The Bet

I sipped my drink, watching the action around me, and sighed. It seemed like watching was all I ever got to do. I was stuck in a catch-22: I wanted to find someone who could accept everything about me, but I wasn't willing to tell anyone anything about me until I was sure they'd accepted me. A gay BDSM club probably wasn't the best choice for having deep personal conversations, and coming out to random strangers as transgender has never been my cup of tea.

A voice from behind me caused me to jump in my seat.

"You know, if you're not planning on playing, you can just pay the voyeur cover. It's cheaper."

I turned to the source of the voice, and suddenly found myself unable to come up with a coherent response. I've always had a thing for handsome older men, with their silver hair and distinguished lines around the mouth and eyes; this guy had everything I look for.

The mystery man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of my booth. I had to twist my neck around to see him clearly, meaning that my head ended up right next to his elbow with his right hand just brushing my chest.

"Well, I'm not a voyeur, uh, I guess I just haven't..." I trailed off, not sure where I was going with my sentence.

"I see you here every week for the last two months and you've never even approached anyone to scene. It can't be that you're too shy or too new to BDSM, though; you talk to everybody and you've watched some pretty intense scenes without flinching. So what's the hangup?"

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to collect my thoughts. This was the kind of thing I was afraid of, being cornered and asked to explain myself. Then I opened them and I made my first mistake. I got defensive. And when I get defensive, I get mouthy.

"You've been watching me here for weeks? Why do you care so much whether I scene or not?"

As soon as the words came out, I wished them back. I was honestly pretty flattered this very attractive man had been eying me, for one thing. And I did want someone to care whether I scened or not; in fact, I wanted someone to scene with all the time.

The man seemed to be able to read the meaning behind my words. He smiled wickedly at me and stepped around to slide into the booth next to me, forcing me to scoot down toward the closed end. He twisted to face me, setting one arm on the back of the booth and the other on the table. A shiver went through my body when I realized he had effectively trapped me in the booth, then another when I realized he'd seen how I was affected - and he liked it.

"I care because I'm a Dom. We're nosy assholes when we come across a sub who isn't getting what he needs. As for why I was watching you...I guess you don't know how watchable you are." He punctuated this last statement by reaching out and brushing some stray hairs off my forehead. I'd been meaning to get it cut for a while, so my hair was a few inches long and bushy. The unexpectedly intimate brush of his fingertips left burning trails across my skin. "How old are you?"

"I'm 25."

"You look younger."

"I get that a lot."

"It's a good age. Figuring out who you are and where you fit in the world as an adult, instead of an overgrown teenager. I'm Allan, by the way."

"I'm Ray. It's nice to meet you."

"You too. But back to business. You're obviously in the market for a Dom. You make conversation easily. You aren't scared of the clientele or the activities. So what's the problem?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Gorgeous older man or not, I wasn't ready to tell him. So I made my second mistake. I didn't lie, but I didn't tell the truth either.

"I'm not comfortable taking any of my clothes off in the club."

"So? How is that a problem?"

"So? I'm a sub." I snapped. "How is someone supposed to do a scene dominating me if I'm still wearing all my clothes?"

Allan's laugh was rich and warm, and almost erased my feelings of annoyance at having him dismiss my problems so easily.

"You don't know as much about BDSM as I thought, if you believe that."

I shrugged, unconvinced, especially since the real problem ran much deeper than a simple reluctance to get undressed. I'd been burned too many times by guys that I thought liked me for me but couldn't get past the fact that I didn't have a cock.

Allan looked at me for a moment, then spoke. "Tell you what. I'll make a bet with you."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "What kind of bet?"

"A BDSM bet. I'll bet that I can successfully dominate you, in and out of a scene, without taking off your clothes or reaching underneath them."

"How would we define 'being dominated'? It's not exactly an objective goalpost."

Allan thought quickly, then responded. "If I can make you beg for more of me, beg for more of whatever I want, rather than what you say your limits are."

"And if you can't?"

"So quick to assume I'll fail, are you?" Allan made a mock-scowl at me but there was no malice behind it. "If at the end of our time together, you don't feel you've been successfully dominated, I will get you a gift certificate to cover another two months of entry fees." He smiled another of his wicked grins. "I'd like a chance to try again if it doesn't work out tonight."

He paused, waiting for me to respond. I had to ask the next obvious question.

"If you win?"

"Two things. One, we go somewhere private and discuss this issue of yours in detail." I swallowed. "And two, once we have that worked out, I sign out a private room upstairs for the two of us to spend the night."

Forget butterflies, I felt like I had woodpeckers in my stomach and they were trying to peck their way out! I had been shown the private rooms during the initial interview to get into the club. They were a cross between a motel room and a mini BDSM dungeon, with a bed, small bathroom, shower, and several pieces of equipment. I never dreamed I'd have someone take me to one.

My manners finally caught up with me. "I can't let you buy me a gift certificate for two months worth of cover charges! That's too much money from someone I don't know."

Allan slid forward until I was practically within the circle of his arms. His voice was low, almost menacing. "Ray, the sub does not let the Dom do anything. The Dom does what he wants. The sub can either accept it or leave." I stared up at him, eyes wide, feeling frozen in place. I tried to stammer out an apology, but Allan touched my lips with his fingertips, silencing me. He leaned in, so close that his lips brushed my ear.

"Do we have a bet?" He whispered.

The "Yes, sir" slipped out before I could stop it. Allan sat back, looking smug. I swallowed hard again and tried not to hyperventilate. What was I thinking? This guy was having quite an effect on me.

Allan took both my hands in his and spoke matter-of-factly, so unlike the sensual growls and whispers of a moment before that it took me by surprise. "Good. Let's talk limits. The bet has a standing limit of no clothing removal and no groping. Anything else a hard limit for you?"

"Um...blood. Like, drawing blood on purpose with a blade. Watersports. Scat."

Allan nodded. "Obvious. I don't think anyone here does those things. Anything else?"

I thought hard for a moment. "I don't like being tickled. It's just not fun. I think that's about it, though, for the moment."

Allan chuckled. "Well, I can work with that." Suddenly, his grip on my wrists went from friendly to confining, and my heart rate sped up. His voice shifted back to the low register. "You like being tied up, though? Like the idea of being strung up so you can't move?"

My mouth dry, I simply nodded.

"I want to hear it."

"Yes, sir." I whispered.

"What about spanking? Do you want me to lay you over a table and spank that little jean-covered ass of yours until you beg for mercy? With my hand, and then maybe a paddle, and then maybe something more?"

I wiggled involuntarily in my seat. "Oh, god, yes."

Quicker than I could blink, Allan's hand lashed out and tangled in my hair. He pulled forcefully, twisting my head back and to the side. "The answer is 'yes, SIR'," he growled. "You can add 'please' if it suits you." The feeling in my scalp shot straight my groin, and I whimpered in pain and need.

"Yes, sir. Please, yes, sir." I managed to gasp out.

Allan released his grip on my hair and I sagged in my seat. What had I gotten myself into? Losing this bet seemed like a foregone conclusion - I was saying please during limit negotiations, for Christ's sake - and that meant I had to spend a night with this man. The rational part of my brain was clamoring for my attention, pointing out that Allan would probably lose interest once he found out what was going on under my clothes. But it was being drowned out by the rest of me, simply wanting to bask in Allan's attentions.

Allan studied my face. "I gave you two, but those were easy guesses. What else is good for you?"

I stared at him in mild horror. He wanted me to describe my kinks to him? Limits were easy. This was hard.

He leaned back against the seat and folded his arms across his chest. "Take your time. I'll wait."

I took a deep breath. "Scratching. I like being scratched. Sir."

"Another easy guess. What else? One I wouldn't guess."

I looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. "It's fucked up."

"This is a BDSM club. We're all fucked up. Just tell me."

"Choking, okay? I like being choked. Happy?" I practically spat the words out.

Allan remained unmoved. "Trust me, that's not even close to the weirdest stuff I hear. By the way," His voice dropped to the dangerous-sounding growl again, "it's still sir. You've already agreed to scene with me, and if you keep forgetting my title or using an impolite tone like that, you're going to regret it."

A delicious shiver ran through every muscle in my body. Chance had brought me exactly what I was looking for.

"Yes, sir. I'm very sorry, sir."

Now I just had to hope that Allan would still be interested in me once knew my real secret.