Chapter 1

“Dude, really? If you can’t hustle pool, don’t bet the farm! The magic eight-ball lies to you, man! Don’t trust it! ‘Bet it all, buddy, ‘cause you’re a winner,’ it will tell ya, and the next thing that you know, the wolf’s at your fucking door!” I warned my buddy Marcel, who was still intent on lining up behind the pool cue.

“Well, you’re right ... no more money. I’ll bet ... Mia,” Marcel offered up his fiancee, who just happened to be my little sister.

“I don’t think that you can legally wager another person, unless you own them, that is. Even with the new laws. You two being engaged doesn’t make Mia your property any more than it makes you hers,” I warned my friend, who shrugged while Mia responded by lifting her shirt just a little.

Her midriff was pretty bare before, but even more so now. I could see all of her navel and a generous amount of her tramp stamp ... my own sister’s lower back ink! She could see my bulge growing in my pants, especially as she bent over in her miniskirt. I wasn’t quite sure why, but Mia seemed to love the idea of being offered up as collateral to her own brother. I could clearly see that she went commando, proudly displaying everything from her delectable butt to her hairless twat.

I turned around to my girlfriend, Lauren, but she just stood there with her hands on her hips and a wicked smile. Her seductive pose demonstrated yet again why her modeling career seemed to take off lately. We had our share of fights lately, especially over her desire to move in with me, but she kept me from walking away by never acting jealous. It was an eccentricity generally at odds with the typical commitment-crazy girl, but it was just enough of a relief that I stuck around so far. She evidently wasn’t about to start that shit now, judging from the smirk on her face.

“Well, Bruno can wager me. If Mia’s cool with Marcel betting her, that is. I’m game. May the best dick win! I mean ... stick, of course!” Lauren made a point of twerking with me, her Daisy Dukes brushing up against my bulge through my jeans to tease us all.

“Sounds fair. Even Steven. Bruno risks you. Marcel risks me. Winner takes all of the pussy!” Mia winked at us.

“Hey, Marcel, I love it bareback ... from behind! Just ask Bruno!” Lauren licked her lips.

“So, wait, this is real ownership or just one night?” I clarified.

“Oh, honey ... this is a real commitment, just as you feared! If Marcel wins, he legally owns both of us ladies. Slavery and all. If you win, same goes for you. Right, girlfriend?” Lauren high-fived Mia and even kissed her lips in a lesbian make-out tease meant to suggest that they were in cahoots.

Somehow, between the two of them, they had made some kind of telepathic arrangement. They were a package deal for the winner of this very high-stakes game of pool. I had assumed that Lauren wanted monogamy when she spoke of commitment, despite the absence of jealousy. Clearly, I still had something to learn about her. She had something else very much in mind. While I still had qualms about slavery, I was relieved that her notions didn’t include having me all to herself. Mia and she moving in under those circumstances was very different from the usual kind of cohabitation.

“Alright, then. Line ‘em up!” I finally yielded, realizing that I had nothing to lose but a girlfriend.

I could always move on with my life if I lost. It wasn’t as if I’d go celibate. If I won, well, I’d have to get used to being serviced by my own sister as well as my partner. Besides, I half-expected Marcel to throw up his hands and declare it to be “too rich” for his blood. Boy did I guess wrong there! Far from it, Marcel smirked, drank another whiskey sour, and lined ‘em up.

“You’re aware that no matter which man wins, you ladies both lose ... your freedom, right? I mean, you’re both rather sauced, and I’d hate for you to regret giving up all rights to your own bodies just to make a point of some kind. Just bear that in mind. This is real chattel slavery here. This ain’t just a game here. The stakes couldn’t be higher for you! Less so for us dudes!” I warned the ladies one last time.

Lauren rolled her eyes, slid down her Daisy Dukes, leaving herself bottomless, and tore her own tank top in half, letting its shreds fall to the floor. Then she walked over to Mia and ripped up her t-shirt as well. She unzipped Mia’s miniskirt and pulled it above her head so that Mia was able to just drop it onto the poolhall floor. She tossed back a shot of Jim Beam and held hands with my sister as they awaited their destiny.

“Either way, I get to move in with one of you! If I get to enjoy some rough and tumble in the process, even better! And I won’t be alone in my servitude, will I? One thing is sure. Our relationship will absolutely change after tonight, no matter what happens! I was a bit bored with the status quo!” Lauren confessed freely.

“Same here, girlfriend! Same here!” Mia admitted as they each blew both of us kisses.

Things went okay for Marcel for a moment, just enough to make him cocky and reckless, especially combined with booze. Then I lined up behind the cueball for my turn. Everything went decently for me for a while, until I missed a shot. Marcel grinned as he took over on the break and then ... sank the eight-ball with three balls still on the table.

The color immediately drained from Marcel’s face as he considered the consequences of his drunken wager. The hustle had gone badly for him, almost as bad as it could. He had just lost his fiancee to her own brother, along with any hope of owning Lauren. Well, at least he hadn’t lost his own freedom, I thought. Maybe this hard lesson would teach him something.

Wrong again!

“Hey, I have nothing left to lose now ... so how about it ... we put ourselves up for this game! Our own bodies! If I win, I get them both ... as well as you. If you win, you get me, too! How does that grab ya?” Marcel drunkenly suggested.

I rolled my eyes now, finding the notion to be stupid. The guy was already a loser. Why did he have to go all the way and risk literally everything on a damn pool game? He needed to just stop it already, before he really did lose it all. Even so, he made clucking noises, clearly drunk off his gourd, taunting me. The girls both giggled as they listened and watched. It was pretty obvious to me how this night would go ... I was a little buzzed, but Marcel was plastered.

The drunker he got, the worse and more recklessly he played. It wasn’t rocket science who would win this game, except perhaps to Marcel himself. I was sober enough to analyze the strengths and weaknesses of both players. He was not. This was just ... nuts. Finally, though, I snapped. I was so pissed that I made a rash decision.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” I exclaimed, making Marcel laugh.

“Man, you’re a good buddy, but I’m so gonna fuck your face once you’re mine. I wonder what size cock cage fits your dick, too! Don’t worry, though. I won’t go stingy on the lube when I pound your ass like the bitch that you’ll be!” Marcel seemed to blurt out a latent homosexual fantasy and attraction that I never noticed before.

Marcel did as well as could be expected, given his drunken state, but even so ... yeah, he missed far too many shots. Every time I took over, he came closer to losing his freedom and he started sweating buckets as the realization now dawned on him. His cocksure arrogance just wasn’t anything real. It was pure poison ... and that poison was whiskey sour.

Finally, it came down to the eight-ball ... and I knew that if I got this one in, it was the whole fucking shebang. Marcel wanted to play for keeps? He would learn a lesson that he would recall every time I sank my prick into his mouth or his butthole. And to really make him remember, I’d put him in drag or cosplay as often as I could to add. To say nothing of my leather strap across his tush. If they were gonna legalize slavery in this way, they should at least require the choice to be a sober one. That last whiskey sour was set to become the priciest drink that Marcel ever put away.