MasterPC Ch. 08

Master PC 8: David Wins a Bet

Near the end of October, I made a road trip to visit with a potential client. I had hired an assistant but she did not accompany me on this trip -- I had her working on another project. So I was by myself. Normally, I would have gone on AFF to arrange for some companionship. Mature men with good bodies and 10 inches of working cock rarely have trouble finding willing partners on AFF. Plus, I had a ton of endorsements on my profile from women who'd had a good time with me. That always helps.

But, on this trip, I hadn't set anything up in advance. I had decided to see what I could do on my own.

I was driving through a rural area of my fine state, looking for a place to eat. I try to find places off the beaten path for meals, and I despise franchise restaurants -- I like to know that the owner has been on the premises sometime during the day. I spotted a road house with quite a few cars parked nearby and decided to take a chance.

A wall of noise hit me as I stepped over the threshold. On the juke box, John Thorogood and the Destroyers were grinding their way through "Move it on Over," and the whole building shook to the relentless beat. I could smell the fryolater and knew this would be a good spot. I took a seat at a table near the front of the room and surveyed my surroundings while I waited for someone to take my order.

In addition to the loud music, I could hear shouts and cheering from one side of the room. The noise was coming from a group of people who were all standing around a table. They were having a great time. The group parted as someone left for a head call and I got a glimpse of two people -- one woman and one man -- sitting across from one another at a table arm wrestling. Then the crowd folded back into its original shape around the table and I lost sight of the combatants.

Just then a waitress appeared.

"Hi. Something to drink?" She said as she put a menu on the table.

"Do you have Leinenkugel's on tap?"

"All the time. Leinies Leinies that's our beer...pass another one over here." I said the last part of that well known line along with her.

"OK, I'll have a glass of that for starters, and then you can get me a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Got any cole slaw?"

"Sure do."

"What color is it?"

I might have just spoken Martian considering the look she gave me. I was forced to explain that green slaw meant the cabbage was nice and sweet, while white suggested the cabbage would be bitter. I do not like bitter cabbage.

"Oh, OK, I never heard of that," she said. "I'm pretty sure it's green."

"Good girl. I'll take some slaw with my burger and fries. Tell the kitchen I like my fries well done."

"Got it. I'll bring the beer first."

"Excellent," I said, quoting Montgomery Burns, my management role model (i.e. I do the opposite of what he would do).

When my beer came, I got up and walked over to where the crowd was noisily cheering for one or the other of the arm wrestlers. I stepped up on a chair to get a better view of the proceedings. There were two people, on opposite sides of the table, one woman and one man. The man was big and burly, clad in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans. He had a mesh cap advertising his favorite brand of seed corn, and a face badly in need of a shave -- on second thought perhaps he had a face badly in need of a beard. Sweat beaded his brow and he wore the contorted expression that suggested extreme effort.

Across from him sat a blond woman. She was obviously a body builder -- she was built like Denise Massino or Yvette Bova -- in a halter top and jeans. She was staring at her opponent but unlike him, her face showed little or no evidence of either effort or concentration. She looked bored.

Their two hands were locked in the traditional arm wrestling form. She was winning. He groaned as his hand was inexorably forced toward the table. Blondie, as I thought of her at the time, apparently became bored with the contest, and with a sudden twitch, slammed the man's hand to the table. The crowd cheered.

"Better go home and lift some more bales, Billy," one of the watchers shouted out cheerfully. Billy shook his head and laughed, then shook the woman's hand, got up and went to the bar for another beer. The woman looked around to see if anyone else wanted to challenge her. The rest of the crowd had apparently seen her before and no one volunteered.

"I'll have a go," I said, as I stepped off the chair and made my way through the dozen or so people gathered around the table. Everyone looked at me, most of them smirking. I saw some money changing hands as people began to place bets.

"You sure about this mister," one old gaffer said. "Sherry hasn't lost an arm wrestling contest here in years. Won the state title two years in a row. She can lift the back end of a ¾ ton truck clean off the ground."

One other member of the crowd looked me up and down and then said something to his neighbor. They both chuckled. I just smiled and sat down across from Sherry, the local strongman -- strike that -- strong person.

"Hi Sherry," I said, "I'm David." I extended my hand and Sherry took it, giving it a good squeeze and smiling at me.

"Hi, David," Sherry said, "You sure about this? You don't look like you're up to the task," she added smirking.

I leaned across the table while I held her hand and said in a voice pitched so that only she could hear it, "If you beat me, I'll spend the rest of the evening in this bar bare assed naked. If I beat you, you'll be my sex slave for the next twenty four hours."

"Fuck you, you're on, peckerwood," Sherry said, her face taking on a fierce look that said she wasn't planning on losing. She, of course, had no way of knowing that in spite of the fact that I don't look like a weight lifter, my MasterPC augmented strength was well beyond anything she could achieve regardless of how much time she spent in the gym or what chemicals she injected into her veins.

I put my elbow on the table. So did Sherry. Our hands clasped.

"Count us down, Joe," Sherry said, grinning at me.

"Ready...set...go!"

I was looking directly into Sherry's eyes as Joe said "go." Sherry had figured on putting me down quickly with one flick of her wrist. Things didn't go as she planned. I watched several expressions flow across her features as first surprise, then anger, and finally fear dueled for supremacy. Fear won, but only momentarily as her competitive nature asserted itself and a look of grim determination dominated her features. My hand and the arm to which it was attached hadn't so much as quivered. For her part, Sherry's muscles were knotted with effort -- an effort she hadn't needed against any of the local boys. She grunted. The crowd around us heard the sound and went silent. She groaned and then screamed as she sought to budge my arm or even make me notice her effort. I affected a bored expression and picked up my beer with my free hand to take a sip.

I heard the cook say "Order up!" followed by the ting of the order bell. My food would be coming soon and it was time to end this. Slowly and steadily I moved Sherry's arm away from the vertical. She fought me like a tiger. Her muscles bulged, the veins stood out like fat night crawlers under her now sweaty skin. She'd never lost in this bar. Very few men had ever beaten her. Yet I was and what was worse, I didn't even look like it was costing me anything.

I never took my eyes off her face as her arm was bent further and further toward the table top. She never gave up, but resisted to the last millimeter before I finally pushed the back of her hand firmly to the stained wooden surface of the table. She was shocked. She was humiliated. She stared at the place where our hands were joined in disbelief.

She looked at me. I mouthed "I own your ass," and watched as realization dawned on her.

"Thanks for the match, Sherry. C'mon over to my table and I'll buy you a beer, how's that?" We shook hands and she followed me to my table. The crowd dispersed, muttering amongst themselves still not sure what they'd just seen. The one person who'd bet on me was busy collecting his winnings, but he wasn't laughing. I'd just humiliated the local heroine and I needed to be careful.

"Round for the house," I said loud enough for everyone to hear. That ought to buy me some grace, I thought.

I pulled out a chair for Sherry and then took my own seat just as the waitress placed a large plate of food in front of me.

I looked at the name tag on the waitress' uniform.

"Denise, please bring Sherry here whatever she'd like to eat or drink," I said in my most friendly voice, the one that makes most women moist in the panty area.

"Sure thing," Denise said and she walked off without asking Sherry what she wanted, returning a moment later with a bottle of mineral water.

I was just salting my fries and putting some ketchup on the plate when Sherry spoke.

"No one's ever done that to me before. What are you?"

"I'm a man eating a bacon cheeseburger. When I'm done, we're leaving and then I'll show you what I am. For now, I need you to be silent, drink your mineral water, and think about the fact that you're about to have the most amazing sex you've ever experienced."

For just a moment I thought I'd gone too far. Sherry fixed me with a look filled with more hatred than I thought it was possible for a human being to contain. She definitely didn't like my attitude. I was going to have a real challenge tonight and that was fine with me -- I hadn't had one in a while.

Instead of getting up and hitting me over the head with a chair, she sat back and drank her water. She wore a curious expression: part hatred, part awe, and part confusion. She'd just been completely destroyed in front of her home fans. She was curious to know how I'd done it. I'd never tell her the truth, of course, but before the night was over, Sherry would know her master. I intended to indulge my D/s fantasies a little bit -- something I didn't do all that often but occasionally enjoyed. Maintaining a full time submissive is a lot of work -- much more work than I wanted to put in. So I occasionally selected a woman at random and turned her into, for at least a night or two, a sub to my Dom. All of these women were well compensated in terms of the things I did for them with the MasterPC, and none of them remembered the experience or were harmed in any way. A few had dreams and some started reading John Norman, but that was pretty harmless.

I finished my meal, drained the last of my beer, put down enough to cover the check, the round for the house, a nice tip for Denise, and stood up to leave. Sherry just sat there.

"C'mon, Sherry. Time to pay up."

"You don't really think I'm leaving here with you asshole?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. For one thing, you made a bet and if it gets around you're a welsher, that isn't going to help your rep much. Second, I think you really really want to know how I beat you and the only way you can find out is to come with me."

She looked at me for a moment, indecision mixed with fear, anger, and curiosity written all over her face.

"Shit," she said, standing.

We walked out to my car in silence. I opened her door and closed it for her when she was seated. I went around to the other side, got in, started the car, and drove off.

We weren't too far from Wisconsin Dells and since it was the middle of the week there were likely to be a lot of vacancies at some pretty nice spots. I drove to one and checked us into a suite. I grabbed my bag from the car and we were soon in a spacious three room apartment with a king sized bed, fireplace, and wet bar. It was more like a condo than a hotel room.

"OK, Sherry, here's how it's going to go. We're going to have a series of competitions based on strength and skill. Anytime I win, you have to do whatever I tell you to do. Anytime you win, I give you $100 and you can leave whenever you want." I punctuated the last sentence by removing five $100 bills from my wallet and laying them out on the table of the suite's little dining area.

For the first time since I had beaten her, she smiled. She thought she actually had a chance. She was a big woman, almost as tall as me, and, I thought, she probably weighed about 180, which is what I weigh these days. Plus, from looking at me, she knew she had a lot more muscle power -- or so she thought. I saw the memory of how easily I had defeated her in the saloon flit across her face. But, then, it might have been some sort of trick. Her confidence was returning and I knew I had to deal with that quickly.

"Let's start with arm wrestling. Now I know you probably dealt with a few guys in the bar with your right arm, so let's go left arm to left arm to make it even for you -- what do you say?"

"Sure," she said.

We sat at the table and I put my left hand and arm in position. She flexed her muscles a few times and then sat down across from me and we joined hands.

"I tell you what, Sherry, I'll let you count down this time, and I'll spot you a little angle."

I pulled us into a position where my hand was more than half way to the table top. She started to protest, then thought better of it.

"I'm gonna fucking break your arm, asshole," she said.

"Go for it." I was looking straight into her blue eyes and smiling.

"Ready. Set. GO!"

I snapped her hand over and slammed it onto the table top. She'd had the advantage of knowing the timing of "go." She'd had the advantage of starting with me half way gone. And, yet, I'd put her down like she was a five year old.

"Two out of three," she hissed. "This has to be some sort of trick."

"Sure. Two out of three it is. This time I'll start closer to the table."

I positioned our hands so that the back of mine was only an inch from the table top. Surely she could move me that last inch -- after all, gravity and leverage would be heavily in her favor. But doubt is a tricky thing, and she had doubts -- lots of them -- now.

"Don't bother calling it, just start whenever you're ready," I said, taunting her.

SLAM! The back of her hand hit the table top again. She absolutely couldn't believe it. She looked at her hand as if it was an errant child who'd misbehaved.

"You lose, Sherry. Time to pay up."

She was defeated yet still defiant. That was good. I didn't want her to break just yet.

"For the rest of the evening you will address me as Sir, or Master. Say 'Yes Master' anytime I give you a command. Say 'thank you master' anytime I grant you a favor."

She hesitated and then mumbled, "yes master," in a voice that suggested I was anything but her master.

"I didn't hear that."

"Yes, Master," she said in a sullen voice.

"Say it with a smile on your face."

"Fuck you."

I reached across the table and slapped her face, once, hard, and so quickly that she never saw me move. She wouldn't have been sure that she'd been slapped if she hadn't felt the sharp sting.

"That's twice this evening you've said 'fuck you' and I won't have it again. The next time will earn you a dislocated joint somewhere." I said this in the voice of someone ordering coffee -- pleasantly matter of fact.

"I want to hear a 'yes master' without the attitude and loud enough for me to know you mean it, because, Sherry, as I'm going to prove to you this evening, I AM your MASTER," I said, leaning toward her across the table and staring straight into her eyes.

"Yes Master," she responded, taking the first step toward submission.

"OK, we've done enough arm wrestling. Let's try something else. Why don't you suggest a competition?"

Sherry thought about this, looking around the room. She spotted what she wanted in the doorway between this room and the bedroom portion of the suite. The wall didn't go all the way to the ceiling between the living room and bedroom.

"Pull ups. Whoever does the most in sixty seconds wins," she said, some of her confidence returning.

"Fair enough...fair enough. You can go first."

She got up and went to the doorway. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, then shook her whole body, loosening her muscles.

I selected "clock" from my iPhone's utility aps and got the stopwatch function on line. "Go," I said, pressing the start button.

Positioning herself, she jumped up and grasped the top of the door frame and began pulling her body up and down careful not to let her feet touch the floor. It was an impressive display. She was like a machine going up and down. I counted down the seconds. She kept going up and down, up and down. Forty-eight times in sixty seconds. Not bad. Not bad at all, but not good enough.

"Time," I said. "Now it's my turn," I added handing her the iPhone and walking over to the doorway.

"I tell you what, Sherry," I said, smiling benevolently, "I'll do mine one handed just to give you an advantage."

She snorted derisively at this insult. "You ready?" she asked.

"Ready."

"Go," she said, starting the stop watch.

I jumped up and grabbed the top of the frame with my left hand, something Sherry would certainly notice, and rapidly began a series of the fastest pull ups she'd ever seen. Her mouth hung open as she watched me move my body up and down seemingly without effort, 100 times in sixty seconds -- one handed.

"I win again," I said. "Take off your top and give it to me. Say 'yes master, thank you master,' as you do so."

She was still stunned by my display of strength. She stood there, her mouth open in shock and disbelief.

"Sherry?" I queried, speaking as if my patience was not infinite.

Her hands went to her t-backed halter and she removed it.

"Yes, Master. Thank you master," she said through gritted teeth. It had cost her more to say those words than it had to lose the contests.

I had turned my back on her to toss her top on the bed to see what she would do. She tried kidney punching me, which might have worked except that I was waiting for just such a move. Instead of her fist meeting the soft flesh in the small of my back, she found herself doubled up in pain with her arm pushed back up behind her.

"If you struggle you'll break your elbow," I whispered menacingly into her ear. "All those roids you take must make you stupid. I'm going to let you go now and I want you to very slowly and carefully take off the rest of your clothing and then stand in the middle of the room. Do it!"

I let her go with a shove. She was bewildered. She had no idea that any human being could move as fast as I must have to counter her surprise move. In a daze, she moved to the center of the room and slowly stripped until she was naked. She was gorgeous if you like the muscle type. She had no hair other than what was on her head. Her whole body was tanned a beautiful golden color. She'd obviously spent a lot of time sculpting her body and was proud of her appearance. As she got naked I saw a change come over her. Apparently she was treating this like a competition and I was a judge. Her job was to impress me. Well, I was impressed.

Like many female body builders she had small, tight, breasts and a very prominent set of pussy lips with a clit hood that made my mouth water. I have a clitoral fetish -- I know it's weird, but some women like big cocks and I like big clits. Call me eccentric.

I gave a low whistle of appreciation and saw her respond with what had to be a blush.

"Turn around. I want to see your whole body. Pose for me."

"Yes, Master," she said without being prompted. This was progress.

She complied, showing me the full extent of her muscular flesh in a series of competition poses. She was truly magnificent and I was going to enjoy taming her. She'd just had a taste of how strong I was. I'd need to be careful not to break anything.

I took off my clothes while she was showing me her back side.