There was an old gambler's caveat about betting on "a sure thing". The tale goes that if someone comes up to you and bets that if you choose a card from a sealed deck they can make it levitate and spit water on you, you
do not
take the bet! The reasoning is obvious. They wouldn't have offered the bet unless they felt certain they could accomplish the seemingly impossible feat.
Since a trip to Vegas had been in the works for Alison, it was a warning she should have taken seriously! Instead, she walked naively into just such a no-win bet.
It all started with a dispute with her best friend and roommate, Chelsea. The two weren't afraid to get down and dirty when they watched TV. Anything could spark a lively debate. Even
True Blood
, usually sacred viewing, was no exception. Of course, in that case it waited until after the show was over.
In this case, the discussion was how much of a man-slut Jason was in their favorite show. While neither saw fit to argue this was anything but simple truth, it was the reason that came under fire. Chelsea insisted that you had to make some exceptions for guys. After all, they couldn't help the intensity of their sex drives or the way it flavored their thought process.
Alison refused to agree. After all, it was nothing more than a matter of choice and self-control. Okay, so maybe he needed the physical relief for biological reasons. The simple answer was to use his own hands. He didn't have to jump from woman to woman obsessively. There were plenty of men who were strictly monogamous.
To this day, Alison still wasn't certain how Chelsea had steered the conversation around to the two of them. The shift had come about, somehow, through pointing out the proclivities of prison inmates. Something about how they turned to homosexuality out of necessity.
That was where Alison had fallen into the trap. She'd insisted that no situation would ever force her that far outside of her typical habits. She graciously conceded that she wasn't against the possibility of a lesbian encounter but it would be because she loved and respected the woman, not because she was the best choice out of a bad situation.
Chelsea jumped on the boast like a lioness on an antelope. For years, the noted bisexual had teased about a liaison between the roommates. Although posed as jokes, it was clear that the sentiment ran far deeper than mere jest. The challenge she offered looked like nothing more than one more joking attempt to get her in bed. As presented, however, it seemed a perfect means to get her to do the laundry for two months.
Now, Alison was fairly certain that her roommate expected not only to receive the reward of laundry service but also gain the added bonus of her desperately desired tryst at last! Unfortunately, Alison wasn't entirely certain she could resist.
The trip had seemed the perfect opportunity to play out their dispute. After all, where else but Vegas was the city of sin and hedonism? If the trip was a working vacation, that didn't matter much. The two models spent most of their time standing next to an artist's booth and posing with whoever happened to wander by. They were eye candy. There was plenty of time during that to partake in a more intellectual pursuit.
Unfortunately, Alison hadn't taken into consideration how realistic her roomy would manage to make the situation. They couldn't change her body chemistry, so hormones couldn't play a factor the way they could in guys. Similarly, both refused to accept that drugs would be a viable alternative. They were professionals. It might be a relatively simple gig but they refused to do that while working. After hours was fine, but not at work!
Since they were in Vegas, the first stipulation was that Alison would have to restrict herself, sexually speaking, only to someone she'd known for at least a week. True, randomly throwing herself at some stranger would prove the point about Jason but it said nothing about the final course of the argument; that she wouldn't resort to homosexuality simply because of the situation she found herself in.
It hadn't really dawned on her that it meant she'd be restricted in partners to the artist on whose arms they would be draped (who happened to be her ex and would probably create a very awkward situation) or her bisexual roommate. When she finally
did
realize that, it still didn't bother her much. After all, as her own argument went, she could just masturbate. She hadn't wanted to risk sneaking a vibrator through airport security but she didn't, strictly speaking, need one.
The second part, she hadn't learned until they unpacked in their room, the night before the convention. In order to simulate a teenage male's libido, Alison would wear something beneath her outfit for the whole day. She'd laughed at the vibrating underwear and agreed. After all, it wasn't like there would be someone manipulating it. It didn't have a remote control. Besides, from a quick glance she could tell that the two little rubber nubs wouldn't really line up all that well. A slight adjustment, every now and then, would make sure they didn't hit anything truly sensitive.
Friday at the convention had only been a half day. The first part of the day had been set-up time for everyone. Given that the "booth" they were to liven up consisted of a three-foot by six-foot table, even their artist friend had little enough to do until the doors opened in the late afternoon. Since they had most of the day to themselves, there was no need to start the challenge until the booth opened.
A mere four hours! That was how long the first day of the convention lasted. As expected, the little vibrating nubs were able to be situated to avoid their intended targets; just in front of her asshole and just above her clit. What she hadn't expected was how effective even that "near miss" could be!
What she hadn't counted on was the way that her skin-tight bodysuit pressed the damn little nubs into her soft flesh. Rather than rub back and forth against her skin, the vibration resonated directly into her core, amplified by the two-prong assault. After a half-hour of unrelenting sensation, she'd begun to wonder if it might not have been better to adjust the device to its intended placement. When she asked her companions at the booth for a quick run to the bathroom, they'd agreed. The was no question that Chelsea knew the reason for the break, though she might have thought her roommate would seek some active relief rather than a mere adjustment.
A careful study, in the bathroom's mirror, proved Alison's worst fear groundless. Somehow, the design of the custom underwear distributed the vibration evenly enough that no visible signs betrayed its presence. Of course, the way her legless bodysuit plunged sharply between her legs attracted attention so it was a very good thing no one would be able to see the source of her discomfort.
True, even the slightest contact broke the illusion but patrons knew enough not to risk a grope of the booth babes. It was the surest way to get oneself thrown out, at best, or even arrested. She had to be a little careful how she draped herself against them for photo ops, but that was manageable.
The adjustment was a crushing failure. After only half an hour in the torture device, the slight shift caused an instantaneous orgasm. Plastered to the wall of the bathroom stall, it had taken no little amount of effort to even pull the vibrating panties back off when all her body wanted to do was surrender to the bliss and relief they suddenly offered.
Never in her twenty-two years had Alison thought that pleasure could be constituted as a form of torture. The next three-and-a-half hours were something of an education in that regard. There really was no way to be certain, but she suspected that what she had to endure was rather more potent than the average lust of a hormonal teenage boy. Of course, based on the sample she'd known in her lifetime, she might very well have been mistaken about that.
No sooner had the doors closed on the convention's first evening than Alison was at the elevator. She would have stripped the damn thing off then and there if there hadn't been a blue-haired old couple in the moving coffin with her. Even when they got off two floors below hers, however, she didn't dare touch the device. She was so strung out she was afraid even turning it off might send her over the edge.
Alison managed to make it to the bathroom of the room she shared with Chelsea. Her body felt weak from the constant tension so she sat on the floor and leaned against the cool plastic of the bathtub. Her skin was feverish with need and the relief that the white plastic offered proved how pathetic her life had become in such a short time.
Alison was so desperate for release that she didn't even bother to strip. She left the super-heroine inspired bodysuit on and slipped her fingers carefully beneath the edge to grip the vibrating thong. A single sharp tug was all it took.
Her body bucked as if struck by lightning. The damned rubber nubs shifted and sank perfectly into position. Bliss exploded from every nerve. Electricity raced across her flesh. Her skin burned and her blood boiled. Her core seemed to burst from the pressure and every muscle in her body seized at once.
A vague, tiny, portion of her mind suspected that she looked as if in the middle of a fit. Her hands had fallen uselessly by her side and she no longer sat upright. The way she flopped about on the floor must have resembled a landed fish. Only the moans and screams of sheer delight separated her from someone disabled by an epileptic attack.
Alison hadn't counted on the magnitude of the orgasm when she'd decided to just let the device do its job properly. The desperation of hours beneath its not-so-tender ministrations made it even more difficult to control her own body. Between the energy she burned during the climax and the relief of her body that the tension was finally released, she literally couldn't even lift a finger to turn the damn thing off, much less remove it entirely. It hadn't taken long for her to realize that she had quite literally sentenced herself to a perpetual state of orgasm until the batteries ran out.
Thankfully, another outcome presented itself. It had been a mistake to rush out of the convention hall so quickly. She realized that as soon as her roommate meandered in after her, nearly ten minutes later! Chelsea stood in the doorway for a few moments and enjoyed the view. Alison's throat was raw from constant screams and moans so she couldn't even plead for help.
Fortunately, after a very knowing smirk, her roommate had pity on her. Chelsea crouched down next to her, slipped a finger beneath both the bodysuit and the cursed thong and flipped the switch to turn it off. If she took the slightest liberty and stabbed her finger lightly inside the sopping folds nearby, Alison literally hadn't the voice to complain. Besides, after the constant torment she never would have noticed if her bisexual roomy hadn't pulled the now-sticky finger out and sucked teasingly on it.
"The release wasn't worth it, was it?"
