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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Patrick, as the winner of the previous game, dealt first. I would have to win two games in a row to pull this out; to have the opportunity to try on the role of female dominant.
This game was also fairly close. We played hand after hand, our pegs creeping along, always near each other. We finally came to a hand in which we were both approaching that skunk line at 90. We played out our cards against each other, and I did well: I ended at 97 and Patrick was at 90, just one step from crossing the skunk line. Patrick had dealt that hand, so I got to count the points in my hand first. He was waiting impatiently to count his points so he could get passed the skunk line; and, since he had the crib as well, likely pass me.
I'll explain this for the cribbage players reading this. In my hand I had a 7, 7, 8, 9, and the cut card atop the deck was an 8.
"Let's see," I said. "four runs of three is twelve, four fifteens is eight to make twenty, and two pairs for four more. That makes twenty-four. I moved my peg the twenty-four points, dragging the bottom of the peg over the holes I was bypassing on the board. This action always makes a unique sound, like the sound a baseball card makes in bicycle tire spokes, only much softer and more subtle. To a cribbage player its one of the world's more splendid sounds, especially if it continues for a while as you fly past many holes. My peg came to rest in the victory hole with no points to spare. "Now, that's a skunk, isn't it, Sweetie?" I asked Patrick.
The two points I earned by skunking him concluded our game.
"Shit," Patrick commented.
I stood and put my slip and dress back on.
"I was happy with you the way you were," Patrick said.
"Oh? Well I wasn't," I said, a note of superiority in my voice, quite intentional. "I think you have too many clothes on for someone who just lost." I said. "Strip." The sound of that word coming from my mouth was pure sweetness.
He sighed, stood, and did what he had to. He pulled off his socks and threw them on the couch. His slacks came down and off next. Then he took his sweater over his head and off. He stripped his tee shirt over his head. It joined the growing pile of clothes on the couch.
Then he sighed again and put his hands to the waistband of his boxers. After seven years of marriage, during which I've seen him nude hundreds or thousands of times, he actually hesitated twice, once as his hands traveled to the waistband and again when they were on it, before stripping them down and off and holding them in his hand.
His dick was getting near parallel to the floor, obviously partly engorged.
"Mister Happy seems to be enjoying this," I observed, and I got a pair of boxers tossed in my face for my trouble.
But this was an interesting experience, sitting there on the couch with all my clothes on, smiling, watching a man (and an awfully good looking one, too) take his clothes off. As when I had contemplated winning my bet with the boys years ago, I found I enjoyed the role reversal, especially in the 'no choice' context of paying off a bet.
I stood and put my hand tightly around Mr. Selwyn's Mr. Happy and in a no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners manner lead him to the bedroom.
Once there I seated myself with some pomp, deliberately and regally, in the bedroom chair. I crossed my right leg over my left at the knee and bounced my right foot slightly up and down. I looked at Patrick's face, raised my eyebrows, and gave him look of expectation. His face was actually flushed, with arousal or embarrassment I don't know.
Later when we talked about the experience he said it was almost all embarrassment. The arousal part was tough for him, not because he didn't want to cum or satisfy our bet, but because he was thinking of that old song about how 'the foot bone's connected to the shin bone, the shin bone's connected to the thigh bone.' Except he was thinking about how arousal leads to erection and erection leads to excitement and excitement leads to orgasm and orgasm (at least in this case) leads to eating cum. For him not a tremendous motivator.
He went to the night table drawer and took out a tube of gel and returned to stand in front of me.
"No," I said. "I want you in your cock ring."
Patrick looked at me for a moment, perhaps trying to figure out just what he had gotten himself into. 'Good,' I thought.
He returned to the night table and took his leather cock ring out, turned his back and began to put it on.
"No," I said again. "Come over here and stand in front of me. I want to watch you put it on."
He did as he was told. He spread his knees and thighs, reaching the cock ring underneath and behind his balls, then bringing the two ends together in front, snapping them in place. When done he put his hands to his sides.
"No," I said again. There were three ways to snap the cock ring closed. He had used the loosest. "Too loose. Put it on at the tightest setting."
He unsnapped the device. When he used the cock ring he always used the loosest or the medium tightness. Now I watched as he struggled to get the band around his cock and balls and snap it shut at the tightest of the settings. He had to pull on it, trying to bring the two ends together at the right setting, then trying again and again.
While he did this I said no words, but made little sounds of impatience and bounced my right foot up and down.
After several moments of struggle he succeeded.
