Emily & Ellen's Bet Ch. 12

This is a re-write of Emily & Ellen's Bet, originally posted in April of 2011. The effort is part of re-writing the entire continuous story arc of Ellen's Bet > Roberta's Bet > Dani's Bet > Emily's Bet > Ellen & David's Bet > Emily & Ellen's Bet. I re-wrote these stories for two reasons. First, I wanted to clean up some sloppiness in the writing. Second, I wanted to take the six stories, only two of which were planned to any degree at the beginning of Ellen's Bet with the others conceived and added later, and create better internal consistencies, and plot and character consistency, between them. At this point I think a reader could look at these stories as one tale comprising a six-part novel. Emily and Ellen: Emily & Ellen's Bet - Chapter Twelve Ellen The beginning of the next week was a perfect storm of meetings for me and classes for Emily. Both of us were constantly running. I spent the first few days of the week seemingly in constant motion from one meeting to the next, some of them very useful and worthwhile and others an utter waste of time. Emily had a regular schedule of in-house training that she was obligated to, and many of the classes had to be completed before the end of the fiscal year at the end of June. Because of the unusual demands of my schedule she also had to pick up a couple of the classes I teach. We only saw each other in passing for three days, and we both went straight home, more than ready to leave work behind at the end of the day. Finally on Thursday we made a date to stop by our downtown bar and have a drink after work. It was our first visit there since the day before I'd taken my days off with David and the girls and Emily had gone on her trip to attend Dani's graduation. We sat in the same booth we'd used the last time. The day was overcast and I missed the dazzling sunlight that last time had lit so brightly the inside of the establishment and so boldly flashed from the metallic surfaces near the bar. Emily and I had barely settled into the cushions at either side of the table when the waitress we by now knew so well (and who by now knew us more intimately than either of us cared to admit) approached. "So you girls both got your underpants on this time?" she asked. We both groaned, and Emily said, "Yep we do. Care to have a look and make sure?" The lady held up a hand and said, "Thanks, no. I've seen as much of you two as I need to. A Guinness and a Manhatten. Right?" We both nodded and she turned tail to fetch our drinks. One thing nice about putting on embarrassing exhibitions in a bar: the waitress always remembers you and your drink preference. "Shit, looks like I've got a rep in not just one but two bars in the metro area," Emily said, taking on a gloomy demeanor. "Oh, don't look so down about it," I said. "Reputations aren't forever. Oh, no, wait, they are, aren't they?" "Ha-ha," Emily returned. "So what did you think?" I asked. Emily didn't even pretend not to know what I was talking about. Leather & Lace. "It was great," she said. "Well, I don't know about great, but very interesting. Even on a Sunday afternoon there were a few interesting scenes going on." "Get involved at all?" I asked. "No, we both wanted to hang back and just observe," Emily answered, like you and David did. We weren't quite ready to jump in just yet." The waitress came with our drinks. We thanked her and waited until she'd moved off before resuming. "So what appeals to you?" I asked. "You mean the St. Andrew's cross, the pillory, the spanking bench?" she asked in return, a smile on her face. No, not exactly." I said. "Which way? Would you rather be strapped down on that spanking bench, or have someone else strapped down while you attend to their butt?" Emily took on a coy look. "You know, to be entirely honest with you I don't know," she said. "God, no, that's a lie. To be entirely honest with you I do know. I think I'd hate to death being on the receiving end. I'd rather be swinging the paddle than getting it. You?" I considered her words and found the thought behind them familiar. "You could be reading my mind. I think it would be right up my alley to have a willing victim all buckled tight and ready for an ass smacking." There was a somewhat drawn out pause. I saw the same sly look and spark in Emily's eyes I'd seen the previous Saturday evening as we'd walked to the restaurant. "Or a perhaps not entirely and completely willing victim?" Emily asked. I knew exactly where she was headed. The same thought had just started in my mind. "Or, let's say, someone who had just lost a bet and had to spend a couple hours at the club in the role of subbie?" I asked in return. Emily's mouth widened into a broad smile. "Must have read my mind," she said. "No need to pick which way you want to go. Just let a bet decide it. Can't imagine a better way to get acquainted with the facilities. One way or the other, that is." I nodded my head and smiled back at her. Emily's jaw took on a set little attitude I've come to recognize when she's up for a challenge. Her chin crinkled a little with the motion. Another silence drew out between us. "Interleague play starts this weekend," I said matter-of-factly. "You don't say?" Emily asked. "The Sox are at Wrigley this weekend. First game's tomorrow night. I wonder if the Cubbies are going to sweep them or just take two out of three." "Care to put your ass where your mouth is?" I asked. "No. At least not literally. I have no idea how I'd manage that anyway," Emily said. "But if you mean would I be willing to spend, say, two hours at the club a week from Saturday, say eleven to one, when I guess the place is probably jumping, then I'd say, yeah, that's a bet and a risk I'll take." "OK," I said, "Cubbies lose the series it's you for two hours. Sox lose the series it's me. "Say four hours for the loser if her team gets swept?" Emily asked, raising her eyebrows. Always looking to cross every t and dot every i. "Sounds good to me," I answered. "Leave the boys at home?" Emily asked. "David will be OK with that," I said. "Ian too," Emily answered. "Ok," I said, "the winner is the top, but does the loser wear any more than a red collar?" Emily paused for a moment. Any collar other than red would allow others in on the action in some way. "I'm game," Emily said. "That is, if you'll risk it." "OK," I said. "Let's say an orange collar?" I knew this would allow others to partake in the action to the extent of tormenting or punishing the sub under the supervision of her top, but would exclude the loser from being the object of sexual attentions from others. "How about a yellow collar with a pink card?" Emily returned. That was a place I'd be willing to go, albeit reluctantly. Only women would be allowed to actively participate, but not just to the extent of punishing or tormenting the sub, but also using her for their sexual pleasure. "I'm all right with that. I guess that about covers all the ins and outs," I said. "Pun intended." Emily groaned. We teased each other with great abandon all day Friday. We were both on competition overdrive. I'm sure Emily felt the same way I did, but about her Cubs. I was as certain as I could be that the Sox would prevail, even though the series was at Wrigley. At the same time, though, a tiny shred of panic was itching at the inside of my stomach. I remembered the subs I'd seen when David and I had visited the club: naked and on display, every detail of their bodies open to visual inspection and scrutiny, subject to any humiliation their top chose to inflict. If I lost this bet it would by far be the most public exposure to which my body had ever been subjected. The embarrassment was beyond my ability to imagine without experiencing it. All that was nothing compared to the humiliation I knew I would face when I found myself bound in some way that Emily decreed, my ass -- thighs? Back? Tits? - subject to pain from whatever instruments Emily or others chose to use. My body available for the pleasure of other women. I'd enjoyed what Emily and I had shared that night we lost our card game to the boys. The experience had been sweet and oh so pleasurable, but this would be different. My mind kept flashing on the image of a nude me, on my hands and knees, my face buried in the pussy of some woman I'd never laid eyes on before, obediently servicing her, giving her sexual gratification until I brought her to the required orgasm. The thought brought dread to my mind. It also brought a flood of arousal and delicious suspense as I contemplated the risk I was taking, and my overwhelming desire to come through that risk victorious. I'd tried to get tickets for Emily and me to go see one of the games in person, but they were all sold out, even StubHub devoid of even a couple of nosebleed seats. * * * * My plan had been to watch the game Friday evening, but the girls were just too enjoyable to resist. We ended up playing some games of Candy Land. Christina, my oldest, could not have been more bored, but I was proud of how she soldiered on and kept good-naturedly at the game for the sake of her two younger sisters. By the time stories were read and lights were out I only caught the last inning and a half. Jake Peavy, who'd let me down to my great embarrassment last weekend, this week got the one hundredth win of his career, in spite of being in the unaccustomed position of having to stand in a batter's box. He went 0 for 3 with two Ks and grounding into a four-three. Alfonso Soriano hit his three hundredth career home run off him in the second. Far more important was the seven good innings he pitched, giving up just two runs. A.J. Pierzynski, Carlos Quentin, and Alex Rios all homered, but those fireworks were over by the time I turned on the game in the bottom of the eighth. The Cubs were in the process of scoring three runs in that frame, but even after they had the score was still at ten to five Sox. The Cub went down meekly in the bottom of the ninth one, two, three without even mounting a threat and the Sox and I were one game up. I thought of calling Emily, but then decided I'd just let her stew. Finally, twenty minutes after Alex Rios had squeezed the twenty-seventh out, a fly ball to center, my cell rang. "Yes?" I asked after flipping the device open. "I thought you'd at least call and gloat!" Emily said. "Oh, I'm saving that for tomorrow night," I said, and I flipped my phone closed. Saturday night the five of us went to see Karate Kid, which opened that weekend. The kids enjoyed it. Neither David nor I remembered the original well enough to make a comparison, except that we knew watching Jackie Chan as the young initiate's teacher was a lot more fun than watching Pat Morita in the same role all those years ago. By the time we got home and attended to the girls' bedtimes I was only able to tune in at about the same point in the game I had the previous night. Normally I would have felt very good about tonight's game with Mark Buehrle on the mound for the Sox. Buehrle was off to a rocky start, though, and went into the game at two and six. The Cubs had Carlos Silva pitching, at that point off to an eight win and no loss start. My man Buehrle was on that night. He was already gone by the time I tuned in, but he'd pitched six and two-thirds innings of shutout ball, giving up eight hits and no walks. As I watched in the bottom of the eighth the Sox were up two to zip on a couple of RBI singles by Paul Konerko. The Sox didn't do anything in the top of the ninth. Bobby Jenks came on in the bottom of the ninth to try to close it down for the Sox (and me) with the score still two to nothing Sox. He walked Geovany Soto to start the inning. Mike Fontenot came up to pinch hit for Starlin Castro and struck out swinging. Then Kosuke Fukudome hit a soft one back to Jenks for a one to three fielder's choice, Soto moving to second on the play. Ryan Theriot then singled to right to bring Soto around and make it a one run game at two to one. Chad Tracy came to the plate next, the potential winning run, and the tying run in the person of Theriot at first. I held my breath as Tracy fouled a couple off, sandwiched in between pickoff throws to first. He took a ball. Then he went down swinging at a one ball two strike slider. I let out my breath in relief. My bet was won. I called Emily. "Yeah, I know," she said without preamble when she picked up. "Hot date next Saturday, Girl," I said, not bothering to suppress my laughter or haughty attitude. "Bite me," she said. "Bite what, exactly?" I asked, but the line was already dead. I sat down and watched Sunday afternoon's game, David and the girls coming and going, sitting down to watch an inning or two with me from time to time. The only issue on the line was how long Emily would be my little subbie at the club next Saturday night. If the Sox could pull off the sweep she had four hours to serve. If the Cubs could salvage one game from the series she was only on the hook for two hours. The game turned out to be the best I'd seen in a long while. It was Gavin Floyd for us and Ted Lilly for the Cubs. Floyd pitched a great game: a complete game giving up just one run and three hits, but he ended up what they call a 'tough luck loser'. Ted Lilly was the show that afternoon. He hit Paul Konerko with a pitch in the top of the second. He walked Gavin Floyd in the top of the third. He hit Gordon Beckham with a pitch in the top of the fifth. Other than those minor lapses, though, Sox batters just went up to the plate and then went back to the dugout to sit down. Floyd finally gave up his run in the bottom of the seventh. With two outs Alfonso Soriano doubled, and Chad Tracy brought him around with a single. Then Lilly went back to work in the top of the eighth. Pierzynski, Beckham, and Jason Nix went up to the plate, and still Lilly didn't give up a hit. Starlin Castro lead off the bottom of the eighth with a single. Lilly struck out trying to sacrifice him to second. Then Castro was caught trying to steal for the second out. Ryan Theriot ended the inning by grounding into a one to three, and the Wrigley faithful were ready to watch Ted Lilly finish off his no-hitter. Hell, I was ready to watch it, and was hoping he'd do it. The bet was already settled. This game only decided if Emily's servitude lasted two hours or four. I was happy to give up those extra two hours in order to watch someone pitch a no-no end to end. Alas, it was not to be. Juan Pierre lead off the top of the ninth with a solid, no questions asked, line drive single to center. Once that first hit was on the board I was back to rooting for the Sox. Immediately after the single, Lilly was relieved by Carlos Marmol. Lilly was already at one hundred and eight pitches, an impressive seventy-two of them for strikes, and it was still a one to nothing game. Marmol immediately walked Andruw Jones to put runners at first and second with none out. Then he balked Pierre and Jones over to second and third. By now I was smiling wide, ready for a come-from-behind win by the Sox. I deliciously imagined Emily pulling her hair out as she witnessed this implosion by her Cubs. Marmol struck out Alexei Ramirez swinging, which let a little air out of my tires. Just a decent fly ball to the outfield would tie it on a sac fly. It didn't even have to be especially deep with Pierre at third. Next Marmol walked Alex Rios intentionally to load the bases. Paul Konerko then hit a sharp grounder to Derrek Lee at first who threw home for the three to two fielder's choice, leaving the bases loaded and now with two men out. Carlos Quentin came to the plate, and I hung on every pitch as he swung and missed for a strike and then took two balls in the dirt. Finally on the fourth pitch he hit one well to center field. Grand salami? But Marlon Byrd hauled it in just short of the warning track, and saved Emily two hours of naked torment. All in all a great weekend. I was utterly shameless all the following week. My guilt would have been insupportable were it not for the fact that I knew I would be on the receiving end of exactly the same treatment had the Sox lost. No gloating was too brazen. No rubbing it in was too bald-faced. No attitude of superiority was too brash. Emily took it all quite well. When I wasn't at work I felt a little sorry for her. It's one thing to have a bet decided and then have to begin paying it off immediately, as we've both done. I couldn't imagine what I'd be feeling were I in her shoes, having to wait an entire week with an embarrassing and humiliating bet payoff staring me in the face. We didn't stop for a drink on Friday afternoon, left it at 'see you tomorrow night' outside the bar where we part ways, and we each walked off in our separate directions. * * * * Saturday night I arrived at the club around ten o'clock. We'd been right about Saturday night being a popular time. The place was not packed but certainly well attended, far more so than when David and I had visited. In spite of the dominant and submissive relationships being played out all around me the atmosphere was friendly and light. Clearly, friends were meeting again to share a special passion in a place where they could let that enthusiasm hang out unashamedly and without fear of judgment. We'd agreed we would let the dungeon master be the arbiter of what the loser would be subjected to. The club has quite strict rules about what the limits are, and the dungeon master enforces them. The whipping David had given me was far past those limits, and Emily had never been to them. We'd made the stake in our bet a yellow collar and pink card, and had decided that within the club's boundaries established by those two symbols the loser would just have to take her lumps. The consequence of losing her bet. I'd just checked the time on my cell -- it was ten to eleven -- when I felt a tug on my blazer at the elbow. Turning, I saw Emily, looking not terribly thrilled but willing to bear the burden of paying off her bet. We exchanged a quick hug. "You want to get started early, or wait until eleven?" I asked. "I've actually been here for about ten minutes," she answered, and I thought I caught a bit of a tremor in her voice. "What the hell. Might as well get it over with. I'll go undress in the locker room." "The hell you will, Slave," I said, leaving no doubt that my word was now law. I grabbed a hank of her hair, not hard enough to cause her even the slightest discomfort, but firmly enough that there was no question she was going where I was going: that she was now subservient and mine to do with as I pleased. I hauled her through a couple of rooms to a few ohhhs and ahhs from spectators. "Looks like someone's been a bad, bad girl," came a woman's voice. Our dual march ended in the middle of the room where the pillory was located, the one at which David and I had watched the nude man tormented and caned. We came to a stop. I took a few steps back from Emily: put a good eight feet of distance between us. "This is Emily," I said, raising my voice to be heard over the hum of conversation. In a moment it was no longer necessary: the room quieted, everyone turning to the drama about to play out before them. From another room elsewhere in the facility the loud crack of a paddle on buttocks and a sharp yip of pain reached all our ears. "Emily, tell everyone why we're here this evening," I commanded. "Well, I, um, I lost..."Emily stammered. "I said, 'tell everyone why we're here this evening,'" I repeated. "Don't make me have to tell you again." Emily's shoulders slumped in resignation, and her head drooped, her eyes to the floor. "Not like that," I said with my voice of authority. "Put your head up and look each of these people in the eye as you speak." Emily did as she was told. Her head came up and she bravely straightened her back and squared her shoulders. "I bet Mistress that the Cubs would beat the White Sox last weekend," Emily said. This announcement was met by a mixed reaction: groans from those who undoubtedly were Cubs fans, and exclamations of triumph and mocking from the Sox fans in the room. Her eyes shifted courageously from face to face, her red color deepening by degrees. "I lost, and so I have to spend the next two hours as her slave," Emily said, her lower lip trembling just a bit. "Very good, Slave," I assessed. "Very obedient indeed. I'm pleased. Now strip." 2366 1.20/512345