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Election Bet


The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in
locations where it is legal. If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT
read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any other use strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may be posted as part of a review or posted to free-access,
noncommercial archive sites.

My works can be found at or at

Copyright November 2000 by E. Z. Riter.

E-mail address:

Please! Give me your comments!


Caitlin sat next to me in bed with the remote control in her hands.
Angrily, she flicked to another channel.

"Don't laugh," she snapped. "This isn't funny. We don't know who the
president-elect is."

"Since when did you become so interested in politics," I said.

"Bastard," she muttered.

"It's not the vote that has you worried. It's the bet."

"Be quiet. I'm listening to Katie Couric."

"Turn off the TV," I said.

"No," she replied petulantly.

I slipped a finger through the ring dangling from the front of the thick leather collar she wore. She resisted momentarily before letting me pull
her down on the bed. The tv silenced before the remote plopped on the
carpet by the bed.

"What's wrong, little slave?" I said as I leaned over her.

"Who'd thought that wooden Indian would get that many votes?"

"Half of America, it seems."

"Can't we cancel the bet?" she said hopefully.

"It was your idea. I tried to talk you out of it."

Her eyes narrowed angrily. "I'm your damn slave. You should've
prohibited me from doing it. This is all your fault."

"Yes, I could've stopped it, but you insisted so strongly, I thought you
wanted it."

"Of course not. Really, Brian, how could you even think that? That
makes me mad."

She tried to sit up, but I held onto the collar. Her look of anger
morphed into uncertainty tinged with fear.

"I've never cheated on you. Never. I haven't even wanted to and this,
well, oh, God, it's a stupid bet, Brian. Please see if you can cancel it.
Please. For me."

I slipped my hand over her mountainous breasts, across the narrows of
her waist. Her eyes popped open as her legs snapped together and she
covered her bush with her hands.

"Open," I said.

"No, baby," she pleaded, but she saw my expression and opened herself
for me.

I slipped a finger up her and she gasped. Her hips tilted as she
blushed a bright red.

"You so hot thinking of this you can't control yourself."

"No," she lied.

"Is my little red headed Bush supporter anxious to lose?"

"That's silly and stupid."

I crawled on top of her. Her bright green eyes shone up at me as my
cock rubbed the outside of her pussy. Her lip curled into a smile as I
eased my cock into her. I stopped moving when I was buried to the hilt.

"Don't do that, baby. Come on. Move," she whispered.

"Not until you tell me the truth. You wanted to lose, didn't you?"



In the spilt second before she said "no," I had the answer.

Caitlin's small boned, short and stacked. That's crude perhaps, but her
large breasts meet the stereotypical definition of a "stacked" woman. We'd
been together for fourteen months. What began as great sex had grown into
love. The love began when we realized we were made for each other.
Wedding plans were in the works.

She loved being my "slave," although I'm sure our relationship wouldn't
meet a rigid definition of master and slave. It was more a mild
dominant-submissive with accouterments.

Why she made the bet, I'll never know. She might not even know why, but
she insisted I agree to it.

It was a simple bet. If Bush won, Musette, a lovely, black haired, blue
eyed, Cajun with a delightful and womanly body, would be mine for a night.
I could do with her as I pleased. If Gore won, Caitlin would serve
Musette's master for the night.

I'd never asked Caitlin to have sex with anyone else and she'd never
suggested it. That's why it shocked me when she made the bet. I'll admit
I liked the idea. I'd love to feel Musette under me and I'd like to watch
Caitlin with another.

Musette was more horrified by the bet than any of us. She protested
bitterly, but their relationship was more master-slave than ours. Musette
would do as her master told her no matter what it was. That was part of
the appeal with Musette, knowing that she'd hate what I did to her and that
she was being forced into it.

As I fucked my darling Caitlin in the quiet of our bedroom and heard her
soft grunts with each thrust, I knew if we followed through with the bet
our relationship would be sailing into unchartered waters.

I lay cooling with Caitlin curled in my arms. I pushed her away to look
into her eyes.

"This is too important to be left to a bet, Caitlin. I need to know how
you feel. Do you want to be given to Musette's master?"

"I don't want to do anything to hurt you," she said lovingly.

"You won't. Just tell me the truth."

She kissed me and stroked my face.

"I'll never admit I want it. I'll never do it without being commanded.
But deep inside me there's a desire to take our relationship deeper, to be
more, more of a slave to you, and . . . oh, God, a desire to try it."

"Then you want it?"

"No," her mouth said, but her eyes held another answer.

"But you'll do it if I command you?"

"Yes . . . master."

I called them.

"Musette, let me talk to your master," I said. "Good morning," I said
when her master came on the line.

"Good morning, Brian."

"I want to cancel the bet. Instead, why don't the four of us spend a
weekend together?"

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Good. Why don't you and Musette come over here Friday about seven? We
can spend some time in the hot tub, have some wine, and go from there."

"Sounds delightful."

Caitlin was holding her breath when I disconnected.

"She agreed?" Caitlin whispered.


Caitlin exhaled and fell back on her pillow. A little smile crooked her

The End

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