Blind-tasting

The air in the room was still thick with the scent of sweat and arousal, a heady perfume that seemed to cling to every surface. Anita, still buzzing from the raw intimacy of the armpit contest, felt a fresh thrill shoot through her at Jo’s words. A kinky new dare. Of course.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Anita said, her voice a husky challenge. She was still kneeling on the rug, feeling powerful and exposed all at once.

Jo’s sightless eyes seemed to twinkle. “Good. Because I want to play.” A sly smile played on her lips. “For your fourth dare, Anita, you’re going to be blindfolded. Each of us will press our panties against your face. You have to guess who it is only by the smell and the taste of the wetness. If you get it wrong…” She paused for dramatic effect. “You have to take off one item of clothing.”

A collective, excited murmur ran through the group. The twins giggled, their eyes alight with mischief. Allison’s smirk was downright predatory. Cathy bit her lip, a flush creeping up her neck. Suki, still looking blissfully wrecked, let out a soft, intrigued sound.

Anita’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Deal,” she breathed.

A soft silk scarf—this one belonging to Cathy—was produced and tied firmly over Anita’s eyes, plunging her world into warm, dark nothingness. Her other senses roared to life. She could hear the rustle of clothing, the soft, anticipatory breaths of the girls surrounding her. She could smell the lingering vanilla from Cathy’s skin, the citrus from the twins, the rich shea butter from Allison, and, most potent of all, the musky, sweet aroma of Suki’s recent climax that seemed to have permeated the very air.

“Who’s first?” Anita asked, her voice sounding strangely loud in the darkness.

Anita heard the soft whisper of fabric sliding down legs. Then, a presence knelt before her. Warm, soft hands guided hers. “Touch first,” Sam whispered, her breath tickling Anita’s ear.

Anita’s fingertips were placed on the garment. It was lace, delicate and intricate against her skin. She traced the outline, feeling the shape. It was a cheeky cut, the fabric a small triangle at the front that widened slightly at the hips before narrowing into a thin string at the back. Her fingers brushed against the centre, and the lace was damp, deliciously warm, and slightly stiff in places with dried arousal. Through the fabric, she could feel the shape of Sam’s labia—a neat, prominent mound, soft and full, with a tantalizing cleft hinted at beneath the wet patch. The pubic hair beneath was trimmed, a soft, fuzzy carpet that teased her fingertips.

“Okay,” Anita murmured. “Now smell.”

The garment was pressed gently against her nose and mouth.

The scent was bright and clean at first—that same citrusy shampoo from her armpit. But underneath, there was a deeper, muskier fragrance. It was the scent of healthy, youthful arousal, sweet and slightly tangy, like fresh strawberries and cream with a hint of salt. It was unmistakably Sam—playful and sweet, with a hidden depth.

Confident, Anita didn’t even wait for the taste. “Sam,” she declared.

A triumphant giggle. “Told you we were easy to tell apart!” Sam said, her voice full of pride. She pressed the damp lace to Anita’s lips anyway, a reward. Anita opened her mouth slightly, her tongue darting out to taste the faint, sweet-salty moisture. She was right.

“One down,” Jo said, her voice a calm moderator in Anita’s dark world. “Next.”

The atmosphere shifted. The next presence that knelt before her felt larger, more imposing. The air around her grew warmer, carrying the rich, earthy scent of shea butter and coconut oil.

“My turn,” Allison’s voice was a low, confident rumble.

The garment placed in Anita’s hands was completely different. It was cotton, but it was soft and worn, moulded to the shape of its owner. Boy shorts. They were much broader than Sam’s flimsy lace, the fabric thick and comfortable. Anita’s fingers explored the wide gusset, which was soaked through with a warmth that was startling in its intensity. The wetness had spread widely, a large, damp map of Allison’s excitement. Through the cotton, she could feel the impressive, soft swell of Allison’s outer lips and the dense, curly bush that lay beneath. It felt powerful, abundant.

“Damn, Allison,” Anita breathed, her fingers lingering on the soaked fabric.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Allison chuckled. The underwear was pressed to Anita’s face.

The scent was overwhelming. It was the shea butter, yes, and the coconut oil, but it was all underpinned by a deep, dark, musky aroma that was purely her. It was the smell of a woman in her prime, confident and unashamed of her desire. It was earthy, primal, and it made Anita’s head spin with its potency. She inhaled deeply, lost in it.

“Smell…” Anita murmured, dazed. “It’s so… strong.”

“Guess,” Allison commanded, her voice laced with amusement.

There was no doubt. “Allison.”

“Correct.” Allison didn’t move the garment away. Instead, she pressed the wettest part firmly against Anita’s parted lips. “Now taste.”

Anita’s tongue met the thick, soft cotton. The flavour was as bold as the scent—a complex, musky saltiness, with a unique, almost nutty undertone from her natural oils. It was a flavour that spoke of strength and raw femininity. Anita moaned softly into the fabric, her own body responding fiercely.

Allison pulled the panties away with a soft, satisfied sound. “Knew you’d appreciate it.”

Anita was panting slightly behind her blindfold, her own black thong feeling decidedly damp now. The game was far more intense than she’d anticipated.

“Okay, who’s… who’s next?” she asked, her voice shaky.

A moment of silence, then the softest of footfalls. A new presence knelt before her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from a smaller, slighter body. A faint, clean scent of cherry blossom and green tea reached her, but it was almost completely buried under something else. Something new and devastatingly familiar.

Small, delicate hands—trembling slightly—guided Anita’s fingers to the underwear. It was satin, so smooth and cool it felt like water against her skin. A simple, classic brief. But the centre… the centre was a disaster zone of arousal. The satin was not just damp; it was drenched, plastered to the shape of the vulva beneath. Anita’s fingertips traced the outline of swollen outer lips and the wild, untamed bush of jet-black hair she knew was Suki’s. The fabric was so wet it was almost slippery, and it was warm, so incredibly warm, as if the source of the heat was still radiating from within.

“Suki,” Anita whispered, her heart clenching with a sudden, protective tenderness.

The garment was lifted, and the scent that hit her was the one she had just worshiped at its source not long ago. It was the concentrated, musky-sweet perfume of Suki’s orgasm, mixed with the clean scent of her soap and the unique, innocent fragrance of her skin. It was the smell of revelation, of a shy girl utterly undone. It was her scent.

Before Anita could even say her name, the soaked satin was pressed against her mouth. This time, Anita didn’t just taste the fabric. She opened her mouth and sucked, gently, pulling the essence of Suki’s pleasure onto her tongue. It was sweet, musky, and perfect. There was no question.

“Suki,” she breathed against the wet satin, her voice full of reverence.

A soft, shuddering sigh was her answer. The panties were pulled away, leaving Anita’s lips tingling.

She heard Suki shuffle back, her quiet gasps echoing in the silent room. Anita remained kneeling, blindfolded, waiting for the next delicious, damp challenge to come. Her body was humming, every nerve ending alive, desperately wondering who would be next and what their unique flavour would reveal.

The silence after Suki’s retreat was profound, broken only by the soft, quickening rhythm of Anita’s own breath behind the blindfold. The taste of Suki—sweet, musky, and utterly ****—still lingered on her lips like a sacred secret. She was three for three, but the challenge was far from over. The air shifted again, charged with a new, mischievous energy.

“My turn.” The voice was a mirror of Sam’s, but there was a sharper, more rebellious edge to it. Erica.

Anita heard a theatrical rustle, the sound of fabric being peeled away with deliberate slowness. Then, the garment was placed in her waiting hands.

It was lace again, but where Sam’s had been soft and sweet, this felt… bolder. The lace was black, a little coarser, a little more daring. The cut was similar—cheeky, designed to frame rather than cover—but the gusset felt different. It was damp, but the wetness was more focused, a concentrated patch right over the centre. Her fingers traced the shape beneath; through the lace, she could feel the distinct outline of lips that were slightly more pronounced than her sister’s, and the tell-tale narrow strip of neatly trimmed hair—Erica’s landing strip. The fabric felt possessive, like it knew exactly what it was showcasing.

“Smell,” Erica commanded, her voice a playful whisper right by Anita’s ear.

The black lace was pressed against her face. The scent was citrusy, like Sam’s, but it was darker, spicier. Underneath the clean soap was a musk that was tangier, more aggressive.

Anita inhaled deeply, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re trying to trick me. You smell almost like Sam…”

Erica’s breath hitched, a tiny, hopeful sound.

“But not quite,” Anita finished, triumphantly. “There’s a… a wicked little twist to yours. Erica.”

“Damn it!” Erica laughed, the sound full of genuine amusement rather than disappointment. She shoved the lace against Anita’s mouth. “Fine. Taste and be sure.”

Anita’s tongue darted out. The flavour was indeed tangier, a sharper, saltier kick that was entirely Erica’s own. She giggled against the fabric. “Oh yeah. That’s you. No doubt.”

Erica pulled her panties away with a faux-dramatic sigh. “You’re too good at this.”

Four for four. Anita’s confidence was soaring, a heady mix of arousal and pride. She was fully dressed, and she was winning.

The next approach was different. It was silent, hesitant. Anita hadn’t heard anyone move. A faint scent of lavender and clean, nervous sweat reached her first. Then, a pair of cotton panties was gently placed in her hands.

They were simple. Modest. The cotton was soft and slightly thin from washing. The cut was full, a classic brief that spoke of practicality rather than seduction. But as Anita’s fingers explored, she found the centre was undeniably damp. The wetness wasn't a bold, soaked patch like Allison’s or a drenched map like Suki’s; it was a shy, warm confession. Through the soft fabric, she could feel the faint, sparse tuft of wispy brown hair and the delicate, small shape of Jo’s labia.

The scent when it was pressed to her face was heartbreakingly pure. Lavender soap, yes, but underneath it was that unmistakable, **** scent of Jo’s nervous excitement. It was clean and sweet, like rain on dry earth, with a faint, tantalizing hint of something more intimate.

Anita’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Jo.” There was no one else it could be. This was the scent of the instigator who hid her own quiet desires behind dares.

“Yes,” Jo breathed out, the word filled with a mixture of relief and something else—gratitude, perhaps, that Anita knew her so intimately already. She didn’t press for a taste; the confirmation was enough. She simply pulled her panties away, and Anita heard the soft sound of her settling back onto the rug.

Five for five. One more to go. The air in the room was electric. Anita was still fully clothed. She’d done it.

The final presence that knelt before her was accompanied by a wave of sweet vanilla and warm, sun-kissed skin. Cathy. Anita could almost see the blonde’s innocent blue eyes and nervous smile.

The garment placed in her hands was lace again, but it was… pristine. White, delicate lace with tiny embroidered flowers. It felt expensive. The cut was a full-coverage brief, but it was designed to be pretty, feminine. As Anita’s fingers glided over the gusset, she was shocked. It was… dry. Almost completely dry. There was a faint, barely-there moisture, a ghost of warmth, but nothing like the soaked offerings of the others. It was like touching a clean, unwrapped bouquet. Through the lace, she could feel the neatly trimmed, downy blonde triangle and the soft, unaroused folds beneath.

“Well?” Cathy’s voice was hopeful, tinged with a slight embarrassment. “I told you I was the clean one.”

The white lace was pressed to Anita’s face. The scent was exactly as it had been from her armpit: vanilla lotion and sweet, clean skin. It was lovely. Innocent. But after the potent, musky aromas of the others, it was almost… bland.

Anita’s mind raced. She knew it was Cathy. Of course she knew. It was the only one that made sense. But a wicked thought crossed her mind. If she got it wrong, she’d have to strip. The game would continue. The dares would keep escalating. And a part of her, the part that was throbbing with the collected arousal of five other girls, wanted that.

She let the silence draw out, drawing in another deep, exaggerated breath of the vanilla scent.

“I… I’m not sure,” she said, her voice laced with false uncertainty. “It’s so clean… it could be… Erica? Maybe you switched with your sister?”

A gasp went through the room. Cathy made a small, hurt sound.

“Anita!” Erica cried out, laughing. “You liar! You know it’s her!”

“The dare says if I’m wrong, I strip,” Anita said, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across her face beneath the blindfold.“And I think I’m wrong. So I guess… I lose.”

She didn’t wait for confirmation. Her hands went to the hem of her damp t-shirt. In one smooth motion, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, sitting bare-chested before them, her small, pert breasts exposed to the warm, charged air of the room. A collective, sharp intake of breath greeted her reveal.

She reached behind her head and untied the blindfold, letting it fall away. She blinked, her dark eyes adjusting to the light, meeting the wide-eyed, astonished, and aroused gazes of the six other girls.

Cathy looked shocked, then a slow understanding dawned on her face, followed by a deep blush. Jo was smiling, a knowing, approving curve to her lips. The twins were grinning like Cheshire cats. Allison’s expression was one of pure, unadulterated lust. And Suki… Suki was staring at Anita’s bare breasts with a look of awe.

“I guess I’m not as good as I thought,” Anita said, her voice a low, husky challenge. She was down to her jeans and her soaked black thong.