Her

Real Game

By
Aki Halme

01 Cheerleader

Michelle Evans.
I had known her back in high school, but then our paths had diverged. I
liked to think of myself having been rather goal-oriented back then, but the
whole truth was not quite as flattering. Sure, I liked to succeed, but far as
social life went, it was not exactly my strength. When around a beautiful
woman I froze and could feel my IQ drop a hundred points while my face
could not decide whether to go pale or to blush. It was an unpleasant learning
experience to know that it can actually do both at the same.
And Michelle, well, she was the fairest of them all. She was a dark-haired
beauty with catching green eyes and contagious laughter, with a figure that the
other members of the school cheerleading team coveted and all the guys
desired. What puzzled me then was that she wasn't going steady with anyone.
She was getting B's and C's, and doing sports, but not romancing. I finally just
decided that she was probably too busy with the pom-poms to devote time to a
boy and books, so what extra time she had beyond cheerleading she spent with
her studies. That thought helped. There were rumors that she was actually
more into girls, but nothing confirmed. There were girls who were going
steady with each other, but nothing indicated that Michelle would be one of
them. She was a mystery, puzzle, enigma - and totally unreachable. It was only
when I was in college that I figured out that being seen as an angel with
spandex wings might actually set her apart and leave her lonely. Certainly
some lusted for her, but for someone that gorgeous it might be hard to find
love.
My confidence grew as I got my BA and then my Master’s degree. Those
led to prestige and the nice income that came with having of a good job, but
thoughts of Michelle kept haunting me and I found that I could not find a
woman to share my life with. There were coworkers and beauties at the gym
and the church that I got along with well, but none that felt like she might be
The One. None that could make my heart flutter. None, except the memories
of Michelle.
It was frustrating, especially as I hadn't even seen her since graduation day.
For all I knew she might have three kids by now, or an Olympic gold medal,
but there was also the possibility she was working at some diner and weighed
three hundred pounds. That thought was unsettling, and curiosity and longing
got tinged with worry. Finally I couldn't help it anymore. I just had to know.
Finding her proved to be an adventure. I expected it to be fairly easy as the
school had alumni records of everyone, but when I asked about her, the tone of
the alumni office altered to freezing and the secretary there hung up on me
after some vague warning. I wondered about that, and used google instead,
and found her - with a pay per minute phone number, an exotic stage name.
Her online ad was about bad boys seeking redemption and some acronyms and
lots of kinky words starting with a D.
I wasn't a teenager anymore, though, so I was not quite that easily daunted.
Besides, she looked awesome in the ad, even more attractive than she had
been in high school. There was now alluring self-confidence adding to her
allure. She was wearing black leather and plastic instead of the school colors,
and while in my eyes she was an angel still, her wings were no longer quite as
fluffy and white.
To me, that made her appear more accessible, so I called her $2.99 per
minute number. To my credit, as she answered my voice wasn't wavering,
though my hand felt a bit sweaty as I held my cell phone.

02 Call Girl

The voice she had used to greet me at first was totally different from what I
remembered. It was strict, maturely sensual now, immediately taking charge.
Her professional bedroom voice, I imagined. And then, just as suddenly, it
changed. She sounded so happy and young on the phone when she realized
who I was and remembered me from school.
"Oh god, I can't believe it's you! After so many years! How have you
been?"
"Yes, it's me, Shell. Life's been good to me."
"Are you sure about that?"
I heard the teasing smile in her voice. There was a power-play about that,
questioning me, seeing if she could put me on the defensive with a few words
- but I was no longer a teenager, so that didn't work. But she did have a point -
success didn't always lead to happiness, and for me it had not. I suppose
coming back to a long-lost crush like this after such a long time of no contact
at all made it all too obvious that I wasn't exactly on cloud nine.
"You’re perceptive as always. Things are good, but not quite great."
"Tell me about it." The tone of her voice changed. There was a double
meaning in the way she spoke, leaving it up to me whether to take her literally,
or just as polite chit-chat, and a layer of emotion I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I
took it for compassion, but it could’ve been regret.
"It’s a long story. If you actually mean that, then it is better we meet."
"I'm glad."
"Oh? Why’s that?"
A bit of amusement crept into her tone. "Back in school days you froze up
when I hoped you'd ask me out. I'm glad you no longer do."
For a moment I almost froze. It was a similar ploy, I noticed, as the earlier
words, reminding me of how star-struck I had been and seeing if that would
happen again... but not this time, not that easily.
"I've grown a bit since those days. Met people, seen places, done things. I
don't faze that simply."
"That's good. You’re a man now, then. Not a boy anymore.”
I smiled a bit, feeling like I had just scored a point in a game, and that she
had acknowledged it. "What about you? Are you a woman now, not a
cheerleader girl?"
"Cheerleader?" She laughed, but not at me. I liked the sound. “It’s been a
while since I did any of that.”
"I'm sure half the school dreamed of you in that outfit." There, take that, I
thought and grinned. Who is flustered now?
There was a long pause. When she finally spoke again her voice had
changed again. I thought there was a hint pain in it now. "These days the only
place I see pom-poms is on television.”
I got the sudden urge to apologize, but didn’t dare to. Something about her
me feel wary. “I don't watch sports, and very little television of any sort. Work
keeps me occupied, as I'm sure your works keeps you."
There was another brief pause. "Work... well, you know what I do. You
called my work number, after all."
"I saw your ad, and saw your stage name too. It’s catchy, but I don't really
know about such. It’s not really my world.”
"No?"
"Well, there is something on the internet, but I never know what is real and
what is not. If I'd take things on face value, I would've been bankrupt many
times by now."
I almost heard her make a decision, and after another brief pause she
simply asked, "Would you like to?"
"Would I like to… what exactly?"
“To know what I really do.”
“Uh... yes, I suppose. I'd really rather known that guess.”
“Good boy. But as you put it, that's a long story, so yes, we'd better meet
then.”
Boy? Where did that come from? Hadn’t she just called me a man a
moment earlier? “...all right. Let's meet, then.”
“How would dinner at my place sound? Tomorrow night. You bring the
wine, I the food? Catching up?”
I wasn't used to having a woman take charge, but also not inclined to back
off. “...sure. That sounds great.”
"Tomorrow at seven it is. Maybe we'll even watch some football together."
It was good to hear playfulness in her voice, but… football? "I'm not really
into football..." I started, but she cut me off with that lovely laughter of hers.
"Keep an open mind, okay? And maybe beautiful things can happen. See you
then. Don’t be late.”
She told me her address. We said a few niceties, and she hung up. An
automatic text message followed, my phone informing me that the half-hour
call had cost me almost a hundred bucks. But that was okay. I could afford it,
and I had a date. With Michelle. I grinned wildly, and started thinking of what
to wear and what kind of wine to get.

03 Loverboy

The idea of meeting her made my head spin. It felt surreal, and the years
that had passed since the time I last saw her melted away, but now I had
something I hadn't had back then; confidence.
Well. At least I was more confident than I used to be, and going by the
book would help me in holding onto my internal James Bond. A suitably
business-casual grooming would do. I had promised wine, but she hadn't
mentioned what kind of food there'd be, so there was no way to tell which
choices would go well what which ones not. What if she were a vegetarian?
Then there'd be no meat, so a red wine would be a poor choice. Similarly, a
white wine would go poorly with beef. And then there were all the other
variables. Land of origin, sweetness, bubbles, amount... too much would look
desperate, like trying to get laid by getting her drunk, while too little narrowed
down options and might embarrassingly run out. An obstacle course set to trip
a guy, and sap at what confidence there was.
Wait... perhaps it was intentional? Given how the call had gone, I decided
that it well might be. Was I being paranoid? Maybe I was. After all, it was just
a bottle of wine, but it felt like power play and a test to see whether I really
was a man or a boy. A man would just get on with it and buy something, while
a boy would stumble and be hamstrung with indecisiveness… much like I was
now. I winced.
So I made a decision, and went with a white and a red, a small bottle of
each, and a bit of sweet port wine in case there was dessert. I picked American
quality wines as she had mentioned the national sport, and fittingly, a label
even said "wine of the football season." Perfect. I then thought of flowers...
and decided against it. It would be romantic, and romantic was good, but
excessively so, which wasn't. I hedged my bets at an artisan shop, getting a
small box of chocolate roses; chocolate was another classic, and technically
those qualified as flowers, but that choice couldn't backfire. Chocolate never
did, and if it looked like too much, it was sufficiently over the top to pass as a
joke. A safe bet that covered all bases.
Michelle lived in a semi-detached house in the suburbs. A twin, as some
call them, in a quiet, fairly affluent-looking region. I saw her neighbor first, a
friendly-looking woman in her eighties, with hearing issues and an
appreciation for the simple courtesies of picking up her groceries when they
fell from her and then carrying them to her door. She seemed to be fond of
Michelle, and happy to be neighbors with her, and I imagined she was
probably fairly clueless about her line of her work. I mentioned to her that
Michelle and I had gone to school together and gave her my first name so that
she had some way to place me. And then I bid her good day. It was game time.
As I rang Michelle's doorbell, I noted a delicious, meaty fragrance in the
air… lamb chops. Red wine it would be, then. I hadn’t seriously taken her for
a vegetarian anyhow.
"You’re right on time. I like it that you are punctual.” Michelle greeted me
with a smile and a little kiss on me cheek. She accepted the red wine and the
chocolate, and raised her eyebrows in a knowing, amused fashion that for
some reason made me think of cats. Had she actually purred the R in 'right'?
 "Come on in. The food is almost ready." Yes, I decided, there had definite
been a purr, and another on the word ‘ready’.
She turned and I followed her, watching the way her dress flowed as she
sashayed back to the kitchen. There was a kettle and a pan ready, and a bowl
of salad. Michelle took the pan with the lamb chops and sauce, as well as the
wine, leaving the kettle and the salad bowl to me.
"Bring those, would you? Everything else is already set in the dining
room."
Yes, clear but discreet purrs, like a French exchange student or someone
with an extra feline gene might do. And while she worded what she said softly
as a request, it was very clearly a veiled order. I followed her meekly, and
thought that if she's a cat, what does that make me?

04 Mister Moneybags

Michelle proved to be a good cook, the lamb chops succulent, with just the
right amount of mint and rosemary, served with roasted veggies. There was
more salad than I was used to, but then, it was probably good for me. The red
wine went well with the meal.
"So," she asked. "What have you been up to since we last met?"
"Work," That was my standard answer. As she didn't seem convinced, I
elaborated. "Well. I got my BA in economics in two years so I could so I could
get on with it. That helped with the day-trading, but the big money, and the
reliable money, is in hedge funds. To get there, some more letters at the end of
the name are required to look inviting to the investors. It took me three more
years to get a PhD. I’ve been at my current job for eighteen months, and have
been able to keep a sufficient ROI to make me comfortable and the investors
happy."
All that rolled suavely, and with practiced ease. I had spoken my CV quite a
few times, though never to one as pretty as Michelle. She looked at me across
the rim of her glass. "I see."
The knowing way she looked at me made me uneasy, as did the brief
response. She certainly didn't seem awed though I made six figures a year
easy, working on seven. There was no way she could be worth anywhere near
as much as I was, but she still made me nervous.
 I tried to keep quiet, but eventually couldn’t. What exactly did she see?
"Um... see what?"
"I see that you feel you need to impress me."
Uh oh. I tried a grin. "Was it that obvious?"
She sidestepped the question. "Is there someone special in your life?"
There wasn’t, but that would take the discussion in a direction that could
get uncomfortable, so a simple ‘no’ wouldn’t do it. "I haven't really had time
to get very social… figured that socializing could wait. ‘Business before
pleasure’, as the saying goes.”
Even in my own ears that sounded like excuses. I knew what some of the
other traders were like; lonely, depressed, and with unhealthy eating habits,
living for the thrill of the money game. So detached from life... what we do is
like taking money shots intravenously, and it could be just as deadly as any
illegal drug. Had I felt those symptoms in myself...? Was that why I was here?
Michelle broke the reverie with a new question, "How about recreation and
fun?"
"Uh, I play racquetball mainly. And I jog a lot to keep fit.” I left computer
games off the list.
Michelle set her glass aside after one more sip. "Hedge funds and day-
trading,” she mused. “That's not my world. To me it all sounds like you're
committed to selling your life away a bit at a time to make money."
Me selling myself, stock by stock…? I slowly nodded. "That's a cruel way
to put it… but maybe not entirely wrong. It's not like we would age any slower
by doing something else. And the money is good."
"What do you get out of doing that aside from the money?"
I grinned. "Isn't the money enough? But it can be quite exciting. Some find
it addictive.”
She gave me a slow look that made me feel like I had just said something
stupid. "No, it is not enough, especially as deep down you don't seem to be
enjoying what you do much. How does what you do for work benefit others?"
"Huh?" I hadn’t even though of that.
She just looked at me, daring me to answer. I gave it an effort, an answer
that was true and not true at the same time. "Well. The hedge fund of course
creates profit for the investors..?"
 Not that I cared, except to the extent that they kept investing, but yes, what
I did made some people rich. Michelle gave me another of those looks, and it
felt like I was missing something that I should’ve caught. It was time to
change the subject and put the focus on her and stop squirming in the
spotlights.

05 Hooker

"Tell me about yourself, Shell. How does what you do benefit others?" Yes,
that would take the spotlight off me.
She grinned and her eyes lit up. "Oh, you'd be surprised."
I took Michelle's response as positive. "Enlighten me, then."
"You've seen my webcam page already. Don't you already consider yourself
‘enlightened’?”
There was something about her tone of voice that made it feel like I was on
a ledge, a very short step away from falling into a trap. I tried to be careful. "It
looked like adult entertainment to me...?"
The grinning smile played on her lips again, and there was something very
cat-like about her when she did that. "Half right. It’s definitely adult, but
entertainment is just a part of it."
"Sexual..?"
"That too is a part of it," she acknowledged. "But less than you'd think."
That was intriguing and puzzling, and got me thinking. Adult, partly
entertainment, partly sexual, but the webcam had hinted at more. It hinted at
things like leather and latex and dungeons and pain and bare skin. "That
doesn't sound like what I would expect from… uh, a person who does adult
entertainment."
A soft chuckle, but her gaze was sharp and the humor did not rise above her
lips. "Tell me what you did expect."
An order, that. Not a request. I stay quiet, trying to think of a way to
answer, and squirmed, but the way she looked at me gave no room to hide.
"Sex for money," I finally confessed.
The gaze hardened and became cold. "You mistook me for a hooker. And
yet you are here."
"Um..." I blushed, feeling cornered and caught. What could I say? Yes?
No? Those wouldn’t fly, so I tried something else. "…I missed you?"
Michelle laughed, and the ice was gone. Finally her eyes smiled too. "Nice
attempt of a save."
It was a relief that she was not calling cops on me, or throwing me out.
That gave me some hope, so I carried on. "Well... clearly you are not one. But
based on what I saw, I don't really know what it is you do. It is something I
have rather little experience in."
"You're telling me you're a virgin?"
I felt my ears go red. This was getting awkward. "Not quite. But... fairly
close."
"I see.”
Those simple words had me squirming again, and the way mirth danced in
her eyes, I saw that this time it had been intentional. Finally she gave me some
mercy and continued. “I'm a dominatrix, as my webpage says."
"Does that mean that you... uh, spank guys?"
"Spanking can be on the menu. And yes, many guys do want to be spanked.
Sometimes women do too."
She spanked women too? Or sometimes liked to be spanked? I was curious,
but this was not the time to ask, and I felt like the comment might’ve bene
another subtle trap. "I don't get it... why does someone want that?"
"A submissive could answer that better. It's about fulfillment of fantasies. A
big part of that is trust, giving up all control in a safe environment. There is the
element of purpose, instant feedback for performance, be it punishment for
doing something wrong or reward for doing well. Obviously there is the
sensual aspect to it too. It’s about gratification... if and when earned."
"What about the ropes and shackles and such? Are those too about, how
you put it, the trust, giving up control… safe environment?”
Michelle nodded and smiled. Her eyes shone with approval that made me
feel like I was glowing inside. It was unexpected to feel so good and not really
even understand why. "That is exactly it. Are you sure you haven't done such
before, that this is your first time?"
"Uh, I’m quite sure... what do you mean with ‘first time’?"
 She laughed, and I liked the sound of it, but as she came close she made me
feel very young and inexperienced. She took a gentle but firm hold of my chin,
her thumb stroking my lower lip, and leaned towards me, so close I could
sense her fragrance and warmth. "Yes... first time. After all this talk, I feel in
mood to play, and only so much can be explained with words. The rest is
show-don’t-tell."
She placed a soft, light kiss on my forehead. There was nothing naughty
about that but my body reacted to it with lightning-fast arousal. I went tense
and saw her smile as she withdrew. "I'm all about safe, sane, and consensual.
Consent means that you can leave at any time you like, even right now if you
want,” she murmured. "Or then do the dishes. When you’re ready, make
yourself comfortable in the living room. I’ll go change... and then, if the dishes
are done, we'll explore a fantasy.”
Michelle left the room and closed the door behind her. I pondered for a
moment what to do. Had I actually called up someone I had had a crush on
ever since high school, then dined at her table, and pretty much called her a
prostitute...? Apparently I had. I couldn't even figure out how I had messed up
so badly, and felt so dumb that I wanted to kick myself in the head. Should I
just leave and salvage what little was left of my dignity?

06 Comfortable?

Only I couldn’t make myself do it, or even seriously consider it. Up to my

elbows in water and foam and soap, I found myself puzzled. One thing I had
definitely not expected was to be ordered to do dishes, let alone, by hand. But
the real surprise was the emotions that went with doing the chore. There was
just one word for it... grateful. The task itself was simple and fast, but doing as
I was told felt like being let off the hook, given a way to redeem myself. I kept
washing as best I could, and grinned happily as I did. Washing two plates,
after all, a few utensils and glasses didn’t take long.
Returning to her living room I looked around and then sat on leather-
covered corner sofa wide enough for some serious snuggling. There was a
wide-screen television in front of me, set in a bookshelf. My gaze roamed,
noting her paperback books, the art on the shelves and the wall, a CD
collection, and of all things, a video camera. It was mounted above the
television, pointed at the sofa, and currently turned off. Some of the books
looked daunting, with topics like Sweet Surrender, Belong to Me, or Power
Exchange. One cover showed a black-and-white picture of a kneeling woman
in what seemed to be a sleeveless cocktail dress, with her arms bound behind
her back, not just at the wrists but intricately laced together almost all the way
to her shoulders.
The sensual theme continued in some of the artwork and paintings,
showing items that were beautiful in their own right but gave a feeling that
they might have alternate uses as well. The CDs seemed focused on Gothic
romance music, though there some classical, meditation / nature, and pop as
well. Similarly, not all her art or books made me feel like taking a look into a
foreign, dark world of sensual intensity. One art photograph especially,
showing a hand caressing a cat, gave me a sense of serenity and calm. I
watched it for a while, and could almost hear the picture purr.
I returned to the sofa, and as Michelle had told me to make myself
comfortable, so I removed my shoes and jacket, opened a few buttons of my
collared shirt, and waited.

07 Game On

The television flicked on, either by remote or timer. I started to rise, but
from behind me, a hand touched my cheek, keeping me still. "Don't get up,
and don’t turn," I heard Michelle's voice from behind me. "The game is just
about to start."
What game, I wondered. I lay back onto the sofa and tried to relax. The
base of her hand moved lightly to my shoulder, the fingertips of her right hand
tracing my front placket. I thought I sensed approval at the open buttons in her
touch, I tried to relax, but the touch of her fingertips and that of her smooth,
soft, warm, perfect forearm brushing along my cheek made it very difficult to
concentrate enough to form thoughts or words. It felt very good, and I realized
that all that touched me was bare sleeveless female perfection. She had not
permitted me to turn, so I could only feel her, not see, and my mind conjured
images of her wearing very little… or nothing at all. "I... game? I'm not really
that much into football, you know," I tried.
A soft chuckle caressed my ear, so close that it felt almost like a kiss. "I
think that is about to change. You mentioned on the phone you had dreamed of
me in a cheerleader outfit..."
I gasped at that, both at the vividness of the memories of Michelle dancing,
in that outfit, at the fantasies I had had about her... and at the awkwardness of
having just about confessed to her that I had had such dreams. My body
reacted with immediate arousal that my pose made very difficult to hide. I
tried anyhow, covering my lap with my left forearm, being as cool about it as I
could.
"No you won't," she commanded. She turned her body slightly sideways. I
could feel and hear her bosom brush along the back of my head… firm,
gliding effortlessly on contact, making me think of polyester and spandex and
cheerleaders. Her left hand took hold of my arm and pulled my hand away
from my lap, the bulge of my clothed erection straining against my pants
unveiled once more.
The contact confirmed it - she was wearing some sort of a cheerleader
costume, close enough that she was touching me... and telling me to face
forward. "I want to see you... please?"
"Hush. The game is starting."
A nibble on my ear stilled my efforts to turn. I saw two teams ready to face
off on green grass... one in blue shirts, white helmets, white pants; the other in
orange shirts, black helmets, white pants.
"I... I really don't follow this sport. I don't even know whether to cheer for
blue or orange."
"Everyone in my house cheers for the Pats."
"They are..."
"The ones in blue," Michelle offered helpfully.

08 Fanboy

"Let your hands stay where they are," Michelle ordered in a soft voice.
"And watch the game."
It was a simple command, but simple did not make it easy to follow. I very
much wanted to touch her or at least hide my lap from her so she could not see
my cock straining on my pants. I yearned to turn to look at her, my mind filled
with the fantasy image from high school days. The touch of her bosom to the
back of my head had suggested that she might be wearing that outfit or one
like it, but her body had changed a bit since those days and was even more
stunning now and my mind hot gotten even better at fantasizing. Neither
thought help my discomfort at all. I pushed my head back, raising my chin to
see her face. "I'd rather watch you than the game."
 "You clearly have difficulties in doing as instructed," she replied as we
made eye contact, odd as it was to see her upside down. She pulled back a bit,
denying me the touch of my head to her chest – something I took as a subtle
punishment. "Patience is something else we need to work on. Open your
mouth."
I did so immediately, instinctively, and to show I could take an order, and
then a shocking thought of a ball gag came to my mind. She placed something
between my lips – but it was no gag. The texture showed it was a small
meatball, with a hint of BBQ sauce. Quite delicious, actually, so I smiled with
my eyes.
"You coming here collared gave me an idea," Michelle continued, and
stroked my shirt collar with her fingertips as the backs of her fingers brushed
over my chest. It took me a while to figure out what she meant with ‘collared’,
and I groaned… then felt her gentle, kneading-like touch ease open one more
shirt button.
"Umfmf?" I was hard to speak with a mouthful of meatball. I swallowed
what was left of it.
"I like that sound too,” Michelle continued, “but you don't really know
what I do... not yet. And you don't really know much about football either. But
you will, if you want. I’ll teach you.”
A slow, soft kiss on the bridge of my nose followed.
"Show..? Teach??", I managed to gasp. The touch and the kiss made it hard
to stay still, but I found it difficult to move my arms even though the only
thing keeping them in place was her words. I felt my body arch up from the
sofa, and she took hold of my shirt collar on both sides, pinning my shoulders
in place.
"Yes. You’ll learn about football and about what I do. You don't mind, do
you?"
Clearly that was not a question. Her teeth teased the tip of my nose. "No... I
don't...mind."
"Good. The game goes like this. Each time our team, the Pats, does well on
the field... something nice will happen to you as well."
"Mm…" That sounded good.
"Perhaps it can be something very, very nice. But similarly, whenever the
Broncos succeed at something... it means that a penalty will come to you. It’s
only fair. There needs to be a balance.”
 "Penalty?!"
"Indeed so, my newly recruited fan boy," Michelle purred. "It could be a
task or perhaps an added discomfort or some form of privilege lost; something
that serves as your apology on behalf of the Broncos for getting in the way of
our team.”
"I... really hope the Pats win. But what if they don’t?”
"Good boy. I do too. If and when that happens, perhaps the fantasies you
had last time we met will come true. You'll need to tell me details of course.
And if they do not win, it calls for a very profound, sincere, deep apology. Or
if that is too much for you... you can always cheer for Broncos, and the session
ends immediately. You can do so at any point.”
"How come, ends?"
" I told you, everyone in my house cheers for the Pats."
She'd throw me out if I chickened out? "Go Pats?”" I tried, not very
convincingly. "Um, how long does the game last?"
"There are four quarters, fifteen minutes each. Plus pauses and commercials
during which we can do something else or chat. Open your mouth again."
I did, and was rewarded with a brushing caress on my chin, and then a sip
of beer and then a bite-size cheese treat. It was new to me to do exactly as
told, but there were certainly merits to it.
I turned my eyes to the screen. The teams were getting ready to start the
first quarter. "Go Pats!"

09 Touchdown

Football proved to be an easy game to get into, though not for the reasons I
expected. Michelle expected my attention on the events on screen when the
ball was in play, but that was a very small part of the time - only four seconds
per play or so, brief intense action followed by a slow motion repeat with
explanations and additional information from the commentators, or the camera
zooming on cheerleaders or mascots or the spectators.
The Broncos received the opening kick deep on their own half of the board
and rushed up. I was hoping they would trip on their feet or misplace the ball,
but the player who caught the ball managed to run a respectable distance
before crashing into the Patriots' defense and ending up tackled to the ground.
"Tell me about your dreams of me."
I tensed. The words were an order, though a softly spoken one. Michelle's
hands came on my chest, the soft pads of fingertips stroking, then the edge of
her fingernails sending a jolt of sensation through me, but she said nothing
more. I watched the television screen for help, but there was nothing there to
hide me. Both teams were regrouping, rows or linemen facing each other, with
the Bronco quarterback preparing something cunning that I very much wanted
to see fail. I gulped, and played for time, but there was no escape.
"Um... you don't mind?"
"I don't know yet, but it doesn't matter. I do mind that you try to stall, so
start talking, boy."
"I... uh... you were dancing in the outfit... like you do in the games... but
just for me."
"Go on."
"And.. uh.. I was sitting in an armchair. I told you to get... down on your...
do I have to continue? Please... ow!"
Her sharp fingernails closed around my right nipple, aroused by her touch. I
hadn't realized how sensitive they could be. Mostly I was oblivious that I even
had them. Not now though. The sensation of having it trapped between her
nails was extreme, not quite painful but almost. What's more it was arousing,
making my cock try to tear my zip apart.
"I don't appreciate it when I tell you to do something and you try to get out
of doing it so I need to tell you again. Pretty please, continue. You were
saying? ‘Down on my’..."
The voice... the claws…. she must have a cat in her ancestry, and not far
ancestry either. Where I had felt like I might have been imagining the R’s
before, this time there was no question. Ap-purr-reciate. Purr-retty please.
"Huh? Oh, yes. You were on your knees, on all fours. you were crawling
towards me with pom-poms and all. I, uh, watched you lick your lips and...
how your back swayed, your b.. behind moved. I unzipped... please, Michelle,
you know how it will go, do I really have to tell you how it will go?"
"Shush for now. The game resumed."
Whew. I was relieved and turned my attention to the screen. Play by play,
the Broncos had gotten closer to the end zone, and with 21 yards left between
them and a touchdown, things were getting intense. The ball was moving,
linemen crashing, the quarterback looking for someone to throw the ball to.
"No...!"
I hoped the ball would sail to the horizon, get intercepted, the quarterback
caught by someone, but nothing helped. An inch-perfect pass landed in the
arms of a catcher, putting the Broncos 6-0 in the lead, with a chance to kick an
extra point.
"Take off your shirt."
"Huh?"
"I told you that there is a cost to each time the Broncos score and they just
got six points. Your shirt is half-open already, so take it off. "
"Y... yes, Michelle."
I hastened my way out of the shirt, just as the Broncos were getting ready
to make an attempt for an extra point. Seven minutes of the first quarter
remained on the clock.
"What if they miss..?"
"Then you get a prize," Michelle purred. "What would you like that is
worth one point?"
"Maybe I could get a kiss?"
"You're on. It would be a very small kiss as we are talking of just one point.
A real kiss requires many more points than that. And if they don't miss..."
"Another cost. I get it."
Losing my pants would actually be a relief, so I didn't mind too much when
the Broncos made the attempt and went 7-0 in the lead. But Michelle wanted
something other than my pants.
"Here, put this on."
It was a leather bracer that covered my left forearm from the wrist almost
all the way to the elbow. It had enough straps on it that the fit was snug, and
numerous leather strings as Indian-style decoration, along with two rows of
metal rings.
"Is that a piece of gladiator armor?"
"Football is not that far from modern gladiator games," Michelle
acknowledged as I wore the bracer and secured the straps. It proved
comfortable and tight, in the manner of good sportswear.
"And now you can resume your story."
I winced. Clearly she was not into forgetting things and a delay was not an
opportunity to get away with something. It was just that – a delay.

10 Dancer

I kept silent, and slender arms on either side of my neck circled onto my
chest. Michelle's touch felt different now as her hands glided on my skin, and I
noted a slight fragrance. It was a massage oil of some sort. Soon after being
applied on me, it started making my skin feel warm in a pleasant, soothing,
relaxing way... the soft heat radiating deeper into my muscles. "Tell me," she
urged in a whisper.
"There’s not much more to say. I... opened my fly in the dream, and saw
you move between my parted knees, hands on my thighs… parting my legs. I
watched your face, and your... uh, chest... the outfit in the dream hides
something but hints much. And then..."
"I like that…" The sound in my ear was a fond murmur, encouraging me to
go on. Michelle leaned towards me, her fingertips brushing over my navel as
she applied more of the massaging oil over my abs, in round motions where
her fingers spread out like two fans, slowly working the oil into my skin.
Again I felt the back of my head press to her bosom, and this time the touch
was not brief or fleeting. Her breasts were like soft, firm pillows that I longed
to see, but feeling their touch to my hair was heavenly too.
"That is as far as the dreams went. I always woke up at that point, with you
leaning over me, your lips moist from licking them... a smile on your face. Oh,
that what you’re doing feels so good... please don't stop..."
The compliment and the request were accurate. I didn't want her to stop as
her touch on me was sheer bliss. But there was another purpose too,
distracting her, as often enough what I had described to her was not just a
dream, but an erotic fantasy, and while they ended in release of a sort I wasn’t
looking forward to confessing to her. Fortunately, Michelle didn't pry, at least,
not right now.
"The Pats are ready to score. All they need is just a few more yards. Who
knows, you might get a prize... is it still a kiss you want?"
 "Yes, but I also want to see you so bad."
"Watch the screen, boy. And maybe if you are lucky, you could get the
extra point small kiss too."
The ball was in play again, and the teams crashed together. The Patriot
quarterback passed the wall quickly, and the Broncos' defense was fooled.
There was no throw, but a running play, leading to a touchdown.
"Woohoo!!! GO PATRIOTS!!"
I found myself cheering loudly, not even paying attention to the absence of
Michelle's hands from my chest, and felt happy beyond measure for the points
the Patriots had scored six points for a touchdown. The score was almost tied
again, 7-6 for the Broncos, with the Patriots’ extra point kick coming.
I sensed a slight draft and movement beside me. Michelle glided past me
and.... oh sweet Lord. She wore a full New England Patriots cheerleader
costume, from a blue top and bottom top and bottom, with stars, silver pom-
poms, all the way to white leather boots, the reality far surpassing my
fantasies.
As the Pats lined up for the extra point kick, Michelle danced for me, a
wide smile on her face. She was not a teenager anymore, but this was even
better, she was all woman and absolutely, deliciously perfect. And the thought
that she might kiss me... if only the ball would go where it was supposed to…
but the extra point attempt went wide. Michelle's dance ended abruptly and
she set the pom-poms aside.
"That means a cost again," I acknowledged as the first quarter was ending
with the Broncos holding on to their lead.
"You betcha, lover boy."
Instead of a kiss, I got another bracer, a match to the first. This one too felt
snug and tight and nice. I looked at my arms… the bracers both felt and
looked pretty good. But what were all those steel rings about? Were they just
decoration?

11 Intermission

There was a short recess after the first quarter. Michelle seemed happy as
the Pats had just scored a touchdown, even though the extra point attempt had
failed. Seeing her dance, just for me, in that cheerleader outfit of hers was an
amazing thrill. She approached, almost sashayed... not quite as in my
fantasies, as she walked instead of going on all fours... but it was close.
So close.
All this was far more than I had ever dreamed possible. I held my breath,
my body stiff and rigid so I would not squirm on the sofa. I only started
breathing when she sat beside me... exhaling in one go the blast of air I had
held for far too long. She reached for a small bowl of bite-size snacks, and
brought it in my reach, and touched me, low on my chest. "Tell me your
thoughts."
"...what about?" I stalled, and took a snack. Michelle just smiled, not letting
me off the hook.
"Um, I didn't expect I'd actually… like doing dishes."
She seemed amused. "Is that the best hospitality I've offered tonight? I must
invite you more often."
"I don't get it. I usually find housework boring. This time it felt like..."
She looked at me intently. "Like?"
I paused to think for a bit. "It felt like forgiveness. I... I never intended to
call you such names. I'm sorry. I..."
Michelle dismissed the apology. "It's past. Don't dwell on it. We're way past
dishes now. Talk about now."
"Uh, okay. I... couldn't imagine that I'd take my shirt off for you."
"For me?"
"Um.. yes? You told me to..?"
"I told you to. You obeyed. But was it for me?"
I realized that I liked being without the shirt... enjoying her touch on my
bare skin, and her gaze on me. "It wasn’t just for you. It was for us?”
"Better."
"What of these... bracers?"
"Do you like them?"
"I... yes. But what are they for? And what are these metal rings here?" I
touched one of them, next to my right wrist.
Michelle grinned, and her eyes sparkled with mischief and hidden promise.
"If we work well together, perhaps I'll show you. For now, consider them
ornaments. Think of them as jewelry for guys.”
Right… something had caught my attention earlier. "Uh... you spoke of the
collar of my shirt?"
"Mm, I did, yes."
I inhaled and dared a guess. "Do you also have such a leather thing for the
neck?"
“Something like a dog collar?” she teased, and I nodded.
"You'll see. But the second quarter is about to start."
"Oh." My voice was sad. The talk was better than watching television,
especially now that I could see Michelle.
"No sulking. The half-time break is longer. And… when you want, you can
open your belt and fly."

12 Mistress

The game resumed with the Broncos holding the ball, the Patriots making a
defense near the middle of the field. The first attempts made little headway,
until, to my surprise, one of them simply kicked the ball down the field
towards the Patriot end zone. The Patriots caught it, but when the action
stopped again the Pats were unpleasantly close to their own home zone.
"Are they allowed to do that?"
"Yes, unfortunately," Michelle hissed. "It’s called a punt. At least the Pats
now have the ball."
That was a relief, but not the only relief I needed. My length was pressing
on my fly so hard that it literally hurt. Having Michelle sit beside me so that at
any time I could turn my gaze to see the curve of her back and waist, as well
as the gorgeous shape of her bottom, made my arousal even more intolerable.
My mind kept repeating the words she had said, the promise that at any time I
could open my fly and belt if I so chose, and finally I couldn’t help it.
I took her up on that offer, and undid my pants button and belt, and
unzipped. Such relief, so blissful… but it was embarrassing at the same time.
My manhood turned my underwear into a tent, the shape very visible now. At
least there wasn't a damp spot at my tip from pre-cum… though that could be
just a matter of time with her. I also had the feeling that while she had given
me the choice on whether to open my fly or not, reversing that action might
not be as simple.
The situation on the field got worse. With only ten yards behind him, the
Pats quarterback tried a hasty move that the Broncos read perfectly. The ball
was intercepted in mid-flight, and the Broncos prepared for a scoring attempt.
"Getting dangerously close again, lover-boy," Michelle murmured, her
hand stroking my abs, only an inch from the waistband of my underwear. Her
fingers curled and flexed, the caress built anticipation, and I blushed profusely
as I saw and felt one effect thereof. A damp dot appeared at the tip of my cock,
marking my underwear. It betrayed her effect on me as profoundly as my
hardness did, but in a lasting manner. She made no comment, so I tried to
distract her more.
"What if..."
"The first touchdown cost you a big piece of clothing that you had partly
opened."
"Will this one too...?"
"Keep watching the game. Maybe there is no need for a cost."
For a moment there wasn't, as the first attempt of a short pass failed, but the
Broncos did not fail twice. The second attempt looked like it had involved a
bit of luck as one of their runners tried to catch the ball in the scoring zone but
failed, but another caught the ball before it hit the ground. That counted,
putting the Broncos 13-6 in the lead.
Quietly I removed my pants without a word as the Broncos prepared for an
extra point kick.
"Maybe I get a kiss this time as they fail?"
"Maybe you will," replied Michelle, her gaze on the screen.
No such luck. A kick later the score was 14-6, so no kiss for me. "How will
I pay penance for this one?" I offered with a resigned voice. "You mentioned a
collar…?"
Michelle considered that a moment, her fingers making idle patterns on my
chest. I eventually recognized that she was drawing question marks on me.
"No. That would be such a big step that it will require more than a successful
extra point attempt... put this on."
 It proved to be a bracer much like the two I already wore, only this one was
for my left ankle and shin.
"This outfit is really like something from a Russell Crowe movie,” I tried.
“Does the full set include a codpiece too? I feel left out, with just three of
these. My right ankle feels so naked."
Michelle laughed. "You really need to work on patience. Perhaps the Pats
make an awesome comeback and win the game… then you might not need a
codpiece unless you really want one.”
Those words sounded so full of flirty promise that I just about groaned, and
my length twitched in happy agreement.
The second quarter continued. I cheered loudly, and Michelle rewarded my
enthusiasm with a massage on my thighs, using same warming massage oil
she had applied on my chest and abs. It was pleasant, and we enjoyed more of
snacks she had prepared as the game went on. The Pats built up their attack -
until a missed pass turned the ball over to the Broncos at the very end of the
second quarter. A time-out didn't help, and with only seconds on the clock, the
situation for the Pats became even bleaker as a field goal put the Broncos 17-6
in the lead.
"What is it with those guys and their kicks??" I exasperated.
"That was a three-point field goal," Michelle replied. "It’s time to complete
your outfit. First, put this on."
It was the final bracer, for my right ankle and shin. "What… you said,
'first'?"
"Lean forward."
I did, and she knelt on the sofa behind me. The spandex-polyester outfit
brushed my back, and I felt her thighs press on my lower back, a blaze of
warmth from between her thighs suggesting I might not be the only one
aroused though she hid it far better than I did. Her fingers touched me under
my chin, and lifted my jaw so I only saw the ceiling.
“What...” I moaned.
"We did speak of this," she replied, and I felt something leathery touch my
throat. Cold metal rings touched me, on shoulders, upper chest, and neck. She
closed the collar on my neck, and it felt much like the bracers had. It was
snug, but not so tight it would be uncomfortable, with a similar strap-and-clasp
to keep it in place.
"I really like the way you look right now," Michelle purred in a satisfied
voice, and toyed with the steel ring dangling on my upper chest.
"A… mutual feeling," I replied, and tried to turn my head so I could see her
better - but her hold on the ring set to the collar prevented that. I couldn’t turn
my head.
"OH!", I gasped. The physical restraint to my movement sent a very
sensual shock through me.
So that’s what the rings were for.
"Oh indeed," Michelle grinned, and kissed me lightly on my temple. "I'm
looking forward to the second half. Are you?"
"Yes, Michelle."
"I know you're new to this..." she then murmured, bringing her fingertips to
tease my left nipple. This time her touch gave only no pain, just pleasure, and
it made my heart beat faster. "…but it's customary for someone wearing a
collar to use a title instead of a name when addressing the person who collared
him. Could you do that?"
I didn't need to ask what title she meant. "I suppose I could, Mistress.”

13 Halftime

It was halftime, and the television showed commercials and a show of

dance and music. Michelle was more into the game than the show, and I was
in the presence of a real-life dominant cheerleader of my own, so the ones on
television, alluring though they were, didn't compare. It was good to see her
dance a bit, doing some of the routines shown on the television... but I wanted
more.
"Michelle, I…”
*THWACK!* For a moment I didn't even realize what had happened, and
then saw an item in her hand. Not a pom-pom this time, but sleek, black
leather with a flat, wide tip... a riding crop. It had impacted on my bare
recently massaged thigh. There was a feeling of shock, part impact and part
sound, though neither actual pain nor a mark.
“OW!"
"How quickly you forget," she purred. "Title is expected. Now, one of us
will apologize, and which one depends on whether you wish to wear the collar
and see where the rabbit hole leads. If you choose to keep it on... play the part,
say sorry, and mean it."
I stared the crop. She held the handle in her left hand, the shaft slowly
gliding between her right thumb and the tip of her index finger, slowly and
sensuously... making me think of how it would feel to have that hand on me
instead. Taking the collar off now, ending the evening due to one slap that had
not even hurt was unthinkable. "I apologize, Mich… I mean, Mistress."
"Apology accepted," Michelle replied with a smile. She brought the crop on
my skin once more, but this time the touch was a caress on my thighs and hips,
bringing my attention to my straining manhood and making me groan and
squirm. "Now, what did you mean to say?"
"Um…"
Michelle said nothing, just continued caressing me with the crop on my
thighs and abs, making it very difficult to form words and sentences.
"The metal rings on the collar and bracers, Mistress?"
"What about them?"
"They are not just ornaments, are they?"
The sweet torment of the crop caress continued. I moved one hand and she
shook her hand, commanding me silently to stay still. "What makes you think
that?"
"They look like they could be attached to something."
"So they do. And they certainly could," Michelle acknowledged. "I might
have you wear one more pair, around your thighs, but this time those five will
do. Carbine hooks are handy when combined with steel rings. They are easy to
latch on, and quick to release if necessary.”
"Would you show me?"
She gave me one to examine. "I prefer eyelet locking carbine hooks. Each
carries a grown man's weight ten times over, so they won't break no matter
what." The hooks looked like exclamation marks made of shiny 10mm steel,
and made me think of mountain climbing.
"So... those would attach to one of the steel on the bracers or the collar?
And..."
"...and to another ring that is worn, or then one that is fixed elsewhere. The
eyelet also serves as a place to attach a rope."
 "Wow."
Michelle laughed.
I gave the carbine hook back. "But Mistress, why would anyone consent to
wearing these?"
"It's liberating. You'd be free to whatever you can to the full extent your
capacity, without needing to hold back at all. Of course, you wouldn't be able
to move much, but you would be free to try, and it’s the intent matters more,
not the outcome."
That thought sounded odd. How could one be free, not in spite of shackles
but because of them? It sounded plausible, but totally outside my realm of
experience.
*CLICK*
I snapped out of reverie, and saw the carbine hook loosely dangling from
the ring on my left ankle. Unlocked, unattached to anything but that one
bracer, it nonetheless looked titillating and daunting at the same time.
"The third quarter starts." Michelle informed me.
"Huh? Oh yes. Go Patriots!"

13 Third Quarter

The third quarter started, and Michelle looked annoyed as the Broncos
seemed focused now to secure their lead. With seventeen points over six, and
only two fifteen-minute quarters to go, their lead seemed secure. Frustration
mounted, and though the Pats advanced across the gridiron, it looked too slow.
Clearly the players were unhappy with the situation too, and finally there was
an attempt at a field goal, kicked from so far it seemed impossible to me... and
yet, the ball sailed beautifully where intended, narrowing the gap in points to
17-9.
I chanted my support to the Patriots, and Michelle celebrated the points by
dancing her cheer-leading routine. She then turned, and dropped quickly on all
fours, facing me, and moved on all fours across the floor, sensuously like a
stalking panther, licking her lips... exactly as in my dream.
"Raise and part your knees," she purred.
 My legs reacted without conscious thought, and through the V-shape of my
thighs I watched her approach, and gulped.
"Is this as you dreamed?"
"Oh, oh, yes... yes, Mistress. It is exactly as I dreamed.."
Her hands felt cool and soft as they touched my thighs. She glanced at my
crotch... and I moaned as I felt her blow a jet of air on my clothed length,
trailing from my sac all the way to the tip of my manhood.
"I like seeing your legs this way," Michelle cooed.
I couldn't protest. Seeing her right there, I rather liked it too. And then..
*CLICK*
Michelle attached another carbine hook on my steel rings, this time on my
right ankle. Neither hook impeded my movements at all, being unattached to
anything else.
"What..? Why?"
"Just a little something for you to get used to, boy, as you didn't say where
the dream would lead from there. Unfortunate as if you had told me, I might
have been tempted to follow your dream even further…"
I gulped, and couldn't confess why the dream hadn't gone much further. I
had speculated sometimes about it, but my body had reacted hard and fast
even at that point.
Michelle withdrew a bit, and I noticed an item in her hand - a bar of shining
metal, about 12 inches long, with four rings attached to it, one at each end and
then at four-inch intervals. That looked like something that would really hurt if
used as a bludgeoning weapon.
"W...what's that?"
"A piece of steel," she replied in an innocent voice, giving away nothing
but the obvious. Two clicks later it was attached to both my ankles. Unlocked,
but I would need my hands to remove it, and while it was there it kept my feet
12 inches apart, no more, no less. It felt daunting, yet thrilling at the same
time. “It’s called a spreader bar, for obvious reasons.”
"I… okay, I see that."
"A few minutes left of the third quarter. Let me know how it feels when the
quarter ends."
"Yes, Mistress Michelle.”
 The third quarter did not end well. The Pats had gained confidence during
the time the Broncos had focused on defense, and the field goal led to brief
euphoria. The Broncos punished immediately, scoring a field goal of their
own, and then returned to the defensive. The Pats advanced well, but the
quarter ended before they managed to conclude their attack, with 20-9 on the
board and just one quarter to go.
Michelle said nothing. I wondered what punishment she might have in
mind for me for those three points, but there was none. Her silence was harder
to bear... and then I realized that that was the punishment.
"Mi..."
"Hush.”
I stayed quiet, nervous... and she reached to stroke my thigh. The feeling of
having my ankles shackled certainly made that sensation more intense. I bit
my lip to keep quiet.
"I’m thinking of riding you," she finally said.
My eyes widened, lips parting as an O.
"Would you like that?"
"Definitely, very much so, I mean, yes Mistress. Thank you?” I babbled.
"Good boy." Her hand brushed my underwear right next to my length, and I
felt the garment tighten on aroused skin. I arched towards her touch, but she
pulled her hand away.
"There is one more quarter to go. Then I’ll decide how I'll ride you."
I imagined her straddling my lap... riding me for her pleasure and mine. For
some reason I also pictured my wrists linked to the steel on the neck of with a
carbine hook, and the picture felt tantalizing. "You may ride me… any way
you choose" I stammered.
She laughed at my willingness to acquiesce, and the sound was soft and
lovely. "We'll get along just fine, boy, and I hope you stay the night. But first,
we watch the fourth and final quarter."
Stay the night? Oh, please! “PATS! PATS! PATS!"

14 Final Quarter

 Twenty points to nine with only fifteen minutes to go wasn’t good odds for
the Pats. It would take a miracle, but it had been a spectacular evening already.
I was worried, and cheered wildly as the Pats took to the field. The momentum
from the third quarter continued, the Broncos defending their lead but not
seeking to expand it. Minutes trickled away, and it seemed at one point that the
Broncos just about offered an opportunity for a field goal attempt. Those were
only three points each, whereas a touchdown would score six with a chance
for one more point, so there was no chance that that the Pats would win on
field goals only. Besides, they were risky when launched from a distance. Still,
when the opportunity presented itself, with only nine minutes to go, the Pats
kicking specialist gave it a go. The distance was great, the angle awkward, and
for a moment it looked like the ball would sail off target to the left... but it
didn't. The Pats narrowed the score to 20-12.
"WOO HOO … huh!?!"
I stood up abruptly and from the sofa, arms raised high, and cheered wildly.
Unfortunately I forgot that my ankles were linked together with the spreader
bar. I didn't even have a chance to yelp as the bar linking my ankles stopped
me, and I fell down onto Michelle’s soft carpet, on my hands and knees.
"Are you all right??" Michelle's voice was concerned as she dashed to me.
"I'm fine, Michelle, I just for OW!!!"
My right bum cheek stung from a quick open palm slap. So this is what it
felt like to be spanked. “Mistress! I mean, Mistress!"
Her voice stayed soft. "I'm glad you weren't hurt. Best be careful from now
on. Stay as you are… and as for titles, you have done fairly well. It becomes
second nature, but that takes a while.”
"Okay."
A soft kiss landed high on my cheek - and with a CLICK, a new carbine
hook attached to the ring on my left forearm bracer. "Good boy."
I turned my head to keep track of where Michelle was going. She had
fetched a bowl, and in it was a small pair of nail scissors. "I'll cut your
underwear off now, if are not too fond of that pair. And then I'll spread some
lotion where I spanked you. Would you like that? Thank me if you do.”
For that I could definitely spare a pair of underwear, and saying I was 'fond
of' my undies would've been weird anyway. Besides, she had hinted she'd ride
me, and for that having no underwear on would be very good. Besides, my
ankles remained chained. "I’d like that... very much. Thank you, Mistress.”
 "Watch the game. Keep your eyes on screen."
I held my breath at the metallic sound as the only piece of garment I wore,
not counting the leather bondage-wear, was cut to pieces with an unnecessarily
great number of small clip-clip sounds. Together with not being able to bring
my legs together due to the bar linking my ankles, the combination was heady
and somewhat terrifying. My manhood was so erect it almost hurt… and then
the underwear was gone.
"Keep your eyes on that screen.”
"Yes, Mistress, I will."
Michelle's touch on my bare butt was cool and slippery, making me try to
clench my buttocks together. I realized that with my shins chained apart I
could not do that very firmly, and moaned as I realized that. She ignored both
reactions, and carefully traced a hand pattern on my butt. The coolness was a
delicious contrast to the sting from her earlier slap. I rocked a bit, wanting
more... and heard the whisper of her outfit as she changed position behind me.
There was a feeling of contact and weight as she sat astride me on my hips
like I was a horse. So this is what she had intended with 'riding me'. Her hips
swayed slightly and I felt the heat of her sex through the spandex as she
rubbed herself slightly on my tailbone and the small of my back. It was a small
movement, but it felt oh so good, the spandex-polyester cheerleader outfit firm
and slippery between us. I could barely even keep my mind in focus, every bit
of my attention on feeling the contact of Michelle's sex and thighs to my
bottom and back - but with two and a half minutes left in the game, a Patriot
touchdown narrowed the score to 20 - 18, and the shrill sound of Michelle
cheer was unmistakable. I shouted my support for the team too. Just two more
points - one, if the extra point kick would make it... but it missed.
"Two minutes," I noted, and crinkled my nose at a new fragrance. "Two
points. What can they do?"
"A two-point safety would put the game to overtime. Or they can try a field
goal for win. Or of course, go for a touchdown.”
"What is that smell...?"
"That, boy, is a fresh ginger stalk. I peel it for you just in case the Pats don’t
win.”
"Are we... cooking?" My voice was disappointed. Being naked, with an
invitation to spend the night, cooking wasn't what I expected.
"No more cooking…" The purr was wicked. "It’s a technique called
figging. Look it up sometime. It makes one very sensitive…”
"So it’s an aphrodisiac?"
"Yes, but not only that. Eyes to the screen; the Pats are making their last
play. Pray it works."
I watched the screen, and for a moment managed to divert my attention
from being naked, on all fours, chained, with my high school sitting on my
back in a cheerleading costume. The Broncos' touchdown zone was so close,
but there were only a few seconds left on the clock. Then the ball was in play,
and I watched the seconds tick away one by one. "Come on… make it...!"

15 Riding Gingerly

The sweet rewards of victory from one final kick, or whatever defeat might
bring? Just two points to go. Two minutes to score them in. "No... no…. this…
can’t be… make it…!!”
And then it was 90 seconds. Then one minute. then only 30 seconds
remained. and there was time only for one near-desperate final toss that
would’ve miraculously turn the looming defeat into a last-minute triumph both
for the Pats and for me. I watched the last seconds tick away in dismay, but the
Broncos’ defense held and 20 – 18 remained on the scoreboard. as the end
result. Michelle switched the television off, and I watched the dark screen for a
while, and lowered my head. I couldn't believe my team had lost... and
couldn't recall that only two hours earlier I couldn't have cared less about
football.
"Cuff your wrists together," Michelle ordered.
The hook was already there, attached to one wrist. Numbly I latched it to
the other as well, and felt a brushing touch on my back, light and long, narrow
and leathery. As carbine hooks latched to my collar on both sides, I realized
that Michelle had attached reins to my collar. She was very literally planning
to ride me, and for a moment, I hesitated.
"Time for bed," she told me, and all my hesitance evaporated.
"But first, there needs to be a punishment for our team losing the game. If
you are ready for one, that is.”
"I think so, Mistress.”
 "Just a yes or no will do."
"Yes, Mistress, I am ready.”
She dismounted and moved behind me, still holding on to the reins. I
turned my head right and tried to see, what she was doing, but a nudge on the
left side of the by the reins corrected my pose, tugging me the other way - not
hard, but giving a clear message. My restlessness grew, but she shushed me
and quieted me with a caress on my inner thighs.
There was a touch on my butt. It was cool and slippery, even more than the
massage cream had been. It was very clearly an item, not her hand. I had heard
of butt plugs but never experienced what they would feel like – would that be
the item sliding along the groove between my buttocks? I gritted my teeth, and
the item stopped on my anus, circling a bit. I held my breath, and tried to close
my rear, but the spreader bar on my ankles prevented that. With my ankles
spread wide, I couldn’t even resist as the item, whatever it was, was pushed
inside my butt. It felt cool for a few more seconds more, but the sensation
turned warm… and unexpectedly, pleasantly arousing. A whiff of a crisp
fragrance reached my nose and I realized that Michelle had pushed a peeled
ginger stalk inside me.
The pleasure and the warmth became slowly more intense, enough so to be
overwhelming. The pleasure increased to a burning need, the warmth a chili-
like burn in a place where I had never sensed such. I relaxed as best I could to
diminish the burn, but Michelle mounted me again, sitting lightly on my back,
and flicked the reins. There was an impact of leather on my back. It was not
hard, not painful, merely a message. It was an order given and understood, so I
moved.
The handcuffs and the spreader bar between my ankles made moving on all
fours somewhat challenging, but caused my rear to move sideways a lot more
than it otherwise would have. That caused me body to clench on the ginger
stalk inside me on each crawling step, increasing the burn into agony. I tried
my utmost to make the movements controlled and even so it would burn less,
and found that very difficult to do. The sensation increased, and arousal along
with it. My stoic silence turned into whimpering. It hurt… and made me want
sex, really badly. Her bedroom couldn't be that far away, could it? If I had had
my voice I would have begged her not to take me on a tour of her home, but
all I could do was gasp and sob, and take just one step more.
The bedroom wasn’t far, and Michelle took me straight there. I think it was
just twenty steps, one for each of the points that the Broncos had scored in the
game, but by time the crawl was done it felt much longer. Need and pain
burned as one flame that could have been one or the other or both at the same
time, and I could hardly even see as I came to a sudden stop, my arms
bumping to the side of Michelle's bed, my cheek touching her sheets.
"Stay still." She rose off my back, and I felt her taking the ginger stalk out.
Some aching sensation remained, but the burn was becoming a throb and the
fire lessened into glowing warmth. The feeling of relief and gratitude flooding
through me was amazing, and the arousal remained. More came from a cool
swipe of some cloth along the crack between my butt cheeks.
"Thank you, Mistress..." I whispered, and meant every word.
What I did not expect was the touch of her fingers near the base of my
cock. Her hold there was a pinch, not painful, but very effective in making my
erection deflate. “What..? Why..?”
"We spoke of patience before, boy. Meditate with that word as focus.”

16 Endgame

I tried to think of every possible aspect of patience. There was not much I
could do anyhow as I couldn't turn due to the cuffs linking my wrists, and I
couldn’t close my thighs together because of the spreader bar.
Michelle slipped what felt like a metal around my manhood, and then
added what felt like a cage around my shaft. A small lock linked the two
together. She freed my ankles and removed the reins from the collar. That was
a good feeling, and I let my ankles spread a bit more.
"Sit on the bed."
I felt puzzled but very willing to obey. The coolness of her bed felt good on
my aching bum, and sitting down was less inconvenient than standing as my
wrists remained linked together with one last carbine hook. I heeded her order
fast, and watched Michelle stand in front of me in her cheer-leader outfit,
every inch a football goddess if there ever was one. I glanced quickly in my
lap, and saw a metal cage around my penis, locked in place and preventing me
from getting another hard-for as long as the cage remained in place.
I stayed quiet, admiring the sight as Michelle opened the top of her outfit
without any haste, revealing her bosom. My eyes widened... and she turned
sideways, letting me see a side view of her breasts as she slowly removed the
bottom part of the outfit. I made a silent prayer that she'd turn towards me...
and she did, as naked as I was, except for the boots.
 With a sexy sashay she approached me, and placed her hands on my
shoulders, then raised her right foot on the edge of the bed.
"There is a zipper on the side of the boots. Open it."
The pose made her very exposed to my sight, and with trembling, cuffed
hands I did my best to heed her request. "Good. Now unzip the other one."
Again I could see all of her, the delicious fragrance of her sex all around
me, her thighs parted right in front of my gaze, one foot raised onto the edge
of bed as I caressed the zipper down... while the device she had locked on me
very effectively prevented any chance of a hard-on despite an urgent attempt
by my cock.
Michelle pushed my shoulders lightly until I was on my back in bed.
"Good. This night is just for sleep as our team lost didn’t win. Will you
behave, or do you need more jewelry?"
Oh. "I... will behave, Mistress."
"Curl on your side. Big or small?"
I complied, of course, though I didn’t understand the question. "Small,
Mistress."
"You'll be the small spoon tonight.”
Michelle removed her boots and joined me in bed, settling behind me. Her
beautiful breasts and firm tummy brushed along my back, her sex radiated fire
on my butt, the long dreamy legs intertwined with mine. I felt her slender left
arm under my neck, and trembled as her right hand caressed my side and hip.
The cage and the wrist cuffs made it impossible to do much in return, I only
could reach to lightly stroke her forearm with my fingertips, and did that.. I
felt so hot that the bed covers she placed partly on us both, cocooning us
together, were somewhat obsolete.
Then there was a small, soft kiss on my neck. "I'm very glad we got to meet
again,” " she whispered in a fond voice.
"As am I, Mistress," I replied with the widest possible grin on my happy
face.
"Good night."
I stayed awake for quite some time, partly because of arousal that I could
do nothing much about, but mainly because there was much on my mind. I
thought of the football game, and realized it had been a recording. I did not
follow sports much, it was impossible to avoid it altogether, and the final score
rang a bell. Being a Patriots fan, Michelle had obviously known that the Pats
would not win that game, but that it would be close – but she had watched the
game with me anyhow. The entire experience, from the game playing on
television to the treats to the outfit, rewards, punishments, bracers and
carabiners, she had planned it for us. All that because mentioned I had dreamt
of her as cheerleader during our high school days, arranged as a foreplay that
showcased what it was that she does, and to make my fantasy real. Even that
final question of hers, ‘big or small’, was part of it. If I had chosen big instead
of small it would almost certainly have been “I’ll be the big spoon” with the
same end result.
What we had talked about spanking now made perfect sense. Being
Mistress, she was the one who set the rules. That was as it should be, and it
was good. For me, that meant a night in her bed, sleeping in her arms with her
sleep-hot body gently pressed to mine. I certainly looked forward to waking
up with her and seeing what the next morning would bring, and I hoped that
there would many more such mornings to come.
Michelle’s real game today had not been football. The game was me, and
she had won. I felt her breathing dance on my ear, I felt like I had won too.

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