Last Man Standing

“Okay, we’re gonna play a game!”

I paused for a second or two, teeth poised not a centimetre away from my slice of pizza. Polly was on her feet by the day bed looking as excitable as a puppy. The other guys glanced at her, then away, getting on with what they were doing. I did the same, ripping into the pizza and chewing while I watched Vince play on the Wii.

“Oh, come on, you guys! I’m bored of all this eating junk and playing Pac-Man shit. I wanna play a real game.”

I rolled my eyes. Why was she being so pushy all of a sudden? She knew we’d play whatever game she wanted, as long as she let us eat first. Polly was nuts, so I know that whatever game she thought up would be a scream. But nothing was getting between me and my three-cheese pizza. It hadn’t ever, and wouldn’t ever.

There was a commotion, but I ignored it, because gooey, tomato saturated bread had just filled my mouth. Molten cheese stretched, snapped and whipped around my chin in a deliciously painful flash burn. Aah, I fucking loved pizza. I’d bitten into my second slice before I realised that the room had gone completely silent.

I looked up and, there on the daybed, sat Polly. I swallowed. Hard.

She was leaning against the metal rails at the back of the bed. Soles of her feet pressed together, one hand between her legs and the other near her face. She had the tip of her finger rested on her lip while she coyly chewed the end of her nail. Her cropped t-shirt had ridden up, just a little, exposing the full undersides of her tits.

Six guys – including me – watched in shock, amazement, quickly escalating arousal as the only vagina owner in our little gang spread her pussy lips wide and started to stroke herself. We watched in silence, seeing her skin darken and swell, her clit slowly creep out from beneath its hood. I saw a slight glossiness appear, then a minute or two later a fuck ton of slippery clear fluid started to spread everywhere her fingers went.

I’d always wondered what Polly would sound like while she masturbated. I’d heard her fucking before, but those screams seemed too theatrical to be real. The sounds she was making now, though. They were deeper, dirtier, more sensual than the fake wails that came from behind her locked bedroom door every other weekend.

Fuck, it was mesmerising. Every time her fingers slipped inside her there was a wet, plunging noise. And the longer she fucked herself, the louder it got until you’d almost believe there was someone taking a bath in the corner.

My cock raged in my pants. I imagined myself getting up, releasing it as I walked toward the daybed, stepping over the others in my hurry to get to Polly. She’d spread her legs wide, reach out to me, draw me to her with warm hands, guide my cock in to her hungry cunt. The sounds she was making were a perfect backdrop to my fantasy, the hiss she made when she forced in four fingers the exact sound a guy would want to hear the first time his cock filled a girl.

But I didn’t as much as move. I told myself it was because Polly had stopped, but I knew that wasn’t it. She hadn’t invited me to fuck her, so I wouldn’t even dare try to.

Her hand was flat against her lips now, hiding that inviting wet hole of hers. She cleared her throat to silence the frustrated moans her halt had elicited from her rapt audience. Once we were quiet, she began to speak.

“Okay, now that I have your attention, this is the game I want to play.”

Her voice was husky and breathless. So different from the falsetto screeches that usually resulted from her sexual encounters.

“I want you all to take off your pants and wank for me.”

More groans. How likely was it that six guys were gonna get their cocks out in front of a girl? We’d all seen each other’s dicks, of course. None of us were particularly shy, but in front of Polly? That was a whole other thing.

She must have tasted the sense of nope on the air, because she cleared her throat again and spoke before we could. “There’s a prize.”

U-oh. Prizes meant there was a competition of some sort, and it didn’t take much to trigger friendly rivalry in our gang. Sure enough, Vince – the most competitive one among us – spoke up.

“What’s the prize, and what do I have to do to win it?”


Polly smiled an evilly sweet smile. She moved her hand, drawing one finger from asshole to clit. With a sharp, wet slap, she covered up again.

“That’s the prize,” she whispered. “I want you all to stroke your cocks for me, and the last one standing gets to do something fun.”

“What?” My voice was nothing but a croak.

“Whoever can watch me fuck myself without blowing their load gets the honour of finishing inside me.”

Nothing happened. Nobody moved, spoke, or even breathed loud enough for anyone else to hear it. Polly looked from man to man, daring us, challenging us. She licked the lips on her face, patted the ones between her legs. The wet slap of skin on skin broke the silence.

All at once, the challenge was accepted.

The six of us scrambled to our feet. Shoes bounced off furniture and off walls. Zippers lowered, buttons popped, and denim shushed down hairy legs. Spitting, gasping, and the sound of six cocks being manipulated by eager hands filled the air.

My eyes were fixed on Polly’s cunt while I jerked the head of my cock. I was laughing while I did it, because for all his bravado, Vince was on his knees, calling us all the bastards as his cock erupted over his t-shirt.

Polly fingered herself slowly, tickled her ass with her little finger.

My heart thundered in my chest at the sight and at the thought of how it would feel to fuck her. I’d never really seen her that way before, but now I did. I had to wonder if she’d crossed a line with this. Introducing sex into our comfortable friendship. But the thought didn’t plague me for long, because another man was down, getting a sympathy back slap from Vince.

As soon as Polly exposed her tits, another was done for. He’d almost had a buddy in defeat, because the sight of her hard, suckable nipples had almost finished me. But I wanked on, feeling the ache in my wrist, and the burn of too heavy breathing in my lungs.

When the wet squelching started up again, I started to worry. It sounded so fucking good, if I closed my eyes and imagined that my hand was making it happen, I knew I’d come. So I looked everywhere but at Polly. I looked at Vince wiping cum off his t-shirt, I looked at the frozen TV screen, the spilled bottle of beer on the floor.

It was a good thing that I did, because I only heard the noise Polly made when she squirted. If I’d seen it happen, it would’ve been game over for me. Just like it was for Trav.

It was just me and Pete, now.

We moved closer to Polly. Side by side, our right arms pumped. We looked at each other, eyes blazing with competitiveness. He was sweatier than me and his face was purple. I had this in the fucking bag! He was going to come, and I was going to sink my cock between those swollen pussy lips and fuck Polly until we both came.

She looked from him to me, still fingering that cunt, still pinching her own tits.

“Put some fucking effort into it,” she half laughed, half moaned.

Pete wanked faster, and so did I. Neither of us wanted to lose, but we didn’t want to look like we were afraid that we might. My shoulder burned with the effort, but I didn’t want to change hands. No way would I show weakness at this stage.

Panting harshly, Polly butterflied her lips again. “Look at it,” she said. “Look at it and imagine your hard, throbbing cock pushing inside. Imagine it tightening around you, pulling you further in, squeezing you because you’re so big and fat you make it come so fast.”

“Shut the fuck up, Polly!” Pete grunted.

“Oh, I’d come so fucking hard for you. You’d be my angel, my God. I’d want you to fuck me again and again, my cunt, my mouth, my ass, so that all my holes know how good you are.”

“NO! No, no, no, FUCK!”

I watched Pete sink to his knees. Watched him press his forehead against the mattress, heard him slam his fists on the metal frame. But that’s all I watched of his little display. I turned away, took a few steps across the room and picked up a slice of pizza. I’d wanted to win, sure, but even though I wasn’t the one making the daybed creak, I was happy enough with my tasty consolation prize.

Week  154

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