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.

As Patrick again wrapped his hand around his dick and began stroking I said, "Knees."

He looked at me. I wasn't sure if he'd not heard me or had not understood what I had said. "I'm sorry? Did you say something?" He asked.

I locked my eyes with his, gave him a level look and said, "I want you on your knees. That will make this so much more entertaining for me." I made my glance go to the floor in front of me and then back to his eyes.

He obediently sank toward the floor, me holding his gaze until he broke it.

"That's better," I said. "You can start pulling your dick again."

As he continued to stroke his dick on his knees I considered this situation. I found I liked it. I was finally doing nine years later what I had hoped to do back when I made the bet with Paul and Hank: exploring the role of the dominant woman.

I contemplated the scene. I had a nude man on his knees stroking his dick right in front of me. I, by contrast, was sitting at ease in a comfortable and cushioned chair, fully clothed. Patrick could see my bare calves and feet, my bare forearms, my face and neck. But the rest of my body was hidden while his was explicitly exposed to my eyes.

As he continued to avoid my eyes I could feel the embarrassment coming off him in waves. He had no place to hide and had to continue in his current activity.

I had seen Patrick nude so many times, but never like this: constrained by the bet he had agreed to. Nude not because he was taking a shower or changing; but nude, on his knees, and stroking his dick because he had lost a bet and had to do it.

More, his longed for dream of a night of fucking my ass was gone, unrecoverable, at least for this night. He had risked to win something he wanted and he had lost, and was now suffering the consequences.

Had our little cribbage match gone differently we would be engaged in other activities at this moment.

Given Patrick's enthusiasm for bondage, I knew where I would be at this moment. I looked beyond Patrick to our bed several feet behind him. I could envision myself: nude and lying with my front side down, a ball gag in my mouth, blindfold over my eyes, leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles, my four limbs pulled tightly toward the four corners of the bed, holding me immobile, pillows piled under my hips lifting my ass high. I could see the shine of the lubricant in my ass crack.

Then Patrick was positioning himself behind me, approaching. I could see him take his rigid dick, also shiny and slick with lubricant, and with his hand place it on the rosebud of my asshole. I saw his hips move forward as he began to work his dick past the tight guardian of my sphincter. I saw the head go in, and at the same time saw myself pull involuntarily on my restraints and issue a grunt through my gag as my asshole stretched unnaturally to accomodate his erection.

I watched as it filled me more, stretching my asshole yet wider. The panic and vulnerability Patrick had felt with my hand tightly squeezing his balls was now in me as jolts of pain came from my ass as it was stretched wider and wider, filling with more and more of Patrick's dick. Then I heard myself moaning in discomfort continuously, and I saw my limbs begin to pull futilely at the restraints binding them, not stopping, trying to escape. And as I moaned and pulled Patrick began to move in and out of me, the winner of our little cribbage match claiming the prize he had risked to win.

But that was not my fate tonight.

I dismissed from my mind the images of Patrick as victor, and I refocused on my masturbating little boy toy knelling before me. I found I enjoyed this role.

As a life style? No.

As a regular part of our sex play? No.

But from time to time I could enjoy this thoroughly.

"Um, I'm going to need the plate soon," Patrick said, his voice quavering, shaking me free of my contemplation. I looked into his eyes, said nothing, let a smile appear on my lips, amusement play across my face. I could tell by the sound of his breathing that his orgasm was seconds away, a sound I knew well and loved.

"Where?" He asked desperately. "Where do I cum?"

I raised my dangling right foot to his mouth, my bare toes playing with his lips. I lowered it again, arching the top, wiggling my toes. He got the message immediately.

"And don't you dare let a drop spill on the carpet." I said, not giving an instruction but issuing a decree.

He placed his hand under my foot, and had to lean far forward to bring his rigid dick near it. Then I felt thick heat on my foot, wave after wave of it as his cum spilled from him. Then both of his hands were under the sides of my foot making sure none of his cum escaped. Two final weak shots left his dick, and without a hand on his dick to direct them they landed near my ankle.

After the fireworks were over he breathed deeply, catching his breath. He looked up at me. I made eye contact and looked at him expectantly. "Well?" I asked. "Start licking."

He put his mouth to my foot and his hands. I felt his tongue begin to bathe my foot, on top first, then on the sides as he lapped and sucked in his pooled cum. He swallowed then, gagging a little, but after that he became used to the taste, smell, and texture of his semen and did not gag again.

I felt his tongue on my toes, licking along the top of them and then taking each in his mouth and cleaning it off, running his tongue between my toes and under them. His tongue went up the outside edge of my foot and then to the arch, collecting into his mouth every drop of cum. He finished by licking the cum from the last two weak shots off my ankle.

"Very good," I judged. Then I rose, leaving him kneeling there forgotten, and went to the bathroom and began running water into the tub. I don't know what Patrick did, but I soaked in a hot, soapy-sudsy tub for so long I had to replenish the hot water. Then I donned my bathrobe and went to find Patrick. I found him lying on the bed, a quilt over him, sleeping.

I shook him, and when he was fully awake I went over to my chair again and imperiously parked the royal ass on it.

"Again?" Patrick asked.

"It isn't noon Saturday is it?" I asked in return. "I have two feet and you've so far only serviced one.

And so at it again. Patrick sank to his knees at my feet without being directed. The show was very entertaining this time. With one cum under his belt I watched for many minutes as Patrick brought himself to hardness, helped by the cock ring, and then started working toward his orgasm. He had to work hard too. The last time only his hand and dick had been involved. Now I saw muscles moving in his legs, his abdomen, his pectorals and shoulders flexing, working his body to a state of orgasm.

This time even less of me was visible than before, my robe covering me to the middle of my shins, just my face visible at the top, my hair wrapped in a towel.

I rose and left him there knelling on the floor and masturbating, and went to the kitchen. I retuned a few minutes later with a glass of wine, but didn't sit back down immediately. Instead I walked around him, inspecting, examining. I saw his buttocks working just as hard as every other muscle, clenching and unclenching and then clenching again harder. I had never known that gluts got into the act too. Who knew?

I sat again in my chair, put my right elbow on the right arm of the chair, my arm raised and my chin resting in my fingers. I was genuinely enjoying this and I guess it showed. I know I was smiling at Patrick. No, not really smiling; showing my amusement would be a better way to put it, and it was clear to me by the look in his eyes that Patrick knew the difference. I took occasional sips of my wine while I watched my late night entertainment.

I sensed he was beginning to get more excited. I just couldn't resist.

"So you thought that dick would be up my ass tonight?" I asked. "Well, guess what, Bub, it's in your fist instead. You need to get your cribbage game together."

As I spoke these words I could sense his level of arousal build further.

"You know, I'm nude under this robe." I said. "Would it help at all if I opened it?" I heard a light moan from him.

"Or maybe just open it part way," I said. "What would you like to see? My tits? My pussy?" His moaning became louder, more continuous and persistent. I watched as his hand changed from stroking to squeezing his dick.

"Would it help if I licked my nipples and spread my legs? I asked. "Should I drop the robe, turned around, spread my butt and showed you the ass you won't be fucking tonight?" I let out a laugh.

The sounds emanating from him changed from a moan to just hoarse, ragged open-mouthed breathing.

"Sorry, Sweetie." I said. "Just keep pumping."

Patrick was a good boy, honoring his bet, working hard through it all to produce the cum he was required to. My chin still in my fingers, amusement still on my face, I put my left foot up to Patrick's face, playing the underside of my toes on his nose. I ran my toes over his cheeks and along his jaw line. Again I could sense his arousal build. I brought my toes to his mouth and pried at his lips with them, ending with the bottom of my big toe right on his slightly parted lips.

"Suck," I commanded. He pulled my big toe into his mouth, swirled his tongue around it, licking and sucking hard. Then his head began to bob slightly, like he was sucking on the world's second shortest dick, his breathing coming hard and ragged from his nostrils.

A moment later my toe left his mouth as he took my foot in his hand and brought it to his dick spilling a much reduced load of cum onto my left foot. Then his tongue, lapping and sucking his cum into his mouth.

When he was done I left him knelling on the floor panting, and I went to the kitchen for a cup of soothing tea in a favorite flavor, lingering over it, thinking of the little scenes we had just experienced.

Frankly, I was enjoying this night, enjoying exploring this newly-discovered part of my sexual personality. But I also couldn't wait until noon the next day when Patrick and I could leave our bet-enforced temporary roles behind and compare notes.

I finished a second tea and then made my way to bed. I found Patrick under the covers seemingly deep in sleep. I took off my robe and started to the closet for a nightie, and then thought better of it. I climbed into bed nude, scuttled over to Patrick.

His back was to me and I snuggled into him, spooning, my arms wrapping around him. He acknowledged my presence by pulling my arms more tightly around him, putting kisses on my hands and arms. I thought how we didn't sleep both of us nude very often and how it was very pleasant. We had to do it more often.

Those were my last thoughts before I fell into a deep asleep.