Roberta & Patric's Bet

This story is presented in five parts. The story is finished and all chapters have been submitted, so hopefully you should be able to get into the story and enjoy a chapter every day. As always, your comments and observations are welcome.

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Now I realize the last thing you my reader needs, if you don't play cribbage, is a complete description of the game's rules and all the ins and outs of playing.

Let it suffice to say that cribbage is a card game. Various combinations of cards are worth certain numbers of points. The player to reach 121 points first wins. When the game ends there is no completing the hand or letting the other player see if they can catch up and outscore the other: whoever makes it to 121 first wins. End of game right then, even if in mid-hand.

Score is kept on a board with little holes, and little pegs are moved to keep track. A game takes about fifteen minutes to play.

One last thing: there is a particularly ignominious way to lose called a 'skunk.' This happens when one player gets to 121 while the other player is at 90 or less. Usually when you are playing a game for money a loser who loses so badly as to be skunked has to pay double. That's why in our game a skunk win was going to be worth two points and so would mean immediate victory.

We set up the board, put our pegs in the starting holes. I shuffled the cards and dealt. We are both good at this game, quite evenly matched. On any given evening either of us could win.

The first game was very closely played all the way. Near the end we were both at 118 at the end of a hand. I dealt the next hand and Patrick played a seven. I countered with an eight, making fifteen, earning me two points. I advanced my peg into the next to last hole. Then Patrick played a nine, making a run of three worth three points and advanced his peg past mine and into the victory hole. He had one of the two points he needed to win the bet.

He smiled widely. "Beginning to get a yearning for something big up your ass?" He asked.

"Who says it's that big?" I returned.

"So that's your attitude," he said. "Let's see if you're still talking that trash thirty minutes from now with a boner up your ass."

Patrick cleared his throat very deliberately. "You seem to have too much clothing on for someone who just lost a point."

I didn't really have much on: my heels had come off at the door, and I was bare-legged. I stood and unzipped my dress and let it fall, then took my full slip down and stepped out of it. I sat back down in my bra and panties, feeling much more conspicuous than I otherwise would in just my underwear around Patrick.

Patrick took advantage of his advantage to make me feel even more conspicuous. I'm one of those girls who won't fit into any bra. I find a B a bit too small and a C just a bit too big, so I wear one or the other depending on whether my boobs are a bit larger or smaller that day. You know how it is, girls. Today I had on a B, and it was almost the look of a Wonderbra, the bra making my boobs look more plump and round and with more cleavage than they naturally have. Patrick stared and licked his lips.

I was disappointed by this turn of events. I had known that I could lure Patrick into this bet with the promise of winning anal sex.

I was OK with paying off if I lost, although I did find anal an uncomfortable and demanding chore with nothing in it for me. Having to bend over two or three (!) or four (could it be possible?) times for it tonight made the prospect of losing an unpleasant one, and something to be avoided.

I was really hoping to win this bet.

If you've read the story of my previous bet, in the series "Roberta's Bet", you know that had I won the bet the two boys I had bet against would have had to strip for me, masturbate, eat their cum, and then suck each other off and swallow. I had wondered after making the bet whether putting those two poor unfortunate males through their humiliating little chores would be a turnon for me.

At one point I had believed I had won the bet, and at that point it had all become clear as glass to me. I knew that humiliating the boys, laughing at them, mocking them, making the most cutting and embarrassing remarks and observations would very much turn me on. The realization that playing the dominant female was something I could relish and wallow in for an afternoon was then obvious to me. I wanted to explore that role, had just about started to salivate in anticipating it.

But fate had other ideas and I ended up losing the bet, and I was the recipient of deep and shaming humiliation: made to strip nude and twice take a dick in my mouth and one in my pussy at the same time; forced to run naked before hundreds in public.

But, as I had just told Patrick, I have from time to time wondered , have dreamed and wished that the outcome of that bet had been different.

Now I had a chance to explore that role and it was slipping from me.

Patrick had never masturbated for me. Not that I or he was against it. It had just never come up in our sex play. We both masturbated from time to time.

I had seen him masturbating once, although he did not know I had.

One Sunday afternoon I had come back from a jog early. I had told Patrick I was going jogging with a neighborhood girlfriend, and then I was going to her house to visit, likely for the rest of the afternoon. Patrick had said that was fine, that he might take a nap or watch a game, he wasn't sure which.

My friend had cramped up during our jog and I helped her back to her house. She just wanted to lie down so I came home. I slipped into the house silently, not wanting to wake Patrick if he had opted for the nap.

As I walked through the house I heard from the media room the sounds of a game. I wasn't being stealthy or sneaky, but how much noise can you make walking in your sock feet on carpet? When I entered the room Patrick was in his recliner in front of the television, a basketball game on. I walked up behind his recliner to give him a hug; let him know I was back. As I looked over the top of the recliner I found Patrick settled deep in the cushions, his pants and boxers at mid-thigh, his eyes closed, his hands on his hard dick. He had one hand gripping the shaft while the other turned the head back and forth, deeply oblivious to his surroundings.

Now, all of this was perfectly fine with me. I'm not one of those egotistical and insecure women who believe that every orgasm their man puts out must have her name written on it in flowery, perfume-scented script. I just couldn't understand what he could possibly find so sexually arousing about the Los Angeles Lakers versus the Portland Trailblazers.

But I knew as well as anyone that sometimes the mood just strikes.

I was at a loss as to what to do: surprise him in mid-jerk? Watch silently? Leave the room and then pretend I just got home after he was done? I settled on the middle option followed by a modified version of the third.

It was an interesting and entertaining show. I learned a thing or two about how he likes to be stimulated, like that little head turning technique; I would never have thought of that. And I put it to use in future encounters to his surprise and delight. I've wondered if he has ever asked himself how I might have learned that technique pleases him so much. I even pursued a little fantasy while I stood there: that he was doing this, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He had lost a bet, just like the boys might have, and now had to satisfy it by putting on this personal, intimate little show for an audience.

The thought was a real hottie, making my pussy lubricate and making me want to get my hand into my sweatpants pronto. But just then Patrick was cumming, his ejaculation thick, accompanied by deep, satisfied moans. I withdrew from the room before he regained his senses.

I went off to the bathroom to shower, a long one that included first the movable shower head, and then my fingers, on my pussy. Afterward, I went to see Patrick, telling him I was sorry I hadn't come in to see him when I got back, but that I wanted to shower first; and how was the game?

But actually have him deliberately masturbate before me because he has to? That has never happened, and I thought it would be an interesting experience. It would certainly be better than the night that was ahead of me if I lost this bet.

He had agreed to the bet willingly, even enthusiastically, so I didn't feel any guilt from the fact that I had used his love of anal sex to lure him into this bet.

Somewhere in my past I heard the term 'dom bitch.' Well, now I hoped and prayed that I could manage to win this bet and get an opportunity to satisfy my curiosity about just how much 'dom' there is in this 'bitch.'