Roberta & Patric's Next Bet

This story is presented in a total of five parts. There is this chapter one. Following this will be a chapter 2A with a part one and two, and a chapter 2B with a part one and two. I think the story hangs together fine on its own, but I think having read the stories

Roberta & Patrick's Bet

and

Roberta's Bet

will increase your enjoyment of this story. The story is complete and all installments have been submitted so hopefully you should be able to begin reading the story and have an installment to read each day to the story's conclusion. As always your comments and observations are very welcome.

Roberta & Patrick's Next Bet -- Chapter One

"OK. Seven card no peak. How does that go again?" I asked.

"I thought you'd remember, Roberta," said Patrick. "We've played this before."

"I know," I said, "but it's been such a long while. Indulge me. Please. If I'm betting my ass on a game I'd really like to be reminded how to play it."

"Well, if you insist," Patrick said with a little smile. "You get seven cards all face down and you can't look at them. We turn over the top card on what's left of the deck, and then the first player turns their cards over one at a time until they beat the up card.

"For example, if the top card is a 5 and you're going first then you start turning over cards one at a time until you have beaten the 5. If you turn a 6 or higher with your first card you're done. But you might have to turn more cards before you've beaten the 5. Now, if the turned card is an ace, then the first player will have to turn at least two cards, and likely more, before they get a pair to beat the ace.

"The starting stake is one piece of clothing. But when that first player beats the up card they have the option to up the bet by one piece of clothing to two. The second player must agree to that or fold. If they agree then the bet on the hand is then two pieces. But if they fold then they have to lose the two pieces plus another as a penalty for folding.

After the first player has beaten the up card the second player goes. They turn cards one at a time until they beat whatever the first player has. Say the first player beat the 5 with a king. The second player turns cards until they have an ace or a pair or some other combination that beats the king high.

"At that point that player has the option to up the bet by a piece of clothing. If the first player accepts then the bet on the hand is now three pieces, but if they fold they would have to take off three plus a fourth as the penalty for folding.

"The hand is over when all of both players' cards have been exposed, and the winner is the player with the highest five card hand. The loser then has to remove however many pieces to which the bet has accumulated. The game is over when Roberta is naked."

I snorted at his presumption. "Don't count on it, Sweetness," I said. "I remember this game now, and do I remember cleaning your clock the last time we played?"

"Well, they say that with age the memory is the first thing to go," Patrick said. I socked him on his shoulder.

We were sitting on the living room carpet next to the coffee table. It was Saturday night, the kids off to grandma's again. A fire was burning in the hearth, two glasses of wine near at hand. I sat cross-legged and Patrick had his bent legs out to the side, leaning into the table, his bent left arm resting on the table's surface.

For this bet we had decided to put eight pieces between us and defeat: top and bottom underwear for both of us, top and bottom on the outside, and counting each shoe and each piece of hosiery separately. We never anticipated the game would be over with one hand.

"Deal the cards," I said. "No, on second thought I'll deal." I picked up the deck and shuffled eight or ten times, then began dealing cards. When we each had seven Patrick let his sit on the carpet as they had fallen. I arranged mine into a neat little stack.

I turned the top card on the deck to reveal a 7.

"OK," I said to Patrick, "beat a seven."

He selected one of his cards that were helter-skelter before him and turned it. A 4. He turned another to reveal a 6. His next turn produced a 5. He cleared his throat, sounding nervous.

"Oh, my," I said, "having trouble beating a little 'ol seven?" I giggled a little.

He selected another card and turned it. A 7. Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. Technically, his 7-6 beat the 7, but by about as little as it could.

I put my fingers to my mouth, more than a giggle escaping this time. "Oh, goodness. Four cards to beat a teensy little seven. I think I like where this is going." Four cards to get to a seven-high.

"Maybe you're laughing a little too much to notice, but from where I'm sitting that looks like a nice straight on the way," Patrick observed. "I'll happily add a piece of clothing to the bet."

"OK. It's two," I said.

I reached for the top card on my tidy little pile.

As I did so I reflected on why we were sitting here. It was a few months ago, on Patrick's birthday in February, that I had lured him into a cribbage match, offering him my ass to fuck all night if he won, but a night of his subservience to me if I won.

Well, let's just say I discovered a few things about myself that night as I gave orders and Patrick obeyed. You'll know all about it if you've read

Roberta and Patrick's Bet

.

What I discovered I liked very much. Years ago, as a graduate student, I had suffered humiliation, sexual subservience, and public nudity at the hands of two horny sophomores because of a lost bet. But I had finally had the chance to turn the tables. Patrick was my little toy all night and into the next morning and I found myself experiencing emotions, and orgasms, I had never felt before.

This wasn't something I wanted us to be at all the time. But, yes, I found I could from time to time like very, very much being in the driver's seat, the dominant female with a male to use for her amusement and pleasure.

And Patrick liked it too. Well, alright, let's not say 'liked.' But he said he was fine with the premise: that he had risked the little humiliations and degradations I had subjected him to in the hope of winning something he very much wanted; that he had simply lost and had to pay-off. And he did so honorably. It was not the night he would have chosen, but he was all right with honoring his bet and accepting his role.

When we had discussed the experience afterward he said he, of course, would have preferred to win, but that the little exercises I had put him through were entirely bearable, and that he would risk them again for the right to put me in a position to be compelled to honor a disagreeable, but hardly impossible, lost bet.

I could have pursued the activity again right away, make another bet that would resolve into submission on one side, dominance on the other.

But I thought I'd wait for Patrick to do the suggesting were he really interested. And a few days ago he did. He suggested this game and, even though we were alone in our bedroom at the time, he whispered into my ear the forfeits he wanted me to perform if I lost. I had a little, involuntary shiver of dread at the thought of losing.

He suggested this Saturday evening as our play date. The kids were off to grandma's. They had not been there for a weekend sleepover for more than a month, so it was a treat for which they were more than ready. And Patrick suggested I should think of what I wanted should he lose. I thought about it and this morning, the two of us alone again, I whispered into his ear his fate were he to end up the vanquished.

Patrick seemed interested in what I proposed, and we talked for a few minutes, bringing our two suggestions into closer conformity with each other. The loser of our card game would have three forfeits to perform, and they would be similar for both of us.

Well, a successful marriage is all about compromise. Right? The look on Patrick's face indicated to me that he found the consequence for losing every bit as undesirable as I did. But I hoped I had the better poker face.

I turned my first card. A queen.

"Well, now. Ahead with one card," I observed. "I think that's worth raising the stake another piece of clothing. Don't you think, Sugar?"

"I'm with you," Patrick said. "Three it is."

Patrick took a little breath and selected another card to turn. A 6. Now it was his turn to smile. "A pair of sixes beats a queen high, now doesn't it? I'd say we're at four pieces?" I just nodded my assent.

I turned my next card to find an ace. A nice card, but it didn't beat Patrick's pair. Then I turned an 8, and then a jack.

Now it was me futilely turning my very limited number of cards, looking for a winner, beginning to sweat. But with the fifth card it finally came: a second ace.

Now Patrick and I had both spent five of our cards. I was ahead with a pair of aces to his pair of 6s.

"Just two cards left," I observed. "You have the balls to raise it to five pieces?"

"Oh, I've got them. You had them in your hand not long ago in a rather uncomfortable way if I remember right," Patrick said. "But that was then and this is now. Five."

I looked over the five cards we each had exposed and noted that there was no possibility that either of us could make a flush with our two remaining cards. I'm sure Patrick noticed the same thing.

Patrick selected one of his two remaining cards, turned it. A 4.

Patrick's eyes got dreamy and far away. "I see....I see," he said, envisioning, "I see a woman named Roberta. I think she's...yes, she's paying off a bet! Two pair: 6s and 4s. Beats a pair of aces last time I checked. It's six pieces, unless you would like to fold now and at least get to keep your panties and survive to another hand."

"No way, Bub. It's now six," I returned and immediately turned my next card. Ace. I laughed out loud, not sure if it was from amusement, superiority, or relief.

I reached for that little extra card that is in the deck with the hand rankings on it. "Oh look," I said, "it says right here that three aces beats two pair. Boy these things sure do come in handy. It's seven pieces now Patrick, and if you fold you lose the extra piece so you will have lost the game."

Patrick did look a little shaken. I think he might have folded were he not in a situation in which he would lose by doing so.

I looked over the six exposed cards we each had.

Patrick with a 4, 6, 5, 7, 6, 4.

Me with a Queen, Ace, 8, Jack, Ace, Ace.

"OK," he said a bit grimly. He picked up his last card, held it so only he could see the face. "Oh, the Amazing Selwyndini has foretold truthfully; the prophet has seen the future. Do I recall saying something about a straight?"

He put his last card down: a 3 to complete a seven-high straight. His grin was ear to ear. "Now I suppose that's worth making the bet eight. Don't you think? You fold you lose. It's all up to that last card," he said.

"OK," I said, feeling a bit as if I had some stuffing missing. I was so hoping to reprise my role as the female dominant queen, a little male slave to use for my pleasure and amusement.

I looked over my cards. The fourth ace would make me a winner, but that was quite unlikely: a one in thirty-nine chance, about two-and-a-half-percent. The only other possibilities for victory were a second queen, eight, or jack to complete a full house. I work in the sciences, plenty of math classes under my belt. I noted that there were no others of those cards showing, so the other three of each were still unaccounted for. Nine cards out of thirty-nine unseen. Nine chances out of thirty-nine. Roughly a twenty-three percent chance for a full house. Between the two possibilities ten chances out of thirty-nine or about a twenty-six-and-a-half percent chance for victory, give or take a fractional smidgen. My odds of winning were about one in four.

It did not look likely that Roberta, The FemDom Bitch, was likely to make another appearance this night.

"Well?" Patrick egged me on.

He looked at me, and I knew that look, had seen it with my mind's eye during the night of my won bet against Patrick. I had sat on the bedroom chair, clothed, with a nude and red-faced Patrick masturbating on his knees before me, a look of superiority and amusement on my face. A bit of a gratified smile had play across my lips, hilarity in my eyes.

Now Patrick leaned into the coffee table, his elbow on the surface, forearm raised, his cheek resting against his fingers. And that same superior, amused look was on his face as he gazed at my eyes.

I took a deep breath and noted that my hand had just a hint of wobble to it as I reached for the card. I hoped Patrick hadn't noticed the outward sign of my inward tension. This bet, either way, would be a challenge to pay off. I didn't want to have to be the one to have to live out that challenge. I would much prefer to watch as Patrick paid.

Should I pick up the card so only I could see before revealing it? Get the bad or good news privately first? Or just turn the card on the floor? Make the information immediately community property?

I opted for the second choice. I placed my fingers on the card's back, slid them in a back and forth pattern over its surface. Then I just did it. I turned the card and we both saw...