Want to Bet?

M's Note: This was very early in our relationship. Second month???...third at the latest. It is a true and accurate account

R's account:

Yahtzee?

I'd never played Yahtzee in my life. Not that it mattered, much. All you do is throw dice and fill in those little score boxes. Right? Easy.

We'd agreed to place three bets per game. One on the high total for the top half of the card – the ones, twos, threes, etc. One on the high total for the bottom half of the card – three of a kind, four of a kind, full house, etc. One on the high total overall for the entire card.

Easy.

It was certainly easy to tell that by the time we each had four of the six boxes on the top of the card filled I was in trouble. Okay, I still had the 'threes' and the 'sixes' to fill – giving me some hope. Except that she had 24 in her 'Sixes' box, leaving me very little leeway to make a significant gain.

It was equally easy to tell that by the time we each had four of the six boxes on the bottom of the card filled I was also in trouble there. In fact, one roll after that – when I'd used up my four of a kind -- all I had left, and the only thing I could do to win the bottom half of the card and the overall total, was a Yahtzee.

No pressure. Just roll Yahtzee on demand.

That didn't happen.

So there was an element of anti-climax about the last few rolls each. Well, anti-climax mixed with anticipation of a specific variety. And this carried on through the counting up. Which eventually showed that I'd lost both halves by almost 30 each and the total by more than 50.

A small proportion of each would've been enough. Especially as it had day of less than successful bets on my part and I'd been down to my jeans and shirt when we started rolling the dice. And two from three leaves, well, one. Correction: three from two leaves, well – we were back to those crumpled squares of paper with their scrawled forfeits.

"I'd like you to do that naked dance you owe from earlier," she said, grinning, when I'd peeled off my shirt and dropped and kicked aside my jeans.

I did owe her a naked dance. In fact, I owed her a customized strip and a nude dance. The first part wasn't going to happen tonight because of course I didn't have any clothes left to strip off but the nude dance could. So I gathered the TV remote and changed the audio from easy listening to 70s flashback and the song was good so I started dancing – my erection rolling and jouncing.

She was grinning, gorgeous eyes positively sparkling over her raised hands, palms pressed together. I'm not a bad dancer and my erection is full and mobile – was that night anyway.

And it was warm in that room, cosy. A nice fire flickering in the corner.

She said, "It's amazing to me how comfortable you are with your body."

It was a statement that struck me at the time because I was adapting to what seemed a changed centre of gravity caused by the rolling and bouncing. Not unpleasant...just odd. I was also resisting the urge to brush the clearly visible bubble of pre-cum from the engorged tip of my erection.

I'm not sure how true that statement is, or was at that time, anyway. We'd only been together a few months. But we're a playful couple and have been from the outset of our relationship and, as I said, I'd been losing a fair amount and she seemed to enjoy me being naked and her enjoyment always makes me comfortable so I guess the long version is that what she said was true. Sort of.

When the song had finished, and I'd finished, I sat down again on the sofa, sipped my brandy and suggested another game.

She cocked an eyebrow.

To which I replied, "I have to win one eventually – get something back."

So, still smiling, she collected the scorecard and started to make a second column for each of us. Why not? Were I in her shoes I would too. After all, she still had her shoes, at least figuratively, and every other stitch intact. While I, of course, was naked – and not for the first time on the day, so my list of forfeits was growing and growing.

I also knew that when the roles eventually reversed I'd exploit her spectacular tush without compunction.

In the meantime, on this evening, by the time we again had 4 boxes each filled on the top half of the card – and 3 or 4 boxes filled on the bottom half – well, you didn't have to be Sheldon Cooper to complete the unfolding equation.

A point she emphasized by reaching over and slowly, and oh so gently, stroking just the very surface of my inner thigh. "I think," she said, eyes twinkling, "I'll save the other IOUs for another time because I'd like to see how you look cleanly shaved – and I know I'd like to watch you masturbate..."

Then she broke off and sniggered, yes, sniggered, as I flushed crimson – my erection having reacted, without my consent I might add: bouncing off the back of her hand which was still resting on my thigh, the thumb now brushing one of my hyper sensitized testicles ...