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Just an Hour by Ed Cantor

The Bet

“One hour?” he asked.

“Yup. If I win, you have to do whatever I want for one hour. You do whatever I say; no backtalk, no hesitation, no matter what,” she wasn’t smiling, but she seemed calm – no big plans hidden behind her eyes as far as he could see.

“OK, but anything? Come on, that seems a bit open-ended.”

“You don’t have to agree. It’s just a bet you can take or not.”

“And if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“I want an hour too, but I know what I want you to do already.” Now he was smiling.

“I’ll bet you do.” Even Tasha let out a smile with that one. “So? It’s a bet?” She extended her hand, with a smile.

Davis smiled as he gripped her cool soft hand and shook it. “Deal.” He was already undressing her with his thoughts.

Davis had met Tasha years ago in an evening writing class at the local college and despite the fact that she was a few years younger than him they struck up a lasting friendship. They found their interests in literature were similar enough to have a lot of overlap but still have room for new discoveries to be shared by each of them. Added to that, and perhaps more surprisingly, they found that they both just loved to go out and watch hockey in loud bars full of cheering fans amidst overflowing pitchers of beer.

He’d been happier to find a good friend that he would have ever admitted. He didn’t lack for money but most of his nest egg had come from inheritance; as an only child with no remaining family he was essentially alone and starting over in a new city, putting some difficult years from his past behind him.

His forced independence at a young age had forced upon him self-reliance and an ability to make important decisions. He made a few mistakes over time, but he was cushioned from the worst of them by wealth, and all the other mistakes were lessons – not only on choices to avoid repeating, but also in learning to move on without regret. He was essentially alone in the world, and he had only himself to rely on.

Davis and Tasha constantly joked, laughed, and ribbed each other and there had been a lot of flirtation between them, but it had never materialized into anything, to Davis ’s occasional deep dismay. He never admitted it to her, but one reason he loved to enter these sports bars with her was that he was immediately seen as the luckiest damn guy in the place.. Tasha wasn’t just beautiful; she was striking.

She was tall, though not as tall as she seemed from a distance. She had long legs that she often displayed to great effect in miniskirts, short shorts, or wonderful dresses with tempting and dangerous slits. Glimpses caught of her stockings as she would move in a skirt or dress like that would have you thinking of her legs for days. One night, Davis nearly spit out a mouthful of Heineken when he caught sight of actual garter belts during a leg-crossing manoeuvre of hers..

Her long black gleaming hair flowed in soft arcs around the fine features of her face. She usually had a bit of red highlights added, which also served to accentuate the fuck-me red lipstick she usually wore, and wore very well, as it just popped against the almost porcelain whiteness of her skin. She was curvy too – not some skinny rail, but with full breasts and round hips and an ass that you just wanted to drop to your knees and pray to.. This wasn’t to say she wasn’t fit – when those late playoff games drifted into spring, she would occasionally wear a midriff-baring blouse that could take his breath away. Her body was real, the kind of skin you wanted to touch as well as look at.

Tasha wasn’t the kind of woman who shied away from her looks. All of her clothing seemed to hug her body close or even squeeze her a bit. She never looked like she had just thrown something together on the way out either; it was always an “outfit” and often black or in some deep rich colour. She admitted once she liked the contrast against her skin.

She always seemed a touch out of place, cheering and yelling at the big screens, but she was enthusiastic, and she certainly knew the game. She loved the finesse of a well-placed, top-drawer goal and the hard hits and sweater tugging fights just as much as every man in the place. She had strength, self-assuredness, a take-charge attitude – he was mulling her nature over to himself once and hit upon thinking of her as all woman, but not the least bit girly. When you added together her enthusiasm, her one-of-the-guys attitude and occasional trucker-mouth, her ability to drink most men under the table with her look of pure, almost dangerous, sex appeal and she was quickly the centre of the fun any time they went out.

During the years that Davis had been friends with Tasha, he had been on dates with other women – one or two even suggested by her. He wasn’t the kind of guy to have trouble with women – he was attractive, fun, even a bit funny, and while he never advertised his wealth it did allow him nice clothes and a few of the more pleasurable trappings of daily life.

Those relationships never seemed to go anywhere, however. If he was not actively comparing his date to Tasha, he was thinking about the kinds of things he’d rather been doing – things that Tasha would also happen to enjoy – or he was just frustrated with the work that small talk was compared to the effortlessness of conversations and laughter with her. His life had developed into a kind of happy partnership with her, perhaps even a happy addiction with no apparent or negative side effects.

He was in a daze, distracted by just the possibilities of that hour, should he win the bet, should his team hang on and win – they were up by a goal with mere minutes to play. In his fantasy he saw those red lips curling in a wry smile of resignation as she peeled off her clothing, once piece at a time, finally exposing the firm whiteness of her breasts to him, the soft lips of her pussy, the lithe and curving legs, as she would snuggle in between his spread thighs and make an eager meal of his cock, wrapping his shaft in those perfectly painted lips..

Her lips were pouting and just about to close on his cockhead when the groan of the crowd around him pulled him unhappily back to reality. His eyes jerked up to the screen to find the game tied. Looking over at Tasha, he found those delicious lips curled into a much more wicked smile.

Okay, okay. Play it cool, he thought to himself. I haven’t lost yet, and there’s still a goal between her and winning. Besides, being her plaything might be just as good!

The two teams were hammering at each other; men were going hard into the boards and getting checked hard all over the ice. It was some of the best hockey either of them had ever seen. As the play went from end to end, Davis ’s imagination flashed between detailed visions of Tasha’s head between his legs and his between her toned thighs.

In those final seconds, with everyone in the bar on their feet, Davis knew it would happen even before it did. The surging visitors pulled their goalie, took perfect advantage of a delayed tripping call, and drove the puck into the net. He had lost..

Amidst the groans around their table, he slid down into chair, threw back the last sip of beer in his mug and smiled sheepishly at Tasha as she beamed back at him.

“I guess I’m all yours for the hour, my dear.”

“Oh no, it’s not that easy,” she laughed. “The bet was an hour, not this hour. I’ve got plans to make for you, dearie.”

Davis laughed, but a tinge of worry had crossed his thoughts. It took most of the next pint to get rid of the feeling completely, but when they parted at the end of the night, he was back to the lusty dream that one way or another, it seemed that he was finally going to get a taste of her. Hell, he even thought he felt her nipples slightly erect against his chest as their goodbye hug lingered.

Continued...