It Started With Simple Footsie And Then The Bidding Really Started

Working my way through college with the help of my grandmother’s bridge party nympho friends

I never intended to be a bridge gigolo. It was just that my grandmother’s friends collared me at the wake after her funeral. I guess they were all a bit tipsy on the sherry.

“You were always so kind to Muriel,” said her friend Beatrice.

“We used to watch you cleaning her car — in your skimpy shorts when we were playing bridge,” volunteered Gladys.

“And you tanned so well without your T shirt,” added Myrtle.

There were her three best friends, all widowed for twenty or more years, the rest of her weekly bridge party. Inevitably, they asked me if I played bridge.

“Oh yes, my grandmother taught me and said I’d make a good player.”

“We hoped you’d say you were a player, dearie!” said Myrtle

So that’s how I became their regular fourth bridge partner. It fitted in well, as I had an afternoon off college every week. The first week I went, we played cards, drank tea, and I let them play footsie with me.

The next week, as we got to know each others’ game a bit better, they became more daring, and as they were more experienced — a lot more experienced — I let them lead the way.

From footsie it became cocksie and then sucksie in turns under the table.

They were all especially good at sucking. And I came for each of them.

Over the next few bridge games, they raised the bidding. The bidding on me, that is. They did it by stuffing money into my pants each time they groped, wanked me, and then sucked my cock and balls.

The highest bidder fucked me on the floor under the table, while the others giggled, drank tea and went on playing bridge.

I have to admit, each time it got more exciting. Eventually, we abandoned the cards and tea and went straight to bed. A different bed each time, because we rotated the game around their houses.

“You have great stamina, we all say so afterwards,” said Beatrice after she had fucked my ears off. She was the last one that bridge afternoon.

And then they used me as a real bridge. One would sit on my face and let me shove my tongue up her aged pussy. One would impale her cunt on my cock and rock up and down, and the other would suck my balls while I’d finger fuck her. Then they’d all change round. You could say that it changed from bridge to musical chairs, with me as the chair.

At first I felt bad about taking money from them, but they insisted.

“Your grandmother Muriel always said you were a hard worker and you needed every penny you could get to work your way through college,” Myrtle said, stroking my shaft as all four of us lay on the bed after another bridge orgy.

“And you’re worth everything we give you,” agreed Beatrice, as she kissed my balls as I fondled her saggy old tits.

“And everything you give us,” chuckled Gladys as I toyed with her gray-haired cunt, and she licked the cum off her face and sucked each finger.

And then in turn they licked and sucked the cum and their mixed pussy juice from my cock.

Now, I love our bridge parties and I adore being their bridge gigolo.