The Ringer

Tangy, soupy heat smothered Elle's gaping mouth, Val's smell filling her world as her flavor rolled onto Elle's tongue. There was nothing tentative, nothing hesitant: Valerie gave herself wholly to her lover, sinking down, driving Elle's head into the pillow and her nose into Val's well-trimmed bush.

And Elle responded, straining upward, her head thrashing to bring her lips to bear on every part of Val's vagina. She found Val's inner lips and sucked them hard into her mouth, one at a time...

And then the alarm went off.

Elle dragged herself awake, heavy-legged and cotton-brained, from that same old dream: the dream where she was about to slurp on her best friend's clit. The alarm was still whining at her, beeping insistently, pulling her out of bed yet again to face another day.

She sat blearily up, yawning, and stared across her little apartment at her mirror. A puffy, red face greeted her, shredded from last night's clubbing expedition with Valerie, the mouth red and lipstick-smeared.

It had been a fucking rager, Ladies' Night at the Honeytrap out near Timberlea, two-dollar drinks with a side of nude men on the stage prancing around, swinging their dicks like clubs. The Trap only did Ladies' Nights every so often, and last night had been Ben's first time up on stage.

Val and Ben had been dating since university, with Elle as their constant third wheel. Back then there had been five of them, inseparable, with the same classes and the same dorm buildings and the same meal plans, but after graduation Brad and Summer had moved away. Val had actually come on the scene late, a transfer from out west, but once she and Ben had hooked up after a fraternity party she'd slid into their group as if she'd always been there.

Elle remembered it well, Ben slouching down to the cafeteria hung over and with a tall, inordinately beautiful girl in tow. "Hi, motherfuckers," he'd sighed, taking his usual seat. "This is Valerie. We met last night."

The others had looked at each other with wide eyes. They'd all been at the same party, of course, but once Summer and Elle had gotten Brad hooked up with some slut from Quebec, the two of them had retired to the frat-house basement for some good-natured necking of their own; both Summer and Elle had been experimenting that term, the two of them ushering each other into the world of pussy. At that time, Elle had still preferred men, but Summer would soon change that.

"Hi guys." Val had plopped right down in a vacant chair like she was one of the family, smiling around at them all from beneath striking eyes of a dusky blue. Elle caught herself staring.

"Nice to meet you," Summer had purred back, blatantly eyeing the new girl's chest. "I'm Summer. This is Brad, and that little firecracker over in the corner is Danielle."

"Hi," Elle had smiled, already drowning in those eyes.

"Danielle!" Val's eyes widened with new interest, then she turned to Ben. "This is the Danielle you were telling me about? Your partner?"

"Yep." Ben had been adjusting his balls, frumping into his coffee.

"It's just Elle. Nobody calls me Danielle, really." The introduction came out with a hopeful smile. "Ben and I are working on a new routine for the Dance Follies next week."

"A really hot fucking routine," Brad put in; he'd watched some of the rehearsals.

"It's not hot," Ben had snapped, finally finishing with his balls, "it's art." Back then he and Elle had been serious about dance, about the way they could use it to express narrative (as their professor was constantly hectoring them to do).

"You guys end up tangled up like a fucking pretzel," Brad had snickered. "It's really fucking hot."

"Sounds interesting." Val was smiling brightly at Ben, but she was talking to Elle. "Maybe I could see it sometime?"

"Okay." Elle flashed her usual shy smile. "Maybe. It's called Souls Colliding."

"I came up with the name," Summer had giggled. She'd been majoring in English at the time, though eventually she'd ended up in Law, but ever since that morning at breakfast Val and Elle had been best friends. Val had seen Elle through breakups and makeups; she'd been there, waiting in the car, that day Elle had brought an actual girlfriend home to her parents, and the years had deepened their love and support for each other.

There'd even been a kiss, just once, with some playful drunken groping at a New Year's party, just before Ben had taken Val home to fuck. Elle still remembered, wistfully, the feel of her friend's lips, the shining eyes over her shoulder as she'd left to take Ben's cock, that special secret smirk she seemed to save only for Elle.

She'd flashed that same smirk last night at the Trap, glancing over to watch Elle's reaction when the announcer came over the PA amid the strobe lights: Next up, ladies? Benoit, and his fabulous Benoit Ballz! He'd bounded out in a ridiculous leopard-print bikini bottom over that substantial package Elle had felt press against herself countless times when they'd danced, the rest of his body still almost as toned as he'd been at school.

"Oh my god!" she'd blurted, her face lit up as she watched him onstage; he'd always been so graceful, so powerful, such an expressive dancer, and that came through to her trained eye even in such a tawdry setting. She glanced around, the women going insane with rapt eyes and nipples bursting at their party tops. She leaned over and had to shout in Val's ear over the throbbing music. "Is he going to go all the way?"

"You mean get nude?" The other woman was sipping liberally from her whiskey. "Fuck yes." She said it with a feral possessiveness, a look in her eyes that told Elle the two of them would be getting absolutely, viciously primal, later on back at her apartment. "That last guy is one of his coworkers."

"No shit?" That last guy had been called Franco, a shitty dancer, though the size of his cock once he'd whipped off his shorts had driven the crowd into a frenzy. "He had a nice dick," Elle reflected.

"Just wait'll you see Ben's," Val snickered back, and then she took her eyes off the stage to give Elle a curious glance. "Have you ever?"

"Ever what?" The woman pressed against Val's other side had her hand down her pants.

"Ever seen Ben naked?" Elle knew the score: outsiders presumed that university dance troupes were sexual playgrounds, where partners fucked each other more or less freely. "You can tell me. I won't mind."

"Actually?" She had, but only from behind. "I saw his butt once, but that's it. We weren't that kind of friend," she winked. She'd caught him from behind during a costume change, nothing more. "He's seen me, probably. Definitely my tits."

"Shush," came Val's urgent reply. "Less talking. More looking. My boyfriend is about to get nasty."

And he did, feeding off the overheated screams from the packed crowd, all of them swaying in an estrogen fog Elle could almost taste. Bodies pressed on her from all sides, breasts and butts and arms and hips constantly brushing her, keeping her excitement up.

Making her pussy throb.

Because yes, she was watching Ben strut his stuff, admiring his fluid moves, his smooth body... but she was far more aware of Val, pressed against her by the crowd, of her beautiful face and her amazing body and the excitement in those dark-blue eyes of hers. She stirred, the crowd freaking out: Ben had just lost his bikini bottom, and Elle hooted dutifully along with the rest of the packed house as he arched his back and thrust his cock at the crowd, head flung back and arms outstretched, for his big finish.

Elle glanced at Val, who was licking her lips; she was a proud woman. She watched her man on display with his cock half-hard, and she knew he could have any pussy in the place. But that it was hers, Val's, that he wanted.

Elle frowned at her coffee now the next morning, the everpresent Val sex-dream fading at last. She was meeting them for lunch, the inseparable trio once more, and as the clock oozed toward nine she figured she should probably clean herself up and get dressed.

* * *

Lunch was good, a half chicken-salad sandwich and a cup of soup, plus iced tea. Elle sat across from Val, chatting warmly, trying to forget that she'd now seen her old friend Ben sexing it up onstage with his meat exposed. It changed their dynamic, she'd noticed.

Trying to forget... but Ben didn't let her. He wiped his mouth and smiled over at her. "Remember my buddy Franco? From last night?"

Elle winked. "I remember eight inches of dick attached to a guy named Franco, yes."

Ben arched his eyebrow. "I thought you were more into girls these days."

"I like to keep you guessing, my darling Benoit," Elle replied, carefully avoiding a glance at Val. "Yes. I remember your friend Franco."

"He bet me that I couldn't win a dance competition," Ben shrugged, surveying Elle's reaction. "Three hundred dollars, eh? Crazy."

Elle went still, and this time she did glance at Val. The return look was oddly expressionless. "A dance competition."

Ben nodded. "More of a contest, maybe. I can win easily, I think. If you help me."

"Back up. Your amateur-stripper buddy is making bets on your performance... in a dance competition." Elle's mind was racing, and she didn't like where it was going. She already knew the answer before, keeping her voice light, she demanded, "Just want sort of 'dance competition' do you and your well-hung buddy want to participate in, Benoit?"

Ben eased back in his chair, his muscled legs stretched long under the table. "I mean, I bet you can guess, Ellie..."

"I tell him he should call it fuck-dancing," Val burst in, her voice neutral. She sipped her tea with precision. "It's that shit you saw him do last night."

"But, like, with a partner." Ellie felt her face collapse, her jaw plummeting. "No! Don't look like that. It's a legit competition. Prize money and everything. Franco and his wife are already entered, and I thought... you know."

"Whoah." Elle pushed back from the table, feeling flushed heat on her face. Unbelievable! "Let me get this straight. As we sit here in front of your girlfriend," she emphasized. "You're asking me to get on a stage in front of a bunch of people, get naked, and do some kind of sex-dance with you? Do I have that right?" Now Val had that smirk going on, the one that made her look even sexier. "Do I?"

"You'd get half, Elle. The bet and the prize money. Or half the prize money regardless, if we don't win." He leaned in now, his eyes hard on hers. "But we'll win. You know how good we were."

"Were." Elle rolled her eyes. "And first runner-up at Sectionals doing Swan Lake is not quite the same as simulating sex in front of a bunch of drunk assholes." She glanced over at Val. "And you? You're okay with this?"

Valerie hesitated, then looked around to make sure nobody would listen. "Last night? After he danced? He fucked me for an hour and fifteen minutes." Elle's eyes went wide. "I came, like, five times. You have no idea how sexy it is to watch your man strut it." She shook, actually shook, right there at the table. Ben just sat there looking pleased.

"Why don't you do it, then?"

"You're the ringer," she explained seriously. "You're the dancer. I'm just an appreciative girlfriend."

"Then appreciate him. What are you giving up for this stupid little adventure?" Elle meant it sarcastically. "What do I get out of you if I do this shit?"

Val barked a mirthless laugh. "I'm giving you the opportunity to cavort with my boyfriend. On stage!" Ben smiled brightly when Val's long hand gave his package a squeeze under the table.

Elle shook her head. "I've cavorted with him on stage before. Try again."

"With no clothes on, though..." She raised her eyebrows suggestively, but Elle wasn't having any of that.

"I'm into girls, though, my dear Valerie." And this time, when their eyes met over the rim of Val's teacup, they twinkled. "As I think you know."

Val nodded slowly, calculating, her little mouth twisting again into that smirk as she set her cup down. "Poor Danielle," she sighed. "You never have gotten over that kiss with me at that New Year's party, have you."

Elle felt herself blush. "You're an awfully good kisser."

Val nodded again, thoughtful now. "You are too, actually."

Ben's eyes flew open. "Wait. What am I hearing here?"

"I'll do it," Elle declared, her nipples twitchy already, hardly believing the words were coming out of her mouth, "if I can have you afterward." She nodded toward Ben. "Not him."

"Oh my god," he blurted, his dumb grin growing. "Are you serious?" But Val was still thinking, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

"I'm dead serious," Elle said quietly, her eyes on Val, and then the taller woman shook out her dark hair and sighed.

"I'll admit, I guess I'm sort of curious what you can do..." She cleared her throat. "All right, then. Here's the deal. You do your little rump-shake with Ben. If you lose the contest, cool. We all go out and get drunk. If you win? You get the money. And me. Once."

"You'll want twice," Elle snapped, amazed at her own confidence. "And bullshit. The money is mine if we win, sure. But you're mine, win or lose." She could feel her heart pounding, and suddenly she needed to squeeze her thighs hard together. This was the sexiest she'd felt in a long while. "That's the deal, Val. Show him what an appreciative girlfriend you are."

Val hesitated, glancing back and forth between the two of them, her hand still stirring between Ben's thighs. Suddenly, she giggled. "You're totally getting hard from this."

"Well, shit. Can you blame me?"

"Okay," Val said at last, laughing. "You win. We've all got skin in this game. Ben's three hundred dollars, Elle's public nudity, and..." she sighed theatrically, "my pussy. Deal, I guess."

"Wow," Elle nodded, unable to believe this was happening. Her mind was racing as she turned to her old dance partner. "When's the contest?"

"Fourteen July, I think?"

"Bastille Day," said Val, who had majored in history.

Ben was still frowning in thought. "I'm almost sure it's the fourteenth. It's, like, Nude Day? Something like that?"

Elle shook her head. "There's a 'Nude Day?' What will they think of next?"

Ben shrugged. "It's at the Honeytrap. It's not a ladies' night, but Franco says most of the crowd is girls. Says there's usually like six couples who enter."

Despite herself, Elle was becoming intrigued. "Who're the judges?"

"Crowd applause." She recoiled in disgust. "I know, I know. But, you know, you've got to figure most of the couples won't be any good..."

"You idiot," Elle seethed, "it won't matter. They'll all just have sex. The crowd will cheer." Val nodded knowingly, checking her phone. "I love you, Benoit, but I'm not having sex with you."

"No, sex isn't allowed. Like no, um, insertion? Nothing inside mouths or vaginas or butts or whatever."

Elle was not soothed. "They'll just do handjobs. No thank you."

He looked a little uncertain. "Look, I'll talk to Franco and get the actual rules. But it's not like that, Ellie; you can't just get up there and come and that's it. You have to actually dance." He glanced over at Val, then dropped his voice. "I was thinking we could do the good one. You know. Souls Colliding."

Elle tossed back her head and laughed loudly; half the eyes in the place swiveled toward their table. Val peered up from her phone. "Think about what you just said," she managed, wiping at her eyes. "Think, dude. You know that routine." They both nodded, thinking out the moves, remembering how they'd moved with each other. "That piece is racy with clothes. It's probably fucking illegal without them."

"Sounds perfect," Val put in softly.

"It's sensual." Ben laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back once more in the chair; by now, Val was giving him a full-on handjob underneath the table. Elle pretended not to notice. "It says so much more than just 'let's do it.' It was an amazing routine; you know that."

Elle rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She drained her glass. "Just, like, let her take care of you before we rehearse. I don't need you getting all hard again when we move."

He blushed. "Yeah." Their very first competition together, second year, over on the mainland; they'd done a jazz routine, almost freestyle, and by the end of the dance he'd been solid as an iron bar, his penis snaking down his leg under the leotard. She'd mocked him about it for years. "I mean, at least this time I'll probably get more applause if I do get hard."

The two women looked at each other, keeping a cautious silence; he'd popped one last night, in that Ladies' Night crowd, and the trembling bodies in the audience had gone apeshit. "Probably," Val allowed. "Look, dude, just win. Right?" She passed a veiled glance over her friend. "If I'm giving up my snatch, better at least get me some prize money out of it. Right?"

* * *

Elle shook her head. "You're such a dick," she seethed. "You knew these rules would piss me off, so you waited to tell me." The city, fading now as they hit the suburbs, flitted past the windows of Val's Camry. "Until we're on our way to the damn contest!"

"Relax." Ben twisted in the passenger seat, his eyes already glowing in that way they always had, back when they'd been competing for real. "It's not my fault. Franco didn't get back to me until today."

"Because he knew it would freak me out," Elle fumed. "You've got to stop listening to your Franco kid. He's just trying to make us lose."

"You won't lose." Val sped west toward the sun with a cool shrug into the rearview mirror. "I've watched you two practicing this week." She offered a winning smile. "You guys are fucking good."

But Elle wasn't listening. She was studying the sheet Ben had just handed her, especially... "Rule #5," she grated. "It's nasty."

"What's nasty about it?" Ben, at least, seemed unconcerned.

"Just... ew."

"It's a strip club, Elle." Rule #5 pointed out that no couple would be eligible for a prize unless the man produced a hard-on. "The whole point is sex. Look, it's my whang that's going to be waving around. If I don't have a problem with it, why should you?"

"Finding wood," Valerie pointed out helpfully. "That's what it's called in the porn industry. When you can get an erection on demand?"

"Your vocab lesson is appreciated, Val," grumbled Elle, "but you're not the one whose dancing is supposed to get him hard."

"Relax, Danielle," Val snapped back. "You forget, I get him hard every day. Believe me. It's not difficult."

"And then #3," Elle went on, ignoring her friend, "where it talks about ejaculation."

"Yeah." Ben rolled his eyes. "Not required, but allowed. No extra points or anything. And see? It has to be manual. I was right! No insertion. And you can't do it to me, I have to do it to myself." They left the obvious unsaid, though... that if Ben could come, the crowd would go fucking crazy. "Franco says most guys don't. They get all self-conscious. Look, Elle, don't worry." He gave his best smile. "Just do what we've been doing. Souls Colliding. It'll win, no matter what; we're just doing it nude."

Elle bit her lip and frowned out the window as they flew toward the Honeytrap, not even in the mood to be soothed. "It'll win," Val echoed. "And, you know, even if it doesn't?" She smiled again into the rearview. "You still get me, later."

Well. There was certainly that. But Elle shouldered even that out of her mind, focusing the way she always had when she was getting ready to dance, the nerves alive in her mind. The contest didn't bother her, nor the crowd, nor the venue: she and Ben had practiced hard over the past week. It had felt great, dancing with him again, his muscles still familiar. Hell, even the nudity didn't really bother her; she knew she looked good, and every dancer knew the crowd was picturing them nude anyway. It was a block she'd gotten past, long ago.