Losing a bet was one thing, but it all depended on the terms. Bragging rights, or even doing the dishes for a week, were tolerable. But in a relationship newly experimenting with BDSM, losing a bet could mean
everything
- which is why I was so thankful I'd WON that all-important bet. Now, Megan, my girlfriend, was consigned to a night of following orders - whatever they might be. She had a safeword -
Tomato
, in our case - but we both knew she wasn't going to use it. I sure hadn't the last time when the shoe had been on the other foot!
We were starting the night at
Rock Bottom
, the college dive bar around the corner from our apartment. Megan and I were out of college by a few years - I was 26 and she was 25 - but we could easily pass for college students; especially in the failing light of a bar. We were an interracial, young professional couple, she black and me white, and both heavily motivated in our careers, in the gym, and definitely in the bedroom. Megan was 5'4", curvy but extremely fit in that way only black women could reliably pull off, and I was tall and lean; often likened to the build of a soccer player. She wore her natural hair out in varying styles, and I had a close cut with eternal stubble. Somehow, we both felt incredibly lucky to have landed the other - our relationship was a dream!
Megan currently sat alone at the bar, facing toward the bartender and away from me, while I sat in the shadows at the far end of the attached seating room. A narrow half flight of stairs connected the overflow room up to the main area, through which I could see just a four or five foot stretch of bar, at the center of which sat Megan. The rest of the bar was blocked by the wall that divided the main area of
Rock Bottom
from its overflow room, which on this Friday night was still mostly empty.
I smirked at Megan's small mannerisms to sell that she was here by herself. Small talk with the bartender, Tom, or compulsive checks of her phone knowing good and well there was nothing new to read. Her boredom never went uninterrupted for long because tonight - Megan was quite the sight! She wore a dangerously short white tennis skirt and a Vuori top that accentuated her ample cleavage and fit body. It was an outrageous outfit choice at a place like this and would have looked great on anyone, but as I always loved to say, she looked like a young version of her namesake - Megan Good. Her boobs were perky, round C-cups and her ass absolutely exploded out of any pants she wore. In fact, tonight, her tennis skirt was too short to even reach the barstool on which she sat. As I stared at her from behind and below, thanks to the overflow room being a half story below the main room, I could see several square inches of her bare ass and two inches of her white panties. And if that wasn't enough, all of those visual fireworks were just below her neck. Megan had large, laser sharp eyes and a glowing smile that could knock a man off a horse. So, yeah, looking like that at a dive bar in the middle of a college town in the outskirts of San Francisco - she was turning heads!
Whiiiiich
was exactly the point. Megan had two jobs that evening. The first was to sit at that bar and flirt with whoever talked to her; waiting for just the right person to invite back to our apartment for a wild night. The second, and the most devious, was to follow any commands I texted her from over her shoulder. As I thought about it, I supposed there was also a third, somewhat unspoken rule: Megan was not to remove the butt plug currently filling up her ass. I briefly wondered if I'd gone too far with that part, but remembering what Megan had put me through last time, I dismissed the idea. This was our game, and tonight was her turn to pay the piper.
Long stretches occasionally went by without anyone working up the nerve to approach her, during which I joined Megan in scrolling on my phone and nursing a beer. Some time later, I looked up to see the back of a masculine shape that settled in on her left side. I didn't have a great angle and the lighting was poor, but it was clear this college student was classically handsome, if a bit boyish looking. He was probably a shade under six feet tall, had tightly cut light brown hair, and looked like he also knew his way around a gym.
"You've been here for a while tonight. Are you good?"
came the student's voice through the microphone hidden in Megan's cleavage and into my earpiece. Based on his look and voice, I couldn't imagine him being any older than 21.
"Oh I'm great,"
sounded Megan's playful voice. She swiveled in her chair to face him, evaluating her interest level.
"It's good that you're great,"
the kid said, a touch nervously.
"You come here often? Can't say I've seen you here before. Or maybe I have but you were wearing something else?"
"No, I wear this every day. I can't believe you don't remember me."
I could see the kid's face twist in confusion all the way from my far side of the adjoined room.
"Just kidding,"
came Megan's voice.
"This outfit was for a special occasion."
"A special occasion at
Rock Bottom?" he laughed.
"Yeah, I'm waiting for someone,"
Megan replied.
Not what she's looking for, I realized. I wondered what type she had in mind this evening.
"Oh yeah? Well, dressed like that, I hope they show up."
"Thanks. Me too,"
Megan said. With that, the student tapped the bar and slowly turned around to exit the conversation. Honestly, I admired his bravery - that kid had just put on his big boy pants and approached the hottest girl in the bar. Unfortunately for him, said girl was under very unusual constraints no one could have predicted.
I picked up my phone and typed
"Not what you wanted?"
A second later, my phone buzzed.
"No. Just you wait and see."
I debated issuing spicy commands before settling on texting her,
"If the next person is attractive, kiss them."
"Someone's feisty!"
my phone read.
I went back to my drink and waited. Some more time passed before anyone sat next to Megan again, but this time it was a group of friends occupying at least four or five stools - I could only see the last two closest to Megan. The outermost friend of this group was a petite light-skinned girl with dark brown hair, and the next friend was a burly man who seemed to mostly face inward toward the rest of their group. Everyone further to the left was out of view for me, but their arrangement seemed strange, as if that man almost forgot about the girl to his right.
"She cute?"
I texted Megan.
"Oh yes"
came the reply.
"Game on then."
I watched as the girl to Megan's left stole a few glances at her between failed attempts to get the bartender's attention. Megan picked up on at least the latter part as well, and a moment later I heard,
"What are you drinking?"
The brunette was briefly surprised at the question, then took in Megan more fully.
"I'm not sure, I've never been here before. What's good?"
"You've never been to
Rock Bottom?!" Megan asked. The question was fair -
Rock Bottom
was a popular place. Despite its dive bar aesthetic, its drinks and music were always good and its walkable location from campus meant everyone got home safely.
"I don't go here, I'm just visiting."
"Oh, welcome!"
Megan replied enthusiastically. She leaned in and whispered,
"What do you like?"
I unlocked my phone and texted
"Physical contact!"
. Megan looked at her phone out of the corner of her eye as it lit up to skim the command.
"What are you drinking?"
came the girl's reply.
"An Old Fashioned. Tom makes them well enough,"
Megan said with a nod at the bartender.
