I just read ur new story. Not bad, lol. I especially liked the happy ending this time. Btw, my dad says the Raiders are going to win it all this year. Forget the 49ers.
I laughed at the last sentence. I had been corresponding with Emily Jo for several months since I had sent her a note after she had appeared in the newspaper, I won't mention why since you might just know who I mean as well, but had accidentally used my pseudonym e-mail address by mistake. She had Googled the nym and found my website and stories. She of course jumped to the conclusion that I was a perverted stalker. It took some time to convince her I wasn't a stalker.
After she calmed down, she started reading some of my stories and liked them, although it took her awhile to send a response knowing that I knew who she was, from my note, but not having any idea who I was. Isn't it funny we all like to read about sex but no one wants anyone in their real life to know that they do?
There had quickly developed a few standing jokes between us. One was the Bay Area feuds, Raiders-49ers and Giants-A's. She was a Raiders and A's fan since her dad was a fan. I had been a 49er fan for years. I also grew up a National League fan so the A's weren't ever going to be my team. The other standing joke was that too many of my stories, in her words, didn't have happy endings, as if life always has a happy ending. So there was always something to tease each other about.
That week was the start of the NFL regular season. I knew the 49ers were going to suck. They just had way too many young guys. No way was I going to lose money betting on the 49ers. But it was equally obvious the Raiders stank. Al Davis was clearly senile and had run that franchise into the ground with his hare-brained schemes. But ask a die hard Raider Nation fan and they were going to the Super Bowl. Rot. The girl needed a lesson.
Really? How about a bet on the first game? I'll take the Chiefs and you can have the Raiders. 5 bucks?
Dad said the Chiefs have no chance. You're on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I laughed. The Chiefs were favored by twelve points. The Raiders had no chance. Easy money.
Easy money! Final score, Chiefs 35, Raiders 3. I gave her the 'opportunity' to get her money back but the Raiders lost Game 2 and 3 and 4 and... By the end of the season, and several double or nothings on the advice of her dad, which she had lost every one; Emily Jo owed me more than she could pay. The Raiders were a miserable 1 and 14 with only one game left. I knew she was starting college and was saving like crazy for that and so she had no way to pay me what she owed.
The problem for Emily Jo was that she had been raised right and knew that welshing on a bet put you in the bottom rung of Hell along with tort lawyers and used car salesmen. Imagine an eternity listening to used car salesmen... She was pretty panicked by the end of the season and promising never to ever bet again and to never believe her dad when it came to football.
In pity, and because there was a reason I never did argue about the pervert part, I offered her a way out. One final bet on the last game of the season, Broncos and the Raiders at Mile High or Coors Field or whatever the hell they called it. The Broncos needed the game to get into the playoffs. The Raiders had quit on their coach weeks earlier. This was a no-brainer but she didn't know it. The raiders had to win sooner or later, right?
I'll give you one last chance. Here's the bet. If the Raiders win you owe me nothing. The entire balance is cancelled. But, if the Broncos win, I will forgive the dollar amount but you have to agree to be my slave for four hours. You come out ahead either way.
Okay, it was a little disingenuous. She would come out ahead monetarily. I didn't hear anything the rest of the week and began to figure I had messed up big time. It was Sunday morning and I knew I'd never hear from Emily Jo again when I got the answer.
Okay. But they better win. Go Silver and Black! Please, please, please.
If she bothered to watch the game it had to be torture. Like I said, the Raiders had already quit on the coach who was fired right after the game. The Broncos scored the first 21 points of the game and then coasted the rest of the way. Final score: Broncos 31, Raiders 10.
I was sitting at my computer as the final seconds clicked off with the gloating e-mail already composed. But something held me back. Hard to believe but it might have been some glimmer of gentlemanly behavior. I decided to wait and see if she would respond. If she didn't, I wouldn't either. It had been enough fun giving her hell as the season progressed, watching the panic build. If she couldn't or didn't want to follow through, I decided to let it slide.
Fine. You win. When do you want me to pay off? I HATE THE RAIDERS AND I HOPE THEY NEVER WIN ANOTHER GAME... EVER!
I thought that last part was a little harsh but understandable given how much they had cost her. We arranged for her to come over Saturday afternoon. To tell the truth, up till that point, I really didn't believe it would happen. I mean, I've read similar stories on the Internet and had all of those fantasies. But things like that just don't happen in real life. Do they?
I was still in a state of disbelief. I kept imagining that she wouldn't really show up and I'd sit there all Saturday watching college football and jerking off that night. Or if she did show up, she'd back out of really doing anything. I mean, she'd say she was my slave but would stop short of anything really risqué.
But what if she was really going to pay off the bet? I would have to be ready in that case. I mean, she'd have to know what a woman being a slave meant, at least to a guy. My imagination ran wild with the possibilities.
I was schizo, one half arguing there was no chance and the other half fantasizing beyond my wildest dreams.
To say the next few days went by slowly would be a classic understatement. To say I was a mess by Saturday would only be a mild understatement.
To the great surprise of half of my mind, she drove down Saturday and I met her at the door of my place. She was as pretty as I had imagined. She hardly looked 18. In fact she could have passed for 15 because she was so petite. She was wearing nice jeans and a casual top along with sandals. I hugged her as she came in. She hesitated at first, but returned the hug with a smile.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi," she said quietly. "You don't look anything like I expected."
"Is that good or bad?" I asked, concerned she was going to run screaming from my place. I sat on the couch in my front room. She was standing, obviously uncomfortable.
"No, you're okay looking. Just older than I expected. Is your name really Mike?" she asked.
I nodded. "I used it when I wrote my first story and I've never been creative enough to come up with a better name."
She was still standing in the center of the room fidgeting. "Do you want to back out?" I asked deliberately phrasing it in the worst way.
Her eyes flashed. "I'm no welsher."
I smiled. "Okay, slave." Her eyes flashed again. I continued, "I bought an outfit for you to wear. It's in the front bedroom, right through there," I said pointing to a door. I'd find out quickly whether or not she was actually going to go through with the bet.
She hesitated before taking a deep breath then turned and went through the door.
After she had agreed, I went down to the shops on Columbus. I found a place that specialized in dress up costumes and accessories and these weren't for Halloween. It is Babylon by the Bay for a reason. I was looking for a French Maid outfit and found the perfect one. The shop also had spike heels. I bought the outfit and the heels. They were laid out on the bed.
A few seconds later Emily Jo came back into the room. "You gotta be kidding?"
I smiled, "Don't you think it's perfect, slave? The bet was you were going to be my slave for four hours. And that is a perfect little slave outfit. You going to welsh on a bet?"
Her mouth hung open but not a sound emerged. I could see her trying to formulate something but nothing came. "Oh," was all she could muster. She went back into the bedroom.
I heard a shrill, "Oh God," a minute later. A few minutes more passed and I heard the clicking of the spike heels as Emily Jo appeared. The outfit was perfect. The skirt was a flouncy poofy thing that barely covered her if she didn't move. The front was cut between her breasts almost to the navel and barely covered her tits. There was a garter belt with black fishnet stockings and black gloves to her elbows. The piece de resistance was the spike heels which thrust her hips forward as she tottered over them. I mean it was almost surreal. I didn't know whether to laugh at how outrageous it was or drag her into the bedroom.
She was blushing as I stared at her. She finally tottered into the room. She stopped in front of the couch, blushing. "Well?"
"Well, Master," I said stressing the second word.
"Well, Master?" she asked, the word dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh, Emily Jo, there's something on the carpet. Could you turn around, bend over, and pick it up, please," I said.
I could tell she didn't understand what the heck this was all about. She turned and started to squat.
"I said bend over."
.... There is more of this story ...