in.

She also remembered the article Heather had referred to about a trashed apartment. She had found it online a few days after having seen the film Heather suggested had played out for real after the shooting was done, at least the part of it that had never been shown. All in all it all sounded a bit too good to be true, just as Connie's story had but that had turned out to be true so there was of course the possibility that Heather's story was true as well. Molly had been around enough creative people in her life to know that many of them sought their thrills outside the general norm and it would not be entirely implausible for the events described to actually have transpired. Yet, there was the issue of the number of clothes she was still wearing and so she decided to risk it.
"I call bull," she said and crossed her arms under her bared breasts while looking Heather straight in the eyes.
 
It was fascinating to observe Riley and Molly as they went through their personal deliberations. Both eventually went the way the stewardess figured they would. Riley took the safe path, bless their little soul, and Connie wasn't above enjoying the show as the shorts came off. She couldn't wait for more to follow. Molly, speaking of getting to naked and the joys thereof, took the bolder route, her eyes daring Heather to come clean.

And that left her. Connie had some figuring to do of her own. She was old enough to have seen the movie, but there were lots of films and this was one she hadn't seen. The craft and the character both synced with what she had learned of the actress so far, but on the other hand, Heather was just the type that would try to make up a story out of whole cloth just for the thrill of it - and to show that she could. So which was it?

In the end, the coin toss would fall in favor of which option would be the more enjoyable. And in this case, the rule would have to be two is better than one. Connie figured that if she was wrong, well she had the clothes to lose, and would cross the strip down or take a dare bridge when she came to it. If she was right - well, then it would be Heather who'd have the same choice, and she could definitely enjoy that as well. So with one hand working through her hair, she gave her answer. "It's a good story, Tiger Kitten. Almost too good to be true. So I'm gonna go out on a limb here and call Bull on you."

With that, she leaned forward with both hands on her chin and awaited the actress's big reveal.
 
When the questions regarding James the mysterious actor—who happened to be a lean guy—was accordingly answered, it apparently helped the youngest member of the group make her decision. Coming from someone who still had plenty to cover her young frame, she certainly could afford the luxury of calling bare and spare herself the whims of an actress in her thirties. “Oh, both of them too, huh?” Heather wagged her brows once as the respective player proceed with the rules of this little game, flashing a pair of purple-clad thighs to the amusement of the other players, which were quick to take shelter below the very pair of shorts they slid down on. The deed was complete, though not without a smile on Riley’s part. It seemed that her glances had a certain level of influence over this one. Using the opportunity, Heather kept them on the girl a little longer. “Ah, you find that amusing?” She questioned the innocent smile her vivid-legged companion seemed to carry, just to ‘torture’ the eighteen-year-old a bit more really. “A gentleman pinning me down and cracking my head with a bloody table lamp?”

Not a question, but a challenge came from the next contender, the one who flashed the most skin. Like usual, an air of assuredness surrounded the topless blonde. The shorthaired artist hardly seemed to mind sharing the size and shape of her bust with her new companions. If she didn’t want to reveal more however, she had admittedly made the only call that had a chance of allowing her to keep the rest of her clothes for a little longer. Funnily, although she had chosen to challenge her story, in a sense, Molly also seemed to be the most likely person in the group who would wrestle a woman to the bed, just like how the man in her little story had apparently done. “Very well.” Heather confirmed the call, while the young woman and her newly bared breasts stared at her. She had no way of knowing which of her newfound roommates watched the film. It was difficult to make objective criticism about a project she had played a part, although those who hadn’t watched it weren’t missing much, other than, of course, seeing her wear some daring dresses and the reddest of lipsticks.

Regarding the authenticity of the story in hand, the flight attendant chose the same path as her topless friend. Rather cheerfully uttered word ‘bull’ once again rang within the walls of the suite as the little bird tweeted her call. Heather suspected the serene hostess didn’t really care if she would win or lose. The obligation of carrying out an older woman’s instructions, or writing a small script for Heather to bring into action; both of the outcomes indeed promised some kind of fun. “Thank you.” The woman offered a courteous nod. While the chirpy stewardess made herself cuter on her seat, presumably in curiosity, the storyteller herself, of course, knew who would be feeling a little colder in a moment.

One way to make any story more appealing was to add a little statement that said ‘based on a true story.’ It tended to appear in the beginning, although the rules dictated that Heather had to attach it to the end instead. Although she must have been the least concerned, her gaze found Riley another time. She was expecting to hear three bulls in this particular round. “Narrow escape.” Heather admitted. Glancing across the room next, “Well, it happened, you see. I did it,” she came to the point. It was a revelation that came with a warning too. “I trust I wouldn’t see it as an item in the respective trivia section.”

A promising artist, and a flight attendant who knew how to dance. She was almost sure the former wouldn’t opt to remove an additional article of clothing to spare herself the trouble of a dare. On the other hand, she was unsure if Connie would mirror what she herself did in the previous turn and elect to undress further. If they were to go with a dare, she didn’t have anything planned for the two really. However, it shouldn’t have been difficult to come up with a task of particular interest to their distinct talents.
 
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