Another Really Stupid Bet

The girl nervously licked her lips, moistening the bright red lipstick she'd carefully applied as she glanced around the room. The combined lust of the males in the audience was a tangible thing, hanging heavy in the air. She felt it; we all felt it.

She was beautiful, I thought. Curly hair hung in thick rings just below her shoulders, accentuating her alabaster skin. Her figure was hidden beneath the simple white cotton dress that hung below her knees, draped over the device she was sitting on. Her feet protruded below, resting on metal pedals. She was barefoot and had recently had a pedicure – her toenails were painted bright red, matching her lipstick.

Whore red, I thought.

A swarthy man dressed in a black suit and white shirt stepped onto the raised stage, a microphone in his hand. She glanced nervously at him, again licking her lips before looking down at the floor in front of the hidden device she was seated on. She was clearly embarrassed, unable to look directly at the men in the audience.

The man raised the microphone to his mouth. "Greetings everyone," he said in a loud, cheerful voice with a slight Mexican accent. "Are you having fun?"

The men in the audience clapped politely.

"I SAID – ARE YOU HAVING FUN?"

This time they cheered and clapped and yelled louder; a few of the men hooted. My girlfriends and I blushed, embarrassed, as a couple of men stared over at our table. We were the only "non working" girls in the place, the four of us; already we'd been propositioned several times drunks who'd mistaken us for prostitutes.

Honest mistake, I thought – although a bit of observation would reveal that the hookers worked singly or in pairs, approaching the men as they sat at their tables. The four of us sat semi-huddled at a table in the back trying our best to radiate an unapproachable attitude.

The cheering died down. "Are you ready for a show?" the man asked. This time the cheering and hooting was louder. "This is Ann," he said, sweeping his right arm in her direction. "Ann's accepted our challenge – haven't you, Ann?"

Even from our table in the back I could see the girl blush bright red. She looked down even further, unable to meet the man's eyes and nodded her head.

"Ann, darling – here's how this works," the man explained. He pointed to a large clock, six feet in diameter, at the back of the stage. "You're sitting on what we call a fucking horse." He leered at the audience; they responded by clapping, cheering, and hooting.

Ann, obviously humiliated, blushed even brighter.

The cheering died down; man continued, "We'll reset the clock and turn it on. You'll have two minutes; then the buzzer will go off and the red light on top of the clock will go on. From that point you'll have one minute to get off the horse."

Again, cheering and hooting from the men. "You're not tied or restrained in any manner," he continued. "All you have to do is raise yourself up and step off. Simple enough, eh?"

"Should you manage to get off the horse in the minute allowed you'll win the prize, ten thousand dollars. If you fail, you win nothing. Do you understand, Ann, darling?"

Embarrassed, Ann again nodded her head silently.

The man stepped back off the stage, microphone still in hand. "Are you ready, Ann?" he yelled. She nodded again. "Are YOU ready, guys?" he asked the audience. They yelled and hooted and cheered. These men were obviously excited by the prospect of this girl degrading herself for them.

"All right, then – START!" the man yelled. A loud buzzer sounded, the red light on top of the clock went on for a few seconds then back off, and the second hand of the clock began to move.

But it was the girl's reaction that grabbed the crowd's attention. They were silent now, fascinated, staring at her. They made not a sound; all attention was on the girl in the white cotton dress on the raised stage.

When the clock hand began to move her eyes opened wide and she gasped. Although she was covered modestly I saw her hips begin to move under her dress; saw it ripple slightly as she moved. There were two padded handles just behind and below her hips. She involuntarily leaned back a bit and grabbed a handle in each hand. Her eyes were half closed, mouth slightly open.

As the clock hand passed the thirty second mark she made a low moaning sound, "Ohhhhhhhh..." I knew that sound – I'd made it a few times myself.

She was getting excited, stimulated.

As the second hand passed the one minute mark the girl began to writhe and hump, grinding into the unseen object she was sitting on. I could see her boobs wave a bit under her dress as her entire body began to participate in the effort, waving back and forth, trying to increase whatever pleasurable stimulation the hidden machine was providing. Her head lay back now, throat exposed, dark hair hanging down her back.

Ninety seconds now, and she began to moan, her eyes staring blankly at nothing. Her moans became more plaintive, urgent. She suddenly began humping furiously, rippling the cotton dress.

I knew what she was feeling. She was about to climax!

Suddenly she was moaning loudly, almost screaming, "OHHHHHH....AHHHHH...OHHH, GOD!!!" The men broke their silence and began to yell and hoot as the girl came in front of their eyes. I could tell it was a good, strong climax – the kind I'd get once a year from a man if I were really lucky.

Not your everyday cum, I thought.

Panting, her orgasm slowly subsided. She looked out at the men for the first time, then back down. She was so flushed from her orgasm I couldn't see her blush but I imagined she was totally embarrassed and humiliated by what had just happened. I could sympathize – cumming in front of a hundred males would embarrass me to death!

The clock continued to turn, now almost to the two minute mark. I saw her eyes half close again; her hips resumed their rolling. The stimulation was obviously continuing! I knew she'd soon climax again.

The second hand passed the two minute mark. The buzzer went off loudly; the red light lit. The announcer proclaimed, "You've made it, Ann – that's two minutes. Now all you have to do is get off to get your ten thousand dollars!"

The men cheered and clapped. The announcer continued to urge her on, urging her to get off and collect her prize. The clock continued to turn.

But the poor girl was oblivious to it all! She gripped the handles tightly and continued to hump the unyielding machine, eyes half shut, mouth open. I saw her toes curl around the foot pedals – possibly a half hearted attempt to raise herself.

But her legs didn't – or couldn't – respond. She continued to hump and roll, trying to climax again. I knew she was close; knew she'd cum any second – but amazingly she didn't. Straining, humping, moaning plaintively the pretty girl tried to push herself over the edge that was oh, so very close.

The clock continued its slow march – now thirty seconds, now forty five, fifty. The announcer urged her on, the men cheered. They began to count down the seconds, "Ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... THREE... TWO... ONE"

Still Ann remained on the horse as the second hand passed the minute mark.

"Too late, Ann!" the announcer yelled. "Give Ann a big hand, fellows, she's certainly entertained us, hasn't she!"

More cheering and hooting.

"Since she's been so nice and entertaining, how about it guys – let's let her have some fun. How about it?"

The cheering and yelling nearly raised the roof! The men obviously wanted to see the girl cum again.

The girl began to moan even louder, ramping up to her second orgasm. Again moaning, crying, hips rolling, she obediently climaxed again. She stiffened, eyes open, head back as it washed over her.

But she wasn't done! This time her hops began to roll again almost at once; in less than a minute she was again moaning, screaming as she climaxed again.

The cheering from the men was deafening as the girl came again and again and again, seemingly unable to stop or control herself. Her hair was shiny from the sweat of her exertion. I saw beads of perspiration on her throat.

Five minutes, ten minutes – she continued to cum and cum, over and over. Finally the announcer stepped onto the stage; seemingly on command Ann's climaxes stopped and she sat panting on the horse. Her hips continued their slow rolling as she panted, head down now.

"Thank you, Ann," the man said into the microphone. "You've certainly been a good contestant!"

The girl looked over at the man, shook her head. "N-nooo...No," she breathed softly.

"What?" the announcer said. "Aren't you ready to get off the horse, Ann?"

He held the microphone to her lips. "No, please! No, please don't stop!" she breathed into the microphone.

"You don't want to stop, Ann? You want more?"

"Yes"

"Well, I don't know. How about it, guys? Should we give Ann a few more minutes on the horse?"

The men yelled and cheered, obviously in agreement.

"Ann, darling," the man said, "I'm all for letting you ride for a bit more, but we really need some more stimulation from you. What about it, guys? Would you like to see Ann's tits?"

The yelling was deafening now.

Ann's hips began to roll a bit faster now – I thought she was being stimulated again. I saw her look out at the crowd, saw her reach to the top of the cotton dress, grab the zipper. With a quick motion she pulled it all the way down. The cotton dress fell open; she shrugged it off her shoulders. It slid off, falling in a pool on the floor.

Her trim body was beautiful! Her boobs, encased in a white lace bra, stood up proudly. I could see the little points her nipples made in the cloth; could see the dark circles of her areola through the thin material. She wasn't particularly large – a B cup perhaps.

The machine she was sitting on turned now; she was facing the crowd. Her hands went behind her back in a quick motion; her bra popped open and her boobs sprang free. She flung the bra off her arms.

The men stood now, cheering and clapping loudly. They obscured my view of the stage but as the cheering died down I could hear the girl begin to moan as she had yet another climax.

Now we couldn't see for the men standing. We stayed a few more minutes listening to their yelling and hooting, then slipped out and away, back to our car. We drove back to our motel in silence.

Margo, Lisa, Maria, and I spent the rest of our vacation on South Padre Island, walking on the beach, relaxing in the hotel pool, or partying at one of the many nightclubs on the island. We didn't go back to Matamoros again. We didn't talk about what we'd seen at the Mexican bordello. We pretended it had never happened.

But it had happened, and I couldn't get the girl on the fuck horse out of my mind. I woke one night panting. I'd had a particularly vivid dream – I was naked on the horse in front of a hundred cheering men, moaning, writhing, and cumming over and over as they hooted and clapped. The dream was so vivid it was a few minutes before I realized what had woken me.

I'd climaxed in my sleep.

Finally it was time to go home. We drove to the airport, turned in our rental car, and flew home. We'd had a good time. I'd met a couple of guys, none of whom I'd thought interesting enough to have sex with. Maria and Lisa had been luckier.

Over the next few months I thought of the Mexican cathouse and the show from time to time. In my fantasies I was the girl on stage, humiliated beyond belief, helplessly entertaining an audience of horny males with my humping and screaming.

Mr. Buzzy got a few good workouts from that fantasy.

Finally I'd almost forgotten about the girl on the horse. Life went on. Work and home and health club and happy hour. Dating a bit, nothing too serious, nobody special. A couple of one night stands. Pretty much my normal rut.

Then one day I was driving home and my car started to make this funny hissing noise, and it started jerking. I managed to get off the freeway onto the access road before it died altogether as a huge cloud of steam boiled out from under the hood.

I called a wrecker and a cab. They towed the car to a shop; I rode home. The next day I got a ride to work with Maria. The shop called just before lunch with the news: I'd blown a head gasket, and the repair estimate was like, $3000. Since the car was several years old they pointed out that it wasn't worth $3000. They suggested I buy another car.

So Maria and I went after work to look at cars. I saw a nice PT Cruiser I liked, had a good warranty and was really cute.

It cost about $10,000.

The salesman was explaining payments and down payment and warranty and a lot of stuff when it suddenly occurred to me where I could get ten thousand dollars.

A crazy idea, I thought. I signed the papers; the payments were about $250 a month. I didn't like the idea of a car payment; that $250 would go a long way toward clothes or other fun things. A car was a pain, I thought.

But I couldn't get the idea of an easy ten thousand dollars out of my mind. A few minutes of humiliation; nothing really. If I went by myself and didn't tell anyone nobody would know. It'd be my secret; then I'd have the money to pay off my new car.

Finally I started poking around on the Internet. Sure enough, the bordello had its own web site. They called it an "adult club" and advertized their entertainment on the site. One link was called "The Ten Thousand Dollar Challenge". I clicked that; a page came up with a picture of a girl in a white dress sitting on something.

In large letters the page proclaimed, "Girls – Would you like to make ten thousand dollars in three minutes? Take the Ten Thousand Dollar Challenge!" Below was an explanation of the "challenge". It repeated what I'd heard the announcer say months before – sit on the "fuck horse" for two minutes, then get off it in a minute, win ten thousand dollars. There was an email link "if you're interested".

So I clicked the link and sent an email saying yes, I was interested.

The next day I had a reply in my inbox. There were more detailed instructions. I'd have to have a complete physical and gyn exam, at the club's expense. There would be releases to sign, and what they called an "entertainment contract". There was a number to call.

Long story short: I called the number. A man with no accent answered; he identified himself as "Doctor Smith". We chatted for a bit; I made an appointment to meet him in Matamoros in two weeks.

Scheduling a week's vacation wasn't a problem. I didn't really want to travel by myself but was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I bought plane tickets. Doctor Smith told me the club would arrange for my lodging and meals.

Doctor Smith turned out to be a nice looking middle aged man, trim and slightly graying. He met me at the airport and drove me to his office, which was on the US side of the border. I spent the next couple of hours having the most thorough physical and gyno exam I'd ever had. He even did an EKG and a treadmill stress test, and blood tests of course. I passed all these easily; I'm in pretty good shape.

They called a cab which drove me to a nice motel they'd arraigned for me. The next day another cab picked me up and drove me back to the office. After a short wait I was ushered into Doctor Smith's office.

"Sit down, Staci," he said, indicating a chair in front of his desk. "So, you want to take the challenge, eh?"

Embarrassed, I looked down and nodded.

"I need to explain what will be required of you," he continued. "Have you ever heard of a Sybian?"

"The sex machine? Sort of a supersonic vibrator?"

"Yes, that's about it," he confirmed. "Ever try one?"

"N-no..." I stammered.

"The fuck horse you heard the announcer refer to – that's a Sybian," he explained. "We've made a few...enhancements."

He went on to explain, showing me pictures in a notebook. The Sybian was a combination vibrator and dildo. You sat on it, impaling yourself on the dildo. The pad around base of the dildo vibrated; the dildo itself went in and out. Everything was adjustable.

"Most women climax in a minute or two on a Sybian," Doctor Smith explained. "My colleagues and I have added an electric stimulation feature."

My eyes widened a bit at this. "Don't worry," he said. "The electric current is so low you wouldn't be able to feel it with your fingers or ay other part of your body."

He went on to explain that a small electric current, pulsed at several hundred times a second, would run from the tip of the dildo to the pad. The idea was to directly stimulate the clitoris with a mild shock.

"If we get the right frequency we can make any female climax instantly," he said. "The problem is finding the right combination of everything – vibration, stroke, frequency, current. You see, we don't want you to climax."

He went on to explain that females climax in various ways (he had charts). Sometimes we had a buildup, a short plateau, a climax, then a ramp down phase. "This is how men climax," he explained. "Women sometimes climax like this also."

Sometimes, though, females ramped up, climaxed, then returned to the plateau state. If stimulation continued they could climax again, followed by another plateau, and another climax, and so on.

"Girls can repeat this over and over, as long as the stimulation continues," the Doctor explained. "With the enhanced Sybian we've found that we can hold most females in the plateau stage, just short of climax. Increase the vibration, stroke, or electric stimulation and they climax – decrease it and they return to the plateau."

He looked at me – I was speechless with amazement. "Do you understand this, Staci?"

"Uh, hun – I think so," I replied. "What you're saying is, at the club they'll try to get me right on the edge of cumming then hold me there long enough so I forget I need to get off. That about it?"

Doctor Smith nodded. "Yep, that's about it. Do you still want to take the challenge?"

Now, I knew something he didn't. Regardless how stimulated I was I never ever totally lost my mind as he was suggesting I would. I knew when the buzzer went off I'd get right off their damn horse, smile at them, and walk away with my ten thousand dollars.

"Yep, Doc," I said, "I'm ready – bring it on!"

He smiled and nodded.

That was on a Wednesday. The club called my motel that afternoon; they set me up to go on the following Friday. They had some forms for me to sign, they said. They arranged to courier the forms to my motel.

I signed a release and an "entertainment contract" which was a lot of legal jargon but promised me ten thousand dollars should I "fulfill the contract". It went on and on, describing the challenge in legal terms. They made it sound boring.

I signed everything then called the courier to send it back.

A couple of days shopping in Matamoros, then Friday was here. About 5 PM a taxi picked me up; the driver took me to the border crossing. I walked across; another taxi met me and drove me to the club, pulling up in back. I walked into a courtyard – it looked like a motel, two stories, pool in the middle. A couple of dark skinned girls were lounging around the pool.

The announcer I'd seen months before walked across the courtyard, a friendly grin on his face. "Welcome, welcome!" he said in excellent English. "So happy you're here, Staci! Anita, Clara, come!"

The pool girls walked over. "Anita and Clara will help you get ready, Staci".

Giggling a bit Anita said, "Follow me please" in slightly broken English. Clara also had a bit of an accent but I could easily understand both women.

We walked together to a room near the front of the club. "Your room," Clara said. Inside it looked like a standard motel room – king size bed, bathroom, closet. It was clean and fresh smelling, cleaner than the motel room across the border I'd just left.