The Bet Ch. 01

I am not usually one who takes bets, or dares, or does anything to increase her odds of coming out anywhere but on top. If someone is of a mind to boast of their deeds, it does me no harm to let them. Why make it a contest? So, when someone approaches me in a bar and tells me they can make a bottle sing or a coin dance, I try not to take the bait. I know that if they make such claims that my betting against it makes me some sort of rube. They will either win the bet by guile or magic, or their loosing the wager may serve some purpose to which I need not be party.

There are more than a few individuals sporting creative scars that will attest that should I ever become the object of such a wager, it is best not to let me know. Talk about me all that you like, but do not reduce me to a benchmark or prize.

I began this encounter blessedly oblivious as the bartender brought me a bottle from a man across the tavern. After looking at him long enough to decide that he did indeed have the normal complement of facial features, I accepted it. Soon he arrived at my table for an introduction, and I decided those features were in fact pleasingly placed. Uncommon for these parts, his nose was smallish and unbroken, and his eyes were the same shade as his dark mead hair. He was tall but not lanky, towering over me by more than a head. Still, there was something about how he held his frame that managed to put me at ease.

"I hope that wine is to your liking?" he said, indicating the bottle he had sent. "I can't abide those syrup wines myself."

"A good choice," I replied, raising my challis of eldarflower wine and taking a sip. "Some think it is an acquired taste. I think no one needs acquire a taste for sweetness, but they can loose their appetite for it in place of their own pride."

"So you suggest that I am too proud to be seen drinking a fey wine?" he smirked.

"That remains to be seen," I taunted. "But all who sit at my table tend to partake." Then I pushed a cup toward him and indicated the bottle.

Nonplussed, he filled the drinking vessel and sat while sipping. A brief look of resolve crossed his face as the thickly sweet liquid washed down his throat. There were other expressions beneath this, but they remained hidden beneath his calm demeanor.

"Do I pass the test?" he asked.

"The first one", I teased.

Our small talk continued for some time, and I heard much more of his tale than I had anticipated. As long as my cup remained full, I lent him my ear, and nodded appropriately, but eventually the bottle ran dry as did my attention, and he could see that I was distracted.

"Have I bored you?" he inquired.

"Not entirely," I replied. Seeing the quizzical look cross his face, I continued. "Did you really spend good coin for an understanding ear, or was there some other underlying reason behind your generous gift to a stranger? Although, by now I know so much about you that the word 'stranger' hardly applies."

This sort of straightforward tactic has been known to put men in a foul mood. They may feel their honor besmirched that I call their bluff. But really, what man buys a woman a drink and then just sits and tells her his life story? He must know that he need not keep laying out cheese for a mouse willing to be caught. I, however, employed this sort of direct approach to gauge his reaction. If he takes offense and storms off, he is not ready to put in the necessary work that I require, so it is best for both of us if we part company now.

"Perhaps I have been less than direct," he acquiesced. "But, would you have accepted me if I were to ask you to share my bed when I first saw you?"

"I dare say, not," was my answer. "But, perhaps we have passed the point of simple familiarity some time ago and it is now time to move on to your intentions or say 'good evening' and retire our separate ways. I am merely calling the vote." I raised my empty cup in salute, to punctuate my words.

"So you would play by some sort of rules of order?" he jested. "I would not have expected a lady such as yourself to be so..."

"The hour is late, " I cut him off. "When the evening is this old, It interests me less to know how you got here than if you intend on making this a night that I may actually remember."

He sat silently for a moment, weighing his options. Then he quietly and deliberately stood and took my hand. With a gentle pull, he guided me to my feet and led me out past the bar and up the stairs to his room. Along the way I saw him place another large sum upon the counter top and pull a bottle of my favorite rinberry wine from the rack near the end of the bar.

We said nothing as we walked up the old wooden stairs, and entered his chamber. I had lit a candle and he had thrown the latch before he even dared clear his throat. The well worn floor boards attested that this old room had seen many travelers pass through. Simply appointed, there were two chairs, a writing table, a window overlooking the street below, and a bed, of course. The one oddity present was a large wooden and ironmongery wash basin, filled with water. In the candle light, I could not see if the water was clean, but I assumed it was still there from an earlier bath that he may have enjoyed after a long day on the road.

"Observations?" he asked, as he saw me taking in these surroundings.

"Only that you have bathed recently, which I do appreciate," I chided him even though my appreciation was genuine.

He looked askance at the tub. "Is it not expected. I was hoping to meet...."

"Forget the tub." Again I interrupted him, standing as I spoke. "I only wish you had saved some for me." I reached for him, and pulled at his belt.

"That can be arranged," he mumbled as his belt flopped aside. He removed the pouch from his side as I did the same with mine, setting it aside. Passing his hand under the pouch leather flap, he pulled forth a small stone. "This is my magic valet," he smiled. "I keep it stocked with cantrips for my stay in places just like this."

He said an odd word and tossed the stone into the tub, where it proceeded to bubble to the bottom with a hiss. As I reached over to pull up his tunic, I felt a wave of gentle moist heat waft over my side. The tub was lightly steaming.

Raising an eyebrow I noted, "That's an amazing little item."

He nodded in reply, "It does a lot of little things, like cleaning and pressing clothes..."

"... and freshening a tub," I continued.

"Exactly, " he nodded.

"Convenient," I noted. Then I pulled off his top.

His chest was pristine, only a few hairs, and no scars. I had already decided that he was no warrior, but it is unusual that a traveler through these parts had seen no battles at all. Either he was very good at what he did, very rich to be able to afford mercenary guards, or very new to this lifestyle. Whichever way, I enjoyed the novelty of tracing my fingernail down his pretty skin from his chin to his navel, unobstructed by the customary blemishes of battle.

He shuddered a moment at my forward gesture, but collected himself to indicate the tub once again. "Perhaps...," he caught the word in his throat, cleared his voice and continued. "Perhaps you wish to avail yourself of the bath as well. It would be a pleasure to watch you do so."

"Oh, no," I replied. "If I am going to bathe now, you are going to help." I pointed to my boot, and steadied myself against the back of a chair. He obliged by grabbing my heel and pulling firmly as the leather sheath softly slipped down my calf, leaving my legging exposed. With a brief twist, both boots were neatly thrown in a corner. After a couple of quick actions, I stepped from my outfit which now lay in a small pile next to the bed.

I could see the intent in his eyes, and I held him off with a warning finger. "Not yet," I whispered. "You can look, but only I get to touch." I gently pushed him over to sit in a chair, and then I leaned down to my best advantage and pulled off his boots. A dagger in its sheath fell unceremoniously to the floor, and I quickly scooted it over to lay with my boots. I noted that even if he was visibly unmarred, he was at least prepared. My opinion of him rose a notch. Altogether he was well behaved, and I could feel his eyes explore my naked flesh as he sat and let me undress him from the floor up. Eventually all that stood between us were his leggings, but I left those on, to keep him bottled up just enough to prolong the bath.

I turned to the tub, reaching out my hand to him for support. He gave a brief start as I refocused his attention on my face, and at my nod he came over to help me into the water.

The sensation of warm water over my skin was glorious. My feet ached from dancing that afternoon, and my legs followed suit. As I slipped into the warm water, I could feel it reaching over and between my toes, up and between my legs and finally across my breasts and up to my neck. I lay back with my hair over the rim of the tub for a moment and savored the feeling.

There was a slight tug at my coiffure, and I reached up to slap his hand away. "Did you wish to keep your hair up?" he asked. He had been pulling at one of my hair pins.

"Up and out of the way," I answered. "Once it's down, there's no putting it back up quickly." My hair is one of my assets as a dancer. Pulled up, it is still well past my shoulders. Down, it flows around like the veils I dance with.

He seemed to be placated by my comment. "Here," I said while pulling a cloth from the side of the tub, you can wash my back. I leaned forward.

I heard no answer but the swish of water and the feeling of a cloth covered hand wistfully massaging my back. Up and down, side to side.

"You've been practicing," I lied. His hands were clumsy against my skin. I could tell that his mind was on things beyond this simple task, and his nerves were getting the better of him. Glancing to the side, I checked on his last remaining piece of clothing, and I estimated by the customary bulge that he was ready for more than this bath. I did not wish to let that happen now, so I tried a new tactic.

He needed another activity to regain his composure, so I gave him one. "Why don't I take that cloth now, and you go open that bottle that you so smoothly gleaned on our way up," I suggested.

"Oh, right," he replied and looked about for where he had placed it on the way into the room. "If you'll just toss me the stone," he asked. I had almost forgotten about his magic valet, and I reached down between my legs to feel it out in the water. There it was, not hot at all. It must have cast it's spell upon the water, and then lay there dormant waiting for its next command.

My sensitive fingers felt its surface as I pulled the stone forth. What had originally appeared smooth, was actually heavily engraved with some sort of mystic runes. In the candle light, they were difficult to see, but I clearly felt them.

"Here's your toy," I jested as I tossed the rock just a little high. I wanted to see how flexible he was in the catch, and I was not disappointed by the muscles that I saw tighten in his stomach and chest as he reached up to grab it. He caught it with ease, and I was pleased to see that he was capable even when flustered.

He had the bottle open with one whispered word and a tap of the stone. Having a corkscrew that heated your bath water and pressed your clothing might come in handy on many occasions. My curiosity was piqued, but that could wait until later. My focus now was to make sure the next cork he popped was not his own. At least not until he had popped mine.

"I don't suppose that stone turns into a cup," I mused. Even in the candle light I could see his eyes flicker to his right. That was a sure sign that he was about to make something up, whether it was a lie or maybe just some clever retort.

"I don't suppose we actually need one," he said. "The liquid is rather thick anyway."

"Alright then," I grinned. "Just where do you plan to drink that from."

In one excited motion he knelt beside the tub with bottle in hand. He offered the open end of the bottle to my lips, and I drank a sip. Clumsily, it seamed, he spilt some of the thick syrup down my chin. "Allow me," he whispered, and bent down as if to kiss me. I felt his tongue lightly dab up the spilled wine and caress my lower lip in the process.

I was intrigued by his gesture, and my nipples tighten as he traced his tongue over my chin. I reached up and rose to my feet as he stood offering me his hand for support. I thought for a moment about pulling him into the tub, but the water was beginning to chill, and I did not need to share a cold between us.

As I stepped from the bath I realized that there was no towel in the room. I clasped his hand harder, feeling the valet stone within. "Does this thing dry as well as clean?"

I heard a whispered word and suddenly I was neither wet nor cold. I found that quite acceptable.

Looking down at his bulging leathers, I decided to work quickly. Deftly, I slipped across the floor to the corner and retrieved his dagger. I noticed a puzzled look of almost fear in his eyes as I approached him carrying the naked blade. Slowly, I dropped the blade to meet with the buttons at his side. I heard his breathe catch, as I cut the buttons off with one practiced movement. I gave him credit, few men would stand still if a strange woman approached their groin with a blade. He evidently wanted what I had, and was willing to withstand a little torture to get it. I smiled up at him and pulled his leggings down with one hard tug. I was prepared to make him work for it, but not quite yet.

He stood unwrapped before me, bathed in the candle light. The releasing of his trousers allowed his previously pressed member to swing free, bobbing like the boom of a ship. He was a little on the small side for his stature, but considering the discrepancy in our heights, he had length and girth enough for me.

Then I heard him gasp, and I saw a tell tale trickle of clear liquid seep from the end. "Oh, no you don't!" I scolded. Immediately, I grasped beneath to his dangling jewels, and jabbed my nail into the soft flesh behind it.

He jumped back as the pain hammered home, and gave a throaty yell. "What are you...?"

But I was over him so fast that he did not get a chance to finish complaining. I put my leg behind his and pulled him down to the floor with a thud. He was at my mercy for a mere moment, but I had all the time that I needed to stifle his complaints with a hard kiss. I forced his teeth open and filled his mouth with my quickly darting tongue. He almost had time to struggle before I sat on his chest with my knees straddling him to either side.

"You don't get to take your pleasure so quickly," I chastised him, gently toying at one of his pristine nipples with the tip of his own dagger. "We still have quite some time until I am ready for you to be done." He looked nervous, like he did not dare to move, and I knew he had gone flaccid behind me.

Pressing my finger to his lips, I pulled the dagger away from his flesh and whispered so that I knew he would hear every word articulated. "A gentleman always lets the lady cum first. He may then take his pleasure at his leisure."

He nodded his understanding, and with one backhand toss I buried his dagger in the ceiling half way to the hilt.

Now that the ground rules were set, I taught him a few tricks to prolong his enjoyment. An apt student, I came three times that night, twice before him, and once after.