Lady Fortune

There was an old gambler's caveat about betting on "a sure thing". The tale goes that if someone comes up to you and bets that if you choose a card from a sealed deck they can make it levitate and spit water on you, youdo not take the bet! The reasoning is obvious. They wouldn't have offered the bet unless they felt certain they could accomplish the seemingly impossible feat.

Since a trip to Vegas had been in the works for Alison, it was a warning she should have taken seriously! Instead, she walked naively into just such a no-win bet.

It all started with a dispute with her best friend and roommate, Chelsea. The two weren't afraid to get down and dirty when they watched TV. Anything could spark a lively debate. EvenTrue Blood, usually sacred viewing, was no exception. Of course, in that case it waited until after the show was over.

In this case, the discussion was how much of a man-slut Jason was in their favorite show. While neither saw fit to argue this was anything but simple truth, it was the reason that came under fire. Chelsea insisted that you had to make some exceptions for guys. After all, they couldn't help the intensity of their sex drives or the way it flavored their thought process.

Alison refused to agree. After all, it was nothing more than a matter of choice and self-control. Okay, so maybe he needed the physical relief for biological reasons. The simple answer was to use his own hands. He didn't have to jump from woman to woman obsessively. There were plenty of men who were strictly monogamous.

To this day, Alison still wasn't certain how Chelsea had steered the conversation around to the two of them. The shift had come about, somehow, through pointing out the proclivities of prison inmates. Something about how they turned to homosexuality out of necessity.

That was where Alison had fallen into the trap. She'd insisted that no situation would ever force her that far outside of her typical habits. She graciously conceded that she wasn't against the possibility of a lesbian encounter but it would be because she loved and respected the woman, not because she was the best choice out of a bad situation.

Chelsea jumped on the boast like a lioness on an antelope. For years, the noted bisexual had teased about a liaison between the roommates. Although posed as jokes, it was clear that the sentiment ran far deeper than mere jest. The challenge she offered looked like nothing more than one more joking attempt to get her in bed. As presented, however, it seemed a perfect means to get her to do the laundry for two months.

Now, Alison was fairly certain that her roommate expected not only to receive the reward of laundry service but also gain the added bonus of her desperately desired tryst at last! Unfortunately, Alison wasn't entirely certain she could resist.

The trip had seemed the perfect opportunity to play out their dispute. After all, where else but Vegas was the city of sin and hedonism? If the trip was a working vacation, that didn't matter much. The two models spent most of their time standing next to an artist's booth and posing with whoever happened to wander by. They were eye candy. There was plenty of time during that to partake in a more intellectual pursuit.

Unfortunately, Alison hadn't taken into consideration how realistic her roomy would manage to make the situation. They couldn't change her body chemistry, so hormones couldn't play a factor the way they could in guys. Similarly, both refused to accept that drugs would be a viable alternative. They were professionals. It might be a relatively simple gig but they refused to do that while working. After hours was fine, but not at work!

Since they were in Vegas, the first stipulation was that Alison would have to restrict herself, sexually speaking, only to someone she'd known for at least a week. True, randomly throwing herself at some stranger would prove the point about Jason but it said nothing about the final course of the argument; that she wouldn't resort to homosexuality simply because of the situation she found herself in.

It hadn't really dawned on her that it meant she'd be restricted in partners to the artist on whose arms they would be draped (who happened to be her ex and would probably create a very awkward situation) or her bisexual roommate. When she finallydid realize that, it still didn't bother her much. After all, as her own argument went, she could just masturbate. She hadn't wanted to risk sneaking a vibrator through airport security but she didn't, strictly speaking, need one.

The second part, she hadn't learned until they unpacked in their room, the night before the convention. In order to simulate a teenage male's libido, Alison would wear something beneath her outfit for the whole day. She'd laughed at the vibrating underwear and agreed. After all, it wasn't like there would be someone manipulating it. It didn't have a remote control. Besides, from a quick glance she could tell that the two little rubber nubs wouldn't really line up all that well. A slight adjustment, every now and then, would make sure they didn't hit anything truly sensitive.

Friday at the convention had only been a half day. The first part of the day had been set-up time for everyone. Given that the "booth" they were to liven up consisted of a three-foot by six-foot table, even their artist friend had little enough to do until the doors opened in the late afternoon. Since they had most of the day to themselves, there was no need to start the challenge until the booth opened.

A mere four hours! That was how long the first day of the convention lasted. As expected, the little vibrating nubs were able to be situated to avoid their intended targets; just in front of her asshole and just above her clit. What she hadn't expected was how effective even that "near miss" could be!

What she hadn't counted on was the way that her skin-tight bodysuit pressed the damn little nubs into her soft flesh. Rather than rub back and forth against her skin, the vibration resonated directly into her core, amplified by the two-prong assault. After a half-hour of unrelenting sensation, she'd begun to wonder if it might not have been better to adjust the device to its intended placement. When she asked her companions at the booth for a quick run to the bathroom, they'd agreed. The was no question that Chelsea knew the reason for the break, though she might have thought her roommate would seek some active relief rather than a mere adjustment.

A careful study, in the bathroom's mirror, proved Alison's worst fear groundless. Somehow, the design of the custom underwear distributed the vibration evenly enough that no visible signs betrayed its presence. Of course, the way her legless bodysuit plunged sharply between her legs attracted attention so it was a very good thing no one would be able to see the source of her discomfort.

True, even the slightest contact broke the illusion but patrons knew enough not to risk a grope of the booth babes. It was the surest way to get oneself thrown out, at best, or even arrested. She had to be a little careful how she draped herself against them for photo ops, but that was manageable.

The adjustment was a crushing failure. After only half an hour in the torture device, the slight shift caused an instantaneous orgasm. Plastered to the wall of the bathroom stall, it had taken no little amount of effort to even pull the vibrating panties back off when all her body wanted to do was surrender to the bliss and relief they suddenly offered.

Never in her twenty-two years had Alison thought that pleasure could be constituted as a form of torture. The next three-and-a-half hours were something of an education in that regard. There really was no way to be certain, but she suspected that what she had to endure was rather more potent than the average lust of a hormonal teenage boy. Of course, based on the sample she'd known in her lifetime, she might very well have been mistaken about that.

No sooner had the doors closed on the convention's first evening than Alison was at the elevator. She would have stripped the damn thing off then and there if there hadn't been a blue-haired old couple in the moving coffin with her. Even when they got off two floors below hers, however, she didn't dare touch the device. She was so strung out she was afraid even turning it off might send her over the edge.

Alison managed to make it to the bathroom of the room she shared with Chelsea. Her body felt weak from the constant tension so she sat on the floor and leaned against the cool plastic of the bathtub. Her skin was feverish with need and the relief that the white plastic offered proved how pathetic her life had become in such a short time.

Alison was so desperate for release that she didn't even bother to strip. She left the super-heroine inspired bodysuit on and slipped her fingers carefully beneath the edge to grip the vibrating thong. A single sharp tug was all it took.

Her body bucked as if struck by lightning. The damned rubber nubs shifted and sank perfectly into position. Bliss exploded from every nerve. Electricity raced across her flesh. Her skin burned and her blood boiled. Her core seemed to burst from the pressure and every muscle in her body seized at once.

A vague, tiny, portion of her mind suspected that she looked as if in the middle of a fit. Her hands had fallen uselessly by her side and she no longer sat upright. The way she flopped about on the floor must have resembled a landed fish. Only the moans and screams of sheer delight separated her from someone disabled by an epileptic attack.

Alison hadn't counted on the magnitude of the orgasm when she'd decided to just let the device do its job properly. The desperation of hours beneath its not-so-tender ministrations made it even more difficult to control her own body. Between the energy she burned during the climax and the relief of her body that the tension was finally released, she literally couldn't even lift a finger to turn the damn thing off, much less remove it entirely. It hadn't taken long for her to realize that she had quite literally sentenced herself to a perpetual state of orgasm until the batteries ran out.

Thankfully, another outcome presented itself. It had been a mistake to rush out of the convention hall so quickly. She realized that as soon as her roommate meandered in after her, nearly ten minutes later! Chelsea stood in the doorway for a few moments and enjoyed the view. Alison's throat was raw from constant screams and moans so she couldn't even plead for help.

Fortunately, after a very knowing smirk, her roommate had pity on her. Chelsea crouched down next to her, slipped a finger beneath both the bodysuit and the cursed thong and flipped the switch to turn it off. If she took the slightest liberty and stabbed her finger lightly inside the sopping folds nearby, Alison literally hadn't the voice to complain. Besides, after the constant torment she never would have noticed if her bisexual roomy hadn't pulled the now-sticky finger out and sucked teasingly on it.

"The release wasn't worth it, was it?"

Alison stared blankly at her friend. Worth it? Torture aside, it had been the single most powerful orgasm she'd ever had. She didn't think it would even bepossible to match that, much less top it!

Until, that is, she realized that the next day she'd have to wear the horrific device for more than double the time she'd spent in it that evening!

The epiphany was almost enough to cause Alison to instantly relent on the bet. She'd never really been against the idea of experimenting with Chelsea. Besides being her best friend, she knew from watching her with her lovers that she was very attentive to the needs of others. Not only would Alison not need to torment herself for another day (rather, less,two!) but she'd end up at the much more tender hands of an experienced lover.

Only sheer, unadulterated, pride kept Alison from giving in then and there. As rough as it had been, shehad survived the first day. Now she knew what to expect. While it was more than true that the orgasm had barely put a dent in the lustful need she still felt, she'd learned a few other things that might help.

Tomorrow, among other things, she'd be careful to take off the device and masturbate with nothing more than her fingers. It might not feel as good, but maybe the extended climax had actually reduced the effectiveness of assuaging her lust. Maybe a short cum, followed by a cold shower, would help? More importantly, she'd take merciless advantage of infrequent bathroom breaks and strip off the offensive thong.

Alison peeled herself out of her clothes. As instructed by her roomy, she carefully cleaned the device and hung it up to dry. She had been assured it would be dry by morning, but if it wasn't the hair dryer should finish the job. The rest of her outfit was utterly ruined until she got it back to a dry cleaner. Thankfully, she'd brought along enough for two each day.

"So, ready to give up yet?" Chelsea asked innocently when Alison sauntered into the main room in nothing but a bathrobe. She posed gracefully on the bed in a very sheer teddy, displaying what was offered the loser of the bet.

"Nope. I'll survive." Alison said with confidence she didn't feel. She allowed her robe to drop teasingly before she slipped quickly beneath the blankets. She glanced over at her roommate, out of the corner of her eyes, and was pleased to see a spark of real desire over the display. "Good night."

It took Alison quite a while to get to sleep. Every ounce of confidence she'd displayed was feigned. Even now, her body screamed to get over it and climb into her best friend's bed. With twice as long under siege tomorrow, she'd never be able to last! It'd take a miracle of Hollywood proportions to survive without going insane!

Almost two hours into the second day of the con and Alison cursed her own pride. It was too late now to surrender herself to her best friend. Until the convention closed its doors for the evening, one or the other of them would be needed at the booth for the whole day. There wouldn't be an opportunity to drag her to some handy bathroom so she could officially claim her victory and relieve Alison of the overwhelming need.

To the unenlightened, the near constant fidgeting might have seemed like the need to pee. Even her ex had asked her if she needed to use the bathroom. After one less than discreet pose for a photo, where she'd absently pressed her crotch against his shoulder out of habit, he'd begun to give her weird looks. There was no question he knew what was going on, at that point, even if he didn't understand why.

Even Alison's pride wasn't strong enough to cause her to beghim to help her rather than her best friend. Their relationship hadn't been all that great to begin with. It had ended badly. Only the flawless way her costuming skills, her and her roommate's modeling, and his artwork blended together accounted for the fact that they remained cordial long enough for the occasional con.

She wasn't going to succeed. Alison already realized that. Something had changed from yesterday. She knew that masturbation wasn't going to be nearly enough to calm her body. There was something about the way her muscles clenched that demanded more than just a surface orgasm. As much as she hated the crude thought, she needed to be fucked and fucked hard!

"DalianceMay!"

Alison blinked in surprise for a moment and then cringed inwardly as recognition struck. It wasn't the voice she recognized, but then name the man had spouted. While she was far from embarrassed by the art she posted under the online alias, the name itself had been coined a decade before. She wished she could change it, but her regular fans would remember it anyway. Anywhere she tried to change her handle, the name would follow, so why bother with the hassle?

The face attached to the baritone voice looked vaguely familiar. Unfortunately, she had literally hundreds of followers on that particular account. He could be any one of them. So long as his avatar had shown his features at any time, she'd have some vague recollection of it.

The haze that the damn vibrating thong cast over her mind caused her eyes to drift longingly down his body. He wasn't all that good looking, but neither was he repugnant. More than ever, she knew she'd lost that original argument when her body screamed this random male was the very relief she needed.

The middle-aged man held out a hand, respectfully, where so many tried to get in close immediately. His handshake was firm. She liked that. It showed he wasn't afraid she'd break, just because she was thin and a woman. Her body approved even more strongly of that fact. Unfortunately, he seemed to notice the slight shift, when her legs crossed a little more firmly to cover the shudder of need.

"I'm Ballast69. I've followed you online for years."

Full recognition dawned at the revelation of his name. He actually understated things. He'd begun to offer her encouraging praise and constructive criticism back when she'd been nothing more than an amateur dreamer. When she'd gone pro, his encouragement never faltered. Even when she'd begun to post nudes, his interest hadn't changed, as it had with so many of her so-called fans.

Alison wished her body didn't surge with sudden joy over the realization. Unfortunately, she couldn't fault it. This man could literally be the answer to her every prayer. Although they'd never met in person, there was no way Chelsea could argue they didn't know each other. They'd had conversations online that were personal enough that he knew things about her that many of her boyfriends had never bothered to find out.

Ballast69, who she now remembered was named Josh, immediately got swept up in the standard convention spiel. He was a legitimate fan of her ex's work, though she suspected he'd begun to follow the artist more out of a sense of obligation to her than anything. If he had, he'd stuck around as a fan on the merit of the art itself, however.

Josh bought a print, of course. It was one of the less popular ones, in part because the pin-up didn't feature a big-breasted woman in scraps of fabric that could barely contain her. True, the heroine's outfit was so skintight that it demonstrated the artist's firm grasp of proper anatomy, but she was not only covered from neck to ankle but her breasts and hips were actually believable.

Next came the obligatory picture. The two men stood side-by-side with their arms around each other's shoulders. Alison chose a dynamic, if a bit clichéd, pose and knelt at Josh's feet and pressed herself against his leg in a classic sci-fi/fantasy damsel drape. Chelsea chuckled slightly and mirrored her against the ex.

The photo done, with promises to email a copy to everyone involved, Chelsea and the ex turned back to the booth. Alison stuck around, ostensibly trading contact info. For all that Josh supported the ex, the artist hadn't even bothered to recognize a loyal fan. She didn't bother to hide the roll of her eyes over the stupidity.

"It's great to finally meet you." Josh mumbled lamely. It was clear he hoped to get a chance to hang out, but wouldn't press the issue. The crowd seemed to like the booth, despite the relative obscurity of the artist, and he was a consummate enough con-goer not to tie up the talent.

"Listen," Alison urged as she grabbed his hand with both of hers. He was warm and strong. Suddenly, she began to truly suspect she understood what teen boys went through constantly. The almost irresistible urge to press that firm hand between her legs and caress his hidden manhood surged through her mind.