A Booty Call Backfires - Sex Stories

A Booty Call Backfires

... the math, too. Now I wasn't sure where to go next. “Cold” on the left side of the room and “cold” on the right. How could that be? Christy strode back into the room, a little quicker this time, walking a few steps past me before turning and facing me squarely. The still unzipped coat gaped open. But the sweater she had been wearing earlier was gone. Along with a frontal view of pretty panties, I now was looking at the inner swell of her bra peeking out through the open coat, covering her shapely chest. I sucked in a breath. The appearance of such a lovely, matching, bra-and-panty settled my original question. This had been a set-up all along. Yet I was hungry to see more. By now, I was certain the strutting and the slow striptease were meant to distract me as well. I had to admit it was working. I focused my attention on the book shelves, between the bed and the nightstand on the left side of the room and the dresser on the right. I wondered if she'd make me pick a specific shelf. I decided to guess the entire three-shelf unit and see what the judge's ruling would be. “The bookshelves,” I said. A moment before I spoke, she had pasted on a poker face. The moment after, she still hadn't flinched. She walked toward my right side and slipped her right hand around my upper right arm and squeezed my bicep as she rose up on her toes to whisper in my ear. “Uh-uh,” she said, releasing my arm and walking past me toward the door. “And in case you were wondering,” she added, lowering ...

... her voice to a whisper. “You're still hot. But you're also cold.” “Damn,” I muttered under my breath. She fastened a level gaze on me. I took the hint, reached down and removed the other sock, and handed it to her. She took it and walked out. “Two more guesses. You'd better make them count,” she called over her shoulder. No kidding. I was running out of time. Time to think outside the box. Or maybe inside the box. I noticed a small wastepaper basket on the right side of the dresser. Christy walked back into the room, stopping just inside the door. Leaning back against the door jamb, she shifted her weight to one foot, crossed the other leg in front and put her hand on her hip, striking a sultry, model’s pose. She lowered her eyes and waited. I lowered my eyes as well. Christy still was wearing my coat. But she wasn’t wearing a bra any more. Christy locked her eyes on mine and began a slow, sensuous stroll around me. My eyes, on the other hand fell to the swell of her breasts, pushing out at the front of my coat, jiggling slightly as she sauntered in a circle around me before stopping at the bedroom door. “Well?” she asked. I couldn't take my eyes off her. But I found my voice. “The trash can?” I said, suddenly sounding a little hoarse. Christy was standing about as far away from the trash can as you could stand in her bedroom. This time she didn't move a muscle. But after a moment, she slowly shook her head. “It isn't there,” she said with a smile. “And you’re so cold, you're ...