“Hmm, that smells delicious!” Marcie announced as she strode through the living room. Ben put the spoon he’d been stirring the gravy with down and reached out his arms to catch her embrace. She gave him a firm wet kiss, then clung to him as he buried his nose in her hair, breathing in the scent of the chill night air as well as the deeply reassuring fragrance of her familiar tangy perfume and her clean femininity. They stood there, simply holding each other tight, Ben thinking that maybe Marcie too felt the simple yet profound satisfaction that throbbed through him, just to be pressed close to her again.

It was Marcie who pushed away first, saying, “I’m starving! Is it ready?” Ben assured her that it was. He asked her to pour the wine and some glasses of water. Marcie checked that he intended to serve it at the table and that he’d got a mat ready for the hot dish. As he got the pie out of the oven, she remarked, “It’s a monster!” Ben agreed, perhaps immodestly, as he saw that it was still bubbling, some filling oozing out over the sides onto the tray that he’d intentionally used to catch drips. He carried it through and plonked it down on the dining table, then put the cabbage in the bowl to be served too while Marcie got the drinks, finishing off the wine they’d opened on Wednesday.

As they sat down, Ben asked if the old wine was okay as he began dishing up, reminding her there was a new bottle in the fridge too. He watched Marcie’s distant look of concentration as her nose flared to sniff it, then saw her wide eyes catch his as she took a cautious sip, before she smiled and declared it was fine. So he clinked his glass to hers, both toasting, “Saħħa!”

“That reminds me,” Ben said, warily taking his first piping hot forkful, “Your Nanna phoned.”

Marcie had her hand to her mouth as she coped with her own scalding mouthful, waving it about urgently before she managed to say, “Oh, she’s naughty! She knew I was out at work. She must have deliberately tried to catch you. Did you talk? Hmm, and this is great, by the way. Thank you. It’s lovely to come home to a proper meal.”

“No problem,” Ben said by way of acknowledging her appreciation, before trying to describe the call, “We did talk briefly. She asked about my health, and I explained that I was getting better, thanks to you. Or I tried to at least. Her English didn’t seem very strong. She wanted us to go to Malta too, so I could meet her, I think.”

“Oh, she is a wind-up!” Marcie said indignantly, “Her English is very good. She’s been speaking it since she was a girl, learning it at school I’m sure, then practising it by flirting with all those soldiers and sailors in the war. I bet she was just seeing how you’d react if she put on the daft old woman routine. I’ll have some serious words with her!”

“Don’t worry,” Ben reassured her, “It was fine really. It was nice to make the connection. And I would like to meet her, to visit Malta, with you, if that’s okay.”

“Of course!” Marcie said, “It’s lovely to think you’re planning ahead like that. I got a bit bored of the same old family holidays there, so I’ve not been myself for years, but it would be very different going back now, with you.”

“Like a proper couple, right?”

“Right, but I don’t want to encourage Nanna, after what we were talking about before. She’d be tying a white ribbon to her front door before you know it.”

“Is that a wedding thing then, for Malta?” Ben asked, still feeling this was a dangerous topic so early in their relationship. Yet it was also as if, in some meta way, he didn’t want Marcie to worry that he was suspicious of her for thinking that far ahead, even if the truth was that they were indeed both beginning to see their relationship as a possible life partnership.

“Yes, for entertaining the guests before the ceremony, when well-wishers stuff money under their plates for the happy couple’s nest building,” she blithely replied, as if it were fine to talk of marriage in a generic way, which set Ben’s mind at rest somewhat.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said carefully.

“Hey, don’t start thinking about going along with her plans,” Marcie told him strictly, “You’ve seen what a sly old bird she is now.”

Ben remembered Marcie’s anxiety about her Nanna’s prayers to supernatural forces, but he’d been reminded of another thing that had been on his mind. “Erm, thinking of scheming women,” Ben began after a thoughtful pause, “I read some more of your Narnia book, about the witch.”

“Oh, her! For a moment there I thought you’d spotted my schemes,” Marcie laughed, seemingly with some genuine relief behind her joke.

“Well, I’m sorry I compared you to her. She’s a nasty character really, isn’t she?”

“Hey, we talked about this, remember?” Marcie reassured him, “Lewis had issues with women. He probably wrote all his fears and anxieties about strong women into her, blending them into a character that has heavy dollops of Pontious Pilot and the Devil too. If there were ever a real person who the White Witch was based on, she could probably sue for slander. Your version was much better, making her the magical winter queen, the fertile goddess keeping the dormant world safe while she waits for the warmth of her summer king.”

“So you’re still up for it, playing the witchy queen for me, goddess for our own secret Narnia?”

“If that’s how you see me, Ben, and if that means you’re still my big strong lion, proud and virile.”

“I’ll try,” Ben vowed, taking her hand to squeeze it affectionately, even as he took his last forkful and eyed up what was left in the dish. He asked, “Did you want any more?”

“No, I’m filling up. Finish it if you can. You do have a big appetite, don’t you?” Marcie remarked, smiling as she released his hand, then asking, “But do you remember what the queen wore, if you’ve just read that bit?”

Ben thought as he helped himself to the rest of the food, then said, “Was it a polar bear skin, or was that her dwarf? Just white fur maybe, and she held a golden wand, I think.”

“Ha! I bet it was arctic fox,” she said, then dropped her chin to look up at Ben with a playfully bashful expression, “But I’m sorry, I’ve nothing like that to wear for you.”

“Well, I’ve not got a lion costume either,” Ben admitted, smiling, then exclaiming as it dawned on him, “But don’t you see? Vixen and Roddie are both right there, in the sledge, when the queen tucks her furs around Edmund, gripping the wand. It really is an intimate seduction, Lewis’s guilty fantasy.”

“You’re right again, Ben! You’re absolutely spot on,” Marcie agreed enthusiastically, “But that’s not that way it is with us. No one’s been seduced or manipulated or coerced, right? And we’ve got no need to feel guilty about our natural and healthy sexuality, when I hold your proud wand or you snuggle up in my private fur. We know it’s a magical force, a loving source of energy that we can indulge together, celebrating our intimate communion with enthusiasm, or simply enjoying the moments of pleasure it brings. So you’re not Edmund,” she said, but then paused for a moment as if a thought had occurred to her, before correcting herself, “Or then again, maybe you are, but the way he is later, redeemed, fighting courageously with his sword in his hand, and then a king of Narnia himself. I guess the story is really about him as much as it is about Aslan or Lucy or any of the others.”

“I’ll have to keep reading, then,” Ben realised as he put his fork down and took a slurp of wine.

Marcie earnestly encouraged him to do that, then suggested they tidy up before refilling their glasses. As she helped to stack things in the sink, she asked, “So, you’ve been reading, you’ve spoken to my Nanna, and you’ve been doing some fantastic cooking. Have you had time for anything else?”

Ben admitted he’d tidied away most of his things that they’d brought over from his old flat, though there were still piles of stuff in the spare room. He also mentioned his sketched ideas for the backyard that weren’t proper mind maps, which Marcie wanted to see straight away. He got his sketchbook out, showed her the plan of the backyard and his aborted network of words, then he turned to the page with the tree trunk in the middle, surrounded by sketches of leaves and blossoms as well as keywords, with the walls of the backyard rising in the spaces between.

She immediately leapt to the wrong conclusion about what he’d been trying to draw, saying, “Oh, so you thought of putting a cut-up tree in the yard for the boys to climb on?”

“No, I’d not thought that at all,” Ben said honestly, reappraising the jumbled images and words again. He realised straight away that her idea had been spot on for bringing his thoughts together though, saying, “But that’s a brilliant idea. We’ve laid out felled trees for kids to scramble on before, at Cragside I’m thinking. From before, for the Trust I mean. I don’t know how I’d get one here though. Getting a small truck with a loader arm, squeezing it down the back alley, that wouldn’t be a problem. But I’m not sure about sourcing a nice thick tree trunk now. I used to chop up, erm, maybe one a month? But now, I just don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Marcie reassured him, squeezing his hand as he held the book open, “I was just letting my mouth run away with itself again. The last thing I want is to give you worries. But I think this stuff, these sketches and ideas, they’re really great and I’m really impressed. On, I’m sorry, that sounds patronising, doesn’t it? But I really mean it. I don’t know if it is a mind map or just art, or maybe it’s a landscape design within the severe constraints of our tiny space, but it’s really creative and exciting. You’ve got a real talent for drawing the details on these plants, honestly. I hope you can keep on experimenting with your imagination and with ideas like this, really!” she laughed lightly.

“Aye, well I’m not sure myself, about what I’m trying to do, but I can keep playing,” Ben admitted shyly.

He put the book away, then they went back into the kitchen to finish tidying up. As Marcie began running a bowl of washing up water, she remarked that he’d obviously been very busy while she was out. That reminded Ben of the other small tasks he’d done, including one for her, so he mentioned, “Erm, I also hung the washing in the bedroom, on the airer, when the machine finished. And I polished your boots for you too, in a bit of spare time.”

“Did you really?” she asked as if challenging him, her hands submerged in soapy water while he stood beside her, meekly starting the drying up. She gave him a critical look with a sly smile on her lips, “I guess in your fertile imagination you were hoping I’d be good to my word, to wear them with a basque for you.”

“No,” Ben protested, “I was just trying to be useful.”

“I’m sure you were,” Marcie said sceptically, chuckling as she flicked some foam at him.

“Anyway, you’ve not told me what you’ve been up to,” Ben said, deliberately trying to change the subject as he felt the heat of embarrassment flush his cheeks.

“Oh, there was nothing much going on,” Marcie said dismissively as she scrubbed at the burnt-on deposits left on the baking dish, “I catalogued some new arrivals, shelved some returns and scowled at some students. Hey, but there was something important,” she seemed to remember, “I phoned my car insurance people. You’re a named driver now, so it’s all legal if you want to borrow my car.”

“Wow, thanks Marcie,” Ben said, genuinely grateful for the trust and commitment she’d demonstrated by doing that, adding, “That’s really kind.”

“No problem,” she replied, smiling as if to herself as she drained the water away, “It’s part of the deal, isn’t it? We’re a team now. I’m sure you’ll keep safe when you’re driving. You know how important that is now, don’t you?”

“Aye, well, thank you, again,” Ben said humbly as she grabbed a corner of his tea-towel to dry her hands.

“And thank you for polishing my boots. Do you want to show me how they look now?”

Ben put the dried dish away and hung up the tea-towel before ushering Marcie back into the living room to point them out, tucked down beside the sofa. She dutifully admired them, then said, “If you like, I could wear them now, to try out a bit of playful dressing-up too. You could open the new bottle to refill our glasses, if you’re up for that, and put a new CD on too, maybe something more chilled than PJ Harvey. Do you like Goldfrapp?”

Ben agreed to all that, still not sure what she had in mind as she left for the bedroom with her boots. He went to the kitchen to get the wine, returning their recharged glasses to the table, then found the CD, replacing his previous careless choice, which had finished a while ago. He thought to light a joss stick too, but when he realised the holder was still in the bedroom, he improvised with a rubber from his pencil case.

He was still fiddling with this, trying to balance it so the ash would fall onto one of Marcie’s larger bookmark-flyers, when he heard her say, “What do you think?” behind him.

He turned to see her transformed, no longer in her plain work trousers and blouse, but wearing a short dark sleeveless dress with a floral pattern. This had a modest scooped neck and a long line of buttons down the front. He noticed it was very tight across her bust, though its loose cotton pleats flared out over her hips. She gave a little turn in the doorway, so he could see how it was laced down the back. His eyes were also drawn to her legs, with some kind of fishnet tights covering her thighs and knees between her hemline and the soft black leather of her boots rising up her calves. He’d also noted the silver chain around her neck, and wondered if she was wearing her cross or his hammer on it, hidden beneath her dress.

“You look amazing!” Ben said, trying to compose himself.

“I’ve had this little skater dress for years, but I’m not sure I’d wear it out now. I’m a bit bigger in the bosom department than I was, and I’m not so sure about showing off so much of my chunky thighs in public.”

“You look great,” Ben said, aware that he was lamely repeating himself.

“Well, this was just the start of my idea,” she began hesitantly explaining as she sat down on the sofa, giving Ben a cheekily twinkling smile as she patted the space next to her for him to sit down. “Also, I’ve not released my hair yet,” she went on, holding up her hand to wave the hairbrush that she’d brought from the bedroom, “I thought I could brush it out while I explained my plan.”

She reached across for her glass as Ben carefully put his hand on her knee, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the mesh of her tights. He tentatively asked what she meant.

Sitting up straight, she cleared her throat, then took another sip of wine, as if trying to find the courage to put her thoughts into words. Then she put the glass aside, dropped the hairbrush, and clasped both Ben’s hands in hers. “Okay, here’s what it is. You’d said you wanted to watch me getting undressed, and you seemed to have fun helping me with that in the bathroom last night. So I thought we could try making a game of it, with cards, like a striptease forfeit game.”

“You mean strip poker?” Ben said in surprise, but he knew his irrepressible grin was giving away his excitement at the thought of Marcie’s suggestion.

“Well, maybe not poker. That doesn’t work so well with just two,” Marcie said, dropping his hands to take a sip from her wine again. Ben left one hand gently resting on her knee as he reached for his own glass while she picked up her hairbrush and raised her hands to remove her hairpins, explaining, “Do you know Pontoon or Vingt-et-un, where the players stick or draw to try and make twenty-one, or at least beat the banker?”

“Like Blackjack?” Ben asked.

“Yes, that’s the US version, isn’t it? Though there’s a completely different game that’s also called Black Jack which is like Uno, isn’t there? Shall I explain how I was thinking our variant might go?” Ben eagerly agreed, so she went on as she idly brushed her hair out, transforming it into what he thought of as the now familiar yet still excitingly exotic dark halo of soft curls, “One of us would be the player, the other the banker. We both get two cards, then the player shows their hand. They can ask the banker for more cards, one at a time, and that’s called twisting. They just add up the points, with court cards all being worth ten and aces being either one or eleven. Twenty-one is the perfect score, and if they have one ace and one court card to start with, that’s a pontoon, which can’t be beaten. If their cards are over twenty-one, though, they’ve gone bust and they’ve automatically lost. If they manage to get five cards without going bust, that’s a special case, which can only be beaten by a pontoon. They can stick rather than twist, as long as they’ve got at least fifteen points, and then it’s the dealer’s turn. The dealer turns over their cards, then tries to match or beat the player’s score, but they can go bust as well of course. Are you with me so far?”

“Aye,” Ben confirmed, saying, “I think I remember playing this, just as a kid, not taking our clothes off.”

“Good,” Marcie said, putting her hairbrush down and picking her glass up again, laying her free hand on Ben’s wrist as she leaned back and went on, “So here’s my idea for how that bit works. If the player loses, they become the banker, but if the banker loses, they have to take off a piece of clothing.”

“Right, so the banker changes?” Ben asked, idly playing his fingers up Marcie’s bare arm now.

“Yes, quite often, I think, because there’s an advantage to being the banker and going last once you’ve seen the player’s score, especially if they’ve gone bust,” Marcie explained.

“And what happens if we both go bust?” Ben asked.

“It’s a draw, just like if we both get a pontoon, or five card trick, or the banker chooses to stick on the same score as the player’s. Nothing happens then. The banker stays the same, and no one takes anything off,” Marcie explained. Then she drew a deep breath and smiled anxiously at Ben as she asked, “So do you think you’re up for it?”

“Aye, definitely,” Ben agreed, grinning again, “Can we play here, on the sofa, with the cards between us? And have you already planned a way to cheat?”

“How do you mean?” Marcie asked, eyeing him suspiciously as she set her wine aside and rose to her feet, before moving to the bookcase where he guessed she kept a pack of cards.

“Well I’m in, what, jeans, t-shirt, socks and pants, and I guess socks count as one thing. But how many layers have you got under there?”

“What a thing to ask a lady!” Marcie teased, crashing back down on the sofa with a small box of plain playing cards clutched in her fist. But then she seemed to concentrate, counting things off on her fingers, before saying, “I’m only one ahead of you, I think. You can count your belt as one too, if you like, and your necklace, if you’re wearing it.”

“Aye, but you’ve got a necklace too,” Ben argued.

“Well, we’ll just have to see how we go then, won’t we?” Marcie said primly, shuffling the cards dextrously, then asking, “Do you want to be the banker first?”

“Okay,” Ben agreed as she dealt out the cards and handed the deck over to him. She turned over a four and a ten, then as he twisted her a six, he realised he was in trouble. He was briefly hopeful when he turned over a queen and a three, but then a ten ruined it for him. He removed his socks, confirmed that used cards went to the bottom of the pack, then dealt their next hand.

By beating Marcie in their second round he made her banker, and he wondered for a moment if she’d have to remove her boots or her dress already. But then she beat him, and he found himself holding the deck again. As he lost, he actually felt quite glad to be taking his t-shirt off, as if he was really abandoning himself to the game whilst Marcie was still fully dressed. He was aware that his heart was already beating a little faster, and his armpits felt a little damp in his nervous anticipation, but he wasn’t sure that he was truly sexually aroused yet.

That changed as Marcie lost to him, and then lost again as the banker. She sighed as she picked up his winning pair and her busted collection of four cards to put to the bottom of the pack. Then she set the deck aside and, placing a hand firmly on his thigh to push herself up, she rose to her feet before him.

“Would you like to help me unzip this?” she asked, raising her elbows above her head and standing so that he could see the zip that ran from beneath her armpit. Ben was a little disappointed that the dress didn’t come off by either unbuttoning its front or unlacing its back, but his hands were still trembling a little with anticipation as he placed one against the cotton fabric that covered her side and grasped the zip firmly between the thumb and forefinger of the other.

He tugged the zip down, finding that its movement became easier once he’d overcome the initial resistance. He realised the fabric must have been very tight around Marcie’s chest, even straining the stitching. Then as the parting opened, he could see the thick band of the same ivory bra that he’d glimpsed her wearing that afternoon, and below that the matching lace trim of her knickers’ high waist. Yet he was surprised not to see any sign of her fishnet tights, seeing only her bare skin, its rich tone significantly darker than her pale underwear. He caught himself inhaling deeply through his nostrils as she reached her arms over her head to grasp both sides of the dress and lift it. And then he saw that she was actually wearing hold-up stockings, not tights at all, as she revealed their tops, the thick black lace-trimmed bands snug around her well-toned thighs, ending less than a hand’s width below her knickers.

He realised too why he’d perhaps unconsciously inhaled so deeply as he caught the fragrances of her body as her raised dress moved the air. He could smell the woody spiced citrus of her perfume, the soap and deodorant of her washed skin too he thought, as well as the clean but slightly fusty cotton of the dress itself, which had perhaps been languishing in the wardrobe for quite a while. But he had also noticed the more intimate and arousing scent of her body itself, in the healthy and energetic odour of her fresh sweat. He guessed that even though she’d showered at the gym, she’d been working hard to walk to and from her library, and perhaps she’d been active there too. The meal may have warmed her, and she may be feeling some of the same eager anticipation that he did in playing this game, as he was aware this had made his own armpits slick, even whilst he sat undressed from the waist up.

But his senses were also filled by the sight of Marcie’s body before him, still in her high black boots, with her fishnet stockings rising from them over her knees and thick thighs, yet in contrast, her torso seemed almost naked. Whilst her knickers sat high her hips, the rise of her pubic mound beneath her bellybutton was clear, and though her stomach was toned, Ben could still see her mole-flecked skin bulge out slightly beneath her ribs. Of course his eyes were drawn to the far more eye-catching curve of her breast though, still in profile, hanging heavily in the deep satin cup of her bra.

Then Marcie turned before him, dropping her dress to the floor and squeezing her knees between his as she deliberately stuck her chest out towards his face. Ben felt his hidden arousal come on solidly as his gaze took her in, from the teasingly vampish boots and stockings, pressing against his thighs through his jeans, to the much more practical soft triangle of her knickers, their creased narrow satin covering her precious Vixen, and then up to her breasts. Though they too were hidden in the ivory satin, with the broad lace trim across the top of the cups diving into her deep cleavage, Ben was acutely aware of their full round volume hanging towards him, and eagerly imagined where her hidden nipples might be. And nestled between her breasts against her warm tinted skin was the familiar nugget of silver, his old treasured Nordic hammer, hanging low on the long snaky chain that she’d briefly shown him yesterday evening.

Ben looked up to Marcie’s wide smiling lips and her twinkling eyes, gazing down at him intently through her intellectual glasses. He saw her face surrounded by her nimbus of deeply dark brown hair, the dim lamplight reflecting off the orange wall and golden poster behind her, framing her in warm radiance and perhaps the spirit of those eternal lovers too. As he reverentially laid his fingertips on the bare skin of her ribs, then raised both hands to brush the warm silky fabric that covered her soft breasts, he saw her nostrils flare as she drew a swift deep breath herself. But then she seemed to remind herself of their playfully serious duties as she put her hands gently on his to still them, firmly saying, “Not yet, not until we know who’s won this game.”

“And what happens then?” Ben asked, as he found himself watching her hips and bum, partly exposed by her delicious knickers, while she stepped around his knee and sat down heavily on the sofa again.

“Well, I guess when one of us has lost all our clothes, the winner can decide what happens next. They might want to take the last of their clothes off too and make love, or they may just want to find a way to tease and wind up the loser. I’m sure you’ll have some ideas for that,” she said with a mock shyness.

She’d already picked up the cards, and now with a calm diligence that Ben admired and respected, which contrasted with the trembling anticipation of arousal that he felt, she dealt their next hand. Ben twisted and went bust, but then Marcie did too, ending that round. The next round ended in a draw too as Marcie took the banker’s prerogative and choose to stick when her cards matched his cautious score. Ben lost the next round though, and as he dealt the cards, he felt a kind of urgent impatience. He wanted the rounds to quickly resolve themselves, so that he could either see Marcie stripped naked and have his way with her, or lose all his clothes himself so that he could expose his frustrated arousal before her, putting himself at her mercy. He was therefore glad when he went bust trying to beat Marcie’s pair of court cards, and volunteered to take off his trousers.

Marcie reminded him that he could count the belt as a separate item of clothing, but he dismissed that idea as he quickly stood to slip his jeans off over the bulging erection under his grey striped boxer shorts. He felt some relief now to be in just his underwear, as Marcie was, even as he struggled to keep himself decent, quickly gripping the fabric of his pants as he sat down to keep his penis from poking out obscenely from beneath their hem.

He noticed how Marcie was smiling in a dreamy way as she took another sip of wine while he dealt the next hand. He wondered if this would be the one when he definitively lost at last, especially when he found he had to keep twisting to try and beat Marcie’s modest score. Yet he beat her with a five card trick, and she took over as banker, thanking him as she gently took the deck from his hand, just as if he were politely passing the salt at a formal dinner party.

It was his turn to have a lucky hand it seemed, as he revealed a nine and a queen. Marcie went bust as she tried to beat him, then sighed as if it were a chore to pay the forfeit, asking, “So what do you think I should lose now? It’s between my boots, my knickers or my bra, I guess.”

“I don’t mind,” Ben admitted as he handed his cards back to her to put to the bottom of the deck, even though his mind was spinning at the possibilities. He knew that he’d be thrilled to see her breasts exposed, imagining how they might move as they played cards together, yet he knew it made more sense for her to remove those high constraining boots now. He guessed she’d ask him to help her unlace them, as she had last night, and he knew he’d take pleasure in that as she sat on the sofa in her underwear. Yet the thought of her taking her knickers off while she was still wearing her stockings and boots, as well as her modest bra, filled his mind with profoundly erotic imagery. He could imagine making love to her like that, naked beneath her as he penetrated her, Marcie riding above him with the soft leather pressed to his skin. Or he could visualise her parting her legs, showing him the small groove of her vagina’s pink mouth between her tawny lips under her bushy pubic triangle, letting him bury himself between her black-clad calves and mesh-covered thighs to bring her to orgasm with cunnilingus, just as he had last night.

All these possibilities flashed through Ben’s mind in a moment as they looked into each other’s eyes, perhaps both trying to guess what the other might like. It was Marcie who suggested, “Let’s leave it to the cards. You turn over the top card,” she explained, holding out the deck in the palm of her hand, “If it’s ace to seven, I’ll ask you to help me take these boots off. If it’s eight, nine or ten, I’ll lose my bra. If it’s jack, queen or king, it’s the knickers that will come off. Does that sound good?”

“Aye, it’s all good,” Ben confirmed, his hand hovering over the deck. Taking a deep breath, with a quick glance into Marcie’s eyes, he turned over the top card and revealed the eight of clubs.

“Boobies it is, then,” Marcie said with a chuckle. “I bet you’re happy about that,” she said even as she put the deck down and reached behind her back.

“It’s all good,” Ben repeated dumbly as he watched her unhook herself and shuck the straps off her shoulders. He wondered that she’d not asked him to help, and imagined that she may also be eager to get on with whatever might come after this game. He was still transfixed as he found himself covering his manhood in one hand as he rested his other on Marcie’s knee, watching Marcie coquettishly lowering her bra’s cups as she held one arm under her bust, only slowly revealing the dappled skin of her breasts and her spreading dusky pink areolae with the creased bumps of her nipples. In only a moment she’d given up the pretence of shyness though, as she lowered her arm to rest her hand on his and pulled the bra away to drop it on the floor, letting him see both her heavy orbs, with the subtle web of veins beneath the thin pale skin of their lower hemispheres.

Ben would have eagerly buried his face in her breasts at that moment, pushing his cheeks and nose against the soft skin on either of the wide low mounds, finding her teat with his mouth. Yet Marcie brought his attention back to the game by picking up the cards with her free hand and waving them in his face, diverting his gaze from her chest, which she’d obviously been aware of him staring hungrily at. “We’ve still not finished, remember?” she prompted. He let go of her hand and leaned back a little, relaxing against the sofa more as he lifted his other hand from his firm erection, ready to take the cards she dealt.

He quickly looked at the two cards she gave him, twisting and then sticking at a respectable nineteen. However, Marcie revealed a pontoon, and he found himself becoming the banker again. Realising this might be the end of the game if he lost, he eagerly dealt their cards, then watched Marcie turn over a ten and a six. Acting incautiously, she asked to twist, but was rewarded with a five for a perfect score. Ben turned over his own low cards, and began to hope to beat her with another five card trick as he twisted twice, yet still only scoring fourteen, counting his latest ace as low. But then he turned over the jack of spades, busting his hand.

“Oh dear,” Marcie said, “Does that mean you’re going to lose your modesty? Or are you going to say your necklace counts as an item of clothing after all?”

“No, I’m ready to lose,” Ben confirmed, handing the deck of cards to her.

“Well, you better stand up then,” she ordered with a sly smile, “At least I can help you free Roddie from those rather indecent undies.”