Amber's housemates have an objection.

Once you have Amber’s belongings safely inside your home, she heads back to collect her things from her house on campus. After a while, she calls you and tells you she needs your help. You assume it’s because her stuff won’t all fit in her car, but that proves to be only part of the truth. When you get there, you’re greeted by a furiously-blushing Amber. “It’s my . . . housemates,” she says in a low voice. You walk in to find . . . five seriously attractive college girls dressed in nothing but bras and panties—and not the sort that are designed for coverage, either. Amber introduces each of them in turn.

“This is Meaghan,” she says, gesturing to a young woman who looks a lot like your assistant Jenny: five-foot-nothing at most with porcelain skin and long flowing straight black hair, so black it’s almost blue, down to her waist. She’s slightly built and fine-boned with slim and delicate curves; her face has an elfin cast. Her breasts are small enough the bra is only there for ornamentation (and, you hope, to avoid embarrassing you), but shapely, and her nipples are quite large. You can tell that because they’re just about poking through her bra, they’re so erect. Unlike Jenny, who’s crackling with energy, Meaghan looks more like a quiet, contemplative type. “Hello, Rob, it’s good to finally meet you,” she says in a flute-like soprano. Is it your imagination, or was there a slight stress on that “finally”? Out of the corner of your eye, Amber’s blush deepens, so it probably wasn’t your imagination.

“This is Lara,” she says next, waving at a grinning blond who isn’t much taller than Meaghan but has nothing else in common with her. Where Meaghan seems quiet and a little ethereal, Lara is clearly outgoing and earthy; she has the face of an angel, but she’s built like a fertility goddess. Her full breasts—maybe even bigger than Amber’s, though you’re not going to get close enough to make sure—are “covered” by a mesh bra that leaves her (also erect) nipples and areolae clearly visible, while her panties let the gleaming pink of a perfectly-shaved pussy shine through undimmed. “It’s a pleasure to see you in the flesh,” she says in a husky contralto, and you don’t need Amber’s further-deepening blush to alert you to the way she accents the words “pleasure” and “flesh.” You get the distinct feeling she’d like to experience you fully in the flesh . . . and return the favor.

“This is Charlanne,” Amber continues, pointing to a tall, statuesque young woman who looks like a darker-skinned version of Iman. You see her shift a few steps, and realize she moves with a powerful grace; she projects a sense of controlled energy. Her underwear is practical and utilitarian; unlike—Lara, for example—it appears she isn’t trying to get any particular reaction out of either you or Amber. She grins and says in a surprisingly high and soft soprano, “Hello, Rob. Unlike some of my housemates, I’ll spare you both the teasing.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, and her grin widens.

“Rowan and Rhiannon,” Amber goes on, pointing to a pair of tall Celtic wood-nymphs. “As I’m sure you’ve already noticed, they’re identical twins.” You had indeed; they look like either of them would be a handful to deal with, and having them double-team you would be far too much. They have long, thick, wavy red hair, a shade brighter than Amber’s, and bright green eyes above elegant high cheekbones; their complexions are fair and freckled. They’re athletically built, with tight, toned asses and long legs that are curvy with muscle. You would guess their beautifully-formed breasts are somewhere in the B/C-cup range, maybe a bit toward the larger end of that; the right size to accent their flowing curves, and not too large to hinder their workouts. They grin and say in a warm alto unison, “We’re glad you came.” Double entendre?

“And Nina,” Amber finishes, directing your attention to a Latina who bears a striking facial resemblance to the porn star Ella Milano—with the body of Sofia Vergara. She’s wearing the skimpiest thong you’ve ever heard of—you don’t plan to look close enough to confirm it, but it looks to you like it disappears into her pussy about halfway along—and a lace balconette bra that leaves the tops of her areolae uncovered. She licks her lips as she looks at you, and strokes herself through the front of her panties. “Thank you for coming,” she purrs in a sultry mezzo soprano, and there you know the double entendre is intended. You carefully do not look at Amber.

“So,” you ask after a moment, “to what do I owe this honor?”

In a slightly accusing tone, Lara replies, “Amber thought she was going to move out of here without telling us in advance—”

“—and without letting us meet you,” Meaghan interjects.

“Which would have been a shame,” Nina purrs.

“We share and share alike in this house,” Lara says, reclaiming the floor. “Not serious boyfriends, but casual boyfriends and fuckbuddies. There’s been more than one guy who’s come for a night with one of us and left having fucked all seven, sometimes two or even three at a time.” You blink, and still do not look at Amber—you don’t want her taking any glance as accusative. “If a guy is for more than just casual sex, we’re allowed to declare him off limits—except we all still get to look, and maybe play just a little.”

“We all know how Amber feels about you,” Charlanne puts in. “We’ve known much longer than you have. If you two don’t end up married, we’ll be almost as disappointed as I’m sure you will be.” She grins. “So we might have let her—and your clothes—off the hook, if she’d brought us by and introduced us properly.”

“Since she didn’t,” one of the twins adds, “we won’t.”

Nina licks her lips and says, “So strip.”

Now you look at Amber, who’s blushing furiously. “I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I should have thought to tell you.”

“It’s OK, love,” you respond soothingly, and she relaxes a little. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.” Amber grins at that—she definitely agrees with you there. You pull your shirt off over your head, and Amber’s housemates coo over your well-toned torso. You left the house in a bit of a hurry, and so only have sandals on; you kick them off quickly, then take off your pants and kick them aside. You grin at their eager faces, then give Amber a loving smile. She still looks anxious and embarrassed, but also proud to have her housemates panting over her man; and despite herself, she’s a little aroused.

You look back at the others and say, “This is all you’re really interested, isn’t it, ladies? You really don’t want me to go any further, do you?” Your tone suggests that of course they couldn’t possibly be interested. Obviously, you’re being ironic, as the avalanche of anguished cries demonstrates. “Well,” you add, heaving a deep sigh, “if you’re sure.”

By now, you’re pretty aroused yourself, and getting your boxers off over your stiff rod requires a little attention. You’ve never tried a striptease and wouldn’t know how, so you don’t try anything fancy. You pull your waistband well out in front, then down, exposing your hard prick and heavy balls. Twelve eyes go wide, and six women say, “Ooooooh.” Nina isn’t the only one who licks her lips this time. You look out the corner of your eye at Amber; you can tell she still wants this over, but the pride in her expression is much stronger, as is the arousal. Before long, she’ll want this over not out of embarrassment but out of a burning desire to get you to yourself and fuck you silly. You pull your boxers the rest of the way off and kick them on top of your pants.

There’s a deep silence, and one of the twins says, “Well, now, isn’t that a gorgeous fuckstick.”