Sandrines Bet Part Three
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Danielle still had on her radiant smile. “Well, here she is: the star of the show!”
The living room had been rearranged. The couch, two love seats, recliners and various chairs had been assembled into three sides of a rectangle. The fourth side was obviously where Sandrine would perform.
Keith took the ‘stage.’ “Okay, you all know about Sandrine and Danielle’s wager. I told Sandrine she could back out, because nobody is doing anything in my house they’re not willing to do. Sandrine has consented to pay off willingly. Is that right, Sandrine?”
“Yeah. I made the bet. I’ll pay it.”
“Okay. She has one hell of a bet to pay and I admire her guts and character. Somebody with less integrity would have welched. She’s got to do this the way Danielle says. But I’ll tell you this. Nobody is going to touch her below the waist. Not once. If anyone does, or if you, Danielle, tell anybody they can then I’ll shut the whole damn thing down and you’ll all be out the door. Understood?”
Everyone made some sort of noise or nodded his head to indicate they accepted the condition.
“Good. And the girls have decided that either way there would be no pictures. So get out your cells and hand them over. I see anybody take out a device during any of this and the show's over. Now hand ‘em over.”
Keith went around the room collecting cells and stashed them in the kitchen.
“Thank you, Keith,” Sandrine said.
Keith nodded to her. “Sure.”
As much as he was taking care of business, his tone and body language screamed that he didn’t think much of Sandrine. Then he turned to Danielle. “Your show, Babe.” And was I right in thinking that Keith was again warming to Danielle? Or had his coolness been all in my imagination?
Danielle was at the sound system controls. “Okay, Sandrine. You’ve got one song to get bare-assed.” Then she pushed a button and ZZ Top’s Gimme All Your Lovin’ blasted from the speakers.
Sandrine walked to her position in front of everyone. She was barefoot. Without even beginning to sway she unfastened her jeans and took them down her legs and off. She tossed them to me. Next she pulled her jersey over her head, and it was soon in my hands.
A few of the guys began to get restless and to boo. This was going to end in the same place regardless, but they wanted to get there with some ass shaking.
Sandrine looked spectacular in her underwear. She began to sway and move some, silencing the complaints. She wore a red demi bra. The material was lacy and between translucent and opaque. The undergarment shaped her breasts beautifully, and the material allowed the darker coloring of her areolae and nipples to show through. Her French cut panties matched the bra. The material on the sides was opaque, but a wide patch at the center running from waistband to waistband through the crotch was, like the bra, semi-transparent. Like her nipples, the darker patch of her pubic hair could be discerned under the lacy material.
Her motions were not synchronized to the beat of the music. She was doing her own thing: swaying and rotating her hips, sometimes turning her back to her audience, and giving everyone a barely obstructed view of her ass crack. Her hands moved from running through her hair to gliding over her breasts to caressing her hips to climbing the insides of her thighs. She had to be completely mortified and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Instead, she kept her eyes focused, as they tell you to do in the public speaking classes, at a point halfway up the facing wall. A few times she made a move as if to reach behind her back and unhook her bra, but each time she backed off.
Everyone in the room knew the song, and knew when it was drawing to its end. At that point Sandrine finally reached behind, unhooked and encouraged the bra to fall forward and off her body. She tossed the garment to me. I thought she might try to cover, but didn’t. Then she was rotating her hips and dipping her knees, pulling at the waistband of her panties. As the sounds of the song were waning she did another dip and pulled the panties down and off, and they were quickly in my hands.
Again she didn’t try to cover. What was the point in that? It wasn’t as if everyone wasn’t going to see every inch of her body. But she was nervous. She stood with her hands at her middle, the fingers of one working at the fingers of the other. A blush had further darkened her lovely coffee-with-a-dollop-of-cream skin, and it extended far down into her chest.
The bra hadn’t done a bit of shaping. Sandrine’s breasts were firm and high. Her nipples didn’t point to the Moon, but they were up, slightly out, sat atop dark, inch-wide, perfectly round areolae. They were hard after leaving the warmer confines of the bra and jersey. The bush we’d perceived through her panties was a straight, jet black landing strip about an inch and a half wide, the hairs trimmed to maybe half an inch. Apparently, playing right wing on a women’s hockey team is good for the constitution. Sandrine’s abdomen was board flat, her ass cheeks firm, her thighs solid. While her body was not overtly muscular, there was no question that solid muscle was close under her skin. Her breasts were not especially large. I’d estimate a good, full B-cup, but they seemed much larger sitting on that lithe, healthy, hard body.
Her audience loudly expressed their appreciation. Danielle had been silent through the entire performance.
Tush cut off the applause and Sandrine began to move again. On the first song the program had been Sandrine’s strip. Now the agenda was at Danielle’s discretion. She didn’t waste any time telling Sandrine to get moving, and our dancer did her best to oblige. Her wiggling, swaying, and rotating became much more pronounced.
“Hey, slut,” Danielle shouted over the music, “that’s not the way you were dancing last night. Get down there and get that mouth at cock level.”
Sandrine began to dip as she moved. I don’t know what was going through her head, but she had to feel incredibly exposed. Reilly began to tell everyone the tale of Sandrine’s shenanigans of the night before.
Danielle said, “Hey, I thought you wanted to suck Keith’s cock. C’mon, let’s see it.”
Sandrine, dancing in a squat, brought her right hand up in a configuration that suggested she was holding a cock. She brought the hand to her mouth and started to pantomime giving a blow-job. If this were Charades and Sandrine’s challenge was Movie Title: Deep Throat everyone would have had the answer immediately. They laughed, clapped, and whistled their appreciation.
Then Danielle was at it again. “Hey, skank, I saw that ass out there wiggling last night. I think these boys would like to see what you were doing.” Sandrine obliged. She came to her feet and bent at the waist. “No, you stupid cock hound cow, turn around.”
Sandrine came straight, turned her back to the viewers and bent ninety degree at the waist, her hands on her knees. I guess she didn’t want to have to be told, so she began swaying her ass back and forth. One thing about firm ass cheeks and thighs is that they don’t hide anything when a woman is in this position. Everyone in front of her could clearly see that her labia were saved smooth. Even the rosebud of her back hole was displayed.
Danielle directed Sandrine to shift her position in turn to each side so the men at those angles could get a look. Then came an order I’d not thought even Danielle would give.
“Okay, ho, time to get a couple fingers in there a spread it out.”
Sandrine had a bit of hesitation complying with that one but after a moment or two of her hand wavering she reached between her legs and spread her labia apart. Then Danielle had her go through the entire left to right slow oscillation, giving everyone a close look inside the most intimate part of Sandrine’s body.
Somewhere in there the song had concluded and Danielle had segued to something else. Nobody was hearing the music. Every eye was on a naked and intimately exposed Sandrine.
Danielle then made Sandrine go through the slow side to side turn while holding her ass cheeks open. Everyone had already seen everything there was to see, but I guess Danielle just wanted to put Sandrine through the humiliation of holding her ass cheeks open while men looked on.
“Okay, slut, straighten up,” ordered Danielle. Sandrine came upright and kept swaying slightly to the music. “Now I think these boys would appreciate a lap dance. Start with Aaron over there.” She indicated the first guy to Sandrine’s right. Sandrine was then in front of him. “Yeah, that’s right, bitch. Straight at him and get on that lap.”
Aaron was on one of the kitchen chairs and Sandrine spread her legs to either side of his lap. She sank forward until she was on him.
“Go ahead, Aaron,” Danielle encouraged. “Remember. Nothing below the waist, but those fun bags look they could use a good rub.”
Aaron didn’t need any more encouragement. He brought his hands up and covered Sandrine’s breasts. Then he started to knead and roll them around, most of the time squeezing her nipples in the crux between his thumb and forefinger. He looked up at Sandrine with a wide smile on his face, but she had her head up and to one side. She just seemed to be enduring the intimate familiarities this stranger was taking with her body. Excepting Keith and myself, nine more strangers waited eagerly to become familiar with her breasts.
I found the guys fell into two categories. The younger men, who maybe had less experience handling breasts, were reasonably gentle. They seemed to enjoy more looking at Sandrine’s breasts and manipulated them with more care, and they seemed to wonder at the unique, rubbery consistency of breast tissue. But they were decidedly in the minority. The older men were much rougher.
After a minute or so, Danielle had Sandrine shift to the next guy, Jason, also on a kitchen chair. Then Sandrine was on to the next, the first guy on a love seat, Nelson. The fellow seated with him scooted a bit to the side to give her room and she came up on the cushion with her legs bent, shins to each side of his lap. She lowered herself again, and he made the acquaintance of her breasts. He was likely in his forties. If he had a wife or girlfriend he didn’t act as if he recalled her at the moment.
He played roughly with her breasts, squeezing them enough that they turned red where his finger weren’t. I was at the other side of the love seat, almost in front of Sandrine. I saw her eyes roll up and her upper teeth bite her lower lip.
“Fuck, that hurts!” she complained.
“So?” Nelson asked. “The Stars eat shit, so fuck you. This is a great pair of puppies, bitch.”
Danielle seemed to like what Nelson was doing, seemed glad someone was finally manhandling Sandrine. She let Nelson go on longer than the first two. When she called time Sandrine began to rise from Nelson’s lap. As she did so, Nelson gave each breast a slap from the outside and said, “Thanks, skank.” Sandrine hunched her shoulders at the discomfort.
As she moved to the next man Keith asked, “You still okay with this, Sandrine?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay,” Sandrine answered. Keith had asked, but I’m sure Sandrine noted that he’d not objected to Nelson’s handling of her tits.
She proceeded around the room, at Danielle’s instruction. The roughnecks and roustabouts used their big, callused hands on her breasts. After Nelson’s session, all of them, even the younger guys, took the idea that they had a license to do with Sandrine’s breasts what they could never do with a wife’s or girlfriend’s, unless of course said wife or girlfriend was into light pain and humiliation.
Most weren’t as rough as Nelson had been, and Sandrine’s breasts had been slapped for the last time. From time to time, though, she had occasion to grunt at some especially uncomfortable attention. Every man let her know, in his own way, that he was handling a pair of tits he normally never would have the opportunity to lay a finger on, and that Sandrine had no choice in the matter.
The music had continued, but had no bearing on what was going on. Sandrine finally made it around to all the men.
“Michael?” Danielle asked.
“I’ll pass.”
“Keith? No wait. You’ve got my bazookas to play with. Why would you want to bother with a couple of mosquito bites like hers?”
“Actually,” Keith answered, “yeah, I think I’ll take a turn.”
Danielle looked put out.
Keith got another kitchen chair, placed it where Sandrine had danced, and sat. Likely not wanting to be told by Danielle, Sandrine immediately approached, spread her legs around Keith’s lap and sat.
Keith started by examining Sandrine’s breasts and tweaking her nipples. He put his mouth on one breast and then the other, sucking, licking, biting. He was the first to do this. I guess the other guys hadn’t started using their mouths because it would be too much like doubling dipping in the guacamole bowl. Keith took his time, sucking and licking in an exaggerated way: running his tongue all over her breasts, and at one point sucking almost a whole breast into his mouth. He alternated from one to the other and often looked up at Sandrine. She was looking away, her mouth set and her eyes staring. Again, just enduring. A man’s hands on her breasts was one thing, but that she had to allow a man she cared nothing for to put his mouth on her breasts was an indignity ten times worse.
Then Keith began kneading, rubbing, and twisting them with his hands. As he did this he started talking to the room.
“Did Reilly tell you what she was up to at the bar last night?” Everyone recognized the question as rhetorical. “Wanted to dance with me and spent the next five minutes acting like she wanted my dick in her mouth or up her ass. Isn’t that right, Sandrine?”
She didn’t answer and I saw Keith begin to apply pressure to her breasts. An increasing look of discomfort grew on Sandrine’s face.
Finally, she grimaced and said, “Yeah, Keith, okay, you’re right.”
Keith backed off and started bouncing her tits in his hands, running his thumbs over her nipples. Then he was talking to the room again.
“I tried to find out what was up today, you know, just to let her know I wasn’t interested. She said, why nothing at all, not a thing. Not interested in me in any way. Didn’t you, bitch? And I guess that makes you a little cockteaser, doesn’t it?”
Again Sandrine was silent. This time Keith put her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and started to apply pressure. By now, Danielle was no longer miffed. Now she knew what Keith had in mind and she was enjoying herself. It didn’t take as much this time. Sandrine’s lips started to press together and then she was out with the admission Keith was looking to elicit.
“Yeah, yeah, stop! Okay, I was teasing your cock. I’m a little cockteaser.”
Keith laughed and let go of her tits. Then he used a strong arm to sweep her off his lap, saying, “Get the fuck off me, you skanky whore.”
Sandrine tried to catch her balance but ended up on the floor, falling on her hip. Based on my conversation with Sandrine during the ride over, I didn’t think her admission was true. Even if the dance was fueled to some degree by tequila, in the moment she was pursuing some sort of attraction to Keith. But what she’d said was the admission Keith’s wounded male ego wanted to make her humiliate herself by saying.
Keith got up and went to Danielle. He took her in his arms and enfolded her in a big hug. They kissed deeply. When they broke their PDA, Danielle was all business.
“Michael, we need to make a few preparations. How about you take our little cock teasing cum dump into the bedroom for a while?”
“Sure, Danielle.”
I stepped around the love seat and chairs to Sandrine and helped her to her feet. We walked back to the bedroom we’d been in earlier followed by more than a few shouted references to where the guys expected their cocks to be in the next little while.
I closed the door and tossed Sandrine’s clothing on the bed. She immediately stepped into her panties and drew them up. Then she pulled the jersey over her head. We both took a seat at the edge of the bed.
As before, she leaned into me and put her head on my shoulder. Her right hand came up and she laid it flat on my shirt. Her left hand snaked around my waist. I put my right arm around her shoulders and tilted my head to rest it on top of hers.
“I really stepped in it, didn’t I?”
I searched for a moment, trying to find some positive way to spin the situation. It was useless. “Yeah, you really did.”
She sighed. “Thank you, Michael, you know, for not…..”
“Are you crazy? It never entered my mind that I might participate…..in any of it.”
She squeezed me. “Michael, I’m really not a cock tease.”
“I know that, Sandrine. You just had a little too much to drink last night. I guess Keith is pretty good looking as guys go, but even if he wasn’t, you had your tequila glasses on and you might have done the same with anybody. Everybody makes mistakes.”
She brought her head up and we were face to face. Some more tears had leaked from her eyes.
“But now, right at this moment, I need you to know I’m not a cock tease.”
I thought we’d settled that already, and I gave her a confused look.
She put her hands flat on either side of my face and drew me to her. Her lips were on me then, her mouth open. Her tongue pried into my mouth and started exploring. To say I was surprised was the least it. But I wasn’t asking any questions. I returned the affection, and we both leaned more into the kiss. We broke a few times and each time went back for more, our tongues playing at each other and our lips increasingly pliable, moist, and hot.
When we finally pulled apart I said, “I know I’m the only friendly face in the room, but hey…..”
She cut me off, her voice stern. “Don’t joke about it, Michael. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, even when we were back in Dallas. You’re not taking any today, but let’s plan on next weekend at my place. You know, that is if you’d have any interest…..”
“I’ll get my just reward?” It came out as too much of a jest, and I tried to do a course correction. “Yeah, I’ve thought about you in that way, too. I just figured I’d never have a shot. But if you’re serious, then, yeah, I think I’d like to see what’s there.”
“Okay. Does what I have to do today…..well, does that make a difference? It must.”
“You made a mistake. You got on your horse and started galloping without looking to see if there was a cliff ahead until it was too late. No, nothing that happens here is going to change my feelings for you.”
“Thank you, Michael. Silly, but it’s all I can think of to say.”
We were in each other’s arms and exchanged short kisses and pecks as we continued to talk.
“Look, Sandrine, like I said, nothing that happens here is going to make a difference, and I’ll be with you through all of it. But do yourself a favor. Take door number two.”
“Yeah, I hear you. I guess it depends on what it is.”
“No, Sandrine. Whatever it is can’t be as bad as the alternative. The choice is yours, but you know she’s going to dream up something diabolical, something she thinks you would never go for. Just don’t get your back up. Whatever it is, just say yes, do it, and let’s get the fuck out of here. Okay?”
“Maybe. I’ll see.”
There was a sharp rap of knuckles on the door and then Danielle’s voice.
“Show time!”
Sandrine and I embraced and kissed again, then we were on our feet and out the door.
Author’s Note
This is the re-imagining of an excellent story by Visioneer called Lucia Makes a Bet. Visioneer’s story is wonderfully written. His characters are distinct and believable, he has a great feel for writing dialogue, the plot is put together well, and the story is entertaining if you’re into the reluctance category.
So there was certainly no need to re-write such an excellently composed story. But I had an idea to take the story, the characters, and their dynamics and interactions in a different direct. Visioneer generously extended his permission for me to do so.
If you’ve not read Visioneer’s story you should (and if you are enjoying this story you will definitely enjoy Lucia Makes a Bet). Especially for writers, reading the two stories will give you an idea of how essentially the same plot and characters can be taken in very different directions and made into two stories with very different feels, character dynamics, and story lines.
I was attracted to Lucia Makes a Bet because I’ve written a series of similarly premised stories called Taking Chances. They are about people who for various reasons - sound or unsound, impulsive or considered - make a wager and how the result of that wager, win or lose, has consequences and impacts on their self-image, relationships, and other aspects of their real world existence. This re-imagining of Lucia Makes a Bet takes that story in the same direction as those of Taking Chances.
I hope you enjoy the story. It is about 24K words in total length and will be submitted in six parts. The story is completed so you can be sure that a new section will appear every couple or three days until all parts are posted.
The living room had been rearranged. The couch, two love seats, recliners and various chairs had been assembled into three sides of a rectangle. The fourth side was obviously where Sandrine would perform.
Keith took the ‘stage.’ “Okay, you all know about Sandrine and Danielle’s wager. I told Sandrine she could back out, because nobody is doing anything in my house they’re not willing to do. Sandrine has consented to pay off willingly. Is that right, Sandrine?”
“Yeah. I made the bet. I’ll pay it.”
“Okay. She has one hell of a bet to pay and I admire her guts and character. Somebody with less integrity would have welched. She’s got to do this the way Danielle says. But I’ll tell you this. Nobody is going to touch her below the waist. Not once. If anyone does, or if you, Danielle, tell anybody they can then I’ll shut the whole damn thing down and you’ll all be out the door. Understood?”
Everyone made some sort of noise or nodded his head to indicate they accepted the condition.
“Good. And the girls have decided that either way there would be no pictures. So get out your cells and hand them over. I see anybody take out a device during any of this and the show's over. Now hand ‘em over.”
Keith went around the room collecting cells and stashed them in the kitchen.
“Thank you, Keith,” Sandrine said.
Keith nodded to her. “Sure.”
As much as he was taking care of business, his tone and body language screamed that he didn’t think much of Sandrine. Then he turned to Danielle. “Your show, Babe.” And was I right in thinking that Keith was again warming to Danielle? Or had his coolness been all in my imagination?
Danielle was at the sound system controls. “Okay, Sandrine. You’ve got one song to get bare-assed.” Then she pushed a button and ZZ Top’s Gimme All Your Lovin’ blasted from the speakers.
Sandrine walked to her position in front of everyone. She was barefoot. Without even beginning to sway she unfastened her jeans and took them down her legs and off. She tossed them to me. Next she pulled her jersey over her head, and it was soon in my hands.
A few of the guys began to get restless and to boo. This was going to end in the same place regardless, but they wanted to get there with some ass shaking.
Sandrine looked spectacular in her underwear. She began to sway and move some, silencing the complaints. She wore a red demi bra. The material was lacy and between translucent and opaque. The undergarment shaped her breasts beautifully, and the material allowed the darker coloring of her areolae and nipples to show through. Her French cut panties matched the bra. The material on the sides was opaque, but a wide patch at the center running from waistband to waistband through the crotch was, like the bra, semi-transparent. Like her nipples, the darker patch of her pubic hair could be discerned under the lacy material.
Her motions were not synchronized to the beat of the music. She was doing her own thing: swaying and rotating her hips, sometimes turning her back to her audience, and giving everyone a barely obstructed view of her ass crack. Her hands moved from running through her hair to gliding over her breasts to caressing her hips to climbing the insides of her thighs. She had to be completely mortified and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Instead, she kept her eyes focused, as they tell you to do in the public speaking classes, at a point halfway up the facing wall. A few times she made a move as if to reach behind her back and unhook her bra, but each time she backed off.
Everyone in the room knew the song, and knew when it was drawing to its end. At that point Sandrine finally reached behind, unhooked and encouraged the bra to fall forward and off her body. She tossed the garment to me. I thought she might try to cover, but didn’t. Then she was rotating her hips and dipping her knees, pulling at the waistband of her panties. As the sounds of the song were waning she did another dip and pulled the panties down and off, and they were quickly in my hands.
Again she didn’t try to cover. What was the point in that? It wasn’t as if everyone wasn’t going to see every inch of her body. But she was nervous. She stood with her hands at her middle, the fingers of one working at the fingers of the other. A blush had further darkened her lovely coffee-with-a-dollop-of-cream skin, and it extended far down into her chest.
The bra hadn’t done a bit of shaping. Sandrine’s breasts were firm and high. Her nipples didn’t point to the Moon, but they were up, slightly out, sat atop dark, inch-wide, perfectly round areolae. They were hard after leaving the warmer confines of the bra and jersey. The bush we’d perceived through her panties was a straight, jet black landing strip about an inch and a half wide, the hairs trimmed to maybe half an inch. Apparently, playing right wing on a women’s hockey team is good for the constitution. Sandrine’s abdomen was board flat, her ass cheeks firm, her thighs solid. While her body was not overtly muscular, there was no question that solid muscle was close under her skin. Her breasts were not especially large. I’d estimate a good, full B-cup, but they seemed much larger sitting on that lithe, healthy, hard body.
Her audience loudly expressed their appreciation. Danielle had been silent through the entire performance.
Tush cut off the applause and Sandrine began to move again. On the first song the program had been Sandrine’s strip. Now the agenda was at Danielle’s discretion. She didn’t waste any time telling Sandrine to get moving, and our dancer did her best to oblige. Her wiggling, swaying, and rotating became much more pronounced.
“Hey, slut,” Danielle shouted over the music, “that’s not the way you were dancing last night. Get down there and get that mouth at cock level.”
Sandrine began to dip as she moved. I don’t know what was going through her head, but she had to feel incredibly exposed. Reilly began to tell everyone the tale of Sandrine’s shenanigans of the night before.
Danielle said, “Hey, I thought you wanted to suck Keith’s cock. C’mon, let’s see it.”
Sandrine, dancing in a squat, brought her right hand up in a configuration that suggested she was holding a cock. She brought the hand to her mouth and started to pantomime giving a blow-job. If this were Charades and Sandrine’s challenge was Movie Title: Deep Throat everyone would have had the answer immediately. They laughed, clapped, and whistled their appreciation.
Then Danielle was at it again. “Hey, skank, I saw that ass out there wiggling last night. I think these boys would like to see what you were doing.” Sandrine obliged. She came to her feet and bent at the waist. “No, you stupid cock hound cow, turn around.”
Sandrine came straight, turned her back to the viewers and bent ninety degree at the waist, her hands on her knees. I guess she didn’t want to have to be told, so she began swaying her ass back and forth. One thing about firm ass cheeks and thighs is that they don’t hide anything when a woman is in this position. Everyone in front of her could clearly see that her labia were saved smooth. Even the rosebud of her back hole was displayed.
Danielle directed Sandrine to shift her position in turn to each side so the men at those angles could get a look. Then came an order I’d not thought even Danielle would give.
“Okay, ho, time to get a couple fingers in there a spread it out.”
Sandrine had a bit of hesitation complying with that one but after a moment or two of her hand wavering she reached between her legs and spread her labia apart. Then Danielle had her go through the entire left to right slow oscillation, giving everyone a close look inside the most intimate part of Sandrine’s body.
Somewhere in there the song had concluded and Danielle had segued to something else. Nobody was hearing the music. Every eye was on a naked and intimately exposed Sandrine.
Danielle then made Sandrine go through the slow side to side turn while holding her ass cheeks open. Everyone had already seen everything there was to see, but I guess Danielle just wanted to put Sandrine through the humiliation of holding her ass cheeks open while men looked on.
“Okay, slut, straighten up,” ordered Danielle. Sandrine came upright and kept swaying slightly to the music. “Now I think these boys would appreciate a lap dance. Start with Aaron over there.” She indicated the first guy to Sandrine’s right. Sandrine was then in front of him. “Yeah, that’s right, bitch. Straight at him and get on that lap.”
Aaron was on one of the kitchen chairs and Sandrine spread her legs to either side of his lap. She sank forward until she was on him.
“Go ahead, Aaron,” Danielle encouraged. “Remember. Nothing below the waist, but those fun bags look they could use a good rub.”
Aaron didn’t need any more encouragement. He brought his hands up and covered Sandrine’s breasts. Then he started to knead and roll them around, most of the time squeezing her nipples in the crux between his thumb and forefinger. He looked up at Sandrine with a wide smile on his face, but she had her head up and to one side. She just seemed to be enduring the intimate familiarities this stranger was taking with her body. Excepting Keith and myself, nine more strangers waited eagerly to become familiar with her breasts.
I found the guys fell into two categories. The younger men, who maybe had less experience handling breasts, were reasonably gentle. They seemed to enjoy more looking at Sandrine’s breasts and manipulated them with more care, and they seemed to wonder at the unique, rubbery consistency of breast tissue. But they were decidedly in the minority. The older men were much rougher.
After a minute or so, Danielle had Sandrine shift to the next guy, Jason, also on a kitchen chair. Then Sandrine was on to the next, the first guy on a love seat, Nelson. The fellow seated with him scooted a bit to the side to give her room and she came up on the cushion with her legs bent, shins to each side of his lap. She lowered herself again, and he made the acquaintance of her breasts. He was likely in his forties. If he had a wife or girlfriend he didn’t act as if he recalled her at the moment.
He played roughly with her breasts, squeezing them enough that they turned red where his finger weren’t. I was at the other side of the love seat, almost in front of Sandrine. I saw her eyes roll up and her upper teeth bite her lower lip.
“Fuck, that hurts!” she complained.
“So?” Nelson asked. “The Stars eat shit, so fuck you. This is a great pair of puppies, bitch.”
Danielle seemed to like what Nelson was doing, seemed glad someone was finally manhandling Sandrine. She let Nelson go on longer than the first two. When she called time Sandrine began to rise from Nelson’s lap. As she did so, Nelson gave each breast a slap from the outside and said, “Thanks, skank.” Sandrine hunched her shoulders at the discomfort.
As she moved to the next man Keith asked, “You still okay with this, Sandrine?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay,” Sandrine answered. Keith had asked, but I’m sure Sandrine noted that he’d not objected to Nelson’s handling of her tits.
She proceeded around the room, at Danielle’s instruction. The roughnecks and roustabouts used their big, callused hands on her breasts. After Nelson’s session, all of them, even the younger guys, took the idea that they had a license to do with Sandrine’s breasts what they could never do with a wife’s or girlfriend’s, unless of course said wife or girlfriend was into light pain and humiliation.
Most weren’t as rough as Nelson had been, and Sandrine’s breasts had been slapped for the last time. From time to time, though, she had occasion to grunt at some especially uncomfortable attention. Every man let her know, in his own way, that he was handling a pair of tits he normally never would have the opportunity to lay a finger on, and that Sandrine had no choice in the matter.
The music had continued, but had no bearing on what was going on. Sandrine finally made it around to all the men.
“Michael?” Danielle asked.
“I’ll pass.”
“Keith? No wait. You’ve got my bazookas to play with. Why would you want to bother with a couple of mosquito bites like hers?”
“Actually,” Keith answered, “yeah, I think I’ll take a turn.”
Danielle looked put out.
Keith got another kitchen chair, placed it where Sandrine had danced, and sat. Likely not wanting to be told by Danielle, Sandrine immediately approached, spread her legs around Keith’s lap and sat.
Keith started by examining Sandrine’s breasts and tweaking her nipples. He put his mouth on one breast and then the other, sucking, licking, biting. He was the first to do this. I guess the other guys hadn’t started using their mouths because it would be too much like doubling dipping in the guacamole bowl. Keith took his time, sucking and licking in an exaggerated way: running his tongue all over her breasts, and at one point sucking almost a whole breast into his mouth. He alternated from one to the other and often looked up at Sandrine. She was looking away, her mouth set and her eyes staring. Again, just enduring. A man’s hands on her breasts was one thing, but that she had to allow a man she cared nothing for to put his mouth on her breasts was an indignity ten times worse.
Then Keith began kneading, rubbing, and twisting them with his hands. As he did this he started talking to the room.
“Did Reilly tell you what she was up to at the bar last night?” Everyone recognized the question as rhetorical. “Wanted to dance with me and spent the next five minutes acting like she wanted my dick in her mouth or up her ass. Isn’t that right, Sandrine?”
She didn’t answer and I saw Keith begin to apply pressure to her breasts. An increasing look of discomfort grew on Sandrine’s face.
Finally, she grimaced and said, “Yeah, Keith, okay, you’re right.”
Keith backed off and started bouncing her tits in his hands, running his thumbs over her nipples. Then he was talking to the room again.
“I tried to find out what was up today, you know, just to let her know I wasn’t interested. She said, why nothing at all, not a thing. Not interested in me in any way. Didn’t you, bitch? And I guess that makes you a little cockteaser, doesn’t it?”
Again Sandrine was silent. This time Keith put her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and started to apply pressure. By now, Danielle was no longer miffed. Now she knew what Keith had in mind and she was enjoying herself. It didn’t take as much this time. Sandrine’s lips started to press together and then she was out with the admission Keith was looking to elicit.
“Yeah, yeah, stop! Okay, I was teasing your cock. I’m a little cockteaser.”
Keith laughed and let go of her tits. Then he used a strong arm to sweep her off his lap, saying, “Get the fuck off me, you skanky whore.”
Sandrine tried to catch her balance but ended up on the floor, falling on her hip. Based on my conversation with Sandrine during the ride over, I didn’t think her admission was true. Even if the dance was fueled to some degree by tequila, in the moment she was pursuing some sort of attraction to Keith. But what she’d said was the admission Keith’s wounded male ego wanted to make her humiliate herself by saying.
Keith got up and went to Danielle. He took her in his arms and enfolded her in a big hug. They kissed deeply. When they broke their PDA, Danielle was all business.
“Michael, we need to make a few preparations. How about you take our little cock teasing cum dump into the bedroom for a while?”
“Sure, Danielle.”
I stepped around the love seat and chairs to Sandrine and helped her to her feet. We walked back to the bedroom we’d been in earlier followed by more than a few shouted references to where the guys expected their cocks to be in the next little while.
I closed the door and tossed Sandrine’s clothing on the bed. She immediately stepped into her panties and drew them up. Then she pulled the jersey over her head. We both took a seat at the edge of the bed.
As before, she leaned into me and put her head on my shoulder. Her right hand came up and she laid it flat on my shirt. Her left hand snaked around my waist. I put my right arm around her shoulders and tilted my head to rest it on top of hers.
“I really stepped in it, didn’t I?”
I searched for a moment, trying to find some positive way to spin the situation. It was useless. “Yeah, you really did.”
She sighed. “Thank you, Michael, you know, for not…..”
“Are you crazy? It never entered my mind that I might participate…..in any of it.”
She squeezed me. “Michael, I’m really not a cock tease.”
“I know that, Sandrine. You just had a little too much to drink last night. I guess Keith is pretty good looking as guys go, but even if he wasn’t, you had your tequila glasses on and you might have done the same with anybody. Everybody makes mistakes.”
She brought her head up and we were face to face. Some more tears had leaked from her eyes.
“But now, right at this moment, I need you to know I’m not a cock tease.”
I thought we’d settled that already, and I gave her a confused look.
She put her hands flat on either side of my face and drew me to her. Her lips were on me then, her mouth open. Her tongue pried into my mouth and started exploring. To say I was surprised was the least it. But I wasn’t asking any questions. I returned the affection, and we both leaned more into the kiss. We broke a few times and each time went back for more, our tongues playing at each other and our lips increasingly pliable, moist, and hot.
When we finally pulled apart I said, “I know I’m the only friendly face in the room, but hey…..”
She cut me off, her voice stern. “Don’t joke about it, Michael. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, even when we were back in Dallas. You’re not taking any today, but let’s plan on next weekend at my place. You know, that is if you’d have any interest…..”
“I’ll get my just reward?” It came out as too much of a jest, and I tried to do a course correction. “Yeah, I’ve thought about you in that way, too. I just figured I’d never have a shot. But if you’re serious, then, yeah, I think I’d like to see what’s there.”
“Okay. Does what I have to do today…..well, does that make a difference? It must.”
“You made a mistake. You got on your horse and started galloping without looking to see if there was a cliff ahead until it was too late. No, nothing that happens here is going to change my feelings for you.”
“Thank you, Michael. Silly, but it’s all I can think of to say.”
We were in each other’s arms and exchanged short kisses and pecks as we continued to talk.
“Look, Sandrine, like I said, nothing that happens here is going to make a difference, and I’ll be with you through all of it. But do yourself a favor. Take door number two.”
“Yeah, I hear you. I guess it depends on what it is.”
“No, Sandrine. Whatever it is can’t be as bad as the alternative. The choice is yours, but you know she’s going to dream up something diabolical, something she thinks you would never go for. Just don’t get your back up. Whatever it is, just say yes, do it, and let’s get the fuck out of here. Okay?”
“Maybe. I’ll see.”
There was a sharp rap of knuckles on the door and then Danielle’s voice.
“Show time!”
Sandrine and I embraced and kissed again, then we were on our feet and out the door.
Author’s Note
This is the re-imagining of an excellent story by Visioneer called Lucia Makes a Bet. Visioneer’s story is wonderfully written. His characters are distinct and believable, he has a great feel for writing dialogue, the plot is put together well, and the story is entertaining if you’re into the reluctance category.
So there was certainly no need to re-write such an excellently composed story. But I had an idea to take the story, the characters, and their dynamics and interactions in a different direct. Visioneer generously extended his permission for me to do so.
If you’ve not read Visioneer’s story you should (and if you are enjoying this story you will definitely enjoy Lucia Makes a Bet). Especially for writers, reading the two stories will give you an idea of how essentially the same plot and characters can be taken in very different directions and made into two stories with very different feels, character dynamics, and story lines.
I was attracted to Lucia Makes a Bet because I’ve written a series of similarly premised stories called Taking Chances. They are about people who for various reasons - sound or unsound, impulsive or considered - make a wager and how the result of that wager, win or lose, has consequences and impacts on their self-image, relationships, and other aspects of their real world existence. This re-imagining of Lucia Makes a Bet takes that story in the same direction as those of Taking Chances.
I hope you enjoy the story. It is about 24K words in total length and will be submitted in six parts. The story is completed so you can be sure that a new section will appear every couple or three days until all parts are posted.
Angelica
- 30.07.2022
- 15
- 0
- Category:
- Reluctance
