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“Come on James. Let’s go play something,” my cousin said, grabbing me by the hand and dragging me downstairs. I went with her willingly. Our parents were obnoxiously drunk at that point, and hanging out with them was beginning to feel like babysitting.
It was like this every time our families got together. We’d go over to my aunt and uncle’s for a barbecue, game night, whatever, and within a couple hours our parents would be falling over themselves, talking too loudly and laughing incessantly. Jen and I would usually disappear together when they got too out of hand, and our parents seemed grateful for it.
Jen lead me to her room and I collapsed dramatically onto the bed.
“What you wanna play?” she asked, grabbing the controllers off her dresser.
“Mortal Kombat?” I suggested.
“Really?” she asked. “You know I always kick your ass.”
“Not this time,” I said confidently. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Gonna take a lot more than a little practice to beat me,” she said, handing me the controller and taking a seat at the foot of the bed.
“You’ll see,” I said, scooting down to take a seat next to her.
“Suuuuuuure. Whatever you say.” She flashed me a smile and bumped me with her shoulder. I couldn’t help but grin back. She had a really cute smile.
Jen picked Sonia (she always picked Sonia), and I chose Takeda.
“Let’s do this,” I said in a mock tough-guy voice.
The familiar yell of “Fight!” sounded from the TV and the match began. Jen was right of course. She did always kick my ass. When we were younger we’d play Halo with her big sisters, and even though they were older than me I was by far the best of the group. Jen was always more into fighting games than FPSs though, and with her sisters away at college we played Mortal Kombat pretty much exclusively.
I loved fighting games, so I didn’t complain. The only downside was Jen was so much better at them than I was.
I really had been practicing though. I’d been working shifts at Dairy Queen after school for the last year to pay for my car, and I’d finally managed to scrounge up enough extra dough to get Mortal Kombat XL a couple weeks back. I’d been practicing with Takeda online since then, and had actually gotten pretty damn good.
“Finish her!” the announcer yelled. Down, Forward, Down, Back, Y: Takeda pulled out his whip and used it to cut off Sonya’s arms. He then launched the whip into her mouth, pulled it back out, and in the process pulled her spine out of her face.
It was gross… and awesome.
Jen put the controller in her lap and stared at the screen, mouth agape. I just smirked, waiting for her to say something. Several seconds passed. Finally:
“Bullshit,” she said, just staring at the TV. Even though we were technically “adults” now, I still didn’t like swearing around family; not even Jen. She seemed to feel the same way around everyone else, but never had any problem swearing around me.
“Told ya,” I said, leaning back smugly.
“Again,” she demanded, not looking my way. She picked up the controller and started another round.
I beat her two more times.
“Whatever! You’re just good with Takeda!” she said, pushing me over playfully.
“Like you’re one to talk. I don’t see you picking anyone but Sonia.” I teased, sitting up with a laugh.
“I play Leatherface sometimes!” she said indignantly.
“You never play Leatherface.”
“I so do! Come on. Let’s play again.”
“I dunno…” I said, sounding disinterested. “It’s kind of easy now.”
“Oh shut up,” she said, pushing me again.
“I mean, I did just win three times in a row,” I gloated. “I didn’t even lose a round.”
“Fine. Let’s make it interesting,” she said. “Winner gets sixty seconds.”
“You serious?” I asked her, excited at the thought.
“Deadly,” she said, shooting me her most serious look. “Sixty seconds.”
“Alright, if you think you can handle it,” I said, sitting back up and grabbing the controller. She played fiercely, determined to win. She did better. I lost the second round. Made up for it in the third.
“Dude!” she yelled, throwing her controller onto the bed. “I was so close!”
“Not close enough. Now, you know what you have to do,” I reminded.
“Fine,” she said. “God they’re loud. Can you get the door?”
“Sure thing,” I said, closing the door to the bedroom. Our parents were being noisy, sure, but I knew that was just an excuse. We always closed the door when we played the game.
Jen laid back and spread her arms out to sides of the bed. I pulled out my phone and set a timer for one minute, then set it within reach of her on the nightstand.
I went down to the end of the bed and took a moment to admire her. She looked super cute in a grey shirt and pink pajama pants, and had about an inch of pale white skin showing near her belly button. That’d be my target. I crawled up the bed and sat over her legs.
“Tell me when,” I said.
“Alright,” she said, nervousness evident in her voice. She hit the timer. “When!” istanbul escort
I lifted her shirt a couple of inches, exposing her belly and drawing from her a nervous squeal. I put my fingers on the soft skin of her ribs, let them move gently over her skin for a second, then began tickling her.
She screamed and wiggled beneath me, grasping the bed sheets tightly. I didn’t let up.
I moved from her ribs to her belly, then back to her ribs. I let my fingers explore a bit, tickling her sides and brushing against the bottom of her bra. Her legs kicked beneath me, but I had her pinned down with my ass.
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” she managed to scream out between bouts of laughter. She bucked back and forth beneath my touch but held tight to the bedding, never once trying to stop me.
The rules were clear. For sixty seconds I could do whatever I wanted to her. She wasn’t allowed to stop me, or even to try to stop me, no matter what. We’d played this game at least once at every get-together for the last four months or so, and not once had either of us broken those rules.
I always went straight for tickling. I knew she expected it, but I couldn’t help it. I loved feeling her fight against me and to force shrieks of laughter from her. Maybe it was a fetish of mine? I don’t know, but tickling Jen always did something for me.
I looked over at the timer. Fifteen seconds left. I ran the palm of my hand over her smooth, flat belly, then migrated to her legs. I looked her in the eyes as I pulled them apart. She returned my gaze with exaggerated anger, but I could see a smile about to break through.
I placed my fingertips on her inner thighs, then started tickling again. She shrieked out and wiggled side to side, but didn’t try to kick me off or anything. I allowed my hands to move up higher and higher, tickling closer and closer to her private area.
The alarm shrieked, stopping my fingers about a half-inch from one of the few places I’d never tickled her. She silenced the alarm.
“Jesus,” she panted, her hand on her chest. She sat there for a moment watery-eyed, trying to catch her breath.
“How was that?” I asked, grinning wickedly.
“How do you think?” she asked rhetorically, pulling her shirt down.
“Ready for another go?”
“You know it,” she said, grabbing her controller.
So we started another match, only this time I was distracted (and by distracted, I mean aroused). The game always did that to me. Not Mortal Kombat… the other game.
We’d only started playing a couple months before, and it had been her idea: “Alright, we can play Diablo, but only if I get to do whatever I want to you for sixty seconds. And you can’t stop me for the full minute, no matter what,” she’d said at the time. I wanted to play Diablo 3, so I agreed. I don’t know where she got the idea, but it was super fun. We’d been finding excuses to play ever since.
My cousin was really cute. Hot too, of course, but cute was more fitting. I’d always known she was attractive, but when we were younger it wasn’t really something I paid much attention to. I’d started noticing more as we’d gotten older, but damn if the game hadn’t changed the way I thought of her completely. I loved touching her. I loved being touched by her. I even loved get-togethers with our alcoholic families, since they meant I got to spend more time with her. Whenever we were together it was only a matter of time before one of us suggested the game.
“Well, you know what that means!” she said after the match, rising to her knees and bouncing excitedly on the bed. All I’d been thinking about during the match was our other game, and the memory of Jen squirming beneath me. She’d kicked my ass in no time.
“Yea, yea…” I said, laying back. “Sixty seconds.”
I started the timer and Jen got to work. I wasn’t nearly as ticklish as she was, which meant she usually had to get more creative with her torture. She started by taking off my socks and tickling my feet. When she didn’t get the reaction she’d hoped for, she grabbed her glass of ice water off the dresser.
I sighed. Not this again. She flashed me an evil grin, then grabbed the bottom of my shirt and and lifted it up to my neck. She then proceeded to pour ice cold water on my nipples (she was always doing shit to my nipples), starting with the left, then moving to the right. It was a lot more effective than tickling. I grasped onto the sheets, gritted my teeth and waited for it to be over. As the time ran down she started pouring the water on my belly button. It was still cold, but at least my stomach was a lot less sensitive.
The alarm went off. Jen jumped with shock and accidentally spilled the water all over my lap.
“I’m sorry!” she said, jumping up from the bed. I turned the alarm off.
“Great. It looks like I pissed myself,” I said, admiring the damage.
“Let me get you a towel,” she laughed, heading for the door.
“Hold avcılar escort up,” I said, stopping her. “I don’t think that’s quite gonna cut it. You got anything I can wear?”
“Hmmm, let me check.” She hopped out of the room and came back a minute later with a towel and a pair of pajama pants. “Got these from the laundry room. They’re my dads.”
I eyed the pants skeptically.
“They’re clean.” She said, rolling her eyes.
“They’ll do,” I agreed, grabbing the pants. I used the towel to dry off my chest, then handed it to Jen. “You might want to get the bed.” The sheets had a big wet spot where I’d been sitting.
“Ugh… you really managed to make a mess,” she laughed, drying off the bed.
“Yep,” I said, laughing as well. “All me.”
I went into the bathroom to change out of my wet jeans and boxers. The pajamas she’d brought were a nice, kind of silky black pair with a flap in front held closed with a button, presumably to make pissing more convenient (because as everyone knows, the most important feature in pajamas is pissing convenience). I didn’t have any spare boxers, and I definitely didn’t want to wear a pair of my uncle’s, so I just went without them.
“Looking sharp,” she said, her attention on the TV. She’d started a solo match while I was away.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” I asked her, indignant.
“Um… preparing to kick your ass again?”
“I don’t think so. You soaked me after the timer. You owe me sixty seconds.”
“Those aren’t the rules,” she said.
I responded by just staring at her. She paused the game and turned to face me.
“Those aren’t the rules! We’ve never even had that happen before.”
I stared back, unmoving.
“Ugh… fine! Fine!” she laid back on the bed with a huff. “Gross. I still feel the wet spot.”
“I guess maybe you shouldn’t have spilled all over the bed then?” I set the timer and sat it next to her. “Ready?”
“Yea,” she said, tapping my phone. “Let’s get it over with.”
Time for payback.
“Sit up,” I commanded, and she obeyed. I sat behind her, her back against my chest. I put my hand under her shirt and began tickling her sides again. She immediately began freaking out, as she always did. I became aroused, as usual, which was only made worse with her ass pressed against my boner. The lack of boxers between me and the silky pajamas didn’t help either. I hadn’t been expecting how great this position would be for me, or had even meant to press my penis against her at all, but I didn’t push away.
Jen leaned back into me as I tickled her, her face draped back onto my shoulder. She looked so beautiful, with her pale skin and full, pink lips; her eyes shut tight as she squirmed in my arms. My dick was pressed hard against her, but if she noticed she made no sign.
I checked the timer. Thirty seconds left..
I pushed her forward, reached my hand under her shirt and unsnapped her bra. She looked back at me in surprise.
“Take it off,” I told her. Her expression was suspicious, but she did what I said to, freeing her arms from the bra then pulling it off under her shirt. As she did so I moved out from behind her, then pushed her back down on the bed. I grabbed my own glass of water and stood over her.
“Oh geez,” she said, knowing what was coming. She’d poured water on my nipples, so it was only fair I return the favor. Eighteen seconds left.
As much as I wanted to lift up her shirt as she’d done to me, I wasn’t quite that bold. Not yet anyway. We’d never crossed the line into anything overtly sexual, and stripping her was just a step farther than I was comfortable going right then. Instead I sat over her (a knee on either side of her, my ass over her lap) and began pouring cold water on her left breast.
She gasped the second it hit her. When the left side was good and soaked, I moved to the right. Her shirt had hugged her generously when dry, but wet it left little to the imagination.
“Okay, okay!” she yelled. I stopped pouring, set down the cup and went back to tickling her belly. This time I got a great see-through view of her breasts as she shaked with spasms of laughter.
The timer went off and Jen slapped my phone, shutting it up. I stopped tickling but stayed sitting over her. She opened her eyes and breathed in heavily, relieved the torture was over. Then she looked down at me. I smiled, proud of what I’d put her through, but her attention was clearly someplace… lower.
“Ahem,” she coughed.
“What?” I asked. She stared wide-eyed and pointed at my crotch.
I looked down. My penis had slipped through the front flap of the pajamas, was rock hard and was pointing straight at her.
“Oh shit,” I said, jumping up and scrambling to put my dick away.
“Haha, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before,” she said.
“Yea, well you’ve never seen my prick before either. These stupid pajamas you brought me must have a bad button or something…” I said, embarrassed.
“Oh şirinevler escort whatever,” she said, heading to her closet. “My dad wears them all the time. He still manages to keep his dick in his pants somehow.”
Jen grabbed a new shirt and pulled her wet one over her head. My heart skipped a beat at getting to watch her change, but with her back to me I really couldn’t see anything.
“Alright, you got your payback,” she said, turning to reveal a new t-shirt. She hadn’t replaced the bra. “Mortal Kombat?” She asked, smiling mischievously.
“Mortal Kombat,” I said, trying to get things back to normal.
They weren’t all that normal though, and we mostly played in silence. I don’t know if she was thinking about my dick falling out of my pants, but I certainly was. So once again I was distracted, and once again I lost.
“I thought you’d gotten good at this. What happened?” she laughed.
“Rematch,” I said.
“Na uh. You lost. Sixty seconds.”
“Again?” I asked, genuinely surprised. I thought she might want to stay away from that for a bit, after my awkward reveal earlier.
“Um, yea James. You know the rules,” she said, grabbing the controller from me. “Sixty seconds.”
“Alright, alright…” I said, laying back on the bed. Jen was right about the wet spot. I’d managed to keep the water from spilling everywhere when I soaked her shirt, but the bed was still pretty damp where she’d made the mess. I placed the towel under me and laid back down.
“Now remember, you have to let me do what I want. No matter what,” she said.
“I know,” I said, confused why she was reminding me. “I always do.”
“Be right back,” she said, running out of the room. I just laid there and stared at the ceiling while I waited, struggling to get over my embarrassment. She returned a minute later with a bottle of mustard.
“Oh come on!” I said, sitting up on my elbows. “Why?” She ignored me and instead focused on setting the timer.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Fine,” I sighed, laying back down.
She started by lifting my shirt again and rubbing her nails up and down my chest and stomach. I inhaled sharply. I’m sure it was supposed to tickle, but it felt amazing.
Then she grabbed the mustard.
She squirted some of it on my chest, my nipples, then a bunch in my belly button. I groaned. I hated mustard.
Then she did something unexpected. She pulled my pants down to my thighs, revealing my semi-erect penis. She put it in her hand and gave it a light, if unintentional squeeze. A sound like “hrngngh” escaped my lips, my dick immediately getting hard. No one had ever touched it before, and it felt amazing.
“What… are you… doing?” I managed to get out. She wasn’t stroking it or anything, but it still felt great in her small, cold hand.
Jen ignored me again and picked up the mustard. She then proceeded to cover the head of my cock in the stuff, never letting go of the shaft. I sat up on my elbows to get a better look, watching Jen try her hardest to hold in a laugh.
“Hey! Arms out!” she said, shooting me a mock stern look. “Them’s the rules.” I fell flat and grabbed the sheets.
She picked up the edge of the towel, then cleaned the mustard off my cock (which, again, felt great). Once that was done, she brought her face all the way down to my prick and inspected it closely.
“It kind of smells like a hot dog now,” she said, crinkling her nose. She opened her mouth wide and brought it to the head of my dick, pretending like she was going to suck it. Then she gave a nervous laugh, and instead of putting it in her mouth she moved to the shaft, exposed her teeth, and bit it.
Well, I mean, kinda hard…. It didn’t break the skin or anything, but I sure as hell felt it.
“Ow!” I said, jumping back up, more surprised than in pain.
The timer went off.
“Haha, sorry,” Jen said, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Had to pay you back for my shirt.”
“Pay me back? I only did that because you soaked my pants!” I said, using the towel to wipe the mustard from my chest.
“Oh whatever,” she said with a laugh. “I spilled on accident and you know it.”
So that’s how it was. She was just going to play it off like biting my dick was just a normal part of the game, and not some weird taboo thing she’d just done. I guess my penis falling out was just an invitation for her to mess with it.
“We’ll see who wins next match,” I said, pulling my shirt down.
I took a seat next to her and picked up the controller.
“Actually, maybe you should clean up first…” she said, scrunching her face.
“What do you mean?” I asked, inspecting myself. I’d gotten all the mustard off.
“You smell like mustard. Mustard smells like shit,” she said with a mock professor-like tone. “Therefor, as demonstrated through the transitive property of equality, you, James, smell like shit.”
“And whose fault is that?” I asked, hitting her with the towel.
“Gross!” she laughed. “You’re going to get mustard everywhere.”
God she was cute when she laughed. This was turning into a great night, and I really didn’t want her thinking I smelled bad.
“Alright, alright…” I laughed. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m going to hit the bathroom upstairs while you’re cleaning up,” she said.
“Make sure our parents aren’t dead or anything,” I said. “It’s a little too quiet up there.”
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