Game of Inches
by Jed --  JedVenturer@yahoo.com
Forced entry can be a risky business . . . 


She came shimmying down the ladder and sat on his face. She didn't realize
that's what she was doing, but that's what happened.

And, boy, was she surprised. Fairly shot back up the ladder the instant she
felt his hatchet face in the cleft between her cheeks. Of course, by then it
was a little late; he was right up the there after her, caught her halfway up.
He just wrapped one arm around her legs and kept on going, right up to the
platform of the loft.

After all, it was his loft. His room.

And now, his playmate for the night.

Only a half hour earlier, he had come out of the bathroom, still a little
woozy from too much beer, and had run into Lenny Lee. Lenny was just the man
he needed, since he had been fighting a losing battle all night in his effort
not to succumb to the temptation offered by the Cross-Eyed Blond. He knew she
was up to something - this whole frathouse party was a Predator's Ball, for
pete's sake - but she was just so darned cute, and so darned close, and . . .
and the beer was just flowing, and she kept him topped-off, and it was just
getting hard to use good judgement.

And on a night like tonight, bad judgement could get you killed.

Every time he started following her away from the crowd to a quiet corner
where they could "be alone", he'd catch a glimpse of the Other Two out of the
corner of his eye, keeping parallel with him and the Cross-Eyed Blond, and
he'd sober right up.

These Other Two, now - they looked dangerous. They were a blond and a brunet,
and both of them were tall, long-legged, broad shouldered, and really built.
These girls were killers.

And they were sober. That alone was a tip-off in this context. He figured the
Cross-Eyed Blond was the bait for some kind of trap that would end up with him
on the receiving end of whatever the Other Two were dishing out tonight. So
each time he'd catch sight of them, he'd remember he wanted to stay living and
veer away toward a crowded part of the party, trailing the frustrated but
still very cute blond behind.

But then the Cross-Eyed Blond, looking cuter by the minute, would somehow
materialize another cold beer, and the dance would start again. He knew
eventually he was going to miss those two mean-looking sisters, and follow his
little temptress right into something unpleasant and fatal. He decided it was
time to call it a night; all he had to do was to get away from his unassigned
date for the night.

Now here was Lenny, just hanging out. Lenny was none too bright, but he knew
what he liked. And what Lenny liked was to hug soft things. Squeeze them real
good. Lenny didn't mind if the soft things he squeezed protested, because it
turned out that Lenny liked it when his soft things started out squirming, and
then gradually slowed down . . . and eventually stopped.

Lenny was a useful guy to have around the house, especially on a night when
the beer was flowing and the juice was running high and the sorority girls
were on the hunt. Every Greek house and social club on campus was here in
force, and it was The Night for settling old scores and starting new ones -- a
real Predator's Ball. In some cases, literally.

Lenny, he had suggested, pointing to the Cross-Eyed Blond, I'd like you to go
up to that girl, and introduce yourself, and hug her until she stops bothering
me, or until somebody pounds you into unconsciousness. You get what I mean?

And Lenny had nodded his acquiescence. Lenny would follow directions to the
letter, if you were his buddy.

He had waited outside the bathroom as Lenny had approached the Cross-Eyed
Blond, then listened for the introduction and the tell-tale gasp and struggle
as Lenny pulled her into his suffocating embrace. Then he had made his own
bleary way down the hall, up the stairs, and down another hall to his room
under the eaves. Leaving Lenny to squeeze his soft parcel until her two
assassins arrived to try to rescue her. Silently wishing them luck, he had
retired from the field.

He'd let himself into his room, trying not to disturb any of the other twenty
guys who lived on this floor. He had one of the few private rooms - one of the
perks you got, when you had been around longer than anyone else. His room had
a loft, high up under the ceiling, and underneath it, his desk and dresser,
stereo, and a few milk-crate bookshelves.

And a girl. More specifically, his loft had a girl, which was an unusual
thing, because usually it didn't. She was busy fussing about the corners of
the mattress, and so did not notice him standing by the door.

He sidled over to the corner of the room to watch. It was tough to see what
she was doing up there, exactly - it looked pretty much like she was making
the bed, tucking covers in around the corners and what-not. She sure was busy,
whatever it was.

And she was cute. She had long honey-blond type hair, pulled back in a
pony-tail, which he found irresistible. A midriff baring white sweater and a
short plaid skirt - standard Sister-wear; as in, Greek Sister.

It was hard to gauge, since she was scooting around on his mattress and
couldn't stand up, but she looked just a little smaller than he, with a very
tight, compact and curvy figure. Bare legs - no nylons or stockings - smoothly
muscled and shapely; gymnast's legs. Nice ass and smooth, sleek hips. A flat
stomach that flashed under the hem of her sweater, and pert breasts, not too
big, but firm.

She knelt in the middle of his bed, surveying her work, and she seemed
satisfied. He slid under the edge of the loft, where she couldn't see him, as
she scooted backward toward the ladder.

He looked up as her foot came over the edge and hunted briefly for the top
rung. He'd been right - there was no fat on this girl, she was all tight
muscle, not all bunched like a weightlifter but smooth and sleek and built for
speed. When she got both feet on the top rung he looked right up her skirt,
feeling like fifth grade again. But sometimes, it's good to be fifth grade;
her ass was grade-"A", decades from cellulite, perfectly curved and contoured.

And she was wearing a thong. He liked that.

He couldn't help it: as she came down the ladder, he positioned himself for
the most informal introduction possible. Face up, a beatific grin on his face,
he prepared to say "howdy".

The second of contact between her cheeks and his cheeks was everything he had
hoped it would be. Her skin was, well, soft as a baby's bottom, with nice firm
muscle underneath.

She stiffened at the touch of his face on her ass, which in itself was a nice
experience, then she shot up the ladder again. He followed close behind,
grabbed her around her knees and kept on going up to the top.

And, oh, what a squirmy fighting thing she was, too. She was not real big, but
she was built solid, all smooth muscle packed in tight curves. She was
flexible, too: she turned right around and pummeled him with her fists, even
though he had both arms around her hips from behind. Pulled a Linda Blair,
almost, is what he thought.

The only thing that calmed her down a bit was when she smacked her head
against the ceiling as he topped the last run of the ladder, then smacked the
wall as he drove her onto the platform. The whole thing was little bigger than
a queen-size mattress, with the addition of a few bookshelves made of
two-by-fours.

He landed on top of her legs, one arm still around her thighs (and what
thighs; definitely a high-school and college gymnast or cheerleader - sculpted
thighs, all muscle smoothly flowing under velvety soft skin). She landed with
her face buried in his mattress, her butt high up in the air and her skirt
hiked up around her hips - and that's what cemented the idea in his mind. As
she pulled her skirt back down her legs, he belly- flopped on top of her.

"I'm Percival," he said into her ear. "What's your name - and what are you
doing in my loft?"

"'Percival'?" she said over her shoulder. "What kind of name is 'Percival'?
What do you go by - 'Percy'?"

"Well, yeah, since you ask. And, since we're getting along so well already,"
he continued, liking the feel of her body beneath his and grinding himself
into her wonderfully firm ass, "let's hear your name."

"Delilah. But people call me Dina."

"Now that doesn't make any sense at all."

"Not unless your name is Samson."

"That doesn't make sense either."

"I'm having a little trouble being witty, with your weight on me. Would you
mind getting off me?"

"Actually, yes, I would," he said, running his hands down her arms. "I'm
really very curious about what you were doing up here for so long." He grasped
both her wrists and let his full weight rest on her body, still rhythmically
pressing himself against her.

"Would you believe - just tidying up?" she asked, over her shoulder.

"Not really. Would you be responsible for the two ropes tied to the
four-by-fours at the head of my bed?"

"Maybe . . ."

"And will I find the same if I look behind me?" He looked over his own
shoulder; two more thin chords were wrapped around the supporting pillars at
their feet. "Sure enough," he confirmed quietly.

"What else is there to see?" he asked, lifting himself up on his hands, which
had the really sensuous result of levering his groin down on her outstanding
bottom. She squirmed uncomfortably, which had a galvanic effect on him.

"I see another rope, coming right down the middle of the mattress from the
head. I wonder where it ends . . . " keeping one hand on her wrists, he fished
around under Dina's body, confirming her flat, hard stomach and high, hard
breasts. He also found that the fifth rope ended in a noose, lying beneath
her. He fished the offending noose out from under her body and laid it out on
the mattress, next to them.

"Let's see if I get it," he offered, turning his attention back to the
hard-bodied package beneath him. "You've got four loops at the four corners,
so I'm guessing that's one each for my hands and feet, in a spread-eagle
configuration. "

She nodded.

"Okay, so far, so good; maybe even a little intriguing, if you're to be
personally involved. But what's this fifth one, right down the middle of the
mattress from the direction of the headboard, ending in a noose right about
halfway? About, say, the latitude that, if I were lying on the mattress in a
normal position, my crotch would be . . ."

The light dawned, and she suddenly started looking uncomfortable. She squirmed
again, but this time he could tell it was a trying-to-distract-you squirm,
with lots of hip and cheek action.

"Very nice," he murmured, "but I think I'm on to something, so I want to
concentrate. Let me get this straight -- I fall asleep, and you sneak in here
and tie me down, then put this noose around my family jewels? - was that the
plan?"

"Something like that", she admitted.

"And then what happens? What's at the other end of this rope?"

"Well, there's a series of weights . . ."

"And?"

"And, they're very delicately balanced, and as you struggled - which you
would, I would make sure of that -- they would get knocked off their supports,
adding to the force on the - the noose. . . "

"Oh. And, what's the total weight of all these weights?"

"About 240 pounds - in 10 pound increments."

"Two hundred pounds! What the hell did you think would happen to me with all
that weight concentrated in a noose around my balls?"

"To tell you the truth, we were kind of curious about that ourselves."

He paused for a moment, trying to visualize lying there, helplessly splayed on
the mattress, as the noose around his genitals grew progressively tighter, the
pressure incrementally greater. And the girl, hovering over him, making sure
he moved sufficiently to upset each successive weight. He found himself
growing extremely aroused.

"You're an amazingly evil little girl," he observed, beginning to pull her
hands behind her back. "It's a good thing I came upon you when I did."

"To tell the truth, somebody was supposed to keep you occupied until I was
finished," she said, fighting him.

"Ah - I'm afraid your diversion ran into a diversion of her own." Holding both
of her wrists in one hand, he slipped the fifth noose around her hands,
cinching it tight. Then he tugged on the rope until he felt four distinct tugs
and the rope grew taut; when he released the rope, her hands, bound together,
were pulled up her back toward her shoulder blades. "Let me know if this gets
too uncomfortable," he said.

"It's not my arms I'm worried about."

Getting her feet in the right nooses was fun. Her legs were strong, and
limber; twice she had him in a leg- lock, and each time he was sorely tempted
to let her close down on him, to surrender to her velvety soft, python-strong
stranglehold. Then he remembered the fifth noose, and slipped her hold before
she could consolidate her grip around him. With some regret, he finally
corralled both of her supple limbs in his arms and snugged the nooses around
her shapely ankles. She lay face-down on his bed, her arms being pulled toward
the headposts, her legs spread and feet secured to the foot-posts.

"You're a credit to your gender," he gasped, kneeling between her knees and
preparing himself. Then he leaned over her, his hands on either side of her
head, holding himself off her in pushup position.

"See my hands?" he asked. She turned her head in both directions, noting his
hands.

"Feel a breeze?" he asked. She thought for a moment - a moment only - and then
realized her bottom was cold; the hem of her skirt had been lifted up. And she
could still see both his hands.

"Very clever," she observed, suddenly very interested in working at the bonds
around her wrists. With a soft jerk, another ten-pound weight dropped,
tightening the noose and pulling her arms painfully higher.

"I thought you'd like it." He reached down, unzipping her skirt. From the
corner of her eye she saw it sail over the edge of the loft.

"Nice thong," he said, just barely tracing the cleft between her smooth,
rounded cheeks from between her firm thighs up to the small of her back. And
the entire time, both of his hands were clearly in sight.

He leaned back to admire her, kneeling between her knees, assessing the smooth
curve of her legs, following them from the bunched muscles of her calves, past
her sleekly muscled thighs to her firm and lushly rounded ass.

Even helplessly bound, and in such a vulnerable position, she looked
dangerous. Her body was hard with muscle, smoothly curved and flawless. He
gently ran his hand up the outside of her thigh, along her hip, then lifted
his hand from her flesh, almost reverently.

He picked up a nail scissors from the plywood shelf which served him as a
nightstand. With two labored snips, the thong came free. He had to struggle to
pull it from between her clenched cheeks, but finally it joined the skirt down
below.

He leaned over her again, his skin barely touching hers. He positioned his
member so that it just rested between her delightful buttocks. At his touch,
her breath quickened.

"I'm not going to force myself on you," he said into her ear. She clenched her
cheeks together, tight.

"We have all night," he continued.

"Do you?" she replied. "I'll bet I can stay clenched longer than you can stay
hard."

"That's a bet I'd lose," he admitted, placing his hand on her hip. "But I
didn't say I was going to wait forever; I'm just not going to use force." As
he spoke, his hand slipped along her flank, slid between her body and the
mattress until his fingers found the coarse curly hair between her thighs.
Very gently and deftly, he began to massage her.

She resisted his ministrations for a long time, but finally his touch was too
sure, and an illicit thrill of pleasure coursed up her spine. She shuddered
involuntarily, and in that second she relaxed her buttocks just a bit. Just a
tiny bit - but she felt his organ slip between her smooth cheeks before she
could clench tightly again. He gasped, caught tight in the cleft as she
reacted. "Damn," she muttered; he had tricked her into letting down her guard.
He was inside her defenses - just a little bit - but inside nonetheless. Just
enough so that they both knew he was there.

"This'll be like football," he gasped, struggling to regain his own composure.
"A game of inches."

"Doesn't feel like too many inches to me," she shot back. The pressure of her
buttocks on the very tip of his organ was intense, and he feared for a moment
he wouldn't be able to continue. He wondered if she would even release him,
should he try to back out.

But he knew he wouldn't try to back out. He would sink into her, inch by inch,
accepting whatever opportunities she offered him as they played out their
game.

His hand circled her taut waist, across her flat stomach, and found her
breast. Her nipples were already alert; and when, after a few moment's gentle
attention, she moaned softly, there was again a tiny lessening in her
vigilance, and he slipped more deeply between her cheeks.

The pattern continued. He was pretty good at surprising her in interesting
ways, at getting her heart to beat just a little faster and her whole body to
squirm just a little bit. And then he would claim his tiny increment of her,
pushing himself just a little farther in. And she would clench, declaring to
herself "this far and no farther," and they'd start again.

It took forever; it took a moment. Over and over, he brought her to the point
of insensate pleasure, and gently, patiently, he impaled her in a slow-motion
invasion.

As a cumulative effect of all this stimulation-response-pushing, they were
both revved in no time. Their bodies were slick with sweat, she tense with
vigilant gate-keeping and the effort of trying not to respond to his advances
on her. And the sweatier they got, the easier he found it to sink into her as
she gave up her moments of inattention.

"This is rape, you know," she gasped at one point, as he teased his way slowly
into her.

"True," he replied, gently and expertly massaging her solid shoulders. "What
do you suppose you would have called it had you successfully inserted me into
your de-balling mechanism?"

She shuddered once as a thrill ran down her spine, and he slipped an
eighth-inch further in. "Poetic justice," she answered, tensing up again.

Finally, the moment they both dreaded arrived. She could feel him inside her,
and knew he had won. He was gloriously surrounded by her, his groin hard
against her beautiful, firm ass; the battle was over. They were both drenched
in sweat, both were breathing heavily.

"Time to finish this," he thought. He leaned over her back, noticing that
somehow she seemed, well, "bigger" than before. "I'm going to untie your
hands," he said into her ear. "The rest is just wriggling."

As he leaned over her, freeing her hands and enjoying the feeling of her taut
and muscular body around his joyfully entrapped member, his balls pressed
against her ass. He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes and shuddered with
rapture.

And as he luxuriated in her, she lifted her hips, separating her cheeks just
enough to catch his testicles between them. She looked over her shoulder at
him, smiling; he had no idea.

Then she arched her back, driving her hips into the mattress and clenching
harder than she had clenched before. He felt the pressure first around the
shaft of his organ, rippling from the very tip, deep within her, up toward his
body, right up to . . . he gasped, too late.

His testicles whimpered, then screamed as the velvety smooth walls of her
buttocks closed completely around them, pressing them, flattening them,
grinding them. He lurched forward over her back, struggling not to vomit as
she slowly twisted her hips, tensing the muscles of her back, her legs,
concentrating all the power of her solid body on the smoothly curved cheeks
which now ground his manhood to flattened pulp.

He clenched his teeth; sweat poured off of him. His limbs were suddenly weak
and he collapsed onto her back. Oddly, his head only reached now to the back
of her neck - but he took only passing notice as she ground him down.

Finally she stopped grinding herself around him. He lay still on her back, his
face pressed between her shoulder blades. And then she started "chewing".

She lifted her hips, lifting him with her, and when she came back down onto
the mattress, his hips were between her cheeks. He slipped down her back as
she pulled him in, clamping down on him with an iron grip. He felt his pelvic
bones bow, bending to the breaking point, caught between two powerful walls of
smooth muscle, grinding sensuously around him.

Her back was broad, broader than he remembered, broader than only moments ago,
as she lifted again, grasping him between her buttocks, clenching, and pulling
him down more deeply between them. He felt her around his waist, and as he
scrambled for a hand-hold to pull himself out from between her suddenly deadly
cheeks, he found he couldn't stretch his arms across her back; couldn't get
purchase on her smooth, taut skin; couldn't keep himself from sliding down her
back, between the crushing globes of firm muscle that now actively clenched
and unclenched, grasping his body, pulling him more deeply between them.

"Bereft in her cleft," he thought inanely, scrabbling futilely to escape being
pulled down into the deadly maw.

She smiled over her shoulder at him, a satisfied and possessive expression on
her face. "Isn't this where you wanted to be?" she asked innocently.

"Am I shrinking? Or are you -" he gasped, as her buttocks clamped around his
chest; now only his shoulders and head were free of her grip. He looked across
the broad expanse of her back, a smoothly rippling plain, and her buttocks
were mandibles, jaws, pursing and relaxing, rhythmically swallowing him.

"Does it matter? Isn't it only a game of inches?" she asked, lifting her hips
one last time, feeling him squirm satisfyingly between her cheeks, then
slowly, luxuriously, pressing herself around him. . .

He was lifted up, with nothing to hold on to, no edges to grab, just the
wonderfully smooth curves of Dina's truly killer ass. He slipped between the
warm, curved walls, feeling against his body as her muscles tightened around
him, pressing her flesh against him from both sides, rippling up from his
feet, trapping his legs, encasing his entire body, finally closing over his
head, encapsulating him in darkness. He felt a swaying sensation - "she's
twisting her hips," he thought - and then the pressure on his entire body grew
as she clenched her ass around him for the last time. The pressure crushed the
air from his lungs, but there was no place for the air to go; he gagged as his
organs were pulped and forced up his windpipe, but there was no place for the
bile to go; in the instant that he ceased to exist all pain ended and he
experienced the most intense climax he had ever had, and he smiled. But of
course there was no place for him to come to. Or to go to.

"Now this is what I call getting inside a girl," he thought with his last few
tortured neurons, until they too were pressed into nothing.

After a little while, Dina rolled over and loosened the nooses from her
ankles. She looked around the mattress, but found no sign of her recent date;
not even a stain. Finally she climbed down, retrieved her skirt, and rejoined
the party.

She found Chesney, looking a little more disheveled than usual, talking to a
nondescript young man near the bar. Near the bar was where she wanted to be
right now anyway.

"How did it go?" Chesney asked her as she helped herself to the hard stuff.

She shrugged. "Definitely not the way I expected. Things did end up the way we
intended, though. We just took a roundabout way of getting there. It was
certainly -- interesting."

"I'll say," chimed in Chesney's boy-toy.

Chesney turned her cross-eyed gaze on him with a stern look. "You don't even
know what we're talking about, Jed; now just hush up."

"Well, shut my mouth," he said mildly, looking away innocently. Then he
sighed, looking forlornly into his now-empty drink glass. "Oh, well . . . life
is just a game of inches, after all."

"Drink?" he said hopefully, thrusting his glass at a startled and bemused
Dina. "Whatever you're having. With ice.

"Crushed."