Ciana Rose's Erotic Stories


Taking Chances

by B. E. Thalia

All Rights Reserved






Ellen's Bet is the first volume in a series of stories called Taking Chances. The series is a collection of seven individual stories - a novelette, four novellas, and two novels - that include continuing characters and intertwining and inter-dependent plots. If you plan to listen to all the stories then it would be best to listen to them in order, to allow for continuity, and for your best understanding of the larger story line. These stories are written and presented to you with the idea that there are readers of adult-themed stories who want intelligent, contemporary literary tales with strong, complex, deep, and developing characters; involving plots; and a focus away from the shallow fixation on a particular sexual orientation, practice, or fetish that is common to most adult narratives. That being the case, you will find in these stories an immense range of sexual and erotic subject matter and themes: from the lovingly romantic to the edges of kink.

I also wanted to find an original premise for adult-themed stories, and I believe the idea on which the stories of Taking Chances are based suits that purpose well. The stories are about contemporary women who for a variety of reasons - sound or unsound, impulsive or considered - make a wager that, win or lose, will have far-reaching consequences in their lives and relationships.

I can't promise you'll find your sexual or erotic 'thing' in these stories. But I can promise you'll find memorable characters, engaging plots, and a deeply literary approach to telling adult-themed stories.

Ellen's Bet contains thematic material and descriptions that make the story appropriate only for adults.

The stories of Taking Chances are also available in e-book form at

Ellen's Bet is a novella in eight chapters.

Your financial support is truly and deeply appreciated.

Happy listening.



B. E. Thalia




Taking Chances - Volume One: Ellen's Bet


Chapter One


I know what happened to me and how it happened. No, wait. I suppose that isn't the right way to phrase the matter: it makes the situation sound too much as if some random event, over which I had no control, befell me. Perhaps the better way to express myself is: I know what I foolishly got myself into. Lately, I'm beginning to understand why this happened, but I still have to decide what I'm going to do about it. That last part has been on my mind a great deal lately.

My name is Ellen Ryan. I'm a thirty-eight-year-old married mother of three, and I'm only beginning to dimly understand why I impulsively placed myself in such jeopardy. Just an insane thing to do on the road? Sub-consciously looking for an illicit thrill? Vera Farmiga's character in Up In The Air has come to mind. Mid-life crisis? I still don't know. I've never been to Las Vegas (not even 'to see the shows'). I don't buy lotto tickets. I don't participate in the office football pools. Yet for some dark reason my mouth engaged itself, and I found myself in the middle of this experience.

I have a Master's Degree and do consulting and training in a very specialized field. Most of my work is here in Chicago, where my firm's offices are located, but I travel two or three or four times a year.

A few weeks ago, in early February, 2010, I traveled to work with a firm in Baton Rouge, introducing the staff to all the aspects of a proprietary process they were licensing from us. I was there for the week before the Super Bowl and had two more days of work on the Monday and Tuesday after. The mid-thirties-something manager who was my host on behalf of his firm, Patrick, invited me to his home to watch the game. His invitation was a thoughtful courtesy. He and his wife, Roberta, were having a small party and had invited me and four guys from the office, all younger and single.

Patrick told me he invites some of the unattached fellows from the office each year in case they have no other social option to watch the game. Some of them accept; some don't. He told me it's usually different guys from year to year as last year's unattached males have often become somebody's boyfriend this year. Patrick and Roberta's kids were at grandma's for the weekend and were not being picked up until Monday.

I gladly accepted Patrick's invitation. I enjoy watching the game each year, although I have no greater interest in football. Besides, the event would be something to do with an empty day in a town I was visiting for the first time.

The guys and I had been invited for a couple of hours before the game to share a buffet meal with our hosts. The other four guests were all quite young: I'd estimate twenty-three to twenty-six. To the extent I cared about the outcome of the game, I was rooting for the Colts, mostly because they play in the state next to ours. My husband, David, lately has found following the Colts to be much more satisfying than watching the frequent gridiron frustrations of our hometown Bears. My hosts and the other guests were all rooting for the Saints, Louisiana's hometown team that plays home games just eighty miles to the south. As we sat around the dining table sharing good food and drink, we also shared our different perspectives on the outcome of the game, and I actually found myself unexpectedly becoming a little contentious and stubborn.

"Well, if you're so sure the Colts are winners I'll happily put a thousand dollars on the Saints," said one of the other guests, Steve, a young man's brashness and thoughtless enthusiasm animating his voice.

"Well, I'd love to take your money from you," I replied without a moment's hesitation, and without a single thought to the import of what I was saying.

Of course, I didn't have the cash to cover a bet of that size. The expression had leapt from my mouth: a demonstration of my sudden confidence in a Colts victory, but all five men had taken my statement to mean I accepted Steve's wager. The other four quickly chimed in that they would make the same bet.

"No, no. I just meant I'm sure the Colts will win," I said. "I don't have that kind of cash on me. You don't think my company hands out "that" kind of per diem, do you?" The next words came out of my mouth as if someone else controlled my vocal cords. "But that would be quite a pot of money. If you're all willing to put up a thousand dollars, then I'd be willing to bet my ass on the Colts."

Silence fell and I saw five faces bearing looks of confused anticipation. Roberta looked troubled, and she cringed.

"What do you mean, Ellen?" Patrick asked.

A lightheaded feeling engulfed me; my stomach was turning, and I felt giddy as I said, "Simple. You guys put up a thousand dollars each. The Colts win and I take the cash home with me. If the Saints win" (and here I almost faltered but somehow continued, my incredulity at the absurd words emerging from my mouth masked by a contrivance of sophistication) "I'll strip naked and my body is yours until tomorrow morning. It's all I've got to cover the bet with. You can use it in absolutely any way you like. Anything you want, any way you want it."

I couldn't believe the voice speaking those words was mine. My sagacity, in which I take such pride, had utterly abandoned me. I also knew, though, it was my voice and that those were words that, for some dark and unknowable reason, wanted to come out of me. I felt high, like I'd had a couple glasses of wine too many, and I realized the source of my intoxication was the incredible, reckless risk I was taking.

I looked at Roberta and said, "Of course, I don't mean that Patrick should participate."

There are women who shock and fluster easily. That night I discovered Roberta isn't one of them. "He'll take the bet," Roberta said. "His birthday is next week and this will be my little present to him. Of course, if he loses and blows a thousand bucks on those damned Saints he can hardly expect any other present from yours truly."

Patrick looked at me hard and asked, "You're sure about this, Ellen?" He showed a look of skepticism. This was not a proposition he could ever have expected to come from the mouth of the consummate professional from Chicago. On the other hand, maybe he assumed this was simply the kind of thing we urbanites amuse ourselves with in the big city.

I told him, truthfully, I couldn't believe I was doing this, but I was entirely serious about the bet. I would gladly take the money home with me if I won. If I lost I would pay off my end of the bet willingly and consensually, if not gladly.

I specified several conditions, and was frankly amazed and bewildered at how my mind seemed to have a naturally ability to cover the bases quickly and thoroughly. I wanted five thousand dollars in cash on the coffee table by the kickoff. If I lost they were done with me by 7:00 a.m. since I was to lead a 9:00 a.m. training session. There would be absolutely no pictures or videos. I would do oral bare (even flavored condoms in my mouth make me sick to my stomach), but that vaginal sex required a condom.

The young man who'd first offered to risk his cash on the Saints asked, "Condoms for anal, too?"

I'd not even thought of that! My husband and I do anal only infrequently because I don't care for it, so the act ends up a birthday and anniversary and Father's Day treat for him. As the expression goes, any resolute answer is better than the most profound pondering. "Yes," I said, "condoms for anal, too." I thought I said it in a very nonchalant way while thinking, 'Oh, my God! If I lose this how many times will I have to take one up my ass tonight?'

There was an exodus as all five of them left to drive to the nearest ATM to get the cash they required. After they were gone Roberta and I sat on stools at the kitchen island, she picking up little bits of turkey and putting them in her mouth.

I'd learned earlier that she's a lab manager with a firm that does a wide variety of drug and chemical testing.

"So, what's this all about, Ellen?" she asked with a neutral voice.

"God, Roberta, I have no idea," I said truthfully, looking into her eyes and shaking my head slowly. "It just tumbled out of me. I've never done anything remotely like this, and I have no idea where this notion came from. The last bet I made with my husband the loser had to make dinner and clean up the kitchen for a couple days." I felt my face flush. Did she believe my claim that this was far outside the norm for me? Somehow I felt she did understand, and that I could be candid with her. "But it's giving me a hell of a thrill I've never felt before. I want to win the bet, you know, prove that I was right, and I want to win the money, but I'm also terrified of losing. It's a very interesting, I don't know, I guess you'd call it 'tension'. I wonder: what'll I do if I lose?"

Roberta met my eyes with a steady gaze and said, "You're a big girl, Ellen. All grown up. What you'll do is take off your clothes and do what you agreed to do. When you lose a bet like this it's all you can do."

She held my gaze for long moments. Finally, I caught the meaning underlying her comment. I said, "You?"

She nodded and went on to describe an experience she'd had in college. She was twenty-five and in the last year of her graduate program. There were two boys who assisted with her thesis research as a financial aid campus job. They were sophomores, nineteen-year-old undergraduates, and football players.

Roberta had studied at a small liberal arts college in the South. The school was small enough that sophomores sometimes made the cut for varsity. These two mostly warmed the bench, but they had some team pride. The big homecoming weekend game was approaching against the traditional rival school, a squad her school's team hadn't beaten in years. She didn't hesitate to tell her two assistants that they were going down that weekend. They thought otherwise, and a bet ensued.

"I lost," Roberta said with a shrug of her shoulders and color suffusing her cheeks. "Our team broke its losing streak, but the game went down to the wire. I've never had a feeling in my life like the one I had for those two hours watching the game."

"So, what did you lose?" I asked, wondering if perhaps I was overstepping. I supposed she was relating the story because her bet with the boys had been in some way similar to mine.

"God, look at me. Nine years ago and I'm still blushing about it," she said and continued with a sigh. "The next afternoon, Sunday, I had to go to their dorm room. I stripped and got on one of their beds. All fours. They stripped and high-fived. One got behind me. The other got in front. If I lost I'd agreed to be 'roasted on the dick spit' I think is what they call it these days.

"They both got to do both ends and weren't very nice about it. The one in front made me open my mouth and then slapped my face back and forth with his boner before he stuffed it in my mouth. The one in back jammed his hard-on into me without any warning. When he was done he gave my ass a couple of good slaps and told me what a good fuck I was. The second session didn't go any better.

"It was nothing short of the most total humiliation of my life," she went on, "and made worse by the fact that I was a woman in my mid-twenties and had to submit to this from a couple of teenagers. In their dorm room! I had to face them afterward in the lab for another month, two days a week. Thank God their work on my research finished at the end of the semester, and I no longer had to endure their smirks and rude jokes."

She was silent for a moment, clearly in the grip of her recollection, a troubled look on her face. "I'll tell you something," Roberta continued. "I like reading erotic stories on the online sites sometimes. I tend to gravitate toward the ones in which the female character has to have sex because she lost a bet or is being blackmailed or in some other way coerced into sex she wouldn't choose to have. Most of them tell how the woman, as she's getting fucked, has this moment when the eroticism of the moment hits her, she begins to enjoy what's happening to her and she just comes and comes.

"Forget it. When I went to pay off my bet I used the women's bathroom before I went to their room. I didn't have to pee. I just squirted my vagina full of liquid lube. I was terrified of having to pay off a bet like that, and knew I would never get turned on. I was right. The idiot behind me told his buddy how wet and ready I was. Asshole!"

I looked at Roberta: her face, her eyes, her hands on the countertop, the one squeezing the other slightly. I suspected I was hearing a story only Patrick had heard before.

Considering my current circumstance, I asked her the question most on my mind. "Why did you make the bet?"

"The same reason you just made this one, I guess," Roberta said. "They told me what they wanted if I lost. The adrenaline rush was incredible. I told them I'd think about it and let them know in a couple of days, but I knew instantly that I was taking the bet.

"It's funny. I didn't see myself losing the bet and having to let them have me, and I didn't see myself winning the bet and watching them pay off. No, I saw myself sitting in the stands that Saturday watching some boys play football, knowing that depending on how the contest went I either would or wouldn't spend part of the next afternoon giving two boys I had no romantic interest in a fuck and a blowjob. The thought of losing and having to pay off was scary and humiliating, and that made the risk I was taking, I don't know, some sort of a big, delicious thrill."

I looked at her again and knew her explanation was at least a possibility for what I was doing that night. I had one final question I had to ask before the men returned. "What were you going to get if you'd won?"

Roberta rolled her eyes and smiled in a way that revealed her embarrassment. She reddened more than she yet had. "OK," she said. "If they lost they were going to have to come to my place. They would have to strip and then jerk-off while I watched. I was going to make them do it one at a time. I thought it would be a laugh. Mostly I wanted to experience their embarrassment. I was going to make them squirt their  cum on a plate and lick it up.

"Then they were going to have to give each other blow jobs while I watched. And yes, they were going to swallow. I figured after jerking off they would take forever to come again. I pictured myself, I don't know, as the worldly and sophisticated grad student, sitting back with her clothes on, having a laugh at the expense of two naked and humiliated undergrads. I thought I'd feel a sense of justice. You know, getting back at them when the loathsome bet they'd proposed blew up in their faces. College girl curiosity? I don't know. I guess after the bet was made I had this little fantasy about exploring the role of femdom for a day."

I reassured her. "I'd rather win that tonight than some money. It sounds like some real entertainment. Why didn't you tell me this half an hour ago?"

Her laugh was hearty and deep.

After we stopped giggling I got serious once more. I heard the garage door opener start: Patrick and the boys returning. "Um, if I lose are you really OK with Patrick being in on this?" I asked.

She put her hand on mine and said, "It's OK. Patrick's a good boy. He can have his fun if he wins. Our marriage is solid. He won't be following you to Chicago with stars in his eyes. And he'll have me on a pedestal for years for letting him make his macho little wager." She got serious, made eye contact, and cupped my cheek in her palm. "I just worry about you," she said. "Those are some young guys. If you lose this you're gonna have a lot of hard-ons to satisfy tonight. Even Patrick can do it a couple times in a night with the right incentive."

I didn't have an answer for her, but I knew what she said was true. Then the guys all were piling through the door from the garage. Apparently, they'd not each been able to withdraw the money they needed in the way they'd planned. ATMs will only spit out so much cash per day per account, so they'd had to do some creative financial juggling. Patrick and one of the others had advanced them all some cash since they were able to withdraw enough currency using the various banks Patrick and Roberta and the other guy maintained accounts with, using various cards, from debit to credit to equity line to brokerage account. In the end they'd been able to assemble the required amount.

We all moved to the living room and settled into seats, snacks and drinks on the coffee table. The game started shortly after. Two of the young men sat on the couch. Patrick and Roberta shared the love seat. I sat in a rocker on the other side of the couch from the love seat. Another young guy was in the lounger, and the last one sat on a chair that completed the living room group.

The five thousand dollars sat there on the coffee table, and I thought that Ben Franklin was looking at me as if he had serious doubts about my prudence and sanity. 'What are you lookin' at, Bub?' I remember thinking, my sentiment directed at Ben. 'You had quite a colorful sexual history yourself!' But, as the initial emotional rush of making the bet was dissipating, I was beginning to see his point. I looked at the stack of bills thinking I make very good money. While an extra five thousand dollars of 'spend it on crazy stuff' cash would be nice, I hardly needed it.

I considered that I was betting my body, my modesty, my self-respect, my dignity against that impressively tall stack of twenty and fifty and hundred dollar bills. What would Gloria Steinem say? Betty Friedan must be spinning in her grave! At the same time, I felt an exhilaration I'd never experienced before.

Imagine walking out of here with all that cash, smugly satisfied, the winner, rubbing it in and leaving these guys so utterly disappointed and dreaming about what could have been! Would the young guys masturbate when they got home to mental images of fucking a woman with my face and a body they had to fantasize about because they never saw mine nude? What a feeling of power those thoughts stirred in me!

Some of the thrill and excitement came from what I was risking. The term 'gangbang' drifted through my head, to me only a theoretical concept, something from a vulgar story. Would that dreaded possibility turn into reality later this evening with me at the center?

I - married for twelve years, every day of it faithful to my husband, and a mother of three darling girls ten, seven, and six - could in a few hours be on a bed (Bent over a table? On all fours? On my knees?) with five hungry and hard cocks just waiting to use me one after another.




Chapter Two


While those thoughts occupied me the opening kickoff occurred and I thought, it's final now, this is real – one way or the other. If you follow football at all you know that most of the game was close. You know that the Colts lead 17 to 16 at the end of the third quarter. You know that in the last period the Colts were in a position to increase their lead by three points with a field goal, but it failed. You know that the Saints got the ball after the failed attempt and advanced down the field until they were on the two yard line.

As they advanced I kept expecting something to stop them: a fumble, a fourth and long that made them punt or try a long field goal. Nothing did. The drive ended with the Saints scoring a touchdown, and adding eight points to their total after a two point conversion. My heart seemed to drop to my feet as they showed the scoreboard before the commercial break: New Orleans 24, Indianapolis 17.

This turn of events had the men cheering, although they were circumspect about it. They'd not won yet and we all knew that with over five minutes left in the game the final result could still go either way. So they cheered among themselves but didn't say anything to me.

I knew that the team I now thought of as 'my Colts' would come back. They had to! And I was right. After receiving the ball on the kickoff it was the Colts advancing down the field. I almost cried with relief as they completed one pass after the last, for seventeen yards, ten yards, twelve yards at a time. Soon they were just thirty yards away from their touchdown.

I started wondering: when they scored their touchdown would they elect to just kick an extra point and tie the game? Or would they risk a two point conversion to take the lead immediately? I hoped they would just kick the one point and tie the game. The danger of falling short was too great for me to stand and I thought I'd prefer to have the game tied, perhaps going into overtime before the Colts finally won.

I was busy with those strategic thoughts as I watched another pass that would move them closer to the end zone. Then I watched in disbelief, panic, as the Saints intercepted the pass. My heart fluttered and my insides suddenly felt empty as I watched the Saints player race down the field beyond the grasp of anyone who could stop him. The game was over.

Just as the men and I knew that being behind by a touchdown with over five minutes left in the game was meaningless, we all also knew that being two touchdowns behind with barely three minutes left was an insurmountable deficit to overcome. I looked over at Roberta who was looking at me with her head tilted and biting her lower lip. She gave me a sympathetic look and mouthed the word 'sorry.'

The funny thing was, as soon as I perceived this - as soon as I knew the game was over and that I'd lost my bet - the first thing I did was, of all things, take inventory. What else is a girl to do?

As I watched the rest of the game play out I started by inventorying my clothing. I'd worn this evening what in the fashion world is called a 'smart casual' outfit. I had it with me for social events outside the office. Sometimes the firms I worked for had those: a small dinner or reception the last evening at a nearby restaurant or lounge with some of the managerial principals who'd been working with me. When I'd packed, in addition to my business suits, I'd put an outfit together following the 'smart casual' bible almost to the letter.

I was wearing peak toe pumps with a slightly higher heel since I'm a bit on the short side. OK.

I'd forgotten to pack any thigh-hugger leggings, so I had nothing fancy on my legs – just panty hose in nude (I winced at the irony). At least I wouldn't have to endure the humiliation of revealing the control top variety. My tummy, with great effort at the club, is flat enough that I can wear sheer-to-the-waist. OK.

I had also packed a white button-front oxford shirt. Cotton or cotton blend was more traditionally 'smart casual', but I've always liked satin and so was wearing the somewhat more formal fabric. OK.

A charcoal, knee-length A-line skirt. OK.

A waisted, hip-length blazer that had come off almost as soon as I'd arrived and was now draped over the back of my chair. OK.

Now on to the parts of this evening's wardrobe that I'd put the least thought into because they would remain hidden. At least that had been the theory. I started checking off the intimate wear boxes on my inventory.

A cream-colored camisole with spaghetti straps and lacy top. OK.

Under the camisole there was no Wonderbra or Victoria's Secret item, just one of my work-a-day white bras. God, had I put on the one with the heavy pit stains? Never mind. They all have pit stains. I just hoped the stains on the one hugging my breasts right now were not too noticeable or offensive. Not OK.

Finally, and most embarrassingly, the panties I'd chosen that morning. Good heavens, I thought, I'm going to be the object of sexual lust after stepping out of a pair of Haines Her Ways! They were an aqua green with a white waistband and a pattern of red flower shapes. Were the ones I had on the ones with the little half-inch-long rip along the front of the left leg band? Embarrassingly not OK.

As the Colts made one last futile march down the field I moved on to the inventory I was most reticent to face: the body inventory.

I thought I'd start in a safe place: feet and toes. My toenails were done. Thursday after training I'd treated myself to massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure at the hotel's spa. The dark red on my toenails and fingernails was fresh and un-chipped, and I was confident my soles and heels were dead skin free. Thank you, pumice. OK.

Calves. Yes, I was always happy with them: good muscle definition. Better than OK.

My mind wandered into more dangerous territory: thighs. Twenty years ago they were admirably lean and tight. After three vaginal births they were the one place a few varicose veins squiggled. Other than that they were fine – a little meaty but even without hose they still didn't rub each other when I walked. They had a little cellulite, but you had to look for it. OK.

I took a leap upward. Breasts. This was one place I knew that if the quality was at all lacking it could be recompensed with quantity. And I didn't think the quality bad. I knew that four of the five men I would soon be standing nude in front of were used to twenty-something boobs, but I thought mine could still compete. Even after my pregnancies and three rounds of nursing, when naked they still swayed rather than flopped. I could still boast a pair of high beams: my nipples, sitting atop generous, three-inch dark brown areolae, still pointed forward instead of down. Better then OK.

My bottom. I thought this was an inventory item I could be proud of. The little bit of cellulite on my thighs hadn't paid a visit here yet. Great definition to my buttocks, with a deep cleave between them. When David takes me from behind it's a favorite part of his foreplay to nestle his hard-on deep inside that crack, like a hotdog in a bun, before proceeding to his goal. Very OK.

Last item: the private area (soon not to be so private) between my legs. I tend to be a pretty open girl – my outer labia part at the slightest provocation and my inner labia engorge and spring out at the slightest arousal. I keep my pubic hair shaved entirely below, and shaped into a two inch wide landing strip above. I'd last shaved the previous weekend for pre-trip sex, and I likely was beginning to show some definite stubble. Pretty close to OK.

I assessed the whole package, taken together, to be reasonably easy on the eyes and one of which I'm proud. As I occupied myself with those thought I was aware of conversation going on around me, none of it directed at me but all of it about me.

The last seconds expired and the game ended. The men reclaimed their cash from the tabletop. I hadn't ever cared overly much about the money, but winning it was the only rationale for the bet I'd made, and now it was gone.

Patrick picked up the remote and switched the television off, saying, "I guess we have our own post-game show." He looked at me and said, "Your public awaits, Ellen."

The man who'd originally challenged me with the bet suggested I strip atop the coffee table, and the idea proved so popular that the three other younger guys quickly collected snack bowls and drinks and removed them to the kitchen. There seemed no point to splitting hairs about exactly where to do the deed. Feeling disembodied, I rose and stepped up onto my little stage. When I looked at Roberta she was giving me a sympathetic look.

I took off my pumps and tossed them to Roberta. Pulling up my skirt to mid-thigh, I reached high up under it and pulled my pantyhose down and off. I un-balled them and pulled them right side out before handing them to Roberta.

I felt myself take a deep breath as I unzipped my skirt, pulled it down and stepped out of it. I undid the buttons on my blouse from bottom to top, unfastened the wrist buttons, and my blouse soon joined my skirt in Roberta's lap. I pulled my camisole over my head and off.

There was no mystery about how to proceed from here. I knew it was my bra next rather than the panties. I looked down and arched forward as I reached my hands behind my back and began pulling apart the four double hooks on my underwire bra. As I looked down I felt relief, as incredibly incongruous as it was, when I registered that the panties I had on were not the ones with the rip at the leg band. What an absurd thing to be concerned with: as if anyone was going to notice.

As I fumbled with the hooks that first guy - I was sure I remembered him being introduced as Steve - said, "Hey, I wonder how big her tits are."

That rude comment ignited some lively speculation. Roberta and I exchanged a look and smiled at each other. I'm sure she was thinking the same thing I was: what could possibly be the source of the male of the specie's obsession with how many inches around a woman's torso is and the letter designation of the bra cups her breasts fit into?

The result of all this speculation was each man hazarding a guess and reaching into his pocket for a fifty dollar bill. Soon a little stack comprising two hundred and fifty dollars sat on the coffee table, the pot to go to the person who guessed closest.

My bra was free, the cups hanging loosely in front of my breasts, them and me forgotten, while all the negotiating had been underway. Now, every eye in the room was again focused on the nearly naked woman atop the table. I let my bra fall forward and off my shoulders, a desperate wish that I could keep it on flitting through my mind. I felt my breasts drop (but not overly much). I went to hand the bra to Roberta, but Steve grabbed the undergarment from my hand before Roberta could claim it. He studied the tag on the back near the hooks and announced in a loud voice, "thirty-six E," with a lot of emphasis on the fifth letter of the alphabet.

There was a pause then and, standing on a coffee table in nothing but my panties, I felt forgotten again. One of the young men had bet on 36DD, while another of the young men had bet on 38E. Neither was exactly right, but the two estimates were the closest and each felt his to be correct in its own way.

The two debated this for a few moments, exchanging differing opinions as to why the cash on the table belonged to him. Meanwhile, I stood there with the breasts whose size they were discussing hanging out. Finally, they turned the debate over to Roberta, agreeing to accept her arbitration. She ruled that the young man who'd guessed 36DD qualified as closer to the mark. She went on to explain that DD cups and E cups are exactly the same thing, an explanation that drew from the men nothing but confused and mystified looks. So, Roberta explained, 36DD was exactly right, although the cup designation was the alternate way of expressing the measurement. The young man, one whose name I couldn't recall at the moment, smiled and picked up his winnings.

All eyes were now back on me. Fighting an overwhelming desire not to have to do it, I hooked my thumbs in the waist band of my cheap, run-of-the-mill panties and pulled them down and off, balled them up and tossed them to Roberta. I got down off the coffee table right away, hoping I would feel less on display. I did, but not to any degree that mattered.

There was some awkwardness at that point. I stood with my arms under my breasts, both supporting them and trying to ward off the chilliness I felt, evidenced by my nipples standing out to their full length. No one seemed to quite know how we were to proceed from here. Finally one of the young men voiced the question on everyone's mind, "So, who goes first?"

There were a few seconds of further pondering until Patrick got up and walked over to a hutch. He opened one of the compartment doors and took from it a deck of cards sitting next to a cribbage board. He spread the cards out on the coffee table and everyone got the idea immediately. Each of the men chose a card. A young man named Adam turned over a queen, the highest of the five cards drawn.

Adam, who seemed the youngest of the four, walked around the coffee table to where I stood in the middle of the living room. He looked me up and down and said, "OK. Get on your knees. I want a blowjob."

Adam almost looked surprised when I complied. He seemed amazed and a little taken with the power he now possessed. He'd ordered a nude woman, a decade and a half his senior, to her knees to blow him, and she had done it without question. Reluctantly, I sank to me knees, and after a moment when nothing happened I asked him, "Are you going to take your dick out?"

"No," he said, feeling his oats, "you are."

I fumblingly loosened his belt, unhooked the button at the top of his fly, and pulled down his zipper. He was wearing slacks, and they came off his hips easily and dropped to the floor. I put my fingers into the waistband of his boxer shorts and pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. His cock, already hard and red, sprang out at me.

I've been married for twelve years, and my husband and I made an exclusive couple or were engaged for three years prior to our wedding. The reality of what I'd gotten myself into thrust itself unmistakably upon me as I opened my mouth and put it around Adam's cock, thinking that for the first time in about fifteen years a dick other than my husband's was inside me.

I moved my mouth on Adam's cock, trying every trick I knew to make him come quickly and get this over with. I ran my tongue along the underside. I swirled my tongue around the head. I finally settled into what I thought might be my best strategy: I stroked the length of his cock with one hand, while cupping his balls in the other and squeezing gently, and sucking hard on the head.

Adam seemed to respond to this and I could hear him moaning. I sensed some reluctance from him, and suspected that perhaps he was trying to avoid coming in front of the others too quickly. What young man needs a reputation for being quick on the trigger?

After maybe five or seven minutes he seemed to be nearing his peak. Suddenly I felt his hands in my hair on both side of my head. Then I felt him grip my hair, not painfully but tightly, and I knew it would become painful if I tried to move my head. I was now held motionless as he moved his cock in and out of my mouth.

I was terribly reluctant for what I knew would happen next because I hate the taste of cum. He stopped and held the head of his cock just past my lips and I felt it swell slightly. A first, tentative squirt of semen hit the back of my throat and I gagged a little and tried without success to duck my head down. Then his squirts of semen came fast and full. Quickly the remaining space in my mouth was filled with cum and I swallowed, but more semen immediately took its place. I swallowed again. Then the volume of his ejaculation rapidly lessened and I felt what was left dribble onto my tongue.

Adam withdrew and I coughed, his semen leaking out a bit and covering my lips, a little going up into my nasal passage. I realized that my personal preferences were of no consequence here tonight, and that I would likely be tasting and swallowing a great deal more cum before the morning.

Adam's grip on my hair lessened and then was gone. He and I were both breathing hard. Without warning his hand was under my chin, pinching it and turning my face up to his. He laughed right at my upturned face and said, "Oh man, you are one hot little cocksucker, Bitch," his features bright with smug superiority.

I knew I had to nip this in the bud before it got out of hand. I rose a bit unsteadily to my feet. I jabbed him in the chest. "Look," I said, "I'm gonna to pay off this bet. You can fuck me all night. But my name is Ellen, and I won't stand for being called by anything other than my name."

Needless to say, it is often difficult for a woman to project authority in many circumstances. It's really, really hard to do when you're standing naked in front of a man you've just been on your knees for with some of his semen leaking from the corner of your mouth and dripping off your chin.

"Look, Bitch," Adam began, "I don't care..."

"Of course, Ellen," Patrick said, cutting off Adam. "As your host, I apologize for Adam's behavior in my home and promise that you will not be called anything other than your name tonight. Adam would like to apologize too."

The boss had spoken, setting an important ground rule for the night.

Adam made tentative eye contact with me, looking flustered. I could tell it was like pulling a needle through his left testicle but he managed to say, "Sure, Ellen. I'm sorry for my words. You won't hear anything like that again from me tonight."

I'd won an important victory. A small bit of power had shifted my way that would make the rest of the night a little more bearable. I would be used and embarrassed, but I would not be the object of humiliating and disrespectful names. I looked over at Roberta who put her hands together palm to palm and gripped them together tightly. She smiled at me.

Small victories aside, I was still naked in the middle of a living room with five horny men around me, looking my nude body up and down. I'd only knocked down one hard-on so far, and I still had a night of sexual service ahead of me. Paying off my foolish bet was not going to be easy.




Chapter Three


According to the cards Patrick was next. He gave me a little time to rest and regain my composure. Then he told me to come with him. I and the men walked down a hall to what was obviously a guest bedroom. Patrick excused himself and went into a room across the hall that looked from the limited view I had of the inside to be his and Roberta's bedchamber. When he returned he had a box of condoms in one hand and in the other a pair of steel handcuffs with a short rope attached to them. He placed the box on one of the night tables and turned toward me.

"Patrick," I said, "I'm going to pay off this bet. I promise. You don't have to tie me down."

"Oh, I'm not doing this because I think I have to," Patrick said, "I'm doing it because I want to. Any way I want it, right?"

I put out my wrists and he fastened the cuffs on them, my hands now locked together. By the rope he led me over to the bed and said, "On your back."

I moved onto the bed, positioning myself with my head on a pillow and my feet toward the foot of the bed. Patrick pulled my hands up toward the top of the low headboard and tied the rope off somewhere behind it.

I saw Roberta's face look around the corner of the door frame as she studied this scene. She looked at me, then went across the hall to the same room Patrick had. When she returned Patrick had just finished taking off his pants and boxers, his cock pointing to the ceiling.

Roberta entered the room and with a loud "Excuse me, Boys." She attracted everyone's attention. "I've got a rule of the house that you are all going to follow to the letter." She brought out a small bottle and a tube and held them up, one in each hand. "Lube gel," she said, shaking the tube. "Liquid lube," she said, shaking the bottle. "Take your choice, but every time a dick goes into her tonight your condom is going to have one or the other of these spread thick on it. Don't let me find out you did otherwise or I'll boot you right out my front door myself."

I looked at her with gratitude, but now it was back to business.

Patrick climbed onto the bed and straddled my head, his cock inches from my face. His cock was so rigid he had to both push his cock down and bend his body forward, resting his forearms on the headboard, to get the head near my mouth.

I opened to accept his cock and he put it in. Then he kept pushing forward until he hit the back of my throat and began to push down. I gagged and couldn't breathe while his cock was there. My eyes flew open and I felt my hands struggle uselessly against the manacles that held them. He pulled his cock back almost out of my mouth and I gasped air. Then he plunged his cock in again.

I soon became used to the rhythm and timed my breathing with his invasions of my mouth. I had nothing to do. No technique was required. All I had to do was just lie there bound while he fucked my mouth, feeling annoyance at how his pubic hair tickled my nose when he was all the way in. After a while, and quite a long while it was, he must have been satisfied and he took his cock from my mouth and moved off the bed. He opened a condom packet and pulled the rubber on, applying a generous amount of gel.

Patrick got on the bed again near the foot and looked meaningfully at my crotch. I knew what I had to do, but it was difficult. I only hesitated for a moment as the same thought flashed through my head as I had entertained when I'd knelt in front of Adam.

I thought how this would be the first time in fifteen years I would be opening my legs for a man other than my husband. It was just a moment's hesitation, and I wondered if he suspected what I was thinking. Then I brought my knees up and apart and offered my pussy, invited him to use it for his pleasure.

Roberta had been right. My pussy was bone dry, and I felt not an ounce of sexual energy or desire. Patrick came toward me and ducked his hips forward, using his hand to guide his cock into my pussy.

There was no preamble. He pushed himself in to the hilt slowly, but all in one thrust, and I blessed Roberta for looking out for me. Had his rubber not been coated thickly with lube that would have hurt. Patrick rode atop me and stayed deep in my saddle, moving his cock in circular motions inside me, pulling back slightly every once in a while and then going in to the hilt again.

Except for the fact that he was fucking me hard he ignored me, his eyes closed or looking above me. He fucked me a long time. I don't know how long. Twenty minutes? While I never felt sexual desire or anything like a feeling of wanting to come, I felt my vagina lubricate, perhaps an instinctive response to a male sex organ inside it.

Finally, he acknowledged my presence and looked at me, establishing eye contact, and then I knew he was coming. I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side, ignoring him. He seemed to orgasm endlessly, filling his condom, and then his weight was on me as he surrendered to his exhaustion. He didn't withdraw for several long moments, and I felt his cock begin to shrink inside me.

When he was off me and off the bed I let my legs fall to the sides flat on the surface of the bed, knees far apart. I was long past considerations of modesty.

Patrick unlocked the handcuffs and my arms flopped to my sides. Roberta must have been nearby, the mother hen looking out for her little chick in distress. She shooed everyone out of the room to the objections of the three young men who'd not yet had me. She insisted I have a little time to recover. She closed the door after her and I heard her muffled voice recede down the hall saying, "Now, you'll have plenty of opportunity to fuck her." The rational voice of sweet reason.

I was alone. I curled up and pulled the bedspread over me from the side. I expected Roberta might come back in, but she left me to rest.

I looked at the bedside clock. 9:45. About an hour and a half since the game ended. Incredibly, I drifted off to sleep. I awoke to a tap at the door. Roberta stuck her head in. "Sorry, Ellen. Time to go back to work." I looked at the clock again. 10:15. She'd fended off the men for a full half an hour, bless her.

Roberta withdrew and the three young men who'd not had me yet came in. I didn't like the look of this, but I had no choice. They began to take off their clothes and were soon naked, three cocks from semi-hard to rigid. One of them asked me to get off the bed. He asked politely rather than ordered. That was a good sign.

"You're Jason, right?" I asked the one who'd requested I stand. I thought using names would establish a personal rapport that might be to my advantage. I think the same strategy is recommended when you become the hostage of terrorists, although I suppose the two situations are not strictly analogous.

"Yes, I am, Ellen," he said, and actually put out his hand to shake. Sweet. He had put a condom on his cock and after shaking hands started applying lube to it.

Another young man was also putting on a condom. "You're Derrick?" I asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, also pausing to shake hands before applying lube to his condom.

"So you must be Steve," I said to the third. He was not putting on a condom but stroking his cock lightly.

"Yeah," he said in an oily, condescending way that communicated he would soon have his cock in me in some way and I had no choice in the matter. I'd thought Jason's and Derrick's handshakes a bit misplaced but sweet. Their efforts to be sociable made the contrast with Steve all the more noticeable. This tall man obviously found the situation one that included no demand for any sort of courtesy or consideration.

I assessed the situation: two in condoms, one without. That didn't seem like happy news.

Jason threw himself on the bed, rolling over on his back, legs draped over the end of the bed and his cock pointing at the ceiling. I didn't want to have to be told. I paused for a moment and applied some lube gel, spreading it all along my labia and into my vagina. I did this without thinking about it or with any self-consciousness, and only in the middle of this action did I realize I had my hand between my legs applying lube to my pussy while three men I'd met only hours before intently studied what I was doing. The gel was a good idea, but I found my pussy was still very soft, pliable and warm from the fucking Patrick had given it.

Then I went over and straddled Jason's hips, taking his cock in my hand and guiding it into my vagina.

"Oh, wow," he said, a smile on his face. "This is great," he added with genuine enthusiasm. I guessed the boy just likes to screw. I began to rock slowly back and forth on his cock, Jason's hands happily kneading my breasts.

A hand was on my back pushing me forward. I felt the heat of a body behind me. I assumed it was Derrick, as he was the other one wearing a condom. I soon felt hands spreading my buttocks wide and a cock pushing at my ass. I groaned aloud, and felt my stomach sink: I'd never had cocks in both places at once before so I had no template for how this might go or what it might feel like. I felt pain as my hole tried to expand to accommodate the object seeking entry. The pushing became more insistent until the head of a cock pushed through my anal ring and was lodged inside my ass.

The next thing I knew a cock was in front of my face. I looked up and saw Steve smiling down at me. He at least knew better than to put his cock in my mouth while Derrick was shoving his into my ass. Smart boy.

Steve is a big guy, at least six foot two, and even for his large form his cock was proportionately large. I opened my mouth wide but only succeeded in getting my lips not far past the head. I was impaled on three cocks. I'd never had more than one in me at a time, had never wanted more than one in me at a time, and never imagined any circumstance in which I might have more than one in me. Isn't life just full of surprises?

Jason below me and Derrick behind me began to move, Derrick slowly working his cock deeper into my ass, Jason now with his face in my breasts sucking and biting my nipples. As Derrick's cock went deeper and my anus was stretched wider and wider I tried not to bite down on Steve's cock.

Derrick was finally seated far into my ass, and I'd never imagined such a feeling of fullness. Both my vagina and ass were stretched, filled with cock. I felt two pairs of hands on my hips as Jason and Derrick began a competition for my crotch, Derrick pulling my hips back toward him while Jason pulled my hips downward. Through it all I felt Steve, by far the largest of them, stretching my mouth.

Steve didn't last too long. Some minutes into our four-way dance and without any warning I felt his cock jump, and then warmth spread inside my mouth as his semen gushed from his cock. For the second time that evening I swallowed as quickly as I could.

Steve's hand found my hair and he grabbed a handful, and then wrapped it around his hand in a circular motion that pulled hard at my scalp. The pain was unexpected, my mouth involuntarily opened, and his semen poured out and down my chin, landing on the bed some inches from Jason's head. The last of Steve's ejaculation out, he took his penis from my mouth, but wasn't quite done. Two final weak squirts came from the cock he held in front of my face, one hitting my forehead, the other my cheek below my left eye. His penis was coated with cum, and he proceeded to wipe it clean on my face, dragging it over my nose, chin, and cheeks. He at last released my hair, and flopped back on the bed, rubbing his slackening penis slightly as it oozed the last of his cum.

My concentration shifted to my more-than-filled ass, and the discomfort that was coming from it as Derrick's cock continued its invasion. With Steve now finished I changed position slightly. I'd been supporting myself in front by straight arms and hands on the bed. I now lowered myself onto my forearms.

This change resulted in my breasts smothering Jason's face. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he immediately sought out my nipples. He alternated between sucking my nipples forcefully into his mouth, flicking his tongue over them, and moving his mouth to somewhere on my areolae, sucking in the tissue hard in the same technique junior high school kids use to leave a hickey.

This new ache from my breasts competed with that from my ass. I flashed on what Roberta had said earlier about how surrendering your body to pay off a bet is a dead, non-erotic event. I discovered she was wrong, at least in part. As I felt the little jolts from my breasts, and how stuffed my pussy and ass were I could feel my vagina suddenly gush with lubrication.

This is an odd distinction I perceived. I wasn't erotically turned on, as I would be with David, but I was now sexually turned on. I now craved the entirely cold, functional release an orgasm under these circumstances would bring.

I didn't want Jason or Derrick to know about it. I ground myself into Jason's cock as inconspicuously as I could and found what I was looking for: his pubic hair. I started making little forward and back motions with my hips, scratching my clitoris against the rough texture I'd found. Suddenly I felt waves from my vagina that sucked the sexual tension from my brain and body and dissipated it. I would have shouted my relief under other circumstances, but now I just bit my upper arm and moaned as the waves of release washed through my body.

A moment later I felt Jason's body stiffen, and I knew he was emptying himself into his condom. A moment or two later, as Jason began to relax, Derrick pulled my hips back hard and jammed himself into my ass to his hilt, stretching that hole even further than it yet had been, and I knew he was coming, too.

It took us a few minutes to slow down and disentangle. Steve was up on one elbow and had been watching the end of the wrestling match between the three of us. Jason and Derrick were telling me how good it had been and actually thanking me.

I told them not to mention it.



Chapter Four


Soon they were leaving the room, used condoms in hand. A moment later Roberta tapped on the open door and walked in.

"I looked in on you in the middle of that," she said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm OK," I reassured her. I lowered my voice a little, why I didn't know, and said, "Lost bet or not, I had a little bit of an O in that."

Roberta looked at me, a little surprised, but said, "You know, lost bet or not, I think I would have gotten off on all that cock in me, too." She showed a look of embarrassment.

"I tried not to let on," I said.

"Good for you," Roberta said. "Just as well."

My bangs were plastered to my forehead. Roberta suggested I use the bathroom and try to recover to whatever extent I could before my next bout, saying she'd laid out a washcloth and towel for me.

I wandered down the hall nude. Like lubricating my pussy before, I didn't think anything about it - wandering around this strange house nude - until I made a conscious effort.

I closed and locked the bathroom door and flipped on the lights. I moved to the sink and rested on my forearms. I could see only my face in the mirror – flushed, hair plastered to my forehead by sweat and cum, the hair on the sides of my head still spiked out from the rough handling Adam and Steve had given it, congealing semen around my mouth and on my chin and most of the rest of my face.

'Oh, my God!' I thought, regarding with horror the reflection I saw in the mirror, 'look at you!'

'Well, what did you expect?' another voice inside my head seemed to answer.

I straightened up and stepped back and could see myself to my shins. I gasped. My knees were red – I'd been on them a lot tonight either kneeling or on all fours. My nipples were a dark, tender looking red, my areolae and the breast skin around them covered with dark red welts. I spread my legs and held my labia open to see a pussy that was far redder than I remember it ever being. The term 'well-fucked' came to mind.

I sat on the toilet and peed, making a plan for when I got home. It would be a Tuesday night and David and I would likely not have sex until the weekend, by when I hoped the red marks on my breasts would have faded completely. If he seemed amorous before the weekend I could beg off. I could hardly claim jet lag on a north-south trip, but I could claim (and without lying about it) how tired I was, and offer him a blowjob to tide him over. He's a sweet guy and I'm sure he would refuse out of consideration for me.

If the red welts were still on my breasts at the weekend I could, as I sometimes did, keep my bra and a tee shirt on during sex, complaining of a little backache and saying I needed the support. David never complains.

Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. What was I thinking? I felt terrible guilt as I engaged in this plotting, but what could I do? It was not as if I were trying to hide an affair with a lover, although the distinction at this point didn't seem to me too great or too important. It did not, in any event, make me feel innocent, and I hung my head.

I briefly considered maybe I should just tell David about what happened, about my absurd bet and try to explain why I'd made it, how I'd lost, and give him the details of the rest of the night. David is a very mild-mannered guy, my own personal Clark Kent. It's one of the traits that attracted me to him. I tried it on for size: 'Honey, I lost this bet at a Super Bowl party on my trip and I spent the rest of the night as the party's gangbang slut.' Hmmm. I don't think he's that mild-mannered. I decided I'd have to table this internal debate for future resolution. I still had a long night ahead of me.

I lifted my head and sniffed, wiped the tears from my cheeks and brought the waterworks under control. I took some paper and wiped myself. Then I gingerly felt back to my ass. I put some paper on it and was relieved to see it came back with no traces of blood. The miracle of lube. I felt it with my middle finger and found it had rapidly returned to its normal, tight dimensions. I wondered how many more times it would be stretched this night.

Moving to the sink I turned on the water and washed my hands, and then started washing my face, scrubbing at the hardening semen on my chin and lips (and nose, and cheeks, and forehead, and below my left eye). I soaked the washcloth in hot water and applied it over my whole face, reveling in the warmth. After the cloth cooled I repeated the procedure a second time and a third. It made me, at least a little, feel like a respectable woman again instead of a whore who opens her mouth and thighs in response to a stack of currency.

There was a hairbrush to the side and I ran it through my hair, setting my doo to rights as far as was possible. Again I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, 'show time.' I unlocked and opened the door, shut off the lights and walked toward the living room.

Everyone was there, of course, all fully dressed and I nude. The chair in which I'd watched the game was empty and I went over and sat in it. When I did a realization I found comical struck me: I'd sat down in the chair sitting forward, my hands folded in my lap, my back straight, knees bent back, and my ankles demurely crossed, just like a female host on an a.m. talk show. Except they wear clothing.

I looked at the clock on the mantle and was shocked to see that it was only 11:00 p.m.

After a few minutes of comments that could have grown into conversations but died quickly on the vine, Patrick said, "Well, I guess we're around to Adam again."

Adam sat back in his corner of the couch. He squinted his eyes slightly, seeming to come to a decision about some internal debate. He got up and, to my surprise, took me by the hand. "I think I'd like to have a little private quality time with Ellen, if you don't mind," he said. Adam pulled me up in a sudden move I hadn't expected. I came to my feet, my breasts bouncing and swaying, and he led me by the hand out of the living room and down the hall to the guest bedroom I now knew so well.

Adam closed the door, stripped off quickly, and walked to a spot directly in front of me. He reached up, cupping my breasts gently at first and then more firmly, feeling their texture and resistance, running his thumbs over my nipples. He put a hand under my chin and tried to bring my face up so I was looking at him. I resisted, remembering the last time he'd done that in the living room after his blowjob. He was insistent and my face rose to meet his. Then he did the last thing I would ever have expected: he kissed me!

His lips met mine and his tongue pushed through my lips and into my mouth. I really didn't want this so personal contact and resisted. I kept my lips pursed, like I would use them to push his mouth from mine, rather than offering him a loose and pliant mouth. His tongue explored and found my tongue, flicking and wrestling with it. His hands had left my breasts when he'd kissed me and were now on my buttocks, kneading them, pulling them apart, pulling my hips toward him.

He kept this up, breaking the kiss and then going back for more, for many minutes. Then he shifted around behind me. His hands snaked under my arms and found my breasts, handling and squeezing them. While this went on, he nuzzled his face into my hair and kissed the back of my neck. Then he moved his mouth to my shoulder, applying little kisses and licks.

'He's making love to me!' I thought, but didn't know what to make of it.

His cock was stiff and soon worked its way into my ass crack. The hotdog in the bun, like with David, and that creeped me out too much. I pulled myself out of his arms and went to sit on the bed. I preferred to get fucked than spend another second with this boy unknowingly doing a bad imitation of my husband. He went to the night table and found a condom, put it on and slathered it with lube.

I was lying on my back, up on my elbows. As he got on the bed I turned from him. Now on my side, I stuck out my ass, offering him my pussy from the rear. He got the idea, and seemed to have no objection to that position. I chose it for two reasons. Making love spooning is something my husband and I have done only rarely, and it would keep me from being face-to-face with him.

I preferred him to fuck me this way, in this position, so I encouraged him. He slipped his cock into my vagina. He'd put his one arm under me, so I took the other and brought it around the top, putting his hand on my breast. I pushed my ass back inviting him to go deeper. He pushed farther into me while he played with my breasts and nuzzled my neck.

I closed my eyes and hoped he would finish soon, although I was not hopeful since he'd already come once. I thought about whether or not my PowerPoint slides were all in order for tomorrow morning's class. I was pretty sure they were.

He fucked me like that for eleven minutes (I was facing the side of the bed with the clock on the night table). Suddenly, he withdrew and I felt disappointment that my plan hadn't worked entirely. He went to his knees and rolled me on my back. There was no point to resisting or trying to dissuade him so I readily opened my legs.

He got between them and put his cock into my vagina again. He lifted my legs, obviously wanting me to wrap them around him and I obliged. Anything for the cause. He licked and sucked my breasts, grabbing my nipples with his teeth and pulling them gently. As I looked at the clock again (three minutes since I went on my back) I thought that if a girl actually cared about this guy and actually wanted him on top of her, he wouldn't be doing a half-bad job.

Adam reached back and pulled my legs from around him. Holding my legs at the back of my knees he splayed them wide and high and he began pounding his cock into me. His stamina after the blowjob was both impressive and distressing.

I was way beyond bored, although I kept up a low key moaning that I thought might help bring him to a quicker orgasm. I saw that the ceiling was plastered. Some workman years ago had swirled the plaster onto the ceiling, and I found one swirl that reminded me of a French horn, another that suggested a snail's shell, and a third that was a dead ringer for the big ears on those Ferengi people on Star Trek. After another seven minutes of this he let go of my legs. I put my feet, soles flat, on the bedspread, knees up, in a way I hoped didn't show too much disinterest.

Then he was at it again. His arms went behind my back, and he pulled himself tightly to me and he was kissing me again, sloppy wet kisses with his tongue licking around my lips and into my mouth. I had to try hard not to gag. But I got the impression this might be the big finale, and indeed it was. A minute more and he rammed his cock in to the hilt and I could actually feel the spasms as he ejaculated.

There is nothing in Emily Post about this I'm sure, but I was pretty certain sexual etiquette demanded I not recoil from him too quickly. Over the space of a minute or so he disengaged and withdrew his cock, still distressingly rigid, from my body and was mercifully off me.

As I sat up he put his arms around me and hugged me from behind, placing a kiss in the middle of my back. I finally had to say something, but I decided to be gentle about it. In spite of his testosterone-fueled outburst earlier, he seemed a sweet enough kid.

I turned and looked at him. "You know, Adam," I said, "I'm not your lover or your girlfriend. I'm paying off a bet. If some lady gets what I just got from you I'm sure she'll be thrilled and yours forever. But that lady isn't me."

He blinked his eyes a couple times and said, "No, um, no, of course not," and his arms fell away from me, the spell broken. I asked him to give me a minute and surprisingly he got the hint. Adam dressed and moved toward the door. Before he left the room he stopped in the doorway and turned back toward me.

"Hey, Ellen?" he said timidly.

"Mmmmmmmm?" I replied.

"You know, about before, um, out there," and here he nodded his head toward the living room. He didn't continue, perhaps hoping I'd carry the load, but I thought the exercise would be good for him and I believed him up to the challenge.

When I didn't pick up his thread he finally continued. "What I said was wrong, and I don't know what got into my head. I'm sorry and I hope you can forgive me." Well, there! I felt my ability to evaluate people reaffirmed.

"It's OK, Adam," I said. "We all make mistakes. I appreciate you saying something." A shy smile crossed his face and he moved out into the hallway, pulling the door closed.

I fell backward onto the bed, exhausted. I looked at the clock: 11:47. I groaned, realizing I'd been at this for over three hours and still had over seven hours to go. Roberta came in then, her concerned eyes on me.

"Hey, Girlfriend, how're you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm all right," I answered. "Tired. My pussy is sore, but thanks to you not raw. Thank you for looking out for me."

"Don't you mention it, Ellen," Roberta said. "I saw right off before, with Adam out there in the living room, that you can watch out for yourself. What went on in here?"

I gave her the thumbnail sketch of our romantic encounter. She giggled a little too loudly behind her hand, and I hoped Adam hadn't heard out in the living room. I giggled a little too, trying to see the humor in it. "I don't know if that's funny or sad," Roberta said. Then she put her serious face on. "Listen," she said, "my hubby is next and you know he's really into this bondage thing. The next one might be a little tough."

"Are you sure about that?" I asked.

"Oh, you can trust me on that," Roberta said. "I get it this way sometimes."

"Well, it can't be any tougher than big wet doggy kisses all over my face, can it?" I asked.

Roberta laughed her laugh again. "OK," she said, "you take your time and come out when you're ready."

"No, let's go." I said. "I'm ready now." I wearily stood and followed her to the living room.




Chapter Five


I'd gotten used to how this worked now. Out in the living room there would be a little perfunctory conversation or a lame joke, and then someone would clear his throat and it would be back down to business.

As soon as I entered the living room I noticed some leather wrist and ankle cuffs on the coffee table. Patrick picked them up and said, "Here, Ellen, let me put these on you." I held out my wrists and he buckled the cuffs around them. He went on his knees and buckled the other two cuffs around my ankles. I thought with some amusement how glad I'd been a few hours ago that my toenail enamel was fresh and un-chipped. I don't think Patrick noticed.

He asked me to go over and kneel on the coffee table and lean forward on my hands. I complied. He shifted me back so my knees were at the table edge, my shins and feet off the edge. Patrick took my right hand and clipped its cuff to my right ankle cuff. I supported myself on one hand. Then he took my left hand and did the same to the other ankle cuff. I was forced to lean my torso none too gently forward and lay my head on the coffee table's surface.

"Patrick!" scolded Roberta. She'd just re-entered the room from the kitchen. She came over quickly and put a throw pillow under my head. "Don't you know how to behave?" she said as she slapped his back.

"Sorry, Ellen," Patrick said.

Even with the pillow the position I was in was uncomfortable. It was obvious to me that Roberta likely spent a lot of time in bondage and in positions like this. I hoped this would be done soon. In addition to the discomfort, I realized how clearly exposed I was. My knees were about eighteen inches apart. Everyone was behind me now, and I knew they all had an unobstructed view of everything on the bottom of me. I knew my outer labia were wide open framing my vaginal opening and clitoris. My rosebud would also be open to view, and I was glad my anal ring had closed completely by now. Someone behind me whistled.

I was there for longer than I cared to be in that humiliating and exposed position with nothing going on. Patrick finally came up behind me. I heard him open his pants and lower them and his boxers. His erection brushed my ass. I heard him open a condom package and knew he was putting it on and coating it with some lubricant. Then he was pushing his erection into my vagina, part way and then with a thrust in to the hilt.

I was familiar by now with his style, something that only Roberta should know. He moved his erection deep in me in a circular motion pulling back slightly before going in all the way again. Like before, every once in a while he would pull almost out before jamming himself hard all the way in. Every time he would slam home my body would rock forward.

My face was turned to my left and I saw Steve settle into in a chair on that side. I closed my eyes for some minutes while Patrick continued to fuck me. When I opened them Steve was looking at me intently. He wasn't looking at all of me getting fucked, but studying my face closely.

Then I realized he was excited, fascinated, and wanted to study the face of a woman who is nude and bound. Not nude and bound because she wants to be but because she's lost a bet and has no choice, and is reluctantly getting her pussy reamed. What was he looking for? Traces of shame? Embarrassment? Humiliation? Pleasure? Tears? Being the subject of his voyeuristic curiosity was worse than what was going on behind me. I turned my face to the other side.

Patrick pulled his cock from my vagina. I saw him come to the side of the table toward which I was now looking and pick up the tube of lube. I'd thought he was done, but now realized that was not the case. I also realized that without him behind me everyone, save Steve, was looking at my vagina that must now be a gaping wide hole. Humiliation washed over me, and I felt sudden heat in my face. Patrick was again behind me. I felt his erection pushing at my ass, and I knew that was where he intended to finish.

Without thinking, I closed my eyes and turned my head to its original direction. I opened my eyes and saw Steve there, his gaze still intent on my face, my eyes. Just then Patrick pushed into my ass. Even with the fucking it had received earlier the entry was still very uncomfortable.

My eyes rolled up in my head and then shut hard. I gave a soft but sharp exclamation, and my top teeth bit down on my lower lip. Then the discomfort passed and my ass was just full of cock, pushing farther in. My eyes opened, a little unfocused by tears which quickly leaked from my eyes. Steve was still intently studying my face. I assumed my little display of agony was what he'd been hoping and waiting for. Sick scumbag.

Patrick reamed my ass the same way he'd done my pussy: in to the hilt, stretching my anal opening wide. Circular motion. Out a bit then back in. Every once in a while almost all the way out then back in all the way hard. Soon my ass was used to the invasion, and there was no longer pain or even discomfort. This seemed to go on and on. My knees began to hurt with much of my weight pressing down on them on the hard surface of the coffee table.

Patrick's second orgasm was a long time coming, just as Adam's had been. But finally he stiffened against my ass and I knew he was filling his condom. After his orgasm was out he draped across my back. Just when I was about to ask him to get off he straightened up. My back, my knees, and my neck were in agony. I felt shame that everyone, even Steve now again behind me, was undoubtedly looking at my gaping, freshly-fucked ass.

With alarm I heard Patrick ask, "Does anyone else want to do her like this?" He got no answer. Apparently the others had their own plans for how they wanted to fuck me. So Patrick unhooked my wrist cuffs from my ankle cuffs and I slowly got to my feet, stretching my aching muscles and joints.

I removed the cuffs from my wrists and ankles, left them on the table, and walked to the bathroom. I didn't have to relieve myself. I just wanted to be away from everyone for a few minutes and rest in private. I went through the routine I had before, sitting on the toilet mostly for somewhere to sit, freshening up my face and hair, and swaddling my face with some of those comforting hot washcloths. After a while I expected to hear Roberta tapping at the door, but I was left in peace. Finally, I looked at my naked self in the mirror again, took a deep breath, steeled myself for whatever was next, and I headed for the living room.

Apparently, we were around to Steve. I was wary of this one. I remembered vividly how he'd smiled so condescendingly at me in the bedroom, pulled my hair so cruelly, came on my face and then used it to wipe off his cock. I thought about how he'd watched my face with such morbid, creepy interest while Patrick fucked me. I had a feeling that what was coming next might be unpleasant in a way the night had not been so far.

There was no longer the pretense of conversation. Steve took off his pants and boxers without comment. An armless kitchen chair was sitting in the center of the living room. Steve sat on it. I had a chance to see his cock without it being right in my face, and it was already mostly hard.

As I mentioned previously, even for his large frame it was proportionately large. David's penis is a little short of seven inches erect. Steve's was an inch or two longer and half again the girth. I hoped he was going to be considerate in using it on me, but if, as the mutual fund companies might say, 'past results are any indication of future performance', I wasn't optimistic.

He signaled me over and indicated for me to get down. I sank to my knees directly between his legs, which were spread wide. I took his penis in my mouth, working my lips over the head, and began bobbing my head up and down. He quickly swelled and stiffened the rest of the way, but let me continue sucking him, running his hands through my hair, for some minutes.

After a while he pulled my head off his cock. He got up for a moment, took a condom and pulled it on, squirting a large amount of gel over the length. I stood in front of him again. He told me to turn around and began pulling me back toward him. With no choice in the matter I pushed my hips back, offering my pussy, but I soon discovered it was not my pussy he was interested in. His cock began to probe my ass and I jumped up.

"Please, wait a minute," I requested.

He let go of my hips and I got up and found the tube of gel. For the second time that night I stood in front of a small audience and reached down, applying lube to my personal parts, my face flushing deeply. I spread the gel thickly deep between my buttocks and pushed as much as I could into my back hole.

When I was ready I went to Steve and I was actually trembling. His legs were spread again and he didn't close them. I had to step over, spreading my legs as wide as they could go, to get above his lap and his cock. When I was there I was on my toes to stretch over his legs and hips. He pushed my hips down, using his hand to guide his cock to my ass, seating the head partly in.

Then he took my wrists and brought them to my hips, pinning them there, and began to push my hips firmly downward. My feet came off the floor, my weight supported entirely by the backs of my thighs on Steve's lap and my ass riding Steve's cock. The head slipped in without much trouble because of the loosening that was the result Patrick's recent attentions.

Inexorably, Steve's cock penetrated my ass, or my ass sank down around his shaft, however you choose to look at it. I was determined to get through this. As my ass proceeded farther down his cock, inch by inch, I was intently aware of how my anus was being stretched. In fact, my whole mind was conscious of nothing else. He would give a little tug on my hips and a little thrust to his, and another half inch would sink in.

The lube worked like a charm. There was no friction. His cock and my sphincter ring were sliding smoothly past one another, however slowly. Then I'd gone past any size I had accommodated that night. My eyes had been closed, as much to concentrate on the job I had to do as to shut out the view of the five people watching me get my ass stuffed.

Now my eyes flew open, my face turning up to the ceiling, my mouth opening in a ragged, silent O. I reached and then passed the point that I could possibly take any more of Steve's cock. I knew there had to be some inches left. Two? Three? I wanted my hands free, but struggling against Steve's grip was useless. My vision blurred as my eyes watered heavily and tears began to course down my cheeks. Steve pushed down a little more on my hips and another half inch slid into me, spreading me wider. Noises started out of my mouth. I don't know exactly what I said, but the words came in a torrent.

"Oh, God. Oh, God," I shouted. "Oh, God, Steve. Please, no more. I can't take any more. Please, oh, please. Please, Steve, I'm not asking, I'm begging. Please, no more." The downward pressure on my hips ceased, but he didn't release me. Even in my extreme distress my brain came on the words that might free me. "Oh, God, Steve, I'm begging. Your cock is just too big for me."

Apparently, the magic words for Steve are 'beg' and 'your cock is too big.' He immediately started pulling up on my hips, a self-satisfied laugh escaping his mouth, and I felt his cock begin to unseat from my rectum. As I came up my feet found the floor again and I was able to push myself up. Inches of Steve's cock were still up my ass, and I had to move forward to get the last of it out of me. It felt like the most immense turd I'd ever imagined leaving my ass. I had to remind myself that it was just a cock attached to a turd.

I sank to the floor, onto my hunches, my hands holding my buttocks, feeling like I'd just escaped from the ordeal of my life. I was occupied with my own thoughts, but heard Roberta's voice above me.

"You complete asshole!" she was saying to Steve. "What do you think you're doing abusing her that way?"

"Hey, 'Anything you want, any way you want it,'" he said, quoting my exact words in making the bet.

"Don't you give me that, Asshole," Roberta answered. "There are limits, and you just went way past them. You try something like that again and I'm gonna do a Lorena Bobbitt on you."

They continued above me, but with the invasion of my ass over I was already feeling better.

Roberta, apparently finished with Steve, knelt down to me, cooing and ready to take me away to another room, but I was either too determined not to let Steve have his victory over me, or too stupid to stop. I used Roberta to push against and came to my feet.

"No," I said, "it's OK, Roberta. I said I'd pay my bet and I will." I looked at Steve. "Can we finish this in my pussy?"

He got a little smile on his face. "Well, I think if you were to ask nicely we might work something out."

The humiliation of having to submit to this jerk was beyond belief. Ask nicely? I'm sure he meant 'beg'. But I remembered being on that cock, having it penetrating my ass. I remembered how I was in both agony and fear as I felt almost split in two, knowing that any more would be just too much. With those memories no humiliation was too great. I felt nothing but humiliation as I dropped again to my knees. I made eye contact with him, my eyes still tearing, and said, "Please, Steve, I'm begging you. Please finish fucking me in my pussy. Please."

"Sure," he said, a smirk on his face, "I think I'd be willing to settle for that."

Roberta made a noise of disgust and spat out, "Asshole! You change that condom right now, Shithead."

Steve got a fresh condom, put it on his still hard cock, and liberally lubricated it. While he did that I lubed my labia and vagina. We were like two fighters in our corners readying ourselves for another round.

He looked at me with expectation. I turned around and backed up to him, again splaying my legs wide to get atop his lap. This time I felt his cock probe and then slip into my vagina. Again, I came off my feet; my weight supported by my thighs on his lap and this time my pussy riding his cock.

His dick, as large as it was, slipped inch after inch into my pussy with relative ease. A vagina is a marvelous organ that can expand greatly. I've never felt the need to bring home a bag of phallic-shaped vegetables to find out, but this seemed to be the case. My vagina was stretched wider than it had ever been, a cock deeper in it than I'd ever experienced. I felt his cock head push against my cervix and then the head seat into it. His cock was now in me to my root.

I realized why Steve had used this particular position to fuck me. My legs were splayed wide, my little audience able to see in the most intimate detail his cock stuffed into my pussy. Steve began to bounce me on his cock with his hips, each bounce making my boobs jiggle. His hands reached around my body and squeezed my breasts. Then his right hand dropped to my crotch. I felt his middle finger find my pussy, resting at first near my urethra. Then it slid forward in the lube to my clitoris. He began to flick my little pleasure bean.

I was determined not to respond, but then he began to move it in little circles. When I masturbate this is the method of playing with my clit that makes me come almost immediately. If I want to enjoy jilling off for a while then I can't use this method until the end.

Now Steve had inadvertently found my weakness. I felt my lubrication gush. The combination of the novelty of having so large a cock stimulating my vagina in ways it never had been, and my clit being manipulated in my favorite way was too much for me. Within seconds of his beginning to move my clit in those little circles an orgasm hit me.

Like before, it was not an erotic orgasm, but an entirely utilitarian sexual one. But it made no difference. Before I'd been able to come surreptitiously, but this time there was no hiding it. A few minutes earlier my face had been turned to the ceiling, crying out in anguish and desperation. Now my face was turned in the same direction, my mouth contorted, as I moaned and sang in orgasm. I felt humiliation as the others saw me now desperately wiggling my hips back and forth, trying to draw out and enjoy every vaginal spasm.

It was soon after that when Steve came. I was soon off his lap, and I hated that we'd so closely shared an orgasm. I'd had three rounds with him and he'd won all of them: covering my face with cum in the first, making me beg him for relief in the second, and bringing me to orgasm in the third. As my orgasm wore away I felt nothing but defeat.




Chapter Six


Roberta walked over and put an arm around me. She looked at Steve and said, "You're lucky I don't cut that thing of yours right off." Then she aided me down the hallway to her and Patrick's bedroom. Their bedchamber is a cozy room with quilts and framed family pictures on the walls. One of the pictures caught my eye: a much younger, pre-Patrick, Roberta and two girls. The picture had a dated look. One of the girls was a pre-teen, and the older looked to be in perhaps her mid-teens. My eye was drawn a second time to the face of the older girl. She looked terribly familiar, but my brain had no desire to chase down the connection. I was just too beat.

"My only two nieces, Emily and Danielle," Roberta said, and her voice was warmed by pleasant memories. "They're really a couple of sweethearts. Dani is just sharp as a tack, and Emily isn't but a lick behind her." I was glad to know a little more about my benefactor's life.

"Pretty girls," I observed.

"Yeah, they're that too," Roberta said.

"You're a lot younger," I remarked.

"That was taken when I was still in grad school," Roberta said. I saw her face color and she continued with, "Well, that was before my gambling adventure with the boys. But, hey now, how 'bout you take a load off for a while."

I backed up the couple of steps to the bed, sat, and then let my body flop backward. My knees were over the edge, my pussy and ass still tingling from the cock they'd just ridden.

Roberta sat on the bed next to me. "We're gonna get through this, Ellen. I'm sorry about that jerk-off Steve."

I smiled at her. "I can't thank you enough," I said. "I have no idea how this would have gone without you acting as my guardian angel. Jerk-offs are all over the place. I'm just sorry I had to run into one tonight. I wonder what's up with him. I feel sorry for any girl who decides him and his big dick are 'the ones'."

"What else would I do?" Roberta asked and paused a moment. When I didn't respond she said, "Actually, Ellen, that wasn't just a rhetorical question. I do know what I can do. You're beat and you've been fucked silly. I'm willing to take the rest of the night for you if the guys will go for it."

I was so exhausted, so tired of being naked, so tired of swallowing cum, so tired of being fucked that I considered her offer seriously for a few seconds. It said something about the extremity of my condition that, even for a second, I gave a thought to visiting any of this on Roberta.

"God, you're sweet," I said. "Thank you, but no, I can't let you do that. It was my bet, and it's my bet to pay off. Anyway, I go home in a couple of days. You have to stay around here. With four guys at the office who've fucked the boss's wife? I don't think so."

"I guess you're probably right," she said. "You rest for a few minutes, and I'll see what the boys are up to next." She left the room, softly closing the door.

I glanced at the clock briefly. 1:37. Still five and half hours to go. I drifted off again, wakening to Roberta gently shaking my shoulder. I looked to the clock first thing. 1:53.

"It looks like Derrick and Jason are up next," she reported. "It's going to be a threesome, and it looks like your butt can take a break. Actually it was kind of funny, although I guess none of this is funny to you. But they had quite a little debate about who gets which end. They arm wrestled!"

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. "OK," I said, "I guess I'm ready for the next round." Before I could begin to get up Roberta opened her hand to show the little bottle of liquid lube.

"Here. I brought this so you wouldn't have to do it in front of everyone again," she said. Once again I was overwhelmed by her kindness and her concern for me. I sat up and kissed her cheek and hugged her.

Then I got down to the business of applying lube between my legs.

When I got to the living room Jason and Derrick had their pants off, boxers on. They rose to their feet as I entered the room, like I was their commanding officer. They asked me to get on all fours on the coffee table. It was an attractive one, irregularly shaped, the thickly-lacquered cross section of a large tree trunk. I complied, finding a position that put my sore knees at one edge and my hands at another.

Jason walked over and stood in front of me, his boxers now off and his cock half hard. He smiled at me and said, "I really like blowjobs a lot, but don't get them near often enough. Thank you." I told him not to mention it, thinking he might be a little thick but still a real sweetheart.

Jason placed his penis near my mouth, waiting for me. I opened and he placed it slowly into my mouth. I brought my lips around it about halfway down the shaft and licked the underside with my tongue. He groaned a little, and I was actually glad he was enjoying himself.

While this was going on Derrick had been putting his condom on and lubing it. He approached me silently from the rear and touched my ass gently to let me know he was there. I appreciated the heads up and decided he was a silent sweetheart. I'd not heard him say more than a few words all night, even during the game. Presently, I felt his erection gently probing my vaginal opening and then felt him push gently in.

This encounter was the day and night opposite of what I'd just gone through with Steve. Both boys were gentle with my body, considerate. Jason mostly let me bob my head and work on him, rather than use my mouth the way Patrick had before. I did my best for him.

Derrick stroked in and out of me, shaking my body with each impact. I could feel my breasts swaying and swinging beneath me.

Both boys had already come tonight, and as relatively sedate as the encounter was they took a long time. I hadn't had to do oral since the four-way in the guest bedroom, so my mouth was still feeling good. But Jason was long-lasting and my jaw became sore and my neck achy from having to keep my head up to suck him. Behind me, Derrick started fucking me more vigorously as he became more turned on, my breasts dancing more wildly in response.

After a long period of feeling cocks in both ends of me Derrick reached his peak. He held his cock all the way in as he came and then withdrew. I could tell Jason was getting near. He was running his fingers through my hair and groaning. I sensed that he was trying to hold back his orgasm. He seemed uncertain about what to do. He kept putting a hand up under my mouth. I finally got the idea that perhaps he was uncertain about where to come. The others who'd used my mouth previously had blown their loads into my mouth. Now I sensed Jason didn't want to do that to me, and was preparing to withdraw and catch his cum in his hand. Maybe he was shy in front of the others of not just emptying in my mouth.

I thought that if all that was the case I'd make it easy for him and let him save face. I put my fist around the base of his cock, holding it so he couldn't move. Then I worked vigorously on his cock head, sucking it strongly. In a moment he was over the top, and I kept my lips around his cock, letting it empty into my mouth, swallowing everything that came from him.

Jason's rapidly softening cock dropped from my mouth. I started to get off the coffee table, my knees angry with me. Jason actually offered his hand to help me. Sweet.

He brought his mouth close to my ear as we stood there a moment. "Thanks," he said, "I wasn't know."

"Yeah, I know," I said. "You're welcome," and I patted his shoulder.

I wandered off to the bathroom, needing to pee. I took my time, enjoying a relaxing washcloth or two. I wasn't in a hurry to get back, although I knew I couldn't take too long. I supposed that we were around to Adam's turn again. I wondered how these next encounters would go, what with each of them having come twice in the last few hours.

I also wondered about the word 'turn.' It was Adam's 'turn' next, and then it would be Patrick's 'turn', and then Steve's 'turn', and then Jason's 'turn', and then Derrick's 'turn.' I'd managed to get myself into a situation in which five men took 'turns' using me for their sexual gratification. I had a mental image of me as a first grader lined up to take my 'turn' to touch the starfish. Now there were five men lined up to take their 'turn' to put their erect penises in my body in some way. Just idle thoughts while I lingered in the bathroom.

I ambled into the living room, glanced at the clock, and registered that the time was going on 3:00. Adam rose to his feet and I looked at him. "Your turn again, Slugger?" I asked, sounding like some weary old whore.

"Um, yeah, I guess," Adam said.

"So what's it gonna to be this time?" I asked.

"Well," he started, "I was thinking that, well, you know, I've been able to, that is..."

I supplied the thumbnail of the situation he seemed reticent to outline. "I've given you a blowjob and you've fucked my pussy, so now you wanna outdo Amelia Earhart and finish your trip around the world?" Your local two dollar hooker couldn't have explained it any better.

"Um, yeah, I guess so," he said. "There's kind of a problem though." He took down his slacks and boxers. His penis was trying its hardest, but it was barely moving. This was not totally unexpected, but certainly not the pattern I was used to. I'd become used to seeing boxers go down and boners spring up.

Without thinking twice I got on my poor misused knees and readily took his penis in my mouth. I started by swirling my tongue around and then bobbing my head back and forth. It took a little effort and time but he was soon springing back remarkably. I couldn't help but take a little pride in craft.

Adam was soon as hard as he'd ever been. I stood and went to the dining table. I crossed my forearms at the edge and laid my head on them, stuck my ass out and rocked on my feet, spreading them about two feet apart.

"This OK?" I asked.

Adam didn't answer. I supposed he was putting on a condom and lubing it. I wondered if the other five watching this little play had noted how routine what I was doing now seemed to me.

Adam stepped behind me and again I felt my buttocks being spread wide, a hard penis probing my back hole. He pushed the head in: an action which hours ago, in the guest bedroom when Derrick had done it for the first time, had caused me a jolt of discomfort and panic. Now I felt the stretching, but other than that barely took note of the occurrence. He immediately went in to the root of his penis, his hips and abdomen impacting my ass, causing my breasts to sway and swing.

He settled into his routine. He pulled out until just the head of his penis was in me. Then he pulled and pushed his penis so the head went in and out through my ring. He did this a few times, apparently enjoying the sensations it produced. Then he would shove all the way in, getting my breasts swinging again. They would settle down as he went back to teasing his head through my anus.

I was not particularly interested in what was going on behind me and was feeling bored, wondering how long it would take his twice emptied balls to unload again. Nothing going on back there was painful or particularly offensive (a man I'd meet only hours before with his penis in my ass fucking me would usually qualify for me as 'offensive', but I was way beyond considerations like that at this point of this night), so my mind began to drift.

I wondered why men seem to want and enjoy anal sex. It seemed to me that a vagina was made exactly for a hard penis, providing stimulation along the whole length. The only stimulation of any significance from anal sex seemed to me to come from the sphincter ring, as Adam was finding out.

I mean, once you're inside a rectum there doesn't seem to be much there: like having your penis inside a balloon. I considered, though, that I'm not a man, don't have a penis, and so perhaps don't understand all the ins and outs of what constitutes satisfying penis stimulation. I considered that maybe it was just a psychological thing: a way to degrade their partner, make her submit. On the other hand, I supposed there are girls who just like it, too.

For a long time I was occupied with these thought while Adam did his thing behind me, my breasts every so often going into their dance. Occasionally, I found myself drifting off toward sleep then jolting awake the way one occasionally does behind the wheel of a car. He was suddenly into me to the hilt. He pulled back until the head of his penis was again just inside me. I felt him as he grabbed and squeezed the shaft of his penis and poked and rotated the head just inside me, and then I knew he was coming. When he was finished he leaned his thighs against the backs of my legs and finally moved away from me.

I straightened up, thinking, 'I imagine that's one boner down for the count.'

I happened to see the clock out of the corner of my eye. It was 3:47. Could he have been fucking me like that for most of an hour?

The bathroom beckoned again. I just made a short trip. I sat on the toilet and reached my hand between my legs, tentatively touching my vagina. It sent angry warnings to my brain to back off, that it'd had more than enough and was very sore. I reached back and felt my anus, getting the same report, although it seemed rather swollen in addition to being tender. My jaw and tongue were also aching and overused, and I had no idea which of my poor orifices would be used beyond their expiration date next. Sighing and resigned to finishing off my chore, I lifted myself from the toilet and headed for the living room again.




Chapter Seven


As I exited the bathroom Roberta was there with a report that Patrick was waiting for me in the guest bedroom. "Hey," she said. "Less than three hours to go. You gonna hold up?"

I didn't want to give her and unqualified yes. "Yeah, I think so. I'll be OK," I said.

She gave me a tight hug which I returned. I had a flash of regret that I'd not taken her up on her offer to act as substitute for the rest of the night. Immediately, the regret was replaced by a wave of guilt for wishing any of this on her.

In the guest bedroom Patrick was waiting, handcuffs in hand. I asked him could he use the leather cuffs, as they were much more comfortable (or less uncomfortable) than the steel handcuffs. He told me sure and went to get them.

When he returned it took him a bit to work the knot of the rope loose from the central chain on the handcuffs. Soon he was clipping the leather cuffs together, attaching the rope to them, and buckling them onto my wrists.

He positioned me as I'd been earlier, wrists above me and the rope tied off behind the headboard. Patrick took off his pants and boxers, and I was treated to the sight of another barely living dick.

Patrick positioned himself as before, knees straddling my head, and brought his penis down to my mouth. I took it in and began to suck and tongue it. This went on for some minutes and I was just beginning to think that Patrick was done for the night when, all in the space of about ten seconds, blood was rushing to his member and it became stiff in my mouth.

He quickly started the same routine he'd used before, shoving his cock way into my mouth until it began to enter my throat, and then pulling almost out before plunging in again. I was at least ready for it this time and soon fell into the required rhythm. Now that he was hard he was enjoying himself and kept fucking my mouth like that for quite a while.

As before, he finally seemed satisfied, dismounted me and got off the bed, grabbing the tube of gel from the night table. I began to steel myself for his penis entering my tender vagina, but he didn't pick up a condom. Instead he brought the lube to the bed and squirted a generous amount on my breasts. In a moment he was straddling my chest, gathering up my breasts with his erection nestled between them.

I was upright just enough that if I craned my neck down sufficiently I could see his penis emerge from the top of my breast cleavage and disappear then reappear, the head coming out of my breasts just short of my neck and just a few inches from my chin. Putting my chin that low to watch was very uncomfortable, so I just relaxed and let him fuck my breasts without watching.

I was thankful my sore pussy and ass weren't involved in this. Again I got more than a little bored. I had nothing really to do but wait for him to come. My mind didn't go anywhere. I was just blank for what seemed, and likely was, a long while.

I drifted off and was awakened by warmth on my chin as the first squirt of his semen hit me. Another stronger spurt landed from my nose, across my mouth and over my chin. A third weaker spurt landed directly on my lips. Then he was just dribbling, the cum pooling in the hollow of my neck. I thought, 'Not bad for a third come for a mid-thirties-something guy.' I hoped that wrapped up his night.

Patrick left the room leaving the door open. I thought it encouraging that the others might have been too tired to come in and watch Patrick's turn.

A few minutes later Steve appeared at the door. His eyes went from my cuffed and immobile hands to the cum on my face to my greased breasts. "Damn, that's not a bad idea," he said. He came into the room, closing the door behind him, and immediately took off his pants and boxers. He was at half-mast as he straddled my face.

Steve took his thumb and wiped some of Patrick's cum from the side of my nose, and then unexpectedly put his thumb in my mouth.

"Yummy?" he asked.

"Steve you are just a complete asshole," I said. "What's the matter with you that you have to be like this?" OK, perhaps not the best phrased question from a nude woman tied to a bed, tendered to a man who was about to fuck her in some way.

A look of annoyance (anger? shame?) crossed Steve's face, but he brightened immediately. "Why look," he said, "your mouth. What a great place to put a cock."

With that he pushed the head of his penis into my mouth, shutting down any more commentary from me.

He fucked my mouth with little thrusts as his cock fully hardened, reaching its full length and girth. I could not get over the fact of that cock having been far up my ass earlier. "You know," he said, "I'll bet that pussy of yours could use another fucking."

Gagged by his cock I could only shake my head and offer muffled pleadings. He got off me and went to the night table and started putting on a condom, lubing it.

"Steve, please no," I said. "It's awfully sore and I really don't want you to put your cock in there. Why don't you just fuck my tits like Patrick?" He just looked at me, smiling and lubing his cock.

He got on the bed at my feet. My legs were closed. I didn't want to try to hold them closed, but I didn't want to open them either. We looked at each other for long seconds.

"You did lose this bet, didn't you?" he asked.

"Oh, fuck you, Asshole," I said.

"Don't give me any ideas," he said.

I relented and parted my legs. Steve moved closer, parting them wider still until his cock was at my entrance. He gave a thrust and a dull ache screamed from my pussy as he went halfway into me.

"Oh, God, you goddamned bastard," I said through clenched teeth, and I realized tears were coming from my eyes, and my hands were pulling futilely at their restraints, my fingers stretched and pleading. Without ceremony he pushed himself all the way in. His cock glided deep, friction free, but the stretching of my canal and vaginal opening was not pleasant.

He thrust his cock back and forth for a short time, making me gasp and try to keep from crying more than I was. Then he was done.

The incredible, sadistic bastard! He didn't want pleasure from my pussy; he just wanted to cause me pain! He pulled his cock from my vagina, sat back on his haunches, stripped off his condom, and straddled my chest.

Like Patrick, Steve gathered together my breasts, although much more roughly and squeezed them firmly together, his cock between them. Like with Patrick I just went numb while he fucked my breasts, enduring the ache his hands were inflicting on them. He fucked them for a long time, thrusting hard between them.

Finally he was ready to come and released my breasts. He came to his knees holding his cock inches from my face, gave it a few more strokes. I closed my eyes and mouth because I knew what was coming. A first spurt of cum hit my face, and a second, a third, a fourth, no longer full shots but full enough. My face was covered with cum.

I've never hated anyone so in my life. Every chance he had gotten he'd piled humiliation on me. He must have gotten off on it because he seemed to so revel in the experience.

I opened my eyes, blinking. He was just getting up from the bed. Fortunately none of his cum slid into my eyes, but I felt it slide down my temples and into my ears.

"You sure can show a guy a good time there, Ellen," he said and was out the door.

I was limp, trying to accommodate the indignity of what I'd just experienced. Then Roberta came to the door.

"Oh, God," she said, and went back down the hall.

I few minutes later she was back with a bowl of warm water, a washcloth, and a towel. She made little concerned noises as she bathed my face, repeatedly rinsing and soaking the washcloth. After a while she seemed mostly satisfied. "There," she said, "that's better anyway."

I felt tears leaking out of my eyes, and Roberta put her face down to mine, hugging me cheek to cheek. Without any conscious thought whispered words came from me and into her ear.

"He didn't just come on my face, Roberta. He fucked my pussy. It's so sore and God it hurt so much. I pleaded with him, begged him not to, but he did it anyway. But he didn't want to come in my pussy, he just wanted to stick his dick in there and listen to me suffer," I said, my tears starting to come harder.

Roberta held me tight, and I finally found the strength to hold back my tears. Roberta looked hard into my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sweetie," she said. She seemed to be searching for words. Finally she said, "I'll tell you something, Ellen: that asshole is in Patrick's department. If Patrick ever let's that boy sees a promotion I promise you I'll do a Lorena Bobbitt on Patrick."

I smiled at her, even laughed a little between my sniffles, believing without a shred of doubt she would do it.

"Listen," she said, "it's almost 5:30. I'm gonna go have a little talk with Jason and Derrick before they come in here."

She went out, and just for something to do I yanked on my wrist restraints, but my hands were there until someone released them.

Jason came in next, leaving the door open. "Sorry, Ellen," he said, "I've just gotta try this. Besides time isn't up. I had a girlfriend once I wanted to do this with but she wouldn't let me. Anyway, Roberta told me and Derrick if we went within a foot of your pussy or ass she'd do a 'Lorena Bobbitt' on us. Who's Lorena Bobbitt?"

I told him he probably didn't want to know, and definitely didn't want to meet the lady.

He sweetly asked me, "Is this OK?"

I nodded my head. "Yeah, it's OK."

He took off his pants and boxers again, his cock trying to rise, and I knew I'd have to perform my oral magic on it. Jason came to my face and I opened, allowing him to put his cock in my mouth. I sucked for a bit, in my position unable to do much bobbing. His semi-flaccid member responded almost immediately and was soon as rigid as ever.

He got off me, went to the night table and put lube on his cock. I asked him to put some more on my breasts, and he was happy to oblige. Then he was over my chest, gathering up my breasts and wrapping them around his cock.

I didn't bother to watch. I liked the kid well enough that I hoped he was enjoying himself. I guess he was. Having his dream, the one shot down by his ex-girlfriend, come true had him panting in mere minutes. Then I felt his cum hit my face: two hard ones that reached my forehead, two that landed on my mouth, another that hit my chin, and then final dribbles that oozed onto my chest.

He was done and soon pulling on his pants. As he did so he said, "Thanks, Ellen."

"You hardly have to thank me, Jason," I answered. "You won the bet."

"Yeah," Jason said, sounding hesitant. I saw his face redden. "About that: it's been quite an experience. I mean it's kind of great and something I've never done before. But, I don't know, I guess it would have been better if you'd won."

"Believe me," I said with a surprising little giggle in my voice, "I could have gone for that. But, you know, I wouldn't have hesitated to walk out of here with your money."

"I guess," Jason said. "Still, maybe this sort of thing is better as some kind of fantasy instead of something you actually do. Know what I mean?"

He'd get no argument from me. I was about to tell him so but then he was gone.

I was inert, unable to move. Every time I parted my lips a little a bit of cum would run into my mouth, and it became an annoyance. I ran my tongue around my lips to clean them off.

Derrick came in, but there's not much to tell. This encounter was almost an exact repeat of the previous one with Jason: a blow job to jump start his engine, getting my tits fucked, and eventually spurts of cum hitting my face, my eyes closed. Just a run-of-the-mill experience for your Super Bowl gangbang slut.

Several times as Derrick pulled on his pants and shirt he seemed about to initiate some sort of comment. Each time he lost steam before any words could emerge. Finally, as he moved to the door and without looking my way, he said, "Thanks, Ellen. Sorry." Then he was gone.

After Derrick left Roberta came in and un-cuffed me, saying I should go use the bathroom. I sat on the toilet again and took inventory: super sore pussy, my asshole in the same condition. I peed and then moved to the sink. Cum was again hardening on my face.

I looked at my reflection: a woman with a sore pussy and ass from being fucked all night, globs of cum stuck to her face. Tears began to flow from my eyes, and I realized I had to do some hard thinking about why I was in my present condition.

Making the bet had been a thrill like none I'd ever felt. Watching the game, my fate up in the air, had been a sexually supercharged and delicious experience in suspense. Now here I was ten hours later feeling my sore privates, looking at my cum-splotched face.

Had I secretly wanted to lose? Had I wanted to endure this sexual pain and humiliation? I was sure I hadn't. Hours ago when I'd blithely spoken phrases like 'strip naked', 'all night', 'anything you want, any way you want it', I'd had no idea what I was wagering. I'd had no idea what the price of losing the bet would be; no idea of the reality of spending a night naked, getting fucked, sucking cock, swallowing cum.

But I knew that if I could go back twelve hours, the outcome not known but understanding the reality of what I was risking, I would make the same bet again without hesitation. I would hope, pray, for a different outcome, but the pull of the risk, experiencing the erotic tension between the fear of losing and the desire to win, would be irresistible.

I brought my thoughts under control. I took up my washcloth and started scrubbing my face, and was soon satisfied. I heard a tap on the door. I unlocked it and Roberta came in.

"So what's next?" I asked. When I'd left the guest bedroom it had been just a little before 6:00. By now it was probably 6:20 or so, and I still had minutes on my bet.

"Well, I suggested to them that maybe you've paid off in full," she said, "but they've decided they really want to watch you masturbate. I think they really believe they're doing you a favor! You know, just let you loll around and enjoy yourself. Can you believe it?"

I considered. It wasn't strictly sex, but was I going to quibble? It could be worse. It didn't involve any cocks in my mouth or my pussy or my ass. I was sold. "OK," I told Roberta, "why not?"

I walked to the living room where the leather lounger was entirely reclined. The men stood around or near it. Roberta had placed a collection of her sex toys on the coffee table. It really was a pretty impressive assortment of dildos and vibrating devices, but if I had to do this I had no desire for anything inside me. I selected her magic wand and took my place on my little reclining stage.




Chapter Eight


I moved my legs to the sides, my thighs and calves on the arms at either side making Vs. As I started the wand vibrating and brought it to my pussy I realized this was a great way to let my bet expire. I moved the wand up my pussy to just below my clit and found the sensations very pleasurable, unlike most of the sensations I'd experienced that night. I realized I could enjoy those sensations right up until just before 7:00. That's what I did.

I ran the wand on and around my clit and soon found myself getting turned on, caught up in the pleasing sensations. My audience largely retreated from my awareness, and I began moving my hips against the wand, unselfconscious of the situation I was in: nude, thighs spread, and performing on myself the most personal act I knew while five men watched.

I became aware that they all had taken their cocks from their pants and were stroking. Adam, Jason, and Derrick had looks on their faces that suggested this was a guilty pleasure but one they simply couldn't resist. Mentally I put myself in neutral, just enjoyed the pleasure from my sex, but I didn't try to progress any further toward orgasm. I watched the men stroke.

Patrick seemed to come first, although only a couple of drops of cum emerged from his cock. He put it away. Derrick was next, leaning over me, his cum no longer spurting but just oozing out, dropping onto my chest. Then Jason moaned and leaned over, just oozing, his cum landing on my right areola. Steve came next. Good old predictable Steve. He leaned toward my face, of course, and shot a spurt of cum that he aimed for my mouth, but which didn't make more than half the distance to the goal. The rest of his cum dribbled over his fingers. Adam was the only one left and he moved his hand fast and finally groaned. Quick, small spurts landed on my chest, the rest oozing over his fist and dropping off onto my body.

I looked down at the collection of cum on my breasts. Earlier this evening it all together would not have amounted to one ejaculation. I noticed the cum was almost entirely clear seminal fluid, with only a few white knots and eddies of sperm.

Somehow that turned me on. I'd lost my bet. I'd spent the night being fucked by five men, at their beck and call. I'd been embarrassed and humiliated. But I'd drained five men dry. It wasn't exactly the sense of accomplishment I had felt when I'd walked across the stage to collect my Master's Degree, but I supposed it counted for something.

I pressed the wand tighter, real desire now rising from my sex. I was dimly aware of the clock. It was about 6:50, and I knew it was time. I kept the wand near my clit but also used my finger to begin moving my button in little circles. The orgasm hit me hard and fast and I opened my mouth and screamed, bucking my hips and groaning in satisfaction. The orgasm just went on and on.

Finally, I came to my senses again, opened my eyes, my vision blurry, breathing hard.

Roberta, who'd also watched me pleasure myself, held out a hand and helped me from the recliner. "OK, Boys," she said, "show's over. Bet's paid. She's done." She helped me to the bathroom again, went in with me and began cleaning me off.

I let her minister to me, and when all the cum was off I realized I would have to get moving. My morning presentation began in less than two hours. I told Roberta. She nodded her head and said my clothes were in her and Patrick's bedroom. I went through the bathroom's other door and found my clothes lying neatly on the bed.

I dressed: climbed back into my 'smart casual' outfit. It felt good to have cloth covering my nakedness again. When I was dressed I started to move toward the door. That picture of the more youthful Roberta, Emily, and Danielle caught my eye again. I paused for a moment, looking into the fresh young faces of the two girls. Again the image of the older girl tugged at my memory. I briefly thought, 'No. How could that be? There are a million girls named Emily.' Then another, more topical reflection passed through my mind, inspired by those immaculate, youthful countenances, 'Oh, if they knew the games grownups play, what would they think?'

Then I dismissed all those notions in favor of more pressing and present concerns. I was on the move again and back in the living room. I said goodbye, one by one, to most of the cast of characters in my little overnight escapade: romantic Adam, sweet and enthusiastic Jason, silent and kind Derrick. I ignored sadistic and disturbed Steve. I shook hands with mature Patrick, knowing I would likely see him that afternoon in one of my teaching sessions.

Then Roberta, my godsend, was in front of me. Tears started in both our eyes, and we kissed each other on the cheek – really kissed each other, not air smooches. We embraced tightly. I knew I would see her again also, Tuesday evening at a dinner concluding my on-site work with the company.

I stepped through the front door into the streaming sunlight of a just-breaking dawn. The strong light was a bit of a surprise. I was emerging from what had come to seem like an unending night of darkness. I squinted my eyes against the blazing proof that every night has an end. Still, my spirit couldn't soar too high. I yet had to consider the matter of the unprecedented events of the night just past. How would I come to reconcile – could I ever come to reconcile? – The acts I'd committed with my body last night with the person I believe I am? I felt the first wrenching weight of guilt tug at my soul. I knew I had to set this mental exploration aside for now, but I also knew the feelings would not rest quietly.

The streets were already busy as I drove my renter to the hotel. Everywhere I needed to go on this trip - hotel, office complex, Roberta's house - were all close, and ten minutes later I parked my car in the hotel's garage.

The trip was not so short that I didn't pass a few billboards that drew my eye. 'Hell Is Real!' read the first, along with the name of a local church. "Know Your Sins! Repent! Atone! Be Saved!' read a second. 'Do You Know Your Sins? God Does!' a third assured me. I tried to laugh them off with a, 'Boy, churches sure like exclamation marks,' but the effort was futile. I could indeed name all my recent sins, and I could describe them in intimate detail. But had I sinned against God? Or David? My girls? All of them?

In my room I stripped and got in the shower, keeping the water as cool as I could abide. I knew if I took a hot shower I would collapse on the bed afterward. I scrubbed my body and hair, and then I scrubbed everything again, working gingerly around my aching pussy and ass, filling my mouth with water and spitting it out again and again. Feeling the ache and tenderness of my body, I began to reflect again on the night's activities, on my egregious sins. I stopped myself though. This was not the time.

Out of the shower I dried my body and blow dried my hair. My doo is not much of a chore: straight to my shoulder blades with no real styling except my bangs.

I picked out a business suit with a mid-calf length skirt, to cover my red and raw knees, and dressed. I quickly applied the minimum of makeup. I took the elevator down, grabbed a croissant and a tea from the hotel's free breakfast bar and was back in my car in forty minutes. I ate my pastry and sipped my drink on the short drive to the office, keeping my eyes firmly focused on the pavement before me.

I arrived at my client's offices just short of 8:30. The morning's session was for a large audience and I gathered my materials, put them on a pushcart, and went to get ready. I'd been right while Adam was fucking me last night: I went through my PowerPoint and they were indeed all in order and ready to go. For just a second I stopped to consider the words that had just passed through my mind, 'while Adam was fucking me last night.' I shook my head. Holy God!

Unexpectedly, I had energy I would never have imagined possible after the night I'd endured. I was alert, awake, and at my best all morning and through a working lunch.

I only began to flag during a smaller session in mid-afternoon. Patrick and about twenty other managers and planners were in attendance, and I made an embarrassing gaffe.

The presentation was about a proprietary process the company was licensing from us. In my slides the process is presented as a one hour event, to more clearly demonstrate what happens and when. It's like a clock face you might see representing the entire history of the Earth, the Pleistocene represented by one block of minutes, the Cretaceous Period by another block, and then a little inset at the top to show that the interval since humans descended from the trees is represented by just three seconds. You get the idea. My presentation was peppered with slides that showed what was going on in the process at 'minute seventeen' and 'minute thirty-one' and 'minute forty-seven.' I came to one of these, weariness catching up with me, and said loudly, as I was taught so my voice would reach every corner of the room, "Now you can see here just exactly where I am on the cock, er, that is, um, of course I meant 'where I am on the clock.'"

These were too experienced people to let a giggle slip, or even to react much, but there were looks exchanged, and I saw Patrick wince. I was sure the giggles would come later in groups of three or four. My face reddened but I pushed on, my little embarrassing slip giving me a jolt of adrenaline that helped propel me through the rest of the afternoon.

As soon as the day's presentations and meetings were through I drove back to the hotel, arriving there before 5:00. I didn't bother with dinner, craving sleep much more than I cared for food. I placed a call to home. David wasn't there. Maybe he'd taken the girls out for a treat. So I left a message reminding him of my flight information for the next evening. I told him I love him and would see him soon, my voice with just an ever so slight hitch in it.

I put in my wakeup call for the morning, stripped and went to bed naked, which I never do except when I fall asleep immediately after sex. I slept the sleep of the dead for twelve hours. The next morning I dimly remembered waking at some point, the room dark, the air circulator humming, and my hand was between my legs. I'd been annoyed, the desire to sleep competing with the desire to come, both urges insistent. Staying clear of my sore vagina I began to rub my clit, pushing it to one side then to the other and then making it move in those little circles. I came quickly and hard, and kept coming for longer than I could ever recall experiencing. Finally, I settled down and drifted off to sleep again. I woke refreshed, my sleep deficit at least partly repaid.

Tuesday, my last day with the firm, was relatively short: two training sessions in the morning, a working lunch, and then a last, short session that ended at 2:00.

After the last meeting I was collecting and packing my materials in the small office the company had assigned to me. Patrick came by escorting the senior vice president for human resources. She had some questions about the personnel needs for one of the processes they were licensing. I answered her questions, and when we were done she, Patrick, and I drifted toward the door making chit-chat.

We came to the door and stood there still talking. I'd drifted out into the hall a couple feet, Patrick also in the hall and facing me, the vice president a couple feet inside the open doorway. As we conversed I saw Patrick look over my shoulder. An expression of annoyance crossed his face. I glanced back and saw Steve coming down the hall taking slow, exaggerated, comical steps, looking around himself, making sure the hallway was empty of others.

I turned my head back to Patrick who had the vice president engaged. I took an unobtrusive step backward, out of the view of the vice president. I stuck out my ass and waggled it back and forth, back and forth. Then I stepped forward again where the vice president could see me, and I seamlessly rejoined the conversation. Steve took the bait. A few seconds later he grabbed my hips, pulled them back, and I felt his crotch push against my ass.

Steve kept his voice low and growled, "Oh yeah! I would just love to fuck this ass right now."

I made my eyes bug out, and I let go a sharp screech I thought conveyed both surprise and outrage. I thought I did it quite convincingly.

Later Patrick told me Steve's face actually turned white when the vice president stepped out into the hall from where she had been hidden just inside my office.

Steve's hands were off me in an instant and he put a few feet of distance between us. Then the Senior Vice President for Human Resources began to speak. She looked at the employee security tag clipped to Steve's shirt. "Mr. Stephen Martine," she said, hot, bristling. "I could explain the identity of the guest you just sexually harassed. No. No, actually I think Legal would advise that the act you just committed is called 'sexual battery.' I'm not sure if it's a misdemeanor or a felony. I could ask you just who the hell you think you are and what you think you're doing. But why bother? You're fired." She reached out and yanked the employee tag from his shirt.

Just then, in what can only be described as divine timing, a security person came around the corner on some errand. The vice president attracted her attention and said, "Would you please escort Mr. Martine here to his cubicle so that he can collect his personal belongings? Then escort him to his vehicle. Please make sure a security vehicle follows him until he is through the gate and off company property."

I watched as the young woman from security turned Steve around, her hand grasping his arm just above the elbow. Before Steve turned his head and we broke eye contact I couldn't resist giving him a little smile and a wink, and pursing my lips into a little kissy-face look. Holding my hand in front of my chest to block the view of the vice president I wiggled my fingers at him in good-bye. The security officer walked Steve down the hall in the direction from which he'd come. He shook her hand off his elbow, but she immediately re-established the grip, only more firmly. She spoke into her walkie-talkie, apparently asking for more security officers to assist her.

The vice president offered abject and profuse apologies. She apologized on behalf of the company, herself, the CEO, the directors, the chairman. I don't recall if she included the groundskeepers and the guy who changes the light bulbs. I played the offended victim a little, just because it was expected, but in the end shrugged it off and told her no actual harm had been done, and that I was entirely satisfied by Mr. Martine's dismissal.

The vice president was relieved, and hoping to mollify me further said, "I can promise you, Ms. Ryan, I will prepare a full description of this incident and place it in Mr. Martine's termination file. If we hear from another firm seeking information or references on Mr. Martine, his dates of service and that description is all they will get from this company. I will flag the matter for my personal attention."

And that's how I was reassured there is a God. She may not be a football fan, but She sure knows how to balance Her scales. I smiled inwardly at the little joke I'd made. Then I immediately sobered. I didn't have to be reminded about God. She and I still had a lot of business to transact, and that part about balancing Her scales didn't sound like good news to me.

Anyway, it was a good thing Steve still had his thousand dollars. He was going to need it.

After the vice president had left to return to her office and pulverize Steve's future, Patrick took me back in my office.

"Sorry," I said, "I hope losing Steve won't cause any problems."

"Are you kidding me?" Patrick asked. "You just did me a favor." I looked quizzically at him and he continued. "You learn things about people outside the workplace that apply to what they'll do inside the workplace. I'm at the head of Steve's supervisory chain, and after what I saw the other night he would have no future here. Putting him in any sort of responsible position would be just asking for a world of trouble. I suppose after he'd been passed over a few times he would've gotten the message, put his resume together and moved on, but that would have taken a while. No, in this economy by this time next week I'll have the resumes of dozens of well-qualified people to choose from. Thanks."

"Well, don't mention it," I said.

"Hey, Ellen," he continued, "I wanted to offer my apologies for the other night."

I stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. "Don't," I said. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm a big girl. I made a bet. I lost a bet. I paid off a bet. Anything that happened to me was no one's fault but my own. If I'd won you can be sure I'd be going back to Chicago tonight with five thousand dollars in my purse." I felt my face flush in embarrassment, but continued with, "I assume you were satisfied with your winnings."

"Oh, God," Patrick said, "you have no idea. I was..."

I cut him off by putting the fingers of one hand over his mouth. "Actually, Patrick, I'm glad you were happy, but I don't really need to hear exactly how happy."

Patrick smiled a little and looked down, bashful. He looked back up and said, "You know, Ellen, that's exactly the way I feel about Sunday night, but you know Roberta. She told me I should say something or I should expect to lose a testicle."

I drove back to the hotel, took off my outer clothing and napped for two hours. The dinner was downstairs in the hotel restaurant, and after waking I dressed, straightened my hair, fixed my make-up and was at the restaurant entrance just as Patrick and Roberta arrived.

Patrick asked for the reservation and we were seated. While we waited at the table for the others in our party to arrive Roberta asked, "Did Patrick..."

"Yes, he did. This afternoon," I answered her. I went on to explain what I'd told Patrick: there was no one to blame. A bet was made. Someone won, someone lost, and the bet was paid. End of story. Then Patrick told her about Steve. Roberta looked like she'd hit the Powerball lottery and filled the restaurant with peals of laughter.

The others began arriving, company people closely involved with my visit and their spouses or partners. There were eleven of us in all. We had an early and enjoyable dinner, and then it was done. I said my goodbyes again to Roberta and Patrick, Roberta and I promising to stay in touch. And we have. We e-mail each other every week or two. It's an odd relationship. We don't stay in touch because we're old sorority sisters, or because of a shared interest in gardening or crochet or the Chicago White Sox. We're joined by my night of sexual servitude, and her essential efforts to help me through it, although we've never mentioned that night in our letters.

I drove my renter to the airport, checked my bag, got my boarding pass, and went through security. Shortly after, they called first class to board.

I settled into the leather of my seat, looked out the window, then closed my eyes and drifted into a light doze. I was aware of my seatmate's arrival, opened my eyes and exchanged greetings. I really wanted to sleep on the flight but made a little polite, obligatory conversation.

My seatmate said he was also down from Chicago, had arrived on Saturday for some meetings yesterday and today at his company's office here. He said he'd thought he would have to watch the Super Bowl at the hotel bar, but the manager of the local office had called and invited him to watch the game at the manager's home with some others. He said it was a nice time and better than he expected.

"But, you know," he said, "being from Chicago I was rooting for the Colts, and everyone else was for the Saints. I opened my mouth and made a bet with everyone, and I ended up losing five hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars!"

I told him I was sorry he'd lost so much money, but that I knew of someone who had lost a lot more on the game. Then I excused myself from the conversation. We pushed away from the gate, and I floated back off to sleep. As the plane carried me back to Chicago my sleep was fitful and uneasy, as was the unquiet slumber of the remorse growing inside me.



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