Sore Loser Ch. 01

Ami alternated between glaring at her cards and the smirking man across the table she'd mentally dubbed Hipster Douche, while trying to keep her arms in position to at least conceal her nipples and fighting the urge to run her hands through her short, black hair. She'd heard his real name earlier at the party, but it had been washed away in a tide of self-congratulatory pontification about microbrew beer, underground music, and moustache grooming, leaving Hipster Douche as the only appropriate appellation. She glanced over at her friend Jenny, already completely nude with her cards folded in front of her, her bare breast pressed against the arm of her new boyfriend, Kurt. If Jenny hadn't spent the last month talking about Kurt's huge cock, Ami wouldn't have even suggested Strip Poker in a sad gambit to get a peek for herself. But, after too many beers, she had suggested it, only to find out that Hipster Douche was Kurt's old friend from high school visiting for the week. Now she was left looking at three jacks in nothing but her thong, while Hipster Douche still had his pants on. She'd bet her thong already, but she was pretty sure he was bluffing.

"I'll see your panties and raise you," Hipster Douche finally said.

"Raise? You can't raise; she's all in," Jenny objected.

"She didn't say 'all-in'," he pointed out pedantically, with an insufferable smirk. Ami was more sure than ever he was bluffing, that he was just waiting for her to fold so she'd have to show him her pussy while he gloated about a pair of 2's. Her own imperious pride, and a fair bit of alcohol, egged her on, and before she knew it she was tossing a purely symbolic chip into the pot with a flourish.

"Let's make it interesting: oral." Ami declared. For a moment, the others simply stared in astonishment. "What's the matter, afraid my juices might ruin your mustache?"

"Ok, let's do this. Call." Hipster Douche replied, tossing in a chip. Ami stood up and flipped her cards over victoriously, grinning at the thought of forcing him to service her. But her triumph was short-lived as he flipped over a queen-high straight. For a moment, a stunned silence filled the room. She was caught between her prideful compulsion to honor her bet, and her resentment at the thought of having to suck him off. After a moment's desperate thought of ways to extricate herself from this situation without losing face, she finally sighed and resigned herself to her fate.

As her friends watched in astonishment, she stood and stepped out of her panties, making a deliberate choice to bend towards Hipster Douche as she picked them, denying him a full view of her womanhood while simultaneously flashing Kurt. As she tossed her thong in the pile of clothing she'd previously shed, Hipster Douche stood up and positioned himself far enough from the table to give Jenny and Kurt a good view, then rested his hands on his hips expectantly. Ami walked over to him, giving him a sour look, and then, mustering all of her willpower, knelt. She could hardly believe she was doing this, kneeling in front of this jackass, submitting to him, preparing to service his cock like a cheap whore. He grinned down at her as he unbuttoned his pants, allowing them to drop as his erect shaft sprang free. He was cut and decently sized, not impressive but nothing she could get away with making a joke about to defuse the situation. She examined it for a second, letting the reality of what she was about to do sink in, then began to move to bring her mouth to the right level. She paused long enough to scowl up at him as he smirked down at her, then opened her mouth, but didn't move towards it, allowing him to slide his cock into her mouth.

She could taste his musk and feel the meaty weight of his cock on her tongue as he slid into her mouth with a soft moan. Closing her lips around it, she began to move her head back and forth, licking at it as much to lubricate it as to pleasure him. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jenny and Kurt watching in rapt attention, their gazes transfixed by the sight of their proud friend on her knees before a man she loathed, her lips wrapped around his cock as she serviced him. Hipster Douche moaned again above her, and began to move his hips in concert with her head, sliding his cock deeper into her mouth. She looked up and met his eyes, but her attempt to scowl at him was undermined by his cock thrusting in and out of her mouth, her lips wrapped around is shaft in a permanent "O". As his thrusting began to intensify, she reached up and placed her hands on his hips to attempt to moderate his enthusiasm, or at least prevent any attempt to deep-throat.

Ami's attitude was not improved when she felt his hand rest upon her head. In spite on his moniker, Hipster Douche didn't apply any significant amount of force, certainly not enough to alter the depth to which his cock slid into Ami's mouth. Rather, he applied only a gentle guidance, subtly suggesting modifications of depth or speed, like an expert rider tugging softly at the reins of his horse. But somehow, this made the presence of his hand even more intolerable to Ami. Here she was, with an asshat she would never give a second glance, kneeling before him, sucking his dick, feeling his cock slide along her tongue, filling her mouth with his taste, and now the only aspect of control left to her, the simple mechanics of her degradation, was slipping from her. If he had tried to force it, it would have been somehow better, an excuse to reject his control. But instead, the gentle pressure from his hand was a further reminder that she was doing this of her own choice, compelled only by her need to honor her bet and save face. She had chosen to strip herself bare, chosen to make this bet. She had willingly knelt before him and willingly taken his cock into her mouth. She was servicing his thrusting manhood of her own choice, and now she allowed him to control every subtlety of her submission to his desires.

Ami glanced to the side to find Jenny and Kurt's previous keen interest had given way to active engagement. As they watched the Hipster Douche use her mouth for his pleasure, Kurt's hand moved gently within Jenny's panties, fingering her to her evident rapture. Meanwhile, Jenny was eagerly stroking a massive bulge in the front of Kurt's boxers. Kurt's hand moved slightly and Jenny moaned softly, grinding her hips against him as he slipped a finger inside of her. In spite of their mutual pleasure, neither was able to tear their eyes from Ami as they absorbed every subtle motion and nuance of her reluctant blowjob.

As her attention returned to the insistent thrusting cock in her mouth, she felt it begin to pulse and throb with tension, signaling the impending finale of her task. For a brief moment, a surge of victorious pride filled her; she'd made her bet, paid her debt, and now it was almost done. But the pride was soon chased away by a realization of the salty, musky, bitter consequences to come, and, more saliently, where those consequences would soon be deposited. The idea of allowing this Hipster Douche to squirt his seed into her mouth, of feeling the hot liquid jetting onto her tongue and tasting his juices, almost sent a shudder down her spine. And without a bathroom within easy reach, she would either have to hold his cum in her mouth, allowing the taste to permeate her tongue until she could expel it, or, still worse, she would have to swallow his seed, accepting his load of musky fluid into her belly. But the alternative would be to allow him to finish on her, to spray his cum onto her body, marking her with the proof of her degradation, all in front of her friends. Ami had enough experience to know that the aim of a cock only provided a rough idea of the final trajectory, which, depending upon many factors, could wind up merely spurting onto her belly and thighs, could spray onto her tits, or could paint her face with his cum. Ami wrestled with the choice as she felt Hipster Douche's cock swell and throb with increasing urgency each time she slid it into her mouth, a ticking time bomb of semen and humiliation.

Before she could decide, Ami suddenly felt his cock pull back, leaving her mouth empty. She glanced upwards at him in surprise, then looked straight at his cock just in time to see the first jet arc towards her. The hot liquid landed on her face, and she barely had time to flinch before it was followed by another and another. Jet after jet of cum landed, each with a fresh heat as it covered her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. She only barely had enough time to close her eyes to protect them, and not enough time to close her mouth, allowing the hot liquid to splash onto her tongue and lips. As the shower relented, the smell permeated the air, and she could feel the cooling blobs of semen slipping along her face, dripping off her chin and onto her breasts.

She could only imagine what she must look like, kneeling before the Hipster Douche as his seed covered her face and dripped onto her body, marking her as his prize, staining her skin with the humiliation of her defeat. She could hear Jenny gasp, though she couldn't see whether it was elicited by the spectacle of watching her friend's face be spattered with hipster cum, or if Kurt had simply slid another finger into her. For a while she simply stayed immobile, a sperm-stained statue, a monument to the sticky consequences of ill-timed bets, as she slowly came to terms with what had happened. Finally, she heard the Hipster Douche collapse back into his chair with an audible groan, and Jenny's breathing slowed. Finally, at long last, her friend handed her a towel.

"So, next game?" Kurt asked optimistically.