Emily & Ellen's Bet Ch. 13

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 Thirteen Ellen Emily's face took on an extra shade of crimson, but she didn't hesitate to comply. She kicked off her heels and picked them up. Looking around for a moment she settled on the corner of the raised platform on which the pillory stood as a place to put them down. "You'll fold each piece neatly as you take it off and place it in a pile next to your heels," I said. "Yes, Mistress," Emily replied, her voice hollow with defeat and shame. This business of calling me 'mistress' was quite unexpected. We'd not even discussed the comportment the loser would have to adopt in paying off her bet. Emily was displaying that attitude on her own. Perhaps she felt that subservience suited her role here better than haughty resistance? Whatever was going on in that way, Emily was stripping as commanded. She was now loosening her skirt and allowing it to fall to the floor. She stepped out of it, bent, and picked it up. Then she shook it out, neatly folded it, and placed it on the platform next to her heels as she'd been directed. She was wearing a thong underneath, now visible beneath the hem of her top. She crossed her arms and pulled the loose-fitting, short-sleeved blouse over her head. She'd not bothered with a bra, and her boobs swayed and bounced a little as she shook out the top, folded it and placed it neatly atop the skirt. She hesitated just a moment before hooking her thumbs into the waist of her thong and pulling it down and off. She went through the motions of compacting the undergarment but, really, how do you fold a thong? After placing the thong at the top of the pile of clothing she turned to face the spectators again. The assembly had grown since I'd parked her in front of the little pillory stage. I could tell she wanted to move her arms to cover herself, but of course knew any such thing was not allowed. All she had to do was stand there nude, and she had no idea what to do with herself. I let the scene draw out for long moments and saw her fingers begin to fidget. Despite the warmth of the evening, even warmer and more humid in the crowded club, I'd worn a skirt, blouse, and blazer combination. After I'd left Emily on display for a few more long and embarrassing moments I approached her and pulled the yellow collar we'd agreed upon from my blazer pocket. I stepped up in front of her and fitted the band, much looser than a choker and fully an inch wide, around her neck. "Up there," I commanded, indicating the platform behind her. She obediently turned and stepped the eight or so inches up onto the dais. I pulled her around until she was standing behind the stocks. Then I moved to the side and unlatched and lifted the top mechanism. I spoke one word, "Comply," and she laid her neck into the wide central semi-circle and her wrists into the small side apertures. Gently, I lowered the top piece until the two halves came together with a small bump, and I refastened the latch. She was there until I let her loose. The neck and wrist holes were not constricting, but they were also small enough that removing her head or hands through them was out of the question. From my blazer pocket I took one last item, a pink index card, and fitted it in a slot on top of the pillory. I moved back to my original position some feet away and looked at poor Emily from that distance, taking in the whole scene. I felt just a bit sorry for her, obliged to endure this naked exhibition, pain, humiliation, and usage because her Cubs had let her down. Then I realized my sympathy for her was very limited. Had one of those first two ballgames arrived at a different result that would be me nude and exposed and having to wait for whatever the next two hours would bring. Emily's breasts hung down from her torso, swaying some with every small movement. Occasionally she shifted her feet. The pillory was such that a victim's natural head position was toward the floor, but infrequently she would try to bring her face up to see the room and those gawking at her, smiles on their faces, making the occasional comment about her helpless position or her body. Just once she tried to pull her head back toward the neck hole and her hands toward the wrist holes and confirmed the obvious, that she was in an inescapable device. All of these observations covered a space of time of less than a minute. Then women began to crowd around her closer, first in the front, then some moving around to her sides and back. Emily was occasionally lost to my view, but I saw women playing with her breasts, first cupping them, then pinching her nipples, and then beginning to slap them. A couple of women to her rear, in turn, placed their hands between her legs, and looking closely I could see fingers emerge through her legs at the front. A hand cupped her pubic mound and cropped bush, then the fingers separated and were pulled back through her legs, a middle finger running between her labia. A couple of the women at Emily's side brightened noticeably in their conversation. I could almost visualize the light bulbs illuminating above their heads as they giggled and shared an idea. One of them walked out of the room. She was back a minute or two later. Her two hands were cupped together, one on top of the other, and she shook them up and down, obviously something rattling around between them. Then she stepped back up on the platform and handed something to the other woman who stepped around to the other side of Emily. The first woman reached under Emily toward her breast and a moment later Emily's face, now visible to me between some of the bodies around her, took on a grimace of pain. Her eyes rolled up as they closed. It happened again as the woman on the other side went into action, and I finally got the idea that they'd attached clamps onto Emily's nipples. The first woman then placed something on Emily's back. Before the second woman picked it up I recognized it as a small weight. I supposed that the added weight would add to Emily's misery, but they looked to be fairly small, likely not too very painful, and essentially harmless. The two women went to work, ducking their heads down below Emily's torso, needing to look to complete the process of attaching the weights to the clamps. I knew they'd completed their task when I saw Emily's eyes fly open and bug out and her mouth open wide in a silent expression of discomfort. The awareness dawned on me that watching Emily in this predicament, as much as I love her and care about her, was getting me turned on. That combined with the warmth of the club was making me just a little lightheaded. So, seeing that the women around Emily were having fun but behaving themselves -- the club uses the slogan 'safe, sane, sensible' on every one of its brochures and web pages, and these regulars clearly had taken those watchwords to heart -- I decided to make a visit to the Ladies and to the locker room to get rid of my stifling blazer. On the way I saw a short man near the open entryway to the room watching the women play with Emily. He was perhaps a few years older than me, likely early forties. He sported an impressive head of sandy red hair and a full, bushy moustache. He wore a maroon vest, which I knew indicated that he was the volunteer dungeon master for the evening. I introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Robert," he said, extending his hand. As I took the hand and we shook he said, "Always nice to see some new faces." "My husband and I were curious," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Is he around?" Robert asked. "No, just me and Emily tonight," I said. "She and her guy were by to check the place out like David and I did. We like it. Lots of friendly people. Well, except when they're smacking your ass with a paddle." I smiled bashfully at my small joke. "You know, they're friendly then too," Robert said with a smile. "This is just play for us. Some of the tops and subs take it further than others, but no one is trying to hurt people, at least not in ways they haven't agreed they can be hurt. The action really can get quite rough, but the rules are pretty clear and it's all consensual." "Which brings us to Emily," I said, nodding my head I her direction. "We had this bet." "I heard," Robert said. "I know you're busy, but can you try to keep an eye on her?" I asked. "She's never done anything like this, but we agreed as part of the bet that the loser would have to give up whatever the club allows with a yellow collar and pink card." Robert winced. "Could be a little rough for a first-timer," he said, "but if that's what you two want then I'll keep an eye on her and let folks do their thing within those confines, but I'll make extra sure no one goes over the line." I gave him a smile and squeezed his should. "Thanks, and nice to meet you," I said. I moved off toward the Ladies. After peeing I exited the stall and stood at the sink running soapy hands under cool water. I looked up at my reflection. My mind drifted back to Saturday night's game. The Cubs with a run just having crossed the plate to halve the Sox' lead to two to one in the bottom of the ninth. Ryan Theriot, the tying run, on first and Chad Tracy, the winning run, at the plate. I thought as I looked at my smug face in the mirror, 'You be careful, Girl. If Jenks had hung one and Tracy had gotten a hold of it and the Cubs had walked off that would be you out there right now.' I smiled at myself, a bit self-satisfied in spite my warning thought. Out of the Ladies I walked to the locker room and deposited my blazer in one of the cabinets. Instantly I felt better in my light, short-sleeved blouse. A couple of women came through the door laughing and a bit looser and louder than most of the people I'd seen here this evening. With a little shock of recognition I realized that one of them was the woman I'd seen last the day David and I had visited the club. Just before we'd exited we'd stopped to watch her with the nude older woman, treating her abusively and making their interaction as humiliating as possible. The dungeon master had been around, but apparently what she'd been doing was well within the club's rules. I remembered how the nude woman's top had been obliged to step in and assert her authority and subdue this young hellion, placing a lower limit on the action than what the club allowed. Emily was about half an hour into the payoff of her bet. I got a little tickle of apprehension in my stomach: I knew Robert would keep an eye on her from here on out, but the club's rules allowed a lot, and I was powerless to step in. The woman I recognized had a large, cloth shoulder purse. She stashed it in a locker and went over to one of the mirrors, fussing a little with the black spikes atop her head. I exited the locker room and strolled back toward the pillory, stopping along the way to briefly observe a few scenes. When I finally got to the pillory room Emily was still there. Sorry. I just couldn't resist the little joke. She now had a ball gag in her mouth. Her hair was mussed. Periodically a long string of drool would escape around the gag and drop to the floor. 'That's you someday,' I thought. 'Sittin' around droolin' and wearin' your Depends.' The thought amused me, but I also felt a pang for Emily. What a sight she was! And how humiliating to be drooling without any control like that. I decided I'd take her to Italian Village for lunch on Monday. My treat. A couple of women were behind Emily. One held a wooden paddle. I watched as they took turns smacking Emily's bottom, passing the paddle back and forth and laughing. The smacks were firm, hard impacts, but they were not in any way beyond what one might expect in a club like this. I'm sure Emily was feeling much more discomfort from the weights. They tugged at her nipples distending them a couple of inches, and each whack of the paddle sent them swaying, Emily closed her eyes to accommodate the discomfort. After a while the women tired of their amusement, racked the paddle, and strolled away. I'd taken a seat on the couch on which David and I had sipped wine during our visit. With only a few people now around Emily I decided to see how she was holding up. I rose and sauntered over in her direction, mounted the platform and walked behind her. The light was muted but not too dim and I was able to take a good look at her ass. My estimation had been right. Her bottom had a solid color to it: a dense red with some angry looking darker blotches. The story Emily had told me about visiting her classmate Allison came to mind, and the game of strip poker she'd lured her step-mother into. Emily's ass looked about like the mental image I'd developed of Brenda's ass after Emily, the two boys, and Allison had paddled it. I remember Emily telling me how she'd enjoyed the experience of swinging the paddle on that older woman's bare ass. 'What goes around comes around' drifted through my head. I supposed Emily had been paddled hard while I was away. God, now that my self-imposed penance was paid I'd hate to have to endure that happening to my butt. It didn't look, though, like Emily had been subjected to anything beyond what could be expected in a BDSM club. With a little bemusement at the inventiveness of the adult toy industry and people's sexual imaginations, I noted the object protruding from Emily's ass. A butt plug was lodged up her keister, a flowing of black strands hanging off the end. She looked as if she had a horse's tale coming from her behind. I wondered how large the business end of the plug was. I continued my orbit, stepping down off the platform, stopping in front of Emily. I stooped down to bring my face to hers. "Having fun yet?" I asked and gave her chin a little tweak. I'd done it without thinking, trying to be a smartass, but my fingers came away slimy with drool. Emily was trying to say something. I couldn't begin to understand a word, but I'm sure it was some variation on 'fuck you.' I reached behind Emily's head and unbuckled the ball gag. It came away from her mouth and she flexed her jaw and let out a sigh. "In case you couldn't hear me I said, 'fuck you and the horse you rode in on'," she said. I smiled and said, "If you've got a complaint go write a stern letter to the Cubs organization." Then I reached over to the corner of the platform and got her shirt. "Sorry, it's the only thing handy," I said. I began to use a corner of the garment to wipe away the drool from her chin and lips. "Thanks," she said. "This really is getting pretty uncomfortable." "I can imagine," I said. "I'm not trying to weasel out of paying off the bet, but do you suppose I could at least get tied up to something else? You know. A different position maybe?" she asked, a look in her eyes that would have elicited compassion even from a Tea Partier. "I think in just a little while," I said. She got a look of relief on her face. "How long has it been?" "My cell's in my blazer, but I guess you're somewhere between a half hour to forty-five minutes in," I answered. "OK. It feels like I've been here for days. But I'm glad to know that," she said. "I started, what, about ten to eleven." "About," I said. "So another hour and fifteen or twenty?" Emily asked, a trace of wheedling in her voice. I gripped her now dry chin in my fingers and put on my best mistress voice. "You'll be here until I decide to let you go, Slave." Then I gave her a wink and a smile. "That sounds about close to right. I'll come and collect you in a little while and we'll find some other torment for your last hour or so." "My merciful lady," Emily said. I rose and put the gag, obviously someone else's, on top of the pillory for them to find and reclaim. As I stepped back a man, bare chested but wearing leather pants, caught my attention. "She really lose a bet on the Cubs?" he asked me. "That wasn't just an excuse to play?" "She lost," I said. "Tough titties, huh?" "I'll say," the man answered. He wandered off. Then I strolled back over to the couch and plopped down. As soon as I was seated I watched as the two women from the cloak room entered the room. They looked around idly and took in Emily trapped at the pillory. Then the one I'd seen before, the one with the dark and spiky black hair on top and the near buzz cut around the sides and back, tapped the other on the shoulder and pointed at Emily with a look of recognition. I could hear her say enthusiastically, "Hey, now there's someone I wanna introduce you to." The two women made their way over to Emily and squatted down before her. Emily had borne the payoff of her bet very well. She'd endured her nudity, bondage, humiliation, nipple clamps, weights, a butt plug shoved up her ass, a gag in her mouth, a paddle smacking her ass relentlessly, all with an equanimity that I don't know I could have managed. That's why her reaction to the presence of these two so surprised me. Emily's eyes got wide and she reared back, futilely trying to pull her head and hands from the pillory. The weights pulling on her nipples swayed like they had not yet done and even bounced and bobbed. It must have been terribly painful, but she seemed not to notice. She just appeared intent on escaping from the presence of these two. Could Emily know one or both of them? There must be some history here. I didn't recognize either one of them from work. They seemed awfully young to be employed by a firm like the one Emily and I worked for anyway. Still, nothing beyond the lines we'd agreed to was happening. I could only watch. I saw one of the women, the one I'd recognized, reach up and slap Emily's face a few times: but lightly, a contact meant not to hurt but to mock and humiliate and establish superiority. Emily "So imagine findin' you here, Tootsie," Marcy said as she slapped at my cheek and laughed. "You sure do like runnin' around bare assed. Have I ever seen you with clothes on? How'd you get into this little predicament?" I set my jaw and looked down, unable to meet her eyes and unwilling to exchange words with her or give her the satisfaction of a reply. I tried to settle my body down. My stomach was roiling, and my instinctive struggles when Marcy's face was suddenly before me had set the weights on my nipples into painful motion. My heart had skipped a beat and then raced ahead, out of control. 'Oh my God,' I thought. 'Look at me. Trapped in a pillory, and here's Marcy right in front of my face.' I had a sinking feeling that my last hour plus was going to be a doozy. By way of preparing I reminded myself that Ellen could do nothing. Marcy and her friend were free to torment and use me right to the limits of what the club would allow. I saw the dungeon master in his maroon vest out of the corner of my eye, attentively watching our interaction, but I knew Marcy and her buddy had a long, long way to go before they reached any boundaries. "Well, I guess the pussy's got your tongue, huh Tootsie?" Marcy said. "Speakin' of pussies and tongues....well, we'll get to that later. Hey, I want ya to meet my closest BFF. This here is Brooklyn. Say hello." When I didn't answer she said, "Oh, I forgot, you're givin' us the silent treatment. Well, hey, Brooklyn say hello to Tootsie." "Hi, Tootsie," Brooklyn said, squatting down to bring her face near mine. "Oh, I see a yellow collar and a pink card. I think we're goin' to have a little fun with you tonight." She pinched my cheek firmly between her fingers. I was glad they didn't know I was only available for a limited engagement. Maybe they'd start slow and my time would be over before they really got into gear. "Hey, Brooksy," said Marcy, "I think I know what Tootsie here needs. I'll be right back. Have to get a few things outta my bag o' tricks." Marcy walked off in the direction of the locker room. I was determined not to become apprehensive or anxious. Whatever she was going to do was what she was going to do. I thought that at this point I could endure any humiliation for the seventy-five or eighty or so minutes left on my bet payoff. I craned my neck up to see ahead of me as best I could. Brooklyn had stood again and was not paying attention to me, just standing and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. I wouldn't characterize Marcy as 'slight', just an inch or less shorter than me. I got the impression that out of her clothes she might be a real stunner, as much as I hated to admit the fact. Martina, who'd seen Marcy nude, had certainly given that impression. Marcy's body seemed compact and solid. Her boobs were hefty: maybe a c-cup that looked bigger than that on her slender frame. Marcy cut her hair short: almost a buzz cut on the sides and back and several inches of jet black spiky hair on top. As a strained to look up I was able to take in enough of Brooklyn to see that her look was entirely different from Marcy's. She was almost a head taller than Marcy and her body tended toward a pear shape, narrow shoulders and wide hips, although with boobs much larger than you might expect with that body profile. She had a dark look, her skin an olive shade. Her hair also was jet black, and she wore it swept straight back without a part and long, down to her shoulder blades. At least in appearance she was Hardy to Marcy's Laurel. I'd only heard them interact for a minute or two, but I knew immediately that Marcy was the leader, Brooklyn just along for the ride and whatever kicks she got from the pairing. When I saw Marcy approaching I put my head down, not wanting her to know I had any interest in the two of them at all beyond what I was unable to avoid. Then she was standing right in front of me again. I could see that Marcy was nude from the waist down. She still had her top on: the lower hem was visible to me ending between her waist and her hips. Jutting from her crotch was a distressingly large, and entirely anatomically correct, rubber phallus: a pink colored dildo that was considerably larger than anything I'd ever had in me before, held in place by a leather harness. Then she was squatting down again before me. One hand was occupied with a tube of lube, and in her other she held some silver objects. She leaned forward and placed the tube on the platform. When she came back to her original position she had the silver objects, one dangling from each hand. It took me a moment to recognize them as bells on short, half inch strings. "Whaddya say, Tootsie?" Marcy said, vivacity in her voice. "How 'bout we see how loud we can get these bells ringin'?" She smiled and bounced them up and down. They made a merry little tinkling sound. Without further conversation she was under me and I soon felt the weights removed from the nipple clamps I still wore. Then I knew she was attaching the bells to the clamps. As she attached each one and let it go I groaned: they were easily twice as heavy as the weights had been. The initial sensation took my breath away as they tugged dramatically at my nipples and pulled them toward the floor. Marcy leaned back in front of me again. She lightly slapped at my cheek. "Hope you enjoy this as much as I will," she said. She reached under me and gave each bell a knock. They each tinged for a few seconds, and the pain from their weight made me breathless as they swung back and forth. Marcy gave me a wide smile. Then she picked up her tube and stood. She remained standing as she squirted a generous amount of lube into one hand. Inches from my face she began to spread the gel over the length of her enormous dildo. God, that thing was going inside of me! I saw that the device she wore had a molded plastic cup that held the dildo in front, but also extended between her legs. As she turned I could just see the apparatus held another dildo, this one buried in her vagina. When she turned her back toward me a moment later I could see another dildo in her ass. With a chill I realized she would derive an enormous amount of stimulation and pleasure from the double penetration of the dildos, and the harder she banged me the greater would be her gratification. When she turned back toward me the dildo that jutted in front of her was coated thickly with gel. Her voice brought me out of my contemplation and dread at what she was about to do to me and how much carnal enjoyment she would draw from the act. "So, pussy or back door?" Whadda ya think, Tootsie?" Marcy asked, her spirits obviously high. Still I was determined not to exchange words with her. "Oh, no preference," Marcy said. "OK, how 'bout we give the ol' dirt road a workout." That thing up my ass! The thought finally loosed my tongue. "No," I said timidly. "You say somethin', Tootsie?" Marcy asked. "No," I repeated more firmly. "You got somethin' to say, Tootsie?" Marcy asked. "I'm takin' requests." This was amusing her to no end. "Please," I said, "not my ass." "Oh, hey, I hear ya," Marcy said, "but you don't sound like you care too much either way." I surrendered. My surrender was abject and humiliating. "Please," I said, begging in my voice. "Please, please, not up my ass. Please, I beg you, please fuck my pussy." Marcy chuckled loudly and reached down and slapped my cheek. She'd gotten what she'd wanted. "OK, Tootsie," she said, "I'm in a good mood tonight. Let's just give that pussy of yours workout." She moved over and stepped up on the platform. I looked up again and saw people beginning to congregate, smiles on their faces and interest sparking in their eyes. 2444 1.30/512345