You Bet

"You can't resist me."

When she said those words, it wasn't a dare or a threat. It was a statement of fact. And he knew it.

He knew he couldn't resist her. But that didn't mean he couldn't try.

"I can too." He realized he sounded petulant. He was 28 years old, not five. "I can resist you," he repeated, hoping he replaced the petulance with bravado.

They were in her living room. She was standing near the entrance to the kitchen. Before the conversation reached this point, she had been about to get them drinks. The drinks would have to wait.

She crossed her arms over her chest. A smiled played on her full lips, coated in dark lipstick. "You really think you can resist me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Alright, fine." Her arms fell to her sides. "We'll bet on your resistance."

"Bet?" he repeated. His throat was suddenly dry.

"Yes, my darling, silly boy. We'll bet." Her tone was decisive. "If you win, you get bragging rights to tell the whole world you can resist me. Stand up and come over here."

He stood up, his stomach sinking. He stood opposite her. Since she was several inches shorter than he was, he had to look down at her. "Here are the terms of the bet," she explained. "You have to look in my eyes for two minutes straight. No blinking. No closing your eyes. No looking away."

He nodded in response. She smiled. It was a predatory smile that made him uneasy.

"I'll set the timer on my phone." She pulled out her phone from the back pocket of her figure-hugging jeans. His eyes wandered towards her delectable backside. She typed something into her phone as he continued staring.

"Are you ready?" Her voice had a slight edge to it. He guiltily brought his eyes up to hers. If only he could stare at her backside for two minutes. That would be challenge he would surely win.

"I'm going to start the timer now," she said. "Remember, you have to look into my eyes for two minutes without closing them, blinking, or looking away." He nodded, and fixed his gaze on her eyes.

Her eyes were brown -- light brown, to be exact. At least, that's what he thought when he looked from afar. Up close, they were several shades of brown. He saw bands of light brown, dark brown, and a color that wasn't quite black encircling the iris.

"My eyes are entrancing, aren't they?" Her voice interrupted his focus.

"Yes," he responded automatically. "I mean, no! No, they're not entrancing! No fair -- you're talking while I'm trying to concentrate."

The skin around her eyes crinkled. If he had looked away from her eyes, he would have seen her smile. "If you can really resist me, surely it won't bother you if I talk," she replied. "After all, you're so strong-willed."

He decided to ignore the gibe. You can do this, he told himself. You can resist her. Focus on her eyes. Her eyes, that are a mixture of browns. Her eyes, that are pulling you down into their multi-hued depths... Damn it! He caught himself leaning closer and closer towards her so he could look deeper into her eyes. He pulled himself to his full height without breaking eye contact.

"Ooh, just in the nick of time," she commented. "You were so close there. So close to falling into the hypnotic depths of my eyes, and further into my will."

He bit his lip, determined to ignore her. He was going to resist her. He was going to resist falling into the hypnotic depths of her entrancing eyes. Wait, what? He didn't think that. Her eyes weren't entrancing or hypnotic. They were just regular, light brown eyes, swirls of various shades of chocolate, dark, light, dark...

He felt his eyelids growing heavy. It would be so easy to blink right now, so easy to give in and let her win. He couldn't, though. He had to resist. With enormous effort, he forced his eyelids to open wider.

"It's so hard to keep your eyes open." This time, her tone was sympathetic. "Your eyelids are so heavy, and it would be so much easier to just close them and rest. Wouldn't that feel good, my darling, sleepy boy? Wouldn't it feel so good to submit to your mistress and stop playing this silly game?"

It would, he acknowledged. It would feel so much better to just close his eyes and give in. He swayed on his feet slightly. It would feel so good to rest -- he was so tired. He hadn't realized how tired he was until his eyelids grew so heavy... No! He had to resist her! He had to resist his mistress and stay awake, no matter how hard it was.

Something was getting hard. Specifically, something below his belt. Without breaking her gaze, he adjusted himself. At least, that was the plan. A quick grab turned into slow, steady strokes. How had that happened? He didn't devote too much thought to the question -- it felt too good, even through his jeans.

"It's getting hard for you to think," she said softly. This was true. Especially now that something else was getting harder by the moment. It was as though someone had poured molasses all over his brain. The sticky substance was interfering with the gears, making it harder to turn them, harder to process his thoughts. "You don't need to think," she reassured him. "Just keep looking into my eyes."

His shoulders sagged slightly in relief. He didn't have to think anymore. It was too hard, anyway. All he had to do was look into her eyes -- her beautiful eyes that were a mixture of browns and black. Her fascinating eyes...

"You don't have to keep your eyes open, either," she suggested. "After all, if you're not thinking, you don't need to keep your eyes open." It was a reasonable suggestion. He wasn't thinking, because it was too hard. And if it was too hard to think, it was too difficult to keep his eyes open. His eyelids closed, but he could still see her eyes before him.

"Ah, my darling, sweet, silly boy," he heard her say. Her voice sounded as though it was coming from a great distance. "You lasted 46 seconds. That's a new record for you. I don't know why you insist on this silly game. If I didn't know better, I'd think you wanted to lose."

He felt her warm, soft hand take his free hand (the one that wasn't slowly stroking himself). "What should your penalty be for losing this bet, again?" She put one of his fingers in his mouth and began to suck. He let out a moan.

"Feels good, doesn't it, my silly, sleepy, submissive boy?" she asked.

"Uh huh," he murmured.

He couldn't see it, but she smiled widely. "Oh, it does. Because it feels very good to submit to your mistress. And I'll figure out some way to remind you of that." She paused to think, then snapped her fingers. "I've got it! You are going to spend at least the next half-hour finding ways to pleasure me, all while repeating your new mantra: I can't resist my mistress." She took his hand (the other one was still stroking himself) and led him to her bedroom.

A sleepy smile spread across his face. She was right, he couldn't resist her. And he loved it.