BEThalia
Executioner
Thank you for expressing your enjoyment, Fossy.
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Taking Chances
- Thread starter BEThalia
- Start date
BEThalia
Executioner
I always appreciate your support and encouragement, Barbaria1.
BEThalia
Executioner
Lionclothslave had a very good piece of advice just above. I've been posting chapters as they were written/published years ago, only breaking them up if they exceeded the 20,000 character limit. But L suggested posting shorter bites, and that seems like a very good idea. Thanks, L.
That said, this one is the entire Chapter 2, as it is a fairly short chapter to begin with.
Chapter Two
I sat back in my chair, the reclining back going to the limit of its movement. Get fucked by my two lab rats, er, assistants? Give them both a blowjob? I smiled at the audacity of what they had proposed. Only undergrads could dream up something like that! I was committed, though. I had told them to propose a bet and I would take it, and they and I had done so.
I flashed on a mental image of me on Sunday afternoon if I lost. I saw myself from the side on a bed on all fours, my boobs hanging down and swinging from the force of what was being done to my body. One of the boys was at my front end. I could not see his erection because it was all the way into my mouth, my nose at his pubic hair, his fingers entangled with my tresses. My other boy was at the other end of me, his erection also not visible because it was buried in my vagina, his hips hard against my ass pushing the cheeks flat and hands gripping my hips.
That is what I was committed to. I did not want to be there. God, no, I did not want to be there. However, knowing that could be my fate if the result of some football game, something over which I had no influence or control, went against me caused a rush of adrenaline like I have seldom felt.
My pussy was suddenly leaking fluid like a statue of the Virgin Mary at Lourdes. My stomach felt as if some erotic creature were flitting around inside, looking for escape. My head felt light; my heart was racing.
Why? By some instinct native to the human creature I realized it was the delicious tension between the fear of losing and the desire to win. That tensity consumed me. I was facing the difference between the utter fear and humiliation of losing and the triumph and relief of winning. It was intoxicating.
I was committed. The fear of the consequence of losing had consumed me for many minutes. Then my rational mind took over. I realized the image that had just teased and tormented me would never come real. There was no possibility of losing and having to face and perform that fate. So, since I was now committed, I calculated it was time to give serious consideration to what I wanted to win.
* * * * * * * *
Thursday came and the boys showed up for work at two o'clock. I showed them the tasks they had to accomplish, showed them a new function for one of the pieces of equipment they used regularly. They would need to use that function today, and I told them to call me when they got to that step, as I wanted to supervise it directly.
As I sat over in my work cubby, I saw the boys talking, taking quick glances in my direction.
Good, I thought, I hope they're sweating a little bit anyway.
The time came to do the step with the new equipment function. Paul came and got me, and I went out into the lab, watched them closely as they went through the procedure.
"Is that all you have for us, Roberta?" Hank asked when the step was successfully done.
"Yeah, that's it for now. Good job," I told them, and then returned to my workspace, thinking, Good.
The end of the afternoon came, and they needed to leave presently for football practice. They came over to my workplace and took up the same positions at my desk they had on Tuesday.
"Something guys?" I asked.
"Um, your part of the bet?" Hank asked. "What you want if you win."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, that," I said. "Thanks for reminding me." They looked at one another.
I sat back in my chair. A bearing squeaked somewhere under the seat.
"Yeah, hey, from what you guys want to win it sounds like you two are pretty confident that you can get it up and come twice in an afternoon. I also have confidence in you in that regard. So, after you two and your team make a big smoking crater on Saturday, you guys are going to show up at my place on Sunday afternoon. Shall we call it three o'clock for the payoff either way?"
They nodded, still in the dark about where I was going.
"Okay, so the first thing you'll have to do is strip, naked," I said. "Then I'm going to have you jerk-off while I watch. One at a time. Just to make sure you get the spotlight all to yourself."
They did not look overly concerned about that task, in fact maybe a little relieved.
"Oh, and I'm going to have a plate for you to come on," I said, "and you'll lick that plate clean after you're done." I think they were trying not to react, but I saw Paul wrinkle his nose a little. "That's come number one. For number two you’re going to take turns sucking each other off. Yes, you will swallow." They exchanged a quick look. "Just look at the whole thing as a taste test. You can compare notes when you get back to your room." The two of them looked at each other.
"We're not gay, you know, Roberta," Paul said.
"I never said you were," I returned. "Hey, just look at this as a way to explore your sexuality. You did say, let me see - how did you put it? - something like, ‘Roberta, you just come up with whatever you want to win and we'll agree to it.’ Something like that, wasn't it? Do you guys really think you're the only ones with an imagination?"
"Um," Paul began.
"Now you're not trying to weasel out on what you said, are you?" I asked.
There were a few seconds of silence then Paul said, "Okay, Roberta, it's a bet."
I turned to Hank and gave him a questioning look. "It's a bet. Okay," he said.
They had to leave presently to make it to football practice, and they were soon heading for the door. I did not hear a single word from Stan and Ollie as they left.
To be honest, I had no idea whether the scene I had conjured would be a turn-on for me or not. I had never witnessed anything even remotely like any of this. Who knows? Maybe it would be, maybe not. I did know, though, that even if it were not it would at least be more entertaining than doing my laundry, my typical Sunday afternoon pastime.
I have never been one of those 'euww icky-poo' girls. Watching a man strip would be interesting enough. The role reversal would be engaging. Women strip for men all the time. How wonderful it would be to watch these two boys take their clothes off. Would they be insecure about the size of their dicks? Would they have a boner? Or would they be shriveled with embarrassment?
It would be an entertaining and educational novelty to watch them stroke their dicks. My hope was that they would be experiencing an extreme of embarrassment and self-consciousness that would make it difficult to come, prolonging the show. I would relish the moment when they stuck their tongues out to start lapping their own cum. Now, would I have them jerk-off standing or on their knees? I’d have to give that one some thought.
I was sure they had been telling the truth when they said they were neither of them gay. That being the case, this would likely be the first time either of them would taste and feel a cock in his mouth.
I couldn't wait to see each of them get on his knees and approach a hard dick, no choice in the matter, then tentatively put the head in his mouth, move farther down the shaft, then begin to bob his head; the charming embarrassment, maybe panic, each would exhibit as cum began to squirt into his mouth. Would they gag as they swallowed? And the other: realizing he has just had an orgasm in response to another man's mouth around his dick. I was beginning to smile at these mental images.
Maybe this would be a turning point in their relationship.
I considered again. Would humiliating these two boys be a turn-on for me? What did it say about me that I was now so eager to win this bet, to make my little scenario reality? Well, it was better than the alternative. What would I discover about myself on Sunday? All speculation: but what I knew as fact was that the boys had plotted and planned, had devised a bet that would visit on me extreme humiliation. So, I concluded my inner debate with the thought, What’s good for the goose is good for the gander and left it at that. Actually, this was beginning to sound like fun.
I thought briefly of making them satisfy me orally. It was an interesting thought, but I rejected it. First, as I mentioned, I was entirely unsure if winning this bet and putting the boys through their humiliating little paces would turn me on. Second, while reaching sexual fulfillment is great, I did not have any desire for either of these boys to take me there. And third, if I did get turned on then, absent a lover to do the job, I knew my fingers and toys were most reliable and would do the job better than the boys ever could. And did I really want that sort of intimate contact with the boys? Not a chance. Avoiding such intimacy was the whole point of winning rather than losing.
No, just humiliating these two males, who wanted to wager me into a position to strip for them and then submit for their sexual satisfaction, would be quite enough.
Since the result of the game and the resolution of the bet was not in question, I was free to begin looking forward to Sunday afternoon and exploring the role of the dominant female with a couple of males to shame and humiliate. Maybe this was a way to explore my sexuality!
That said, this one is the entire Chapter 2, as it is a fairly short chapter to begin with.
Chapter Two
I sat back in my chair, the reclining back going to the limit of its movement. Get fucked by my two lab rats, er, assistants? Give them both a blowjob? I smiled at the audacity of what they had proposed. Only undergrads could dream up something like that! I was committed, though. I had told them to propose a bet and I would take it, and they and I had done so.
I flashed on a mental image of me on Sunday afternoon if I lost. I saw myself from the side on a bed on all fours, my boobs hanging down and swinging from the force of what was being done to my body. One of the boys was at my front end. I could not see his erection because it was all the way into my mouth, my nose at his pubic hair, his fingers entangled with my tresses. My other boy was at the other end of me, his erection also not visible because it was buried in my vagina, his hips hard against my ass pushing the cheeks flat and hands gripping my hips.
That is what I was committed to. I did not want to be there. God, no, I did not want to be there. However, knowing that could be my fate if the result of some football game, something over which I had no influence or control, went against me caused a rush of adrenaline like I have seldom felt.
My pussy was suddenly leaking fluid like a statue of the Virgin Mary at Lourdes. My stomach felt as if some erotic creature were flitting around inside, looking for escape. My head felt light; my heart was racing.
Why? By some instinct native to the human creature I realized it was the delicious tension between the fear of losing and the desire to win. That tensity consumed me. I was facing the difference between the utter fear and humiliation of losing and the triumph and relief of winning. It was intoxicating.
I was committed. The fear of the consequence of losing had consumed me for many minutes. Then my rational mind took over. I realized the image that had just teased and tormented me would never come real. There was no possibility of losing and having to face and perform that fate. So, since I was now committed, I calculated it was time to give serious consideration to what I wanted to win.
* * * * * * * *
Thursday came and the boys showed up for work at two o'clock. I showed them the tasks they had to accomplish, showed them a new function for one of the pieces of equipment they used regularly. They would need to use that function today, and I told them to call me when they got to that step, as I wanted to supervise it directly.
As I sat over in my work cubby, I saw the boys talking, taking quick glances in my direction.
Good, I thought, I hope they're sweating a little bit anyway.
The time came to do the step with the new equipment function. Paul came and got me, and I went out into the lab, watched them closely as they went through the procedure.
"Is that all you have for us, Roberta?" Hank asked when the step was successfully done.
"Yeah, that's it for now. Good job," I told them, and then returned to my workspace, thinking, Good.
The end of the afternoon came, and they needed to leave presently for football practice. They came over to my workplace and took up the same positions at my desk they had on Tuesday.
"Something guys?" I asked.
"Um, your part of the bet?" Hank asked. "What you want if you win."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, that," I said. "Thanks for reminding me." They looked at one another.
I sat back in my chair. A bearing squeaked somewhere under the seat.
"Yeah, hey, from what you guys want to win it sounds like you two are pretty confident that you can get it up and come twice in an afternoon. I also have confidence in you in that regard. So, after you two and your team make a big smoking crater on Saturday, you guys are going to show up at my place on Sunday afternoon. Shall we call it three o'clock for the payoff either way?"
They nodded, still in the dark about where I was going.
"Okay, so the first thing you'll have to do is strip, naked," I said. "Then I'm going to have you jerk-off while I watch. One at a time. Just to make sure you get the spotlight all to yourself."
They did not look overly concerned about that task, in fact maybe a little relieved.
"Oh, and I'm going to have a plate for you to come on," I said, "and you'll lick that plate clean after you're done." I think they were trying not to react, but I saw Paul wrinkle his nose a little. "That's come number one. For number two you’re going to take turns sucking each other off. Yes, you will swallow." They exchanged a quick look. "Just look at the whole thing as a taste test. You can compare notes when you get back to your room." The two of them looked at each other.
"We're not gay, you know, Roberta," Paul said.
"I never said you were," I returned. "Hey, just look at this as a way to explore your sexuality. You did say, let me see - how did you put it? - something like, ‘Roberta, you just come up with whatever you want to win and we'll agree to it.’ Something like that, wasn't it? Do you guys really think you're the only ones with an imagination?"
"Um," Paul began.
"Now you're not trying to weasel out on what you said, are you?" I asked.
There were a few seconds of silence then Paul said, "Okay, Roberta, it's a bet."
I turned to Hank and gave him a questioning look. "It's a bet. Okay," he said.
They had to leave presently to make it to football practice, and they were soon heading for the door. I did not hear a single word from Stan and Ollie as they left.
To be honest, I had no idea whether the scene I had conjured would be a turn-on for me or not. I had never witnessed anything even remotely like any of this. Who knows? Maybe it would be, maybe not. I did know, though, that even if it were not it would at least be more entertaining than doing my laundry, my typical Sunday afternoon pastime.
I have never been one of those 'euww icky-poo' girls. Watching a man strip would be interesting enough. The role reversal would be engaging. Women strip for men all the time. How wonderful it would be to watch these two boys take their clothes off. Would they be insecure about the size of their dicks? Would they have a boner? Or would they be shriveled with embarrassment?
It would be an entertaining and educational novelty to watch them stroke their dicks. My hope was that they would be experiencing an extreme of embarrassment and self-consciousness that would make it difficult to come, prolonging the show. I would relish the moment when they stuck their tongues out to start lapping their own cum. Now, would I have them jerk-off standing or on their knees? I’d have to give that one some thought.
I was sure they had been telling the truth when they said they were neither of them gay. That being the case, this would likely be the first time either of them would taste and feel a cock in his mouth.
I couldn't wait to see each of them get on his knees and approach a hard dick, no choice in the matter, then tentatively put the head in his mouth, move farther down the shaft, then begin to bob his head; the charming embarrassment, maybe panic, each would exhibit as cum began to squirt into his mouth. Would they gag as they swallowed? And the other: realizing he has just had an orgasm in response to another man's mouth around his dick. I was beginning to smile at these mental images.
Maybe this would be a turning point in their relationship.
I considered again. Would humiliating these two boys be a turn-on for me? What did it say about me that I was now so eager to win this bet, to make my little scenario reality? Well, it was better than the alternative. What would I discover about myself on Sunday? All speculation: but what I knew as fact was that the boys had plotted and planned, had devised a bet that would visit on me extreme humiliation. So, I concluded my inner debate with the thought, What’s good for the goose is good for the gander and left it at that. Actually, this was beginning to sound like fun.
I thought briefly of making them satisfy me orally. It was an interesting thought, but I rejected it. First, as I mentioned, I was entirely unsure if winning this bet and putting the boys through their humiliating little paces would turn me on. Second, while reaching sexual fulfillment is great, I did not have any desire for either of these boys to take me there. And third, if I did get turned on then, absent a lover to do the job, I knew my fingers and toys were most reliable and would do the job better than the boys ever could. And did I really want that sort of intimate contact with the boys? Not a chance. Avoiding such intimacy was the whole point of winning rather than losing.
No, just humiliating these two males, who wanted to wager me into a position to strip for them and then submit for their sexual satisfaction, would be quite enough.
Since the result of the game and the resolution of the bet was not in question, I was free to begin looking forward to Sunday afternoon and exploring the role of the dominant female with a couple of males to shame and humiliate. Maybe this was a way to explore my sexuality!
BEThalia
Executioner
Thank you B.
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
I half want to see Roberta win her bet, imagine the humiliation of those two sophomores? They’d never ever forget their grad student boss after that, and even if the homeoerotic aspect doesn’t tempt them, the humiliating eroticism just might!
I love the strong injection of humour, I actually think humour can be a very important relief valve in erotic fantasy play of all types.
Needless to say, a very enjoyable read, thank you so far, @BEThalia
I love the strong injection of humour, I actually think humour can be a very important relief valve in erotic fantasy play of all types.
Needless to say, a very enjoyable read, thank you so far, @BEThalia
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
It's a shame we can't get a tie Lion' then both aspects of the bet might need to be 'performed' ...
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
BEThalia
Executioner
Thank you, Fossy. Coming right up.
BEThalia
Executioner
Thank you for your support, L. It is a shame sometimes that only one side can win a bet.
BEThalia
Executioner
Appreciate you kind words, imoenbg1 and glad you're finding the story engaging.
BEThalia
Executioner
So, following Loinclothslave's advice I thought I'd try breaking postings down to 1000 word bites and see how that works out. If you feel so moved let me know if its working (or not) for you.
Chapter Three (Part One)
Saturday came. I don’t think I had gone to a homecoming game more than a couple times since I started school here. I had a new boyfriend, Patrick, who wanted to go. We arranged to attend the game with two other couples.
Were Patrick and I further into our relationship, I would have been concerned about the bet, but we’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks, the relationship getting more serious, trending toward exclusive, but not there yet. We had not been to bed. Maybe we never would. Maybe the relationship would be over by a week from Thursday. As it turned out, I ended up marrying Patrick. He did not hear the story of this bet and its outcome until two years into our marriage.
I sat on the hard bleacher plank next to the aisle thinking, God, here it is. What I'll be doing tomorrow afternoon - being humiliated or humiliating others - is about to be decided.
I also realized I had to give a pretense outwardly of rooting for our team, while inwardly hoping for the other team to win. I had given it some thought, but I could not come up with a convincing reason why I might be rooting for the other side. As the teams lined up for the kickoff, I saw the boys sitting down near one end of the bench.
Explaining the entire game is unnecessary, and I don’t remember most of it anyway. We received the opening kickoff and scored the first time we had the ball. Our team's kicker came on and made the extra point, eliciting a huge and sustained cheer from our side, almost as big as when we had scored the touchdown. I asked Patrick why so much excitement over one point and he shrugged. Someone in front of us, apparently a regular, turned and explained that if our team scored any touchdowns the coach would allow the kicker to try an extra point on the first. That was the first one he had made all season. So, this was decidedly not the NFL. Our team was ahead 7 to 0.
I was confident the onslaught was only postponed and looked forward to secretly relishing it. Our team held its own very well. We did not score any more, but we also managed to control the other team and keep them from scoring. However, near halftime the other team moved down the field, scored a touchdown and then made a two-point conversion to take the halftime lead 8 to 7.
I tried to make small talk at halftime while eating two fully loaded hotdogs, but I was distracted. The other team was ahead, which was good for me, but by only a point. Maybe they would break it open in the second half, but it did not look as if this game would turn into a blowout so common to a meeting between these two teams.
My mind wandered, unwanted, to the possibility I could actually lose this bet. That mental image of me I’d had on Tuesday came to my mind, and I had a great deal of trouble dismissing it. I had known with certainty on Tuesday that the image - of me getting fucked from both ends in a dorm room - becoming reality was simply not possible. Now I didn’t know.
The second half began. I was hoping for the best and got it. The other team received the kickoff and they drove down the field, a drive that ended in a touchdown. They again made the extra two points and now lead 16 to 7. I grumped convincingly while silently exalting.
After that touchdown, our team's offense continued to do nothing, but also held the other team in check. About halfway through the fourth quarter the other team again got down near the goal line and then scored. This time when they tried a pass to get the two points the ball was knocked down. I could relax now, though. We were behind 22 to 7. It was just a matter of how bad it would get before the end.
Just after that, I looked down toward the boys, still huddled near the end of the bench. They had not played. I wished I could hear what was going on in their heads, or what they were talking about. I was reasonably sure they were not comparing the advantages of various fellatio techniques. I flashed on a mental image of each of them naked, embarrassed, dick in hand, stroking, trying to come in front of me while I sat at my leisure, fully clothed, watching them with an amused and condescending smile. Frankly, it served them right for imagining and plotting so vile a bet. I had to remember to think up some really cutting and humiliating comments to use the next afternoon.
Then my mind wandered to a scene in which one was kneeling before the other getting ready to put his mouth around a dick for the first time. So, they thought I was going to get naked for them? That they were going to fuck me? Sorry boys! The mental image was one that satisfied my sense of justice. It would be a deliciously entertaining sight, made more so by the fact that they were the ones who had taken our little bet in this direction. I tried not to smile, but apparently I was not completely successful.
"What are you smiling about?" Patrick asked, pushing me playfully with his elbow. "We're behind 22 to 7, they're on our eleven-yard line, and there’s less than two minutes to play." Apparently, I had been preoccupied longer than I’d thought.
"Sorry," I said, "I just happened to think of something funny."
Well, it was the truth!
Chapter Three (Part One)
Saturday came. I don’t think I had gone to a homecoming game more than a couple times since I started school here. I had a new boyfriend, Patrick, who wanted to go. We arranged to attend the game with two other couples.
Were Patrick and I further into our relationship, I would have been concerned about the bet, but we’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks, the relationship getting more serious, trending toward exclusive, but not there yet. We had not been to bed. Maybe we never would. Maybe the relationship would be over by a week from Thursday. As it turned out, I ended up marrying Patrick. He did not hear the story of this bet and its outcome until two years into our marriage.
I sat on the hard bleacher plank next to the aisle thinking, God, here it is. What I'll be doing tomorrow afternoon - being humiliated or humiliating others - is about to be decided.
I also realized I had to give a pretense outwardly of rooting for our team, while inwardly hoping for the other team to win. I had given it some thought, but I could not come up with a convincing reason why I might be rooting for the other side. As the teams lined up for the kickoff, I saw the boys sitting down near one end of the bench.
Explaining the entire game is unnecessary, and I don’t remember most of it anyway. We received the opening kickoff and scored the first time we had the ball. Our team's kicker came on and made the extra point, eliciting a huge and sustained cheer from our side, almost as big as when we had scored the touchdown. I asked Patrick why so much excitement over one point and he shrugged. Someone in front of us, apparently a regular, turned and explained that if our team scored any touchdowns the coach would allow the kicker to try an extra point on the first. That was the first one he had made all season. So, this was decidedly not the NFL. Our team was ahead 7 to 0.
I was confident the onslaught was only postponed and looked forward to secretly relishing it. Our team held its own very well. We did not score any more, but we also managed to control the other team and keep them from scoring. However, near halftime the other team moved down the field, scored a touchdown and then made a two-point conversion to take the halftime lead 8 to 7.
I tried to make small talk at halftime while eating two fully loaded hotdogs, but I was distracted. The other team was ahead, which was good for me, but by only a point. Maybe they would break it open in the second half, but it did not look as if this game would turn into a blowout so common to a meeting between these two teams.
My mind wandered, unwanted, to the possibility I could actually lose this bet. That mental image of me I’d had on Tuesday came to my mind, and I had a great deal of trouble dismissing it. I had known with certainty on Tuesday that the image - of me getting fucked from both ends in a dorm room - becoming reality was simply not possible. Now I didn’t know.
The second half began. I was hoping for the best and got it. The other team received the kickoff and they drove down the field, a drive that ended in a touchdown. They again made the extra two points and now lead 16 to 7. I grumped convincingly while silently exalting.
After that touchdown, our team's offense continued to do nothing, but also held the other team in check. About halfway through the fourth quarter the other team again got down near the goal line and then scored. This time when they tried a pass to get the two points the ball was knocked down. I could relax now, though. We were behind 22 to 7. It was just a matter of how bad it would get before the end.
Just after that, I looked down toward the boys, still huddled near the end of the bench. They had not played. I wished I could hear what was going on in their heads, or what they were talking about. I was reasonably sure they were not comparing the advantages of various fellatio techniques. I flashed on a mental image of each of them naked, embarrassed, dick in hand, stroking, trying to come in front of me while I sat at my leisure, fully clothed, watching them with an amused and condescending smile. Frankly, it served them right for imagining and plotting so vile a bet. I had to remember to think up some really cutting and humiliating comments to use the next afternoon.
Then my mind wandered to a scene in which one was kneeling before the other getting ready to put his mouth around a dick for the first time. So, they thought I was going to get naked for them? That they were going to fuck me? Sorry boys! The mental image was one that satisfied my sense of justice. It would be a deliciously entertaining sight, made more so by the fact that they were the ones who had taken our little bet in this direction. I tried not to smile, but apparently I was not completely successful.
"What are you smiling about?" Patrick asked, pushing me playfully with his elbow. "We're behind 22 to 7, they're on our eleven-yard line, and there’s less than two minutes to play." Apparently, I had been preoccupied longer than I’d thought.
"Sorry," I said, "I just happened to think of something funny."
Well, it was the truth!
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
I certainly appreciate the shorter chapter! Thank you! What a great mental image she made of the boys! I wish you were writing the Australian women Soccer team’s game last night, they needed to come from behind as well!
BEThalia
Executioner
The Matildas came up short. I can't help but think if their asses were on the line the result might have been different.
BEThalia
Executioner
I think there is a difference between a bet on a sporting event - in which one has no control over the outcome - and a bet on something in which the bettors are active participants.
BEThalia
Executioner
I thought I'd go ahead and put up this next little bit while reminding everyone that the women's World Cup Final is today/tonight/tomorrow (however it works out in your part of the globe). I'm in the States. I don't really follow soccer/football too much, but I've been enjoying some of the elimination games lately. I'm aware enough to know that the American women had quite a successful run for quite a while, but it looks as if that may be in the past. I hope your team is the next dynasty.
And good luck to both England and Spain!
Chapter Three - (Part Two)
The other team ran their next play, everyone on our side of the field expecting the worst. Then our partisans started to cheer and rise to their feet. I looked up, then stood up, and saw one of our players racing down the field with the ball. He was at the fifty-yard line. He continued down the field, some of the other team's players chasing him, and he crossed the goal line with none of them closer to him than five yards.
I’d been preoccupied again, revisiting my thoughts on Thursday, wondering whether what I would be making the boys do the next day would end up turning me on, requiring the attentions of my fingers after they’d left.
So, I had to ask Patrick what had happened. He told me the other team's quarterback had tried to hand the ball off to another player, but that one of them was hit at that second. The ball had popped up into the air and dropped right into the arms of one of our players, already in full stride toward the goal line. As he finished this explanation our team was just completing a two-point conversion to make the score 22 to 15.
Even though the last play had gone against me, and I’d had to play act ecstasy, I could afford to enjoy the excitement it brought. I saw on the scoreboard that there was now just one minute and eighteen seconds left in the game.
The kicker on our team apparently made up in kickoff distance what he lacked in extra point accuracy. The other team caught the ball at the goal line and only returned it to the seventeen.
I know much more now about football than I did then. I was a little clueless about the real ins and outs of the game. I knew how many points each scoring event earned, and that teams had four chances to advance the ball ten yards to get another four chances. So, Patrick had to explain some of what happened next, and I decided I would pay attention. There would be plenty of time that night to explore any questions about whether tomorrow's activities would turn me on, how much of a laugh they would be, how vindicated I would feel in visiting on the boys the humiliation they’d tried to heap on me.
With one minute and thirteen seconds now left the other team ran a play in which a player took the ball and ran into the line. Then there was a time-out. Patrick pointed out to me some lights on the scoreboard I had never considered before. There were three on each team’s side. He said they represented how many time-outs a team still had left. One of the lights on our side of the board was already out. Now another winked out, leaving only one still lit. Who knew? I had always thought a team could take as many as they wanted. They’re always having time-outs in basketball and baseball.
Patrick went on to explain that our team had used a time out to stop the clock from running. They wanted to try to get one more chance to score. He also explained that the other team was using running plays to try to take time off the clock. It all seemed very cagey to me. Perhaps this game was not only about abnormally large people running around bumping into each other, as I’d always thought.
"But the other team is going to win, right?" I asked. "Wouldn't our team just want to get the game over with as soon as possible?"
"I suppose you could look at it that way," Patrick said, humoring his date, "but they may be able to get the ball again, so they want to leave the possibility open."
"But the other team is going to win, right?" I asked again.
"That's almost certain," Patrick said. I felt reassured.
The clock was now at one minute and nine seconds, and the other team had eight yards to go to get another four chances. This time they ran a play where the ball was given to one player who ran toward a sideline but then gave it to another player running the other way. It seemed very tricky to me, but I don’t think it worked as well as they would have liked. After the play ended, they still had seven yards to go. Our team called another time-out, extinguishing the last light on our side of the scoreboard.
I asked Patrick why the other team had done that, and he explained that the play took longer than just running straight up the middle. The time stood at fifty-nine seconds left.
"Our team doesn't have any timeouts left?" I asked. Patrick told me that was the case. "So that's really good for the other team, right?" I asked. Patrick said it was. "So, the other team is going to win, right?" I asked again. Patrick said that it was now even more likely than the last two times I’d asked.
The other team ran another play, running again into the line, but they were stopped before they moved the ball any farther. As the clock ticked away, I was about to ask Patrick why our side didn’t call a time-out, but then remembered our time-outs were all gone.
Realization broke on me like the blinding, exhilarating rays of the newly risen Sun: I had won the bet! This dawning awareness unleashed a torrent of thoughts and feelings. So, this is what it feels like, I thought, and realized I liked the feeling very well. I had risked unspeakable, intolerable humiliation, but I had won! What a feeling of triumph! What a feeling of relief! I almost let slip a giggle triggered by the powerful dissipation of tension within me. Our bet had been resolved: I was the winner; the boys were the losers.
A little diatribe began in my mind. The boys had thought I would have to strip naked for them; I would have to climb onto a bed for them; I would have to open my mouth and my legs so they could use my body for their sexual satisfaction. Oh, boys, I am so very sorry! You have so miscalculated! I would have to remember these thoughts, share them with the boys as they stripped tomorrow, as they pulled their dicks tomorrow, as they licked their own cum tomorrow. As they sucked each other’s dicks tomorrow I would have to point out to them that their cocks were in the other’s mouth, rather than in my pussy or my mouth. I would have to point out to them frequently tomorrow who was naked and who was sitting back, fully dressed and being entertained. Oh, this was going to be so much fun!
I wallowed in my triumph. I wished I could go down on the field that minute and see the boys, begin rubbing it in. Even though I had fully expected to win, the settlement, the finality of my victory was a delicious treat, like none I had ever enjoyed before. I was in the enviable position of being able to spend the rest of today, tonight, and tomorrow morning looking forward to the payoff of this bet, rather than dreading it. I looked at the boys sitting on the bench and had to turn to hide from my companions the smile I could not stop from playing across my face.
It now seemed as if my running inner debate was resolved too: yes, yes, I think tomorrow afternoon's activities might likely be a very, very big turn-on for me. Yes, I think I would, after all, enjoy the role of dominant woman for an afternoon.
And good luck to both England and Spain!
Chapter Three - (Part Two)
The other team ran their next play, everyone on our side of the field expecting the worst. Then our partisans started to cheer and rise to their feet. I looked up, then stood up, and saw one of our players racing down the field with the ball. He was at the fifty-yard line. He continued down the field, some of the other team's players chasing him, and he crossed the goal line with none of them closer to him than five yards.
I’d been preoccupied again, revisiting my thoughts on Thursday, wondering whether what I would be making the boys do the next day would end up turning me on, requiring the attentions of my fingers after they’d left.
So, I had to ask Patrick what had happened. He told me the other team's quarterback had tried to hand the ball off to another player, but that one of them was hit at that second. The ball had popped up into the air and dropped right into the arms of one of our players, already in full stride toward the goal line. As he finished this explanation our team was just completing a two-point conversion to make the score 22 to 15.
Even though the last play had gone against me, and I’d had to play act ecstasy, I could afford to enjoy the excitement it brought. I saw on the scoreboard that there was now just one minute and eighteen seconds left in the game.
The kicker on our team apparently made up in kickoff distance what he lacked in extra point accuracy. The other team caught the ball at the goal line and only returned it to the seventeen.
I know much more now about football than I did then. I was a little clueless about the real ins and outs of the game. I knew how many points each scoring event earned, and that teams had four chances to advance the ball ten yards to get another four chances. So, Patrick had to explain some of what happened next, and I decided I would pay attention. There would be plenty of time that night to explore any questions about whether tomorrow's activities would turn me on, how much of a laugh they would be, how vindicated I would feel in visiting on the boys the humiliation they’d tried to heap on me.
With one minute and thirteen seconds now left the other team ran a play in which a player took the ball and ran into the line. Then there was a time-out. Patrick pointed out to me some lights on the scoreboard I had never considered before. There were three on each team’s side. He said they represented how many time-outs a team still had left. One of the lights on our side of the board was already out. Now another winked out, leaving only one still lit. Who knew? I had always thought a team could take as many as they wanted. They’re always having time-outs in basketball and baseball.
Patrick went on to explain that our team had used a time out to stop the clock from running. They wanted to try to get one more chance to score. He also explained that the other team was using running plays to try to take time off the clock. It all seemed very cagey to me. Perhaps this game was not only about abnormally large people running around bumping into each other, as I’d always thought.
"But the other team is going to win, right?" I asked. "Wouldn't our team just want to get the game over with as soon as possible?"
"I suppose you could look at it that way," Patrick said, humoring his date, "but they may be able to get the ball again, so they want to leave the possibility open."
"But the other team is going to win, right?" I asked again.
"That's almost certain," Patrick said. I felt reassured.
The clock was now at one minute and nine seconds, and the other team had eight yards to go to get another four chances. This time they ran a play where the ball was given to one player who ran toward a sideline but then gave it to another player running the other way. It seemed very tricky to me, but I don’t think it worked as well as they would have liked. After the play ended, they still had seven yards to go. Our team called another time-out, extinguishing the last light on our side of the scoreboard.
I asked Patrick why the other team had done that, and he explained that the play took longer than just running straight up the middle. The time stood at fifty-nine seconds left.
"Our team doesn't have any timeouts left?" I asked. Patrick told me that was the case. "So that's really good for the other team, right?" I asked. Patrick said it was. "So, the other team is going to win, right?" I asked again. Patrick said that it was now even more likely than the last two times I’d asked.
The other team ran another play, running again into the line, but they were stopped before they moved the ball any farther. As the clock ticked away, I was about to ask Patrick why our side didn’t call a time-out, but then remembered our time-outs were all gone.
Realization broke on me like the blinding, exhilarating rays of the newly risen Sun: I had won the bet! This dawning awareness unleashed a torrent of thoughts and feelings. So, this is what it feels like, I thought, and realized I liked the feeling very well. I had risked unspeakable, intolerable humiliation, but I had won! What a feeling of triumph! What a feeling of relief! I almost let slip a giggle triggered by the powerful dissipation of tension within me. Our bet had been resolved: I was the winner; the boys were the losers.
A little diatribe began in my mind. The boys had thought I would have to strip naked for them; I would have to climb onto a bed for them; I would have to open my mouth and my legs so they could use my body for their sexual satisfaction. Oh, boys, I am so very sorry! You have so miscalculated! I would have to remember these thoughts, share them with the boys as they stripped tomorrow, as they pulled their dicks tomorrow, as they licked their own cum tomorrow. As they sucked each other’s dicks tomorrow I would have to point out to them that their cocks were in the other’s mouth, rather than in my pussy or my mouth. I would have to point out to them frequently tomorrow who was naked and who was sitting back, fully dressed and being entertained. Oh, this was going to be so much fun!
I wallowed in my triumph. I wished I could go down on the field that minute and see the boys, begin rubbing it in. Even though I had fully expected to win, the settlement, the finality of my victory was a delicious treat, like none I had ever enjoyed before. I was in the enviable position of being able to spend the rest of today, tonight, and tomorrow morning looking forward to the payoff of this bet, rather than dreading it. I looked at the boys sitting on the bench and had to turn to hide from my companions the smile I could not stop from playing across my face.
It now seemed as if my running inner debate was resolved too: yes, yes, I think tomorrow afternoon's activities might likely be a very, very big turn-on for me. Yes, I think I would, after all, enjoy the role of dominant woman for an afternoon.