Betcha Won't

Michael thought Meg might be realizing the same thing, although he was certainly paying her well, enough – for the time being.

Still Mike was fairly sure that the situation was more appealing to the gambler and adventurer in Meg, than to her inner floozie.

Fighting through her inner turmoil, Meg had seized on the mantra "What happens in Vegas...," and her burgeoning current-self was successfully displacing the married-English-working-girl persona she had arrived with.

Meanwhile, well before five minutes were up, Mike announced, "I'm gonna cum!" Meg pulled back, but not off, holding his helmeted head within, she accepted his jetted donation into her mouth. She held on, motionless, until he finished jerking and lunging and spitting; then she calmly rose and turned to the bathroom to spit out his spend. "Swallowing," Mike thought to himself, "next time!" He gave his head a satisfied shake, smiling as she disappeared.

It went on – and on – that afternoon, both of them playing the new game, pretending that there was some merit in the 'friendly bet / personal wager' delusion. Neither knowing exactly where they were going – equally curious – not to mention, turned-on. Mike has assumed the role of director, through his use of the negative wager. Meg got naked, then undressed him. She sucked him hard again – wanting to savour it, he pushed her away at the last moment. He bet her she wouldn't let him take a few pictures while she masturbated; he lost the bet. As she got into it – increasingly aroused, he bet her that she wouldn't let him lick her pussy, stem to stern, clit to anus. Playing the game, she hesitated before accepting.

"And furthermore, as a secondary, concurrent bet, I bet you a thousand dollars at a hundred to one, that you won't climax within five minutes." Surprisingly, Meg lost that secondary bet. Riding the ragged edge, as Mike drew his tongue along her moist furrow, through her sopping bush, and back around to poke her rosebud, she couldn't quite get there.

He bet she wouldn't ride his cock, cowgirl style. She assented. Mike arranged himself on the bed, lying on his back, his erection standing tall, and twitching. Guiding Meg by the hips, he helped her to line up, before she lowered herself onto him – completely. As she bottomed out, he added, "I'll bet you, concurrently, once more, a thousand dollars at one hundred to one, that you won't make me climax, within ten minutes."

"Okay," she purred, smiling down at his face, "You got a deal." With that she began to lazily rock and bounce, her pussy caressing his cock like a velvet glove. It took much less than ten minutes for Meg to win that one. And, as an extra bonus Mike noted, she came with him – writhing and moaning as he thrust his hips up into her, spurting volley upon volley of cum into her warm cunt. Chest heaving, skin glistening, body vibrating, she collapsed onto Mike. Holding her close, and still, they stayed wrapped in each other for a lengthy dénouement.

As they finally surfaced, Meg begged off. "I've got to touch base with the girls," she explained, scrambling to find her clothing. "Day after tomorrow's our last day, and I've barely spent any time with them – of course, they don't like gambling – and I don't particularly like shopping or shows."

Mike tallied up her winnings, which, incredibly, amounted to thousands of dollars. "Money well-spent," he chuckled to himself." It amused him that, in one way, it seemed like so much, but really amounted to less than pocket change in his current financial situation. "All right then," he purred, grinning benignly, "I'll bet you $500 you won't come back here tomorrow, before noon."

"Okay," Meg smiled over her shoulder, waggling her fingers as she left.

Mike spent the evening scouting out the malls and the gaming floors, looking for a few willing participants in the next part of the plan. He eventually retired for the night, feeling quite satisfied with how it was all working out – actually rather pleased with himself for having the wherewithal – the balls to realize such a wild fantasy. "Bring it on," he crooned in anticipation, as he went to bed. He slept soundly – in "The City that Never Sleeps"; much more so than Meg.

The next day – her second last, Meg arrived at Mike's room about 11:30. Wearing a different mini-skirt and tight top, she didn't look half as tartish as she had the day before – though still rather alluring. They shared a coffee and chatted, like old friends, about what they had done the previous night and that morning. She admitted she'd returned to the gaming floor, where she'd lost – spent – a chunk of yesterday's winnings. Then, with a sly look, Mike said, "I'll bet you five hundred dollars that you won't let me fuck you, right now, on the bed."

"Okay," Meg replied with a knowing smile, standing and offering her hand. After shaking on it she turned and walked to the bed, peeling off her clothes.

But it was really so much more than just fucking. They made love. Lying entwined, kissing and hugging, there was no urgency, just a gentle, caring sensitivity. It was almost like they'd taken a break from the game – a thought that crossed both their minds independently. Meg clutched him to her chest, as Mike slipped into her, pausing for a moment before initiating long, slow, delicate strokes. There were no calisthenics, nor contortions. They were both more than satisfied with plain old missionary position. They enjoyed a long, inexorable arousal, culminating in blissfully shared simultaneous orgasms. Basking in the afterglow, they lounged naked for a spell, until, in due course, he located hotel robes for each of them. Both quietly eying the other; their thoughts running parallel.

Meg didn't know what she was getting into, just that she was sliding in deeper and deeper. The betting was, by now, an obvious sham, but the thrill of gambling was being replaced by the seduction of easy money and a kind of ecstasy borne out of naughtiness.

Mike marveled at Meg, and how she apparently embraced her new role. While originally rather tentative, she'd quickly embraced the blossoming of her inner slut – exuding a raw hunger. Perhaps, he thought, to start, it was just greed and the aphrodisiac qualities of money, but he suspected it had become more to do with the adventure of exploring new experiences and the thrill of rising to meet a challenge. In any case, it seemed she had become a very willing participant in the on-going seduction – if the events could even be described as such.

Still, Mike had an agenda. He sat up, and, rousing them both from their private reveries, brought them back to the game. "Ever tried any BDSM?"

"What's that?"

"You know, dominance and submission? Bondage and stuff? Getting tied up?"

"No! Never!"

"Ever even thought about it?" Here Mike gave a bit of a nudge, nudge, wink, wink, gesture.

"No-o!" Meg stretched out the reply, effectively dismissing the idea – until she caught Mike's raised brow. "Well... Yeah. I guess I've entertained the odd fantasy about it – but," she went on quickly, "I've never, ever, really considered trying it – submitting to it!"

"So-o." Mike drew out the conjunction, "isn't that what this is about?"

"Well, have you tried it? Ever?" Meg demanded.

"Yeah," Mike responded, just a little bit dreamily, "Once. Back, early in my marriage. It was... It was titillating – a little bit scary – embarrassingly peculiar. For some reason we never tried it again. Not that it was bad. Just different."

"I don't think I'd want to be spanked, though," Meg stated, her voice almost a whisper.

"No. That idea never appealed to me either."

Articulating the suitable wager – "I bet you $500 that you won't let me tie you to the bed," – Mike paused to organize his ideas. "Hmmmm," he went on, "and have sex with you while you're so restrained." Although, honestly, they knew the faux bet wasn't really a bet at all, they still both kept to the script. He had effectively dared Meg to let him tie her up. As she nodded her assent, he added, "Promising, also, to keep you comfortable and safe." Meg gave a wry smile in response to the addendum.

After removing her robe, pulling back the bedcover, and laying her back onto the bed, Mike produced a bag of scarves and soft cords he had earlier placed in the lower night-stand drawer. Carefully, slowly, he tied her spread-eagle to the bed, wrists first to the headboard, then ankles, to the bed-legs at the foot.

Checking that she was secured, he pulled another scarf from the bag. "A blindfold will, I believe, intensify the experience," he proposed, waving it about with a flourish. "You game?"

A wave of apprehension wafted across her features, before she shrugged, nodded, and whispered, "Sure."

Having secured the material firmly over her eyes, Mike stepped back and surveyed his work. "I'm going to take some more pictures," he announced, "Okay?"

"Okay." She nodded her blindfolded face

Mike made a quick call to a number he'd got the previous evening, and, as Meg waited bound to the bed, Mike spoke. She couldn't quite make out what was said, so she didn't actually hear as Mike invited the person on the other end of the phone to come up and, "fuck my wife." When they'd hung up, Mike leaned in close to her ear, and asked, almost conspiratorially, "Are you ready to be fucked?" There was a sharp rap on the door before Meg could answer. Whoever it was was apparently very eager.

Meg heard the door open and close, and a bit of muffled conversation. She vaguely sensed the presence of someone else in the room. "Well," announced Mike, "Told Jack here he could fuck my wife. That okay with you?"

Meg was taken aback for a moment, surprised that she was still able to be surprised. Recovering fairly quickly though, she murmured, "Fine, then," then, turning her covered eyes toward where she thought the newcomer might be, she added, "C'mon then, Jack, do your best!"

Jack was practically salivating as he dropped his pants and tore off his shirt. Mounting the bed, between Meg's outstretched legs, his eyes never left her blindfolded face. Pushing himself solidly into her, he seemed almost impatient. Still lubricated from echoes of their earlier love, Meg accepted him smoothly. Like a rabbit, he began thrusting fast and furious, getting himself off in short order – cumming in a loud rush, he was in and out unreasonably quickly.

Climbing off as if he suddenly needed to escape, he scrambled back into his discarded clothes, and with a "Er... thanks. Um, gotta go!" left in an awkward, embarrassed fluster.

After seeing him out Mike returned to the supine figure lying still on the bed. "Well, that was something less than satisfactory, eh?"

"S'okay," Meg murmured, sounding fatigued – or disappointed. Without another word, Mike moved to the foot of the bed, and, dropping his head into the vee of her thighs, began to tongue her puffy, glistening pussy. He let his tongue lick and caress, drawing long strokes the length of her furrow, punctuating them with lingual insertions, swirling dances about her clitoris. Meg's building arousal had her moaning piteously, and pulling futilely against her restraints. Mike kept at it, not letting her reach climax too soon. Finally, at long last, after much trashing protest, Mike's tongue pulled her over the edge, leaving her quivering and shaking against her bonds, writhing and mewling as she slowly returned to earth.

During her dénouement, Mike calmly united the ropes from her limbs, leaving the blindfold until last. "Welcome back," he whispered with a chuckle.

"I'm sorry that didn't work out as planned. Maybe I should have suspected something, inasmuch as he was just a little too keen."

"So it goes," Meg concluded, slipping off the bed and padding into the lavish bathroom. Mike watched, appreciatively, her awesome, glistening nakedness, as she glided out of sight.

After a long, luxurious bath, Meg emerged, looking refreshed and sparkling. Mike met her with a sumptuous room service luncheon waiting – with a choice of wine – red, white, sparkling, still. They partook mainly in companionable silence – savouring the delicate tastes and textures.

Later, after eating, while sipping another glass of wine they, agreed, verbally two-stepping through the dance of faux-betting, to continue in the game. While the first attempt at the 'fuck my wife' scenario had been a bust, Meg allowed that she would play his exhibitionist wife, and let him show her off to a few other people – strangers. "I don't need to be blindfolded, though, do I?"

"Not if you'd rather not. What about restraints? Securing you to the bed?"

"Yeah, I suppose," she conceded, with a wry chuckle. "Being tied up somehow increases the intensity. I mean, it allows me to pretend that I'm not actually complicit in this – my – what? – degradation? If I relinquish control, then I can't be blamed. Self-delusion, I know, but..." Looking Mike in the eye, she gave her shoulders a shrug and went silent.

"Okay," Mike nodded. He paused, and studied her visage for a while – he could see a mixture of innocence and adventure. "How do you feel about," he finally began, once again, "not to put too fine a point on it – gangbang?"

Meg's response was not what he'd expected, being more curiosity than shock. "Mmmm Hmmm? I mean, it has crossed my mind more than once, these past two days."

"Then, how about a modest gangbang, this afternoon, if I can pull it together?" He had to smile as he added, "Huh! Modest gangbang. That's an oxymoron, if ever there was one!"

"How many is 'modest'?", she asked, staying focused.

"Four or five."

"Are you betting that I won't?"

"I s'pose."

"How much?" Although the game had so far superseded anything monetary she wasn't sure why she even cared. Maybe just for the effect – just playing the game.

"$1000?"

"Okay," she nodded, flashing just a slice of a smile.

She was silent as he tied her down, watching him complacently – contemplatively. A glimmer of apprehension crossed her face as he rose to leave her, fastened spread-eagle to the bed, but was immediately erased by a look of guarded anticipation and controlled excitement. After giving her a quick peck on the cheek, Mike headed for the door, leaving Meg lying bound and vulnerable. There was something titillating about that, he thought, ah he hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign, then let the door latch behind him.

Mike had noticed some potential participants the night before, so he went down to the casino floor to hunt for them. In fairly short order he located four young friends, all twenty-something, all ready and willing and spoiling for trouble. At first they thought he was pulling their legs, but they were willing to follow him to check out, as he put it, their "great good fortune."

Meg was silent as he ushered the boys into the room and presented 'his naked wife'. "Thank you for helping to fulfil some of my wife's fantasies. She's new into bondage – just light bondage; and she's never had multiple partners. We figured this was the ideal time. You know: 'What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!' and all that." He gestured to the silent, staring foursome, sweeping his hand over Meg, before adding, "So, have at 'er!"

Suddenly terribly conflicted, Meg hid it well, gazing complacently at the approaching studs. "Well I don't mind if I do," announced one of the boys. He stepped up and reached in to stroke Meg's pussy lips and diddle her clit, leaning over to take a tit in his mouth at the same time. Mike was pleased to see Meg's apathy quickly consumed by an explosion of passion. Her squeals of delight prompted the other boys to approach, and rapidly they shed their own clothes and crowded around Meg's restrained body, stroking themselves as they reached in to grope boobs and thighs, leaned in to kiss her lips and nibble her body.

After only a few long, drawn-out minutes, the first guy – the defacto leader of the group – announced, "I'm going in!" Removing the last of his clothes, he laid himself between her outstretched thighs and began eating her in earnest. His tongue on her clitoris brought Meg to an instant, crashing climax – thrashing against her bonds, heaving her hips, her moaning and writhing throwing the others clear for the moment.

The main perpetrator, lifted quickly, and shuffled up to spear her pussy with his rampant prick. Her orgasm seemed to roll on, as through the haze she accepted another erection presented to her lips, and opened up to swallow it without pausing her roiling, pushing abdomen. And so it began – a long, frenzied orgy of fucking and sucking, twisting and humping, pulling at her restraints, cursing and gasping. The boys were tireless; all four able to get it up again and again. For some reason, maybe for fear of comparison, as Mike watched the whole orgy unfolding before him, he chose to remain an observer. And what a show it was.

Meg's first several orgasms were, of course, due to sexual arousal, but somehow the action started to become, surprisingly, almost monotonous. Still, she went along – physically aroused, mentally engaged, emotionally conflicted.

"It's only a game," she kept telling herself. "All a game," she repeated in her mind, and feeling a sudden, transient wave of melancholy, she added, "Just like life – just a game, if you play it right." But, just as quickly the feeling passed, and an almost euphoric mood replaced it.

"Yes," she realized, "It really is a game; a game I can play – and win!" Suddenly, just by concentrating on her stimuli, she found that she could self-activate her own climaxes. In the midst of all that young testosterone pounding her, mauling her, she could ignite orgasms simply by contemplating her own naughtiness, and picturing her own involvement in that fantastic set of circumstances.

The boys erroneously thought her sudden resurgence in response was somehow due to their continued virility. The apparent leader of the foursome started a bit of boasting trash-talk. "Bet you've never dreamed of being so well-fucked!" "We can keep it up all night if you want." "D'ya want us to untie you so's we can do ya doggie?" Meg just shook her head. "How about up the old dirt-chute?"

At that, Meg gave a firm, decisive "No" that brooked no argument. The guys paused in their ravishment, at the authority coming from their supposedly submissive partner. Their bravado and egotism, it seemed, was simply masking the insecurity of youth. "Keep going, though," Meg whispered in understated encouragement. They tentatively resumed. Yet another rampant erection slid into her cunt, while another, being subtly worked by hand, presented itself to her welcoming mouth.

In short order the room was filled, once again, with slap and pant, thrust and moan, and youth and stamina carried the afternoon. Still, Mike watched from the sidelines.

While Meg was actively fucking – almost totally involved in the tumult of fornication, almost totally, but not quite – a back corner of her brain considered it all objectively. And there she was so torn between guilt and excitement that she felt the schism physically. Part of her, the moral, ordinary part, was disgusted. 'How could she have let herself be talked into doing these despicable things'; and the other part, the adventurer, was dazzled – dazzled and stoked. 'How could she not rise to the challenge? When would such an opportunity ever present itself again?' Outside her conflicted psyche, an objective voice conceded that this was to do with a lot more than simple monetary greed. Sure the money aspect was incentive, but there was another kind of greed at work here – an obsessive lust, pulling and taunting and goading.

The boys finally powered-down. They dressed and left; still full of piss and vinegar – congratulating themselves. Mike thanked them – shook their hands. Looking, as she was, very well-fucked, Meg watched quietly from the bed, as Mike saw them all out. He waited until the door latched to untie Meg, then before she could rise, he went down on her, taking her to yet another orgasm as he ate her well-provisioned creampie. As she returned to earth, he shuffled up between her thighs and entered her with one thrust, sawing into her rhythmically, gently, until he deposited his load. They lay entwined on the bed, still, for a long moment before rousting themselves.