[Fiction] Tutor

[Dares1234]

eevee590
Newbie

Posts: 24




[WARNING--THIS STORY CONTAINS A LONG SET UP TO GET TO A SINGLE WEDGIE, SO IF YOU HATE READING, SKIP IT. THE REALLY GOOD STUFF WILL BE IN PART TWO.>

Okay, so I was a geek when I was in high school.

But being a geek has its advantages, you know. First, you never have anyone checking up on you when you're the "good kid". You can be out until 3 in the morning, come in with a story about how you were at a restaurant, and you ended up helping out some kid from school who was drunk and needed to be talked into letting you drive him home, and then you got a flat, and finally had to go back to get your own car, etc. and you'll be believed right away.
Second, you get trusted in ways others don't. A parent who would never, ever leave a boy alone with their sixteen year old sweetheart thinks nothing of going out for the night when you're there. You're the good kid. You're no threat, right?
Third, you get opportunities that lead to the money you need to do all the things that one and two give you chances to do. And you know how to use that money wisely.

You could tutor, for example.

Tara was a beautiful girl. Of course, they all are in stories like this, and the truth is that Tara probably wouldn't be gorgeous to you. Her face wasn't perfect; her nose a little too sharp, and her other features a little bland. Her hair was a great blond color, but not so nice to touch--it felt more like straw than silk. I always liked girls who were "different", though; I guess I figured I never had a shot at the really gorgeous model types, but the girl no one really looks at too closely was a possiblity for me. Anyway, you probably want to know more about figure and things like that, but I didn't learn that about Tara at first, and since I'm telling the story, you'll have to wait. Just imagine the best looking girls in your class, and then imagine the girl who would be number 11 on the top ten list. That's Tara.

Tara was in Algebra 1 as a junior; math wasn't her thing. Not a slam on girls. Some are really good at math, some aren't, just like guys. Tara was on the "not so good" side. I was a senior, and in Calculus, and my name was on the tutoring list in the school's counselor's office more because I was good at explaining than because I was good at math. I had a reputation for helping kids who didn't get it from the teacher because what I said somehow made it a little clearer. I don't pretend to understand it. All I know is that's how it was, and I wasn't arguing, because it was getting me $15 an hour. Tara's mom called me, set up an afternoon appointment, and so there I was at Tara's house at 5:30 Tuesday night.

"You guys are all set, right?", her mom asked, shaking her keys impatiently. "We won't be too late, honey. The dinner should be over by 7, and the party won't last more than a couple hours more. Dinner's ready for you to heat up in the fridge. I'm sorry, but it's leftover pasta. I didn't have time to cook tonight after work."

"Pasta's fine, Mom," Tara answered, a small note of irritation in her voice. "I can handle being alone for a few hours, don't you think?"

"Of course you can--don't get all snippy. Fred, your money's on the counter here, so don't forget it when you leave."

"I won't, don't worry," I smiled. "Thirty dollars is a good incentive to remember."

Tara's mom skipped the goodbye hug and settled for a wave. "Ok, then. Bye!" She grabbed her purse and was out the door.

"Well," I said as the sound of her car pulling out of the driveway died away, "should we get started?"

"Just a sec, OK?" Tara answered. "I just got back from practice, and if I don't eat something, I'll have to kill someone." She walked over to the fridge, opened it up, and took out a container, which she popped in the microwave.

Tara played both softball and volleyball, and it was volleyball season. She had indeed come straight from practice, to look at her--she was still wearing her tank top over a sports bra, and had on a pair of fairly short exercise shorts that emphasized her long legs and her fine backside. I think athletic women are a heck of a lot more attractive than those who aren't, but that's me. The slight smell of sweat didn't bother me, either. I took a good look at Tara while she was turned away. I had been thinking about asking her to the fall formal since I started tutoring her two weeks ago, and she hadn't done anything to suggest she wouldn't agree to go. And the view was a good promise that she'd be a knockout in a formal dress.

When she turned back from the microwave, I turned away quickly, pretending to look at my notes. We were covering probability today, so I was on solid ground, but it wouldn't look good to get caught scoping her butt before I asked her out. She brought over a big bowl of what looked like pasta with marinara sauce and sat down. "Is it going to make you nuts if I eat this, Fred?" she asked. "I can make you a bowl too, if you're hungry."

"I'm fine, thanks," I replied, thinking of how quickly I would manage to splatter sauce over my shirt and pants if I tried to eat, and how stupid I'd look. "You go ahead, though."

Tara smiled her thanks, and started to eat. "So can you help me with this probability stuff? I don't get it at all. These problems with the fractions and the red and green marbles make NO sense."

"Actually, they make a lot of sense if you understand what they're telling you," I started, but Tara snorted, cutting me off.

"Well, of course they make sense if you understand them. If I did, I wouldn't need your tutoring, right? I don't get it, though. And even if it did make sense, why does it matter? How often are you going to have to tell someone what the odds of picking the queen of hearts out of a deck of cards twice in a row are? Like that comes up in life."

I smiled. "Ok, Tara, you're right, but there are some times when probability gets very important."

"Name one," she challenged.

"Well, take the lottery, for example. You might buy a ticket, hoping to win millions. A dollar gets you a chance at twenty million. Do you buy it?"

"Why not?" she shrugged. "You might get lucky. Someone has to. It isn't a big chance, but it's a chance, right?"

"It's a very, very, VERY small chance, Tara. And there's no guarantee that someone wins. You might as well just give away the dollar."

"Wait. Someone has to win. That's how these things work."

"Not necessarily. If no one draws the winning number, the money isn't awarded," I reminded her.

"OK, but then someone always wins the next time, or the next. The money always goes to someone," she replied, slurping a bit more spaghetti.

"But Tara, millions of people are playing the same game, and that makes it more likely one will win. If only one person plays, or if we're only looking at one person's odds, they don't have a prayer."

"I don't get it," she said, frowning. "the odds are different based on how many people play?"

I sighed. I needed a new direction. Then I had an idea. "Does your little brother play role-playing games?"

"Yeah. He and his friends are always playing on the weekends." (Tara's brother was 14, and was living with his father; her mother had custody on weekends.)

"Any chance he left some of his stuff here? Like his dice?"

Tara thought for a moment. "Lemme check." She ran off, coming back a minute later with a handful of dice. "How about these?"

"Perfect!" I said, picking through the stack and pulling out a ten-sided die. "Let's try this from another angle. How many sides are there on this die?"

"10."

"So the chance of any number appearing is?"

"1 in 10. That's easy, Fred, it's the complex stuff I get confused on.."

"I know, but let's start here. Now pretend that this is the lottery, ok?"

"What?" she said, confused again.

I decided to make things more concrete. I pulled out a dollar bill and put it on the table. "This is Fred's mini lottery. You get to roll the die, and if you get a 10, you win the dollar. What are your chances?"

"One in ten, right?" she said, interested.

"Right. But why would I offer the dollar up if the odds weren't in my favor?"

"Because that's what a lottery is," she said. I sighed. This wasn't a hard concept, I thought, but it was taking Tara a while to get it.

"Let's say I charge you a penny to roll the die. If you get a 10, you get the dollar," I said.

"For real? Cool. I like this game!" she smiled.

"Sure, why not. For real."

Tara went over to the counter, opened a drawer, and dug around for a penny. She found three, came over and gave them to me. "Can I get three rolls?"

"Go ahead," I said. Sure, she was improving her chances, but not by much, and I was trying to make a point.

She rolled a 10 on the first try. "I win!" she cheered, snatching up the dollar.

"Good for you," I said, a little miffed at losing my dollar at such poor odds. "But why did you play?"

"It only cost me a penny, and I won a dollar. Why wouldn't I play?" Tara answered.

"What if it cost you fifty cents to play?"

"That's too much. The odds aren't good enough."

"But the odds are the same, Tara...one in 10."

"But it costs more to play!"

"That doesn't change the odds; it just changes your willingness to accept them," I replied.

"Now I'm confused again," Tara said, shaking her head. Her blond hair tossed. It was beautiful.

"OK. What if..." And on the spur of the moment, I did it. I don't know how it popped into my head, but I did it. "What if I offer you a chance at twenty dollars? Would you risk a dollar to win it?"

"Sure!" she said, handing me the dollar and grabbing the die. She rolled a 6, and I pocketed the dollar. "Oh, well. Easy come, easy go, right?"

"Would you like to try again?" I pulled out a $20 and put it on the table in front of her. To a girl who was a student athlete, with no time to hold a job, that was big money, and she was clearly interested.

"I would, but I don't have a dollar."

"Ok, well, what if we change the game, then? Let's say that if you roll a 10, you get the $20. If you don't, however, you have to pay a penalty. You have to do something silly."

"What do you mean, something silly?" she asked, looking at me oddly. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Say..." I thought carefully. I had to make it interesting enough to risk $20, but I couldn't scare her off.... "Say, if you lose, you have to drop an ice cube down the back of your shirt until it melts."

She laughed, and I knew I was in. "An ice cube? No problem." She grabbed the die and rolled it. A 3. "Ok, ok. One ice cube, coming up." Tara went to her fridge, took one out, and dropped it down the back of the tank top. She let out a little yelp -- "Shit, that's cold!" -- and sat down.

"So was it worth it?" I asked.

"For a shot at that twenty? Heck, yes!"

I thought for a moment. How far could I push this?

"Want to try again?"

"Ooh, another ice cube? I'm so scared, Fred!" Tara laughed, making a face. "Sure!"

"No, we know you'll risk that," I said. "How about a different penalty? If you lose, I get to pour a glass of water over your head."

"No way!" she laughed. "Not on those odds."

"OK - I'll give you the 20 on a one or a 10."

That made her pause. "One or ten? That's a 2 in 10 chance, right?"

"Right. And it's just water, you know. You already got sweaty at practice."

"That's true," she said, "though you didn't have to mention how I'm stinky.

"I didn't say that!" I said hurriedly, but she was smiling, so I knew she was kidding. "So--are we on?"

She picked up the die, and weighed it for a moment. "Hmm. Well....it is $20." She shook the die and rolled a 4.

I smiled. "Uh, oh...someone's getting a shower!"

Tara hung her head as I walked over to the sink and filled a glass with water. I came back, still wondering if she was going to pay up. "Ready?"

"Yeah, I guess..." she said, standing up and stepping on to the linoleum. "Go on."

I poured the water slowly, watching it run in little rivulets over her face. It wasn't much, not nearly enough to wet her tank top, for example, but it was still pretty.

When the water stopped flowing, Tara shook her head and grabbed for a kitchen towel. "Happy now?" she smiled at me, dabbing at her face.

"Ecstatic," I joked. "Hot wet women make me crazy. And look at what we've learned!"

"What have we learned?"

"That you'll let a guy pour water over you for a chance at $20."

"Hey!" Tara said, throwing the towel at me. "You make me sound cheap!"

I grabbed the towel out of the air and set it down. "Not cheap. You just knew what you were willing to risk, and for how much. Most people will do anything for the right amount of money. If I offered you a million dollars, would you run naked down the street and back?"

"For a million? No problem," she laughed. I wish I had a million dollars, I thought.

"How about for $20?" I offered, smiling.

"Keep dreaming."

"OK, but do you see that for the right amount, you'll risk more?"

"Maybe..."

Did I dare suggest it?

What the hell.

"Let's try another example. Would you risk a wedgie?"

"A wedgie? You mean, like, my underwear?"

"Yep. A big fat wedgie. Would you risk getting one from me?"

"For twenty dollars? What would the odds be?"

"Two in ten again?"

She thought about it for a minute, while my heart pounded. Tara was actually considering letting me wedgie her? This was insane!

"No," she said, and my heart hit bottom. "I don't think so. That's a little too humiliating, and a little too personal."

Damn. Well, no looking back now... "Sure. But what if I up the prize to $40?" I took out a second twenty. Told you it paid to be a geek.

Tara stared at the money for a moment. "Two in ten chance, for $40 or a wedgie?"

"Well," I said, backpedaling a bit--my cash supply wasn't bottomless--"if we're upping the prize, we have to cut the odds a bit, to be fair. 1 in 10 again."

The ball was in her court. Would she bite?

"1 in 10...I could really use $40...Damn! This is tough!"

I stood there waiting. Let her choose, don't push...

Tara took a deep breath. "Ok. It's worth the risk. It's only a wedgie, right?"

"Right.." I said weakly. All the air had left the room, all the sudden.

Tara rolled the die. She got a 9. "CRAP!" she said loudly. "Can I roll again?" She looked at me pleadingly, with the cutest smile.

This was the best day of my life.

"Well, let's talk about that in a minute. First..." I smiled wickedly.

"Oh, god... This is so stupid, Fred!" Tara said, hands on hips. "You're really going to give me a wedgie?"

"If you're gonna play, you have to pay, right? Turn around."

One last look, and she turned around, presenting me with that incredible backside.

I took a deep breath, and reached forward, sliding my hands into the back of her shorts. God, she was wearing low-cut panties--it felt like I was sliding down for five minutes before I caught the material. Slowly but firmly, I pulled, watching virtual panty lines suddenly appear, then disappear as the undies rode up into her crack. "Argh!" she squealed, bouncing up on her toes as I gave a quick jerk upward. She was wearing cotton panties, and they had little flowers on them in blue and pink. I almost died right there. Unwilling to let go, I jerked up again a couple of times, each time getting a yelp from the blonde in front of me. I let loose reluctantly, and she spun around, her face beet red. "Geez!" she squealed, hands stuffing her undies back into her shorts. "Remind me not to let you do THAT again!"

"Oh, you handled it beautifully," I said, trying to conceal my arousal by stepping back to the table and sitting it down, at the same time taking in as much of the picking as I could. "Now, what was that about a second roll?"


Tune in for part two, which I promise will have less setup and more action, to be continued if response merits it...
Ps I didn't write the first second and third parts of the story

[Dares1234]

“What was that you asked about a second roll, Tara?”

The perky blond in front of me was still picking the wedgie I had just given her. Honestly, I’m surprised I was still able to talk after that. Not only did I get my hands into her shorts, along the way brushing against one of the tightest, cutest butts in the school, but I wedgied her, too! I hadn’t seen them, but I imagined her eyes bugging out as she had squeaked when the cotton had bunched up between her cheeks, or when the tugs tightened them against her privates…this was certainly going to be a day for the record books.

“What I said?”

“You asked if you could have a second roll, 2 in 10 chance of getting $40 against a wedgie. Do you still want it?”

I could see temptation battling dignity on her face, and held my breath.

“Well…I’d like to try again, but that wedgie thing…I don’t know if I want to let you do that a second time,” Tara replied. “No offense, Fred, but having some guy yanking your panties isn’t all that fun.”

“It was fun for me…besides, it wasn’t supposed to be fun for you. It was learning.”

Tara giggled. “Right…learning. I don’t think that most tutors use that as a teaching technique, you know.”

“Are you complaining?” I said with mock indignation. “I could leave…”

“No!” she said, with a speed that surprised me. “I mean, I still don’t get this probability thing completely. And I have to admit, this bet thing is kind of fun. I like winning your money.”

“You haven’t done so well at it, though….” I smiled.

Tara stuck out her tongue. God, she’s adorable. “You just wait. Just give me a chance.”

“So you DO want to risk another wedgie, then.”

“Uh…well…”

“Tell you what. I have an idea that may make this more interesting AND more educational,” I said, taking out my notebook and pulling out a blank page.

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” the blond answered wryly. “What did you have in mind? I bet it isn’t working problems.”

It certainly isn’t, I thought to myself. But if it worked…

“How about this?” I said, taking the page and folding it into several narrow strips. “First, I’ll make some slips of paper.” I tore the strips up to make a small pile of rough squares. “Now we’ll need three more of these bowls,” I said, pointing to the ceramic spaghetti bowl sitting on the table. Tara’s dinner was getting cold, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed intrigued, hurrying over to the cabinet in the kitchen and bringing back the bowls. I set them side-by-side on the table.

I took out my pen, and grabbed a slip of paper. “OK, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll have three bowls—a low-risk bowl, a medium-risk bowl, and a high-risk bowl.” Taking out my wallet, I counted out the $100 in mixed bills I had with me (I had planned on getting to the bank to deposit it, but I was running late on my way to tutor…lucky me!), got the $30 off the counter from her mother, and placed it all on the table. “Here’s the pot.” Tara had obviously never had over a hundred dollars in cash lying around in her possession, because she was mesmerized. Not that she was poor; her family was well-off, to be sure. I guess she was used to everything being done with credit cards. A lot of people my age are that way, since cash isn’t used very often anymore. It seems almost rare to have more than $20 lying around. Anyway, there was no doubt that I now had Tara’s full attention.

“You mean you’re willing to gamble all that money, Fred?” she asked. “Why?”

“Maybe I just like the risk,” I lied, “or maybe I don’t care about money. Either way, I wouldn’t chance losing the money if the stakes weren’t worth the risk, just like you wouldn’t take a risk unless the payoff was worthwhile.”

“OK, I get that,” she replied thoughtfully. “So my payoff is money if I win, right? But I told you I don’t have money to gamble away—what’s in it for you?”

“Well, Tara, that’s kind of up to you. That’s what these slips are for. Last time we bet cash against a wedgie, but I’m sure we can come up with other “penalties” you can pay that I’ll find entertaining enough to make them worth my risk. We’ll write each on one of these slips, and put them into one of the three bowls, depending on how significant you view the penalty as being. Then we’ll bet my money against you drawing at random from one of the bowls. The more risk you’re willing to take, the larger the amount of money I’ll put up as a prize. We can negotiate the odds, too, but that’s the general idea.”

Tara was looking a little less enthusiastic about this, but she didn’t say no. The pile of money was clearly a strong lure. “Give me an example of a penalty you’d want,” she said tentatively.

“Let’s start with something easy—another wedgie.” I wrote WEDGIE in big letters on one slip, folded it over twice, and looked up. “Now, would you consider a wedgie to be an easy penalty, a medium penalty, or a tough penalty to pay? Remember, we have to agree where a penalty should fall. After all, if all the penalties fall into the “tough” category, I’m not going to be willing to risk a lot of money on them, because I stand to gain less than I would lose.”

She thought for a moment. “I didn’t like getting wedgied, but it wasn’t that big a deal, I guess. It was a lot more of a penalty than the ice cube down my back, though. I guess that makes it a medium penalty. What do you think?”

I would have put it in the easy category, but I wasn’t going to argue. I didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize my chance of playing this game out. Instead, I nodded agreement and dropped the slip in the middle bowl. I then picked up a second slip. “What else should we put in?”

“If we put the wedgie in again, maybe we could put in the ice cube and the water over the head thing again? I wouldn’t have a problem with either of those again.”

I scribbled ICE CUBE DOWN BACK and GLASS OF WATER OVER HEAD on two more slips, folded them, and put them in the easy penalty bowl. “Good enough. Any other ideas?”

“Why are you asking ME?” Tara snorted. “I don’t want to pay ANY penalties. I just want your money.” She smiled mischievously. “You suggest something.”

I had hoped to avoid this. I didn’t want to freak her out or scare her off, so I knew I had to “feel my way” through this carefully. Nothing too scary…at first, anyway. “OK. What about…a glass of water down the pants? Not too much different than water over the head, so that should be an easy penalty, right?”

“No way!” she answered. “Pouring water into my pants? That’s much worse than over the head. Have you ever had your pants soaking wet? It sucks!”

“Medium, then.” I was already writing WATER DOWN PANTS, and dropped the slip into the middle bowl before she could object again. “Do you have any whipped cream?”

“I know what you’re thinking of,” Tara scowled. “Yes, but do you know how hard it is to get whipped cream out of your hair? We got pied in the face during initiation for the softball team, and it took me 30 minutes to get it all clean. That’s a medium.”

“I’ll let you put your hair up out of the way. Would that make it an easy?”

“Only if you promise not to smear it in my hair.”

“Fine, fine.” PIE IN FACE joined the easy bowl. “We’ll do a second one, though, for the medium bowl. That way there’s more chance involved, right?” It wouldn’t change the odds for a penalty at all, but I wanted to get as much in those bowls as I could. I wrote PIE IN FACE AND HAIR and dropped it into the middle container. “We still need a hard penalty, though. What about a messy wedgie?”

“A messy wedgie? What the hell is that?”

“Language, Tara, language! A messy wedgie is a wedgie combined with something stuffed into your undies. Hence the messy part.”

“Gross! No way.”

“Hey, it’s a hard penalty. You don’t have to even draw from that bowl. It should be something tough on you.”

“But that would be so disgusting!”

I went ahead and wrote MESSY WEDGIE down and put it in the hard bowl. “Fine. Just don’t pick from that bowl, and you’re fine,” I replied. “But I’m still putting it in.”

“What’s with you and this cartoon stuff?” Tara taunted. “Too many clowns when you were a kid?”

“Okay, Tara,” I answered, “want to get more serious? Are you willing to put that smart ass of yours on the line? It was your birthday last week, wasn’t it?”

Tara looked confused, but answered anyway. “Last Tuesday. How did you know?”

“I saw the happy birthday sign on your locker at school. How about risking a little birthday spanking? You, over my knee, for sixteen and one to grow on.”

“What?” she squawked, “You’re kidding! A birthday spanking?”

“Hey, you’re a tough softball player, right? A few swats on the fanny shouldn’t scare you. I’ll put it in the easy bowl for you.” I knew I was hitting a button with this one. Tara, like many of the female athletes at the school, resented that they were looked down on by the male athletes, especially since her training was as rigorous as most of theirs. If anything could get her to rise to the bait, this would.

“Easy? That ought to be a hard penalty, if I let you spank me!” Bingo! Her indignance was toward the implication that she couldn’t handle the penalty, not toward me for suggesting it.

“Then let’s compromise. One spanking in each bowl. If you draw the easy one, it’s just a straight seventeen swats. If you draw the medium spanking, though, you have to take it pants down, and if you pick the hard one, you get the spanking bare bottomed.” I was WAY out on a limb with this one, and for a very long pause, Tara just looked at me. I thought she was about to call this whole thing off. “Unless you’re too afraid it would hurt…” I added.

That did it. “The only thing I’m afraid of is taking all your money. A spanking from you would be a joke. Put them in,” the blond said firmly. I said a silent thank you to my psychology teacher, and quickly scribbled the penalties down.

“Got any other terrible penalties in mind, Fred? Maybe you want to give me a noogie?” Tara must have thought she was putting on a brave front; maybe she wanted to intimidate me into backing off on the game. All she was doing, though, was making it easier for me to take it further.

[Dares1234]

“I can see you’re a tough girl to impress. Fine. If you’re so hard to embarrass, you won’t mind risking more. How about taking off clothing? Right now you’re wearing a tank top, a sports bra, shorts and underwear. Three slips—Easy costs you one piece of clothing, medium costs you three, and hard costs it all.” I held the pencil ready over the paper, waiting, and put the most challenging look I could muster on my face.

This was taking the game to a whole new level, of course, but – as I was trying to teach Tara – a calculated risk can produce a big reward. If she even gave in a little bit on this…

“I’m not taking off my clothes for you, you pervert!” she said angrily.

“You said you wanted a real risk,” I answered, even though I knew she had said nothing of the kind. “If you want me to put up serious money, you have to put up a serious prize. I’m not an idiot, Tara. You’re an amazingly beautiful girl; of course I would love to see you naked. I’m willing to risk a great deal for that. The question is, are you?”

Tara folded her arms.

“Look, think of it this way. I’m not asking you to risk much at the low level. You train in just a sports bra all the time when you jog. Losing the tank top isn’t a big deal, and you stand to win more likely than lose because it would be in the easy pile.”

“I don’t know. I guess. But the other two..”

I cut her off. “Good. The first one is settled then.” I wrote down LOSE SHIRT and put it in the easy bowl. “Now, the other two, like you said, are worse.”

“Well, duh!” she replied, tossing her hair. It was like watching a movie. The light glinted in it as it cascaded back over her shoulder. She was still standing there, arms crossed over what looked like a very nice chest, tank top and shorts showing off that incredible athlete’s body. I could stare at her for hours.
“Fred?”

“Oh..sorry. Got distracted,” I said with a rueful grin. “Losing your shorts would leave you standing in your panties, which I admit would be a little embarrassing.”

“You think that would be a LITTLE embarrassing? I don’t just hang around with guys in my underwear, you know,” Tara retorted.

I didn’t bother to correct the grammar. I knew what she meant. “Of course not. But remember, I just grabbed your underwear and hauled it a good way into your personal space, so it isn’t as if I haven’t seen it already. And you know, being in your underwear isn’t any more revealing than being in that orange bikini you wore to the pool this summer.”

Tara thought about this for a moment. “I guess that’s true. But…wait a minute! How did you know I had an orange swimsuit this summer?”

Sometimes Tara was a little slow on the uptake.

“I told you, Tara, I find you very attractive. Do you really think I haven’t noticed you before? We live in the same area, we go to the same school, we use the same community center pool. I saw you at least once a week this summer, even if you never noticed me.” I put a little emphasis on the last words, and to my surprise, Tara actually looked a little guilty.

“I’m sorry, Fred. You’re a grade ahead of me, and I didn’t know you. It isn’t like I wouldn’t have said hi if I knew who you were. I’d come and talk to you now for sure. You’re a nice guy.”

Well, at least she didn’t say “you’re a good friend.” I soldiered onward. “Anyway, so that settles the shorts, then.” I scrawled LOSE SHIRT AND SHORTS on a slip and put it into the medium risk bowl. “That just leaves your last two pieces of clothing.”

Tara tensed up again. I could tell she was on the edge of bolting, so I backpedaled quickly. “If you aren’t comfortable risking both remaining pieces, what if we back down to one piece? After all, there’s no chance of you losing your top if you never pick a high-risk wager, and even if for some reason you do…”

“I won’t.”

“…if you do, you still won’t be left naked. What do you think?”

“I think this is a bad idea,” she said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “If I’m not going to take a high-risk bet, why should we even put that in the bowl? What’s the point?”

“Remember,” I said, “the point of this is also to teach you probability basics. I can’t do that if we don’t have sufficient numbers to work with. For the game to be useful, there have to be a fair number of slips in each bowl.”

“Oh. But there’s no rule that says I have to do anything, right?”

“Of course not, Tara. If you’d rather work problems, we could do that instead…”

Damn! She was actually giving it some thought! I should have kept quiet, but instead, I gave her an out. I waited what seemed like an eternity for her answer.

Tara looked me in the eye and gave me a shy smile. “No, I guess it’s okay. This is more…interesting. And I still plan to take your money.”

Without another word, I wrote LOSE SHIRT, SHORTS, AND BRA on a slip and put it into the bowl, silently vowing to donate the hundred dollars to charity if some divine force took pity on me and made her draw that slip somehow. Hey, a guy has to dream…

We spent a few more minutes writing down some penalties. Most of them were pretty silly; one of the easy ones was to sing and act out a song of my choice, for example. I slipped in a few more good ones, too. There was a medium penalty that called for her to stand in a cold shower for a full minute. Another medium was an egg smashed on her head. I also got in a hard penalty that called for her to attend my own version of “Baking School.” She wanted me to explain that one, but I told her it would involve eggs, flour, and water, and that seemed to satisfy her worries. We agreed on a simple easy—50 push-ups--and a medium where she would put seven ice cubes into her shorts, then sit on them until they melted. You get the idea. Nothing too risqué, but if Tara’s luck wasn’t good, she would have a very uncomfortable couple of hours. Finally, the easy and medium bowls looked like they had about 10 slips in each, and the hard one had five or six.

“OK, I think we’re ready to play,” I said, pulse racing. This was her last chance to bail out. Would she? I had a sudden stroke of inspiration. “Oh, and by the way—if you win money from me, you can choose to risk that instead of risking a penalty draw. That way, if you’re lucky and choose well, you can avoid ALL the penalties.”

If Tara had been wavering before, this seemed to reassure her. “That’s what I intend to do. You’re going down, Mr. Tutor,” she said, an impish grin splashed on her face.

“We’ll see. So…what sort of wager would you like to start with? Easy, medium, or hard?”

I expected her to go straight to the easy bowl and stay there, but Tara had other ideas. “That depends. What’s the prize and the odds?”

“Smart girl—you’re learning! Make sure you know the rules before making your choice, so you make a smart decision.” Tara did a little fake curtsey in acknowledgement. “Well, in our early bets, which were for easy stakes, we bet $20 against 1 in 10 odds.”*

Tara shook her head. “I was silly to take those odds. A 10% chance is too low, even for something like that ice cube. Either you’ll have to risk more money, or give me better odds.”

“Even for an easy risk draw? You’re playing hardball, aren’t you!” I replied grimly. “Well, then, how about 2 in 10?”

“I think I want to start with something worth a little more. If I can get some cash to begin with, I can take bigger bets without having to draw from the heavy risk bowl. Put up $40. What odds would you give me on that?” she asked.

I thought for a minute. “$40? Well, I guess I could give you 1 in 10 odds on that. That’s where we were before, right?”

Now I knew that Tara would reject the offer, but I also knew my odds. I could go as high as 4/10 and still feel confident about taking the bet. All I wanted to do was get the best odds I could out of her.

Sure enough, Tara countered: “Hey, this is a medium risk for me! There’s some things in there that would be pretty bad. Or would be a lot of fun for you, Fred…”she continued, changing her tactics. “Wouldn’t winning one of those prizes be worth risking odds that are in my favor? Six in ten.”

I smiled in return. “As much fun as it might be, it isn’t $40 worth of fun. Two in ten.”

“Five in ten. Fifty-fifty.”

“Three in ten.”

“All right. Four in ten, and that’s my final offer,” Tara said.

“You drive a hard bargain, Tara, but OK,” I replied, smiling inside. “Roll the die.”

She took the 10 sided die in both hands, shook it, closed her eyes and rolled. A seven. “I win!” she said, taking the two twenties I had placed on the table.

“Good work,” I said, trying to smile. “You read the odds, took a calculated risk, and won.”

“Darn right! Want to go again?” Her smile was a taunting one. She clearly felt much safer having won the first roll.

“Sure, we can try again. Same stakes?”

“No, I don’t think so. You want to win your money back, so you should give me better odds to play.” Damn—I wasn’t expecting that…I revised my estimate of Tara’s cleverness a bit. “Six in ten if you want to get that $40 back.”

“Forget it,” I said. “I’ll put up $25 against an easy draw, three in ten odds. Take it or leave it.” I didn’t mean that, but I thought I’d see if it would work.

“Against an easy draw? Hmm…OK. You’re on.” Tara scooped up the die and rolled again, this time ending up with a four.

“I guess I keep my money this time, hot shot,” I said to her. “Now, do you want to take a draw, or do you want to give me the $25 you owe me? Your choice.” Tara looked at the easy bowl for a moment, but then handed me the two twenties.

“I get $15 back, so I’m still ahead, and still untouched,” she noted.

"Still want to play?"

[Dares1234]

I thought about it. I didn’t want her to burn through her debt so fast I didn’t get to enjoy myself, but I wanted to make sure she was willing to take some big risks, too. “How about a sliding scale? Let’s assume that we’re using a 10-sided die from now on. I’ll put $25 on each easy draw, $50 on each medium, and $75 on each hard draw you risk. We’ll make the odds fifty-fifty on each roll, but you can change them by adding or subtracting money from the bet. For each $10 you add, we drop the chances by 1 in 10. For each $10 you take away, we’ll add 1 in 10 to your odds. For example, if you took a medium draw for $30, your odds would be 7 in 10. If you took a hard draw for $85, your roll would be a 4 of 10.”

“That sounds pretty fair to me,” Tara admitted. “I thought you’d stick me with really lousy odds on these rolls so you got maximum penalties.”

“That wouldn’t be very sporting, would it? Do you really think I’m that nasty?” I asked.

“I think you’re a really nice guy, actually,” she replied. “Of course, if you’d just forgive my debt completely, I’d think you were REALLY nice…”

“Uh…no.” I smiled.

Tara smiled back. “I didn’t think so. Can’t blame a girl for trying, though. I guess I’ll start with an easy draw roll.”

On a blank slip of paper, I wrote $210 and then deducted $25. “OK. Your balance is now $185. 6-10 you’re paid, 1-5 you draw. Roll away!”
Tara rolled the die, and it came up a 2. “I knew that would happen. That’s why I picked the easy draw first,” she said. “Here goes…” She reached into the bowl and (AT LAST!) pulled out her first penalty slip, unfolding it to reveal the words PIE IN FACE.*

“Oooh!” I said mockingly. “Not in the hair, Fred, not in the hair!”

“Shut up!” she retorted, laughing. “And you promised. The whipped cream is in the fridge door. Get it while I put my hair up.” She pulled a scrunchie out of her backpack and began wrapping her hair up into a knot. I went to the fridge, took out the whipped cream, and turned back to the table. “Paper plates, Tara?”

“Look in that cupboard by the oven.” I found them, took one out, and sprayed a generous helping of cream on it. When I turned back to put away the can, I saw Tara was finished with her hair, and was now looking at the “pie” with distaste. “Don’t worry,” I said, carrying it over to her. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Tara closed her eyes as I brought the pie up to chin level. I pressed it firmly into her face, rubbing it around a little and savoring the moment. Again, you don’t get to pie a pretty girl every day, you know. After a second, her hands shot up to swat mine away, and she pulled the paper plate away to reveal a cream-caked face that was somehow even more adorable than before.

“That is so…weird feeling!” she said, wiping cream from her eyes. “Could you throw me that towel?” I walked to the sink, grabbed the towel hanging there, and tossed it to her, smiling broadly. She wiped the goo off as best as she could, but I could still see a spot on her neck she had missed, and her eyebrows were just a little tinted with cream. “Not as bad as I thought it would be, but I got whipped cream in my nose!”

“Tara, you are just SO dainty,” I laughed, and she whacked me on the arm.

“Hey, enjoy it. That was a $25 dollar pie you just hit me with, big shot.”

“Worth every penny,” I assured her. “What’s your next pleasure?”

“Hmm. I guess…I’ll go for a medium.”

“Want to buy better odds, or boost the risk for more money?” I asked.

“Not this time. I’ll try fifty-fifty again. It has to go my way eventually.” She still didn’t get the Gambler’s fallacy, I noted, but some people never understand that.

“Fifty-fifty it is.” I deducted the $50, leaving her with a $135 dollar debt. “Go ahead.”

She rolled the die, and, alas, it came up an 8. “Thank God!” she said, picking up the die and giving it a kiss. Lucky die, I thought. I’d probably have swapped the $50 for that kiss right about now…

Tara brought me back to reality again. “Same thing again. Medium draw.” I cut another fifty from her tab, bringing it to $85, and she rolled again.

My turn for good luck. A 1! Tara was going to have to draw from that medium penalty bowl.

To her credit, she didn’t flinch. She went straight to the bowl and pulled a slip, then unfolded it and handed it to me. “I can’t look,” she said. “Tell me what it says!”

I was a very happy man. The slip I was holding said LOSE SHIRT AND SHORTS, and I think my voice cracked a bit when I read it to her. “Let me see that!” she said, staring in disbelief. She shook her head. “I couldn’t have drawn the ice cubes again, or the water in the pants. I have to draw stripping.”

I sat back and waited. I sure wasn’t going to say anything, and I didn’t want to miss a second of this.

Reluctantly, Tara stood up and stepped away from the table. I heard her muttering “bathing suit” a few times to herself as she shucked off her tank top, leaving her in a pale blue sports bra. I was impressed, but the real payoff for me would be the shorts. That amazing backside was going to be nearly naked for me.

It only took a second. She slid her thumbs into the waistband of the running shorts, slid them down, and kicked them away as if she was afraid that if they were left there on the floor she’d grab them to cover up with. I had seen the top of her panties already, but now I got the full view, and it was worth it! They were a light white cotton pair covered in a pattern of pink and blue flowers, the pink very close to the red Tara was blushing at the moment.

“Okay, you get the full view,” she said, doing a quick pirouette. Her backside flashed by, creamy thighs and the smoothest looking curve, and then she was sitting down, legs crossed and hands in her lap. “Satisfied?”

“Not even close,” I said, breathlessly. She blushed some more, but I hardly noticed. My eyes were riveted to her legs, thighs, and the exposed hip still in view.

It was a moment before I realized Tara had said something again. “I’m sorry?”

“Geez, Fred, you’ve seen me in a bathing suit, remember? Get a grip. I asked how much I still owe.” I could hear amusement in Tara’s voice. I guess she didn’t mind being admired so openly.

“Some things are worth a closer look, “ I said. “Uh, you owe…$85. What’s next?”

Tara seemed a little bolder without her pants on, for some reason. Or maybe she wanted to get this over with. Either way, she leaned forward over the table toward me. “OK…how about one last deal? I owe $85, and I KNOW you want me to draw from that hard penalty bowl. It isn’t the only hard thing here,” she said, looking over to my crotch with very un-Tara-like directness. “One roll for the whole $85 against a hard draw. I could buy that at 6 of 10, or I could do easies all the way out. Give me 7 of 10 odds and I’ll risk the hard penalty.”

I can honestly say that my body was already saying yes before I even started to consider the odds. A three in ten chance wasn’t much, but the prize sure was.

Tara picked up the die and rolled confidently. And it came up 2.

It was Christmas in my universe, and I just got a 5’9” blond as my present. Tara was staring in horror at the 2, and I could see her wondering how anyone could have been so unlucky. “Cheer up,” I said, barely able to contain myself. “Your debt is officially clear as soon as you pay this penalty.”

This was small comfort to the teen, still sitting there staring. “Tara? Are you ok?”

She shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. I think I know how all those people who go to Las Vegas and lose everything feel.”

“Hey, it isn’t that bad,” I said. “You aren’t losing any money, and it’s only a little joke penalty, you know.”

“I don’t think losing my bra would be a joke, Fred,” Tara said seriously. “I..I’ve never done that before..you know, in front of a guy. It’s a kind of big deal, not a joke.”

I looked at her for a minute. Up until now, she had been smiling. When she lost, she had scowled a little, but for the most part she had borne it with good humor. Now I could see that she was genuinely upset.

I took her hand. “Tara, I don’t want to make you do anything you aren’t willing to do. I like you, and I’d never do that. Tell you what—since it’s important to you, we’ll take that slip out of the bowl.”

“You’d do that?” she asked, eyes lighting up.

I pulled over the bowl, opening the slips up until I found the LOSE SHIRT, SHORTS, AND BRA chit. I handed it to her, then folded up the other slips and put them back in the bowl. “I’d do that. No problem.”

Tara looked at me for a second, then leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Before I could react, she was back in her chair, and she snatched the bowl from me. “One penalty and I’m clear. Let’s go.” She grabbed one of the remaining slips and put the bowl down again. Slowly, she unfolded the penalty, looked at it, and set it on the table. “Well, I know you’ll be happy about this one, Fred…”

The slip said MESSY WEDGIE. Holy crap.

Tara, clearly ready to get this over with, was already on her feet. “OK. You want me facing away from you, right? Should I lean over the back of the chair?” She did so, stretching her panties tightly against the firmest, most perfect ass I’ve ever seen. “Do I even want to know what the messy part is?”

“Probably not,” I said, standing up and moving behind her. She was facing away, so she didn’t see me pick up the bowl of marinara-laden pasta that had been sitting on the table for the last hour, the remains of her dinner. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this, but here I was, bowl in one hand, panty-clad beautiful girl in front of me, and my other hand reaching for the waistband of those cotton undies.

Cotton underpants are so soft.

Tara flinched when she felt me pull on the waistband. I could tell she was bracing herself for the yank upward, but instead I pulled her undies gently toward me. I looked down at an ass that was every bit as perfect as I had imagined. She even had a little birthmark on her left cheek! I took a second to admire the view.

“Stop peeking and get on with it!” Tara said reproachfully from over the chair.

I guiltily tore my eyes away. My left hand, bowl ready, moved over her, and for a moment, I wondered if I could possibly make it do what it was about to do.

I shouldn’t have. It rotated without hesitation, dropping a mass of sauce and pasta straight down the back of those formerly pristine panties. “What the…” Tara yelled, no doubt baffled by the cold, wet mass that was now in close contact with her derriere, and moved to straighten up, but before she could, I had put the bowl down on the table, and had snatched up the underpants again with both hands.

I tugged upward, hard. It is very,very difficult to describe the result, despite the fact that it is now indelibly printed in my mind. At first, the sides of Tara’s panties seemed to recede like the tide going out, sliding smoothly up her cheeks toward her butt crack. Quickly, however, cotton hit pasta, forcing the cold mixture of noodle and tomato in every direction. I kept pulling for all I was worth, ignoring Tara’s rising squeals and holding on despite her squirming. The flowers were still recognizable on the material that was stretching up her back about halfway now, right about to her sports bra, but had been eradicated at butt level by a huge red sauce stain. The bulk of the sauce was now sliding down Tara’s lovely bared cheeks, falling to the floor in dribbles, but a fair amount was oozing down her inner thighs, too. Her panties were now entirely wedged into her crack, and as I pulled up again, bringing the blond up on tiptoe, I could see the bulge of material, sauce, and noodle that was forcing itself up into her most personal places. I gave yet another tug, this time bringing the waistband to her shoulder blades.

When I looked down, the panties had all but vanished, and I could only imagine where the sauce and pasta were. (Actually, it looked like most of it was now on the floor, but it was more fun to imagine.) I let go, watching the now-stretched and badly stained underpants snap back into place. Tara spun around quickly, still on her toes. The look on her face was one of absolute, complete shock. She was scrabbling around in her butt, trying hard to pick the wedgie, and all she seemed to be able to say was “Oh! Oh! Oh!” in a little, soft, mewing voice, over and over again. She pulled her hand out, looked at the handful of pasta in it, and looked back at me. “You have GOT to be kidding me!” she said, breathing deeply. “You dumped my DINNER into my underpants? You…you…you…BASTARD! That is the most DISGUSTING thing I have EVER felt in my life!” It looked like she had finally gotten the wedgie out, but she was beet red in the face, and I wondered if, penalty we had agreed on or not, I had gone too far.

I guess my face showed my fear. Suddenly, she burst out laughing at me!

“Oh, Fred, you look like I just kicked your dog! I’m sorry!” She came over, still smeared with pasta sauce, and gave me a big hug.

I was very confused. Was she angry? What’s the deal?

Tara stepped back, looking at the floor and twisting around to try to see her own backside. “God, you’ve totally ruined my panties, and the floor…oh, this is just unbelievable!”

“Look, Tara,” I started to stammer out, “I’m sorry. That was way too far over the line…”

The most beautiful girl ever cut me off. “Don’t be stupid, Fred…I knew the deal, and I knew the consequences. Now, I didn’t expect THIS, exactly, but it could have been worse for me—remember that other slip?”

“So you aren’t mad about this?” I asked, unbelieving.

“Mad at myself, a little, but not you, dummy. I should have been smarter about my bets. You just taught me a lesson. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do, Mr. Tutor?”

I nodded dumbly. This was unreal.

“Still,” Tara continued, “I think you’ve done enough damage for one night, don’t you? It’s going to take me half an hour just to clean up the floor, and I need a shower in the WORST possible way. Don’t worry about the mess. I’ll clean it up.” She handed me my books and the pile of money from the table. I tucked it into my pocket automatically.

“I could help,” I offered lamely.

“Fred, let me spell it out for you. I have pasta up my ass. I’m going to clean myself up, then I’ll worry about the floor, ok?”

“Right,” I said. What else can you say to a beautiful girl who has just informed you she has pasta up her ass? “I’ll go, then.” I turned to leave.

“Oh, and Fred?” I turned back around. “I think I get this probability thing now. But you never know. A little more practice might not hurt, and I have some other math I could use a tutor for…think you might be available?” Tara grinned at me, then dashed up the back stairs, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I took my books and left, wondering what had just happened. Who got tutored, Tara or me?

[kmacroxs]

this is awesome
PLEASE CONTINUE

[mattman12]

Please continue, very interesting

[darebunny22]

This is really good and really nice legnth chapters too

[Dares1234]

Next chapter coming soon

[Dares1234]

A week passed after that unbelievable night, and it passed, to be honest, with a great deal of nervousness on my part. After all that had happened, I began to wonder how I could have thought I would possibly keep my job as Tara’s tutor. Surely, even if Tara had cleaned everything up before her parents got home, she would decide that what had transpired between us was a little too weird for comfort. I expected her to catch me in the halls of the school and publicly accuse me of trying to manipulate her, or start spreading rumors that I was some kind of sick freak. Again, to be totally honest, I really didn’t know how I felt about what had happened. I mean, of course I was still riding on air over the incredible opportunity I had been given, and the image of Tara’s messy wedgie was flashing through my mind at least three or four times an hour. I could still see the slow rise of the seat of her cotton, flowery panties, still envision them disappearing in between those amazing cheeks, replaced by a thin coat of marinara sauce that trailed behind them. I could still hear her outraged squeals, and could still feel the cool cotton against my fingertips. The memories were overwhelming.

What I mean is that I wasn’t sure how I felt about being so overwhelmed in so odd a way. I had never considered myself a fetishist, but it was clear to me that there was something indescribably erotic about what I had done, something that I couldn’t explain, but that was absolutely real. Did that make me a freak? I didn’t think so. But it certainly made me unusual, didn’t it?

I was quietly working myself into a state of panic about my deviance when, about halfway through the day, I saw Tara. Up until then, I had been able to avoid her, dodging around corners or into bathrooms when I saw her coming, but this time I was too late. I had been distracted by a conversation I was having with one of my friends, and when I turned to head for my next class, she was already standing there.

“Hi, Fred! How’s it going?”

“Uh…ok. How about you?” I stammered in reply.

“Listen, I’ve been having some trouble with my math again, and I could really use some help. Are you free on Thursday night?”

Was this some kind of trick? I looked around, trying to spot someone with a camera or hanging around, waiting to spring the joke.

“Fred? Are you looking for someone? We could talk later…” Tara asked, looking perfectly serious. She had her planner out, and was leafing through it. “Or if Thursday night isn’t good, I have practice Friday, but Saturday afternoon would work.”

I was reeling inside. She wasn’t kidding. She still wanted me to tutor her. She didn’t think I was a freak! She was still staring at me, and I realized I hadn’t said anything yet. I fumbled in my backpack, looking for my planner, trying to buy enough time to calm down. I knew if I tried to talk, I’d squeak like a 5 year old. There! I pulled the book out and flipped it open.

“I don’t…oh, I have to be at the library for a project Thursday night. I guess Saturday is best.”

“OK,” Tara said brightly. “That might work better for me, too…What time? 3:00?”

“Three is good,” I replied, penciling it in. “Math review. See you then.”

“See you!” And away she bounced, ponytail bobbing down the hall.

For the next four days, I split most of my free time between reliving the last evening I spent with Tara and trying to decide how to handle myself on Saturday. Should I pretend that the last meeting hadn’t happened, and go back to working problems? What was she expecting? What was I expecting? I found it hard to concentrate, to say the least. I found myself drifting off in class, thinking about Tara. Could I bring up the game again somehow? What other math “demonstrations” could I come up with? In my notebook, I sketched out ideas, all of which seemed ridiculous when considered rationally, but the fantasies wouldn’t go away. Not that I wanted them to.

Saturday arrived. It was a pleasant day, warm and sunny, and I spent the morning outside working in the yard, trying to burn off some nervous energy. The hours felt like they were extended versions of those moments when you are in a car crash, or you see something falling, and you feel time slow down around you. It took a Herculean effort to restrain myself, but despite wanting to leave for Tara’s an hour early, I managed to get there only a few minutes before three o’clock. Ok, to be honest, I got there fifteen minutes early, looked at the clock on the car’s dashboard, drove past Tara’s house, and circled the neighborhood for another ten minutes. I’m surprised, actually, that the neighbors didn’t call the police to report a car circling suspiciously.

I knocked on the front door, and a few moments later, Tara opened it. “Hi, Fred! Come on in,” she said, “I was just reviewing my notes.” She led me through to the kitchen, which looked as spotless as usual. No signs of last week’s mess remained on the pristine white linoleum; Tara must have really scrubbed, I thought, to get all that up so cleanly.

She must have caught my glance, because she smiled and said, “Yeah, I got the floor clean. I didn’t think it would ever come up at first, but a little cleanser got rid of the spaghetti sauce stain. Well, most of it, anyway,” she said ruefully. “I ran laundry twice, and it still didn’t come completely clean.”

I managed a weak smile, wondering how I was supposed to answer. She didn’t sound upset, but I still wasn’t eager to go probing so directly into her feelings about last week. “So, what would you like to review today, Tara?”

The blonde flipped through her notes, looking them over. She pulled out a sheet of paper with a few red marks. “Did I tell you I got an 83 on my probability quiz, Fred?” She passed the paper over to me proudly; indeed, she had done quite well, I saw. Tara had run through the easy questions with no difficulty, and answered the majority of the harder ones correctly. It looked like the only problem she had was that…

“I ran out of time,” she said, watching my reaction. I just couldn’t get to all the questions. But I got the ones I did get to try correct!”

“That’s great, Tara!” I said, with genuine pleasure in my voice. When someone I’m tutoring improves, it makes me look good, too. “It sounds like you’ve got the hang of it.”

“Yeah. If I was just a little faster, I would have gotten an A, though.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” I replied. “A B is above average. That’s still darn good for someone who was struggling before. You ought to be proud of yourself.”

“Well, you did help a little, too,” she said, grinning. “Even if it was in an…unusual…way.”

“Yes, well,” I said, looking away and feeling myself turn bright red, “sometimes you just have to take a different approach to things.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” Tara said, much to my surprise. “I think it really made a difference—I was paying a lot more attention than in my math class, because I had more at stake, and it paid off. In fact, that’s partly why I was glad you could come today.”

“Excuse me?” I said, not sure I had understood her. She invited me back BECAUSE of last session? This was, in my mind, about as bizarre a turn of events as I could imagine. Or at least it was before her next sentence. As taken aback as I was by Tara’s apparent lack of embarrassment at our previous session’s odd methods, what she said next was light-years beyond in terms of shocking me.

“I was talking with one of my teammates,” she said. Now it was apparently her turn to be embarrassed, as she was no longer looking at me, instead concentrating on her shoes. I could see the tips of her ears turning pink, and assumed the rest of her now-obscured face was doing the same. “When we got back the quizzes, I did so much better than she did, and she asked how I had studied, and I told her you were tutoring me, and, well, one thing kind of led to another, and…I sort of told her about how you had made the stuff make sense to me.”

“You told her about what happened?” I said, incredulously.

“No, not exactly,” Tara replied quickly. “I..I just told her you showed me how probability worked in a way other teachers couldn’t, and that it worked really well for me. And…well…I don’t know how you feel about this, but, she asked me if you could tutor her, too. We’ve got another quiz next Monday, and we both need to ace it. I kind of thought I could call her once you were here and invite her over for a joint session—I mean, if you think that would be all right. It would really help her out, and I could use the extra practice to improve my speed.”

I was glad I was sitting down. “Tara, what exactly are you suggesting?” It was pretty clear, I thought, but too impossible to be believed without having it confirmed by Tara herself. This was no territory to make mistakes in.

Tara seemed to take a moment to gather her courage, then answered. “I guess I’m suggesting that we call up Jessica, ask her to come over, and that the three of us play a version of that dice game from last time.”

And as my mind collapsed inward into a bubbling mass of goo, I felt myself say, “Oh. Okay.”

“Look, if this is going to make you uncomfortable…”

“No, it’s fine,” I managed, although I think my throat was swelling shut at the time. “I mean, if you’re sure you want to…” I let the words trail off. What could I say?

Tara got up and went over to the phone and dialed a number. “Hello? Is Jessica there? Thank you….Jess? It’s me. Fred’s here, and he says he’s ok with tutoring us together if we want to. Can you come over?…OK…yeah, your notebook. Bye!” She turned back to me as she replaced the receiver. “Jess is on her way. She’ll be here in a couple minutes—she lives like five minutes from here.”

“Great,” I said, my head still swimming. Then a thought struck me. “So…if we’re going to be drilling like we did last time, Tara, um, I was wondering…er…well, if we should be working here at your house.”

“Huh?” Tara clearly didn’t follow the question. “Why wouldn’t we work here?”

“Well, I was just thinking that…well…your parents might interrupt us, and they might not approve of the mess…” I finished lamely.

“Oh,” Tara smiled, suddenly understanding. “Don’t worry about them. I’ll have the place clean again before they get back. Not that I intend for it to get dirty. And they’re gone until late tonight—they’ve taken Dan over to a TaeKwonDo tournament in Southlake.” (Dan, I remembered, was her half-brother, the one I owed a huge debt to for having left his Dungeons & Dragons dice at Tara’s house.)

“Good,” I said, without thinking. Tara broke into a big smile and slugged me in the shoulder. “Hey,” she laughed, “don’t get any ideas!”

Too late.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, Jessica arrived. Now, you may remember my description of Tara from earlier, but let me refresh your memory, because that’s the sort of thing a writer needs to do when introducing new characters, and I, for one, have no intention of drawing the irate critiques of readers. Tara was lean and athletic, sandy blond with hair that looked soft but in fact was rather coarse. She had a slightly too angular nose and a perky smile, and her backside was absolutely phenomenal—tight and gently curved. I knew better than most, as I had actually seen Tara’s bare bottom the week before, just before administering what Tara had called “the single most disgusting experience of my life,” a messy wedgie involving a bowl of cold pasta with marinara sauce. Last week she had come straight from practice, and had been wearing athletic shorts and a tank top, but today she was in a pink T-shirt and a pair of medium length shorts. Her hair was up in a pony tail again, leaving the back of her neck bare.

Jessica, by contrast, was almost totally different. Where Tara was on the tall side for a girl, her friend was short--barely five foot two, if I had to guess. Her hair was cut short, and was a natural chestnut brown. Her face was what a guy might call “nice.” It wasn’t the kind that you would stop and stare at, but if you got to know her, you would notice it was far from ugly, even if it didn’t stand out as “gorgeous.” I knew that she was as competitive as Tara, however, as she had a reputation as one of the more aggressive players on both the softball and the soccer teams. Last year I saw her slide tackle a girl a head taller than her so hard that the girl flew a good foot to one side before landing.

Tara let her friend in, and Jessica, no stranger to the house, dropped her knapsack on the floor by the stairs. “Got anything to drink, Tara?” she asked, plopping down at the table without preamble. “If we’re gonna be studying, I need some caffeine. I am totally beat.”

“Too much fun last night?” Tara asked in a suggestive tone, eyebrows raised, as she handed her friend a Coke from the fridge.

“Oh, I wish. You know I haven’t had a date in months. I thought about going to that party at Steve’s last night, but I decided not to, and boy, am I glad. I hear the police busted it up and got four kids for possession. Their parents are gonna shit bricks.”

“Morons,” I said, inserting myself into the conversation. “So why are you tired then?”

Jessica looked at me for a moment, then turned to Tara. “This is Fred? I thought he was the guy with the glasses from last year’s bio class.”

“No, that was Mitch. Fred’s a grade ahead of us.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, as I watched Jessica looking me over.

“No disappointment,” she said, flashing me a quick smile. “Mitch was fat and all pimples. I wasn’t looking forward to an afternoon of math with him.”

“I hope I’m an acceptable replacement,” I said, smiling back.

“We’ll see. So Tara says you’re quite a tutor. She said you were responsible for her last quiz score.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I replied hastily. “She did the hard work to prepare for it.”

“Don’t be so modest, Fred,” Tara said, sitting down at the table and sliding me one of the two cans of Coke she had brought over. “You did a great job of making it clear to me.”

“So I hear,” said Jess. “Tara said you used some unusual methods, too. What sort of methods?”

“You didn’t tell her?” I said, looking at Tara with surprise. “I thought she knew.”

“Well, I started to, but it was kind of hard to explain.”

This was awkward. Jessica had no idea what had happened last session? There was no way I was going to be the one to bring it up. “Tara, I don’t know about this. If you haven’t told her the way we did things…”

Jess looked at us intently. “What do you mean, how you did things? You tutored her, right? So you didn’t just do drill problems or something. What’s the big deal?”

I looked at Tara pointedly. After a moment returning my stare, she grimaced and turned to her friend. “Jess, remember when I told you that Fred did things differently?”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” she continued, “I meant that he did things really differently. Instead of working problems, we…well, we were gambling. He used betting to try to teach me how odds and probability work.”

“Whoa!” Jess replied, sitting back. “Tara, you were betting? That’s so totally not you!”

“I know,” she said, “but it made sense when we did it.”

“So did you win? How much did you take him for?”

Tara hesitated. “Uh...no, I didn’t win. I won a few times, but I ended up losing something like $200.”


Jessica’s mouth fell open. “Two hundred dollars? Holy shit, Tara! How could you lose that much money? That’s like my whole paycheck from O’Charley’s for a month!”

Now I could tell Tara was embarrassed. She was looking a little red-faced, and seemed to be playing with her can of Coke instead of looking at either of us. “I know; it was stupid. But I made a deal so I didn’t have to pay it off in cash, so it ended up being ok. Mostly.”

“What kind of deal?” asked Jessica, curious.

Tara was really blushing now. “Instead of cash, I bet forfeits until I was able to pay the debt. If I won the bet, I got credit for the cash. If I lost, I had to draw a penalty from one of these bowls we had…”

“Bowls?”

“Yeah, just something to hold them in. The more I bet, the bigger the potential payoff, but the worse the potential penalties were.”

“What do you mean, worse penalties? What did he make you do, Tara?” Jessica laughed, clearly enjoying her friend’s embarrassment.

“Fred didn’t make me do anything. It was my choice. I decided to bet, what to risk, and what kind of penalties were in play, so it was my own stupid mistake. Fred was actually really nice about the whole thing—at least until that last forfeit,” she said, shooting me a glare.

“You didn’t answer my question. What were these penalties?”

Tara squirmed in her seat. “Well…I had to let him pour a glass of water over my head.”

Jessica laughed out loud. “You’re embarrassed about THAT? Good grief, Tara, you’re an even bigger prude than I thought!”

“I am not!” Tara retorted, though she blushed even more. “And for your information, I had to strip to my underwear, too.”

“Hmmm,” said Jess, “That’s a bit worse, but still no big deal.”

“And then there was the wedgie.”

“Wedgie? Oh, please.”

“Not just a wedgie. A messy wedgie.”

Jessica looked at her blankly.

“It’s like a wedgie, but with messy stuff thrown in.”

“What? Like he gave you a wedgie and then hit you with a pie or something?” Jessica asked, clearly confused.


Before Tara had even finished her sentence, Jess was howling with laughter, her hands covering her mouth. “OHMYGAWD! You have got to be kidding me! Fred, tell me you got a picture of that!”

I shrugged. “Sorry. But it was pretty impressive.” I couldn’t help chuckling a little at the thought, and even though I could see Tara was trying hard to look very angry, she was having to work to keep from smiling at her friend, who was bright red and gasping for breath at this point.

“All right, Miss Smarty,” Tara said, sounding like the world’s most prim and proper 13 year old telling off a naughty little sister (did I mention that this girl was ADORABLE? Little things like that make me nuts for her), “you think that was funny? Let’s see how you do today!”

Still breathing hard, Jessica wiped the tears from her eyes. “How I do? Are you joking?”

I looked at Tara, who suddenly had a very wicked little grin on her face. “Joking? I thought you said you wanted to get tutoring, Jess, and Fred is the best. You saw the results on that quiz. You asked me to see if he’d take you on. Now the only question is, are you still interested?” And there it was again—that pose, hands on hips, one hip cocked, and a defiant look on that perfect imperfect face. She’s just incredible, I thought to myself. Damn straight she is, my self thought right back.

Meanwhile, back in reality, Jessica was explaining to Tara why today wasn’t the best day for this. “I mean, tutoring, fine, but I was thinking about practice problems and explanations and that stuff. Risking hundreds of dollars is way out of my league.”

[Dares1234]

“I don’t have that much with me today anyway,” I said to Tara. It was a lie; I had nearly $400 in my wallet in tens and twenties, secretly hoping for a repeat of the previous lesson, though I had thought it an impossibility. Now I was looking at a chance to play forfeits with two seriously attractive girls! Tara was clearly on board; all I needed was a way to convince Jessica. And I had an idea.

It was Tara’s idea, really; I just caught on quickly. She was playing on her teammate’s pride and competitiveness, the same way I had played on hers at our last session. I knew Tara was smart, but I was impressed with how quickly she had learned all the same.

“Okay, you don’t want to risk money. That’s fine; I don’t have any either. But is it the money or the risk you’re really afraid of? You’re such a big shot making fun of me and telling me I’m a prude, but put a little bit of embarrassment on the table and it’s you who starts making excuses.” Tara twisted the knife a little harder, seeing Jess was wavering. “Well, if you’re too worried to join us, I hope you won’t mind leaving. I still want my lesson from Fred, and we need to get started. Maybe you’ll work up the nerve some other time.”

“I didn’t say I was afraid of anything, did I?” Jessica replied angrily. “I said I didn’t want to risk money on a math lesson.”

“Well, then…” I interrupted, seeing a window of opportunity, “…I think I have an idea that will let me tutor you without any need to place bets.”

“Really?” Tara asked. “Then you’re in, aren’t you, Jessica? Since the money was the problem, not the risk?”

Jessica was boxed in, and she knew it. “I’m in,” she answered, almost hiding the nervousness in her voice, but not quite. “What’s your idea?”

“Tara,” I asked, “do you have a Monopoly set?”

“Sure. I’ll get it.” She dashed off, leaving me with Jessica for a moment. She was playing with her shoelace, and refused to look at me.

“Here you go,” the blond girl said, returning to the room with the box. “What’s it for?”

“You two are going to play a game of poker with monopoly money. It’s the perfect way to teach probability. But we’ll change the rules a little bit for our game.” I turned back to Tara. “You don’t still have those bowls of forfeits we made, do you?”

Tara smiled, turned to the drawer behind her, and pulled them out. “I kept them, just in case.”

Jessica was looking very nervous again. “How are you going to change the rules? And what are those?”

“The bowls each have slips of paper in them, and each slip has a penalty. The first bowl has easy penalties, things that are no big deal. The middle bowl has medium penalties, which are a little bit bigger.”

“Like having to strip to your underwear,” Tara said. “They’re plenty embarrassing, trust me.”

“The third bowl,” I continued, “has the hard penalties in it. Those are the big ones. Tara only had to pick one of those last time, but as you saw, she remembers it pretty clearly.”

Tara’s hands went to her backside reflexively. “Oh, yes. I remember.”

Jessica turned to me again. “How do you know which bowl to choose from?” she asked.

“That’s where the rules come in. You two will play the game, but as it progresses, you’ll be playing for stakes other than money. Whenever one player runs out of money, they’ll buy more by drawing from the forfeit bowl. The first time you run out, you pick a medium forfeit, and the second time, a hard forfeit. Your hands will also matter—sometimes we’ll be playing stud poker, so occasionally I’ll have you bet on the next card to turn up. And if you are the big loser—you run out of money three times—you have to roll a die. Whatever number that comes up is the number of hard penalties you’ll draw since you lost.” Jessica, who didn’t know much about what was in that bowl, didn’t react to this, but Tara definitely turned two shades paler. This was going to be a serious game!

“But how is this going to teach us probability?” asked Jessica. “It sounds like an excuse to make us draw forfeits to me.”

I turned to Tara. “Tara, here’s your first test. Miss this question and you draw an easy forfeit.” Tara started to protest, but I cut her off, “No complaining! You’ve had a full week to review, and besides, you were bragging about how well you did on the quiz. Explain to Jessica why this is a good way to teach probability.”

“Uh—“, Tara paused for a moment, “Well, first, it has random cards involved, so there must be odds involved, right?”

“Right so far. Go on. Where do the odds fit in?”

“Oh! With the hands. Like there’s a specific chance of getting any hand on a draw.”

“Well, yeah; there’s 52 cards, so there’s a 1 in 52 chance of getting any hand, right?” Jessica interrupted.

“No! That’s not right,” Tara replied. “If you have five cards, you have to multiply out to get the probability of getting any specific five, right, Fred?”

“Actually, no. You’re closer, but you’re still not thinking through the problem.”

“What did I miss?” Tara asked grumpily.

“Think about it. How do you get a pair of twos?”

“You draw two twos,” replied Jessica.

“Right. And what’s the chance of drawing a two?”

“One in 52?” Jessica said.

“No,” I said, “Try again.”

Jessica looked at me, her head tilted to the side. “What other chance could there be? There are 52 cards …” She waved her hand as if to say, that’s all, right?

I waited.

Jessica sat there, looking baffled, but Tara was quickly there with the answer. “There’s a 4 in 52 chance. There are 4 twos in the deck.”

“Good! That’s right. And what are the odds of drawing a second 2, Tara?”

“Oh, crap!” Tara said under her breath, calculating furiously. “There’s a 4 in 52 chance to draw one, so there must be another 3 in 52 chance of drawing the second two, so that’s…”

“Wrong,” I said, and pointed to the easy bowl.

“What do you mean, wrong? There’s a pattern!” Tara said disbelievingly. “Each time has one fewer combination, and there are 52 cards....”

I shook my head. “There WERE 52 cards. Now there are 51.”

“One was taken out,” she finished disappointedly. “I forgot. And we went over it in class, too.”

“You have to take your time, Tara, or you’ll make silly mistakes. Didn’t I warn you about that? Now I think you need a little reminder to be more careful.” Again, I pointed to the easy bowl.

“Come on, Fred...is that really necessary? I’m going to be drawing soon enough,” Tara said, flashing me one of her cute smiles. I was certain by now that she knew what an effect they had on me.

“If you keep forgetting basics, you’ll be drawing many times. Quit stalling.”

The smile quickly vanished. Reluctantly, the lithe girl pulled a slip from the easy bowl and handed it to me. I unfolded it, glancing at Jessica as I did. She was watching with interest, intrigued to see what would happen to her friend. I looked at the slip, then handed it to Jessica, who read it and laughed. “That’s awesome! Can I do it, Fred?”

“Knock yourself out,” I said, smiling.

“Do what?” Tara said impatiently. “Would someone please tell me what I drew?”

I read the slip aloud. WRITE “LOSER” ON FOREHEAD IN BIG LETTERS.

Jessica had already dived into her backpack and produced an orange highlighter. “Hold still, Loser girl,” she said with a huge grin. She held Tara by the chin and drew out the word in two-inch letters. The bright orange stood out against her pale skin. When Jessica was done, she handed Tara a make-up mirror from the backpack. The blond rolled her eyes at her reflection. “Oh, that’s real mature, guys.”

Jess just laughed. “I think I like this game.”

“Wait until its YOUR turn,” Tara retorted. “Then we’ll see if you like it.”

“Ok, so let’s play some poker, ladies!” I gave each $100 in fives and tens, and dealt each five cards.

The first few hands were uneventful. Neither girl was a particularly experienced poker player, and both were fairly nervous, so the bets were small at first. Slowly, however, as the two gained confidence, the bets grew. Jess won $25 with two pair, but Tara got $15 back the next hand with an ace high. I was getting bored, and decided to force our first bet.

“Okay, new hand.” I flipped one card to each of them, face up, and slid each one card face down. “First bet is to Tara.”

Tara looked at her hole card, and at the 9 of spades face up on the table. “I’ll pass.”

“Jess?” The brunette passed as well. I flipped two more cards, one to each. Now Tara had a 9 of spades and a 5 of spades, and Jessica had a jack of hearts and a 3 of clubs showing.

Both girls passed again. Apparently no one had a pair yet. I decided to raise the stakes. “OK, this is for an easy penalty. Tara, it’s your bet, so you choose first. Will the two cards I’m about to turn up both be even or odd, or will they split? Jess gets the option you don’t take. Wrong answer draws the penalty.”

Tara pondered the cards on the table. “Four odd cards showing. Let’s see—13 cards in each suit, seven odd, six even. 52 cards, 28 possible odd cards, 24 left. 24 even cards left, too. So the chance of drawing one of each should be about even with the chance of drawing two odds or two evens. I guess I’ll take the split.”

“OK, Jess, you have ‘same’.” I turned over the two cards, a four for Jessica and an 8 for Tara. “Both even, Tara. You lose.”

“Don’t rub it in,” she said. She reluctantly pulled a slip from the easy bowl and unfolded it. TWENTY PUSH-UPS was printed on it.

“Drop and give me twenty,” Jess crowed, pointing to the floor. “Get going!”

Tara shot her a look, then lowered herself to the floor and began counting off the push-ups. “18…19…20.” She was finished in under a minute, but it was still enough time for me to imprint the image of her tightly clenched buttocks rippling under her shorts on my mind. She sat down once again, but this time picked up ten dollars and dropped it into the pot. “I bet $10.”

Jessica considered, then threw her $10 into the pot. “I call.” I dealt the last cards face up. Jessica now had a pair of jacks, a 3, and a 4 showing. Tara had a 9, 5, 8 and queen. I didn’t know what hole cards they held, but both seemed confident as we went to the final bets. “I bet another $10,” Tara said, laying the money into the pot.

Jessica looked at Tara’s visible cards, then at her own hand, smiling. “I’ll raise you $10 more.” The pot was now up to fifty dollars, but Tara calmly added another $25 and looked at Jessica, as if daring her to match the bet.


A quick glance at Jess’ cash reserve showed a very small stack remaining. She put the last $25 into the pot, then asked for a new $100 from the bank. “I don’t have to take anything unless I lose, right?”

“That’s right. But if you do, you have to draw an easy forfeit,” I replied.

“Got it,” said Jess. “I raise again, another $10.”

Now it was Tara’s turn to look carefully. Jessica’s cards showed only one pair, but her bets suggested she had something more. Still, she thought, the best Jess can have is three of a kind… “I call,” the blonde replied, dropping another $10 into the pile in the center of the table.

Jessica turned over her hole card, which was a third jack. “Three of a kind,” she said with a wide smile.

Tara’s grin was even wider, though. She flipped over the ace of spades. “Flush!” She raked the pot over to herself. “Well, Jessica, it looks like it’s time for you to learn what this game is all about. Forfeit time!”

Jessica reached into the easy bowl, and pulled a slip out. She unfolded it and read it aloud to the two of us. GET SPLASHED IN THE FACE WITH A GLASS OF WATER.

Tara was already up and headed for the sink before Jess had finished reading the slip. She came trotting back with a tall glass brimming with water. “Can I have the honors this time, Fred?” she asked sweetly.

“Knock yourself out!” I smiled. Jess closed her eyes tightly as Tara turned. With a quick snap of her wrist, she dashed the water into her face. Although it was quite a bit of water, most of it ended up on the floor behind Jessica; even so, the brunette gasped, water running down her face.

“You SUCK!” she said to Tara, who was now laughing at her damp friend. I reached behind me and grabbed the towel that was sitting folded on the counter (I guess Tara had planned ahead!) and handed it to Jess, who wiped herself dry. “I am SO going to get you for that…”

“We’ll see,” Tara said mockingly. “Right now you’re the one who spent her first hundred. Another few hands and you’ll be picking a medium penalty, and then we’ll see who’s going to get it.”

“I’m not going to lose any more hands,” retorted her friend, “so you better worry about your own penalties.”

“Sounds like a challenge to me,” I interrupted. “Each of you says that the other will be the next person to draw. Care to bet on that?”

“What are the stakes?” Tara asked.

“Whoever draws next gets a penalty upgrade—whatever bowl she would draw from, she has to draw from the next bowl up.”

“No way!” objected Jess. “If Tara loses, she only would have to take a medium penalty, but if I lose, I have to take a hard one! Those aren’t equal stakes!”

“That’s true, Tara,” I said. “What would you do to balance it out? Consider this another problem to solve. If you can’t come up with what I think is a fair solution, you draw from the easy bowl again.”

“Oh, that is NOT fair!” Tara sulked. “Fine. How about if I lose, I have to draw two mediums to your one hard, Jess?”

Jessica shook her head. “After what you told me about hard penalties, I still don’t think that’s enough. What if the loser just takes a hard penalty?”

This time it was Tara who rejected the proposal. “Uh-uh. You’re behind in the game, so I should get some advantage. It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t get to keep my advantage, since I won it fair and square.”

The two sat and thought for a moment, then Tara spoke again. “What would satisfy you as a stake from me?”

Jessica narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow, which was pretty cute. Then that wicked look was back. “Tell you what…I’ll put up TWO hard penalties as my bet.”

“Jess, do you know what you’re getting in to here?” Tara asked, confused.

“I know, all right. I’ll draw twice from your hard bowl IF you’ll risk that famous Tara modesty of yours. If I win, you’ve got to pop your top for Fred here.”

There are times when even the dumbest man on earth would know to keep his mouth shut. I’m not dumb. I kept my mouth shut.

“WHAT?” said Tara, disbelieving.

“You heard me. It’ll probably kill you just to take off your shirt, but if I win, you take off the shirt AND the bra, and give Fred a good look at you. Fred, I promise you that you’ll be the first guy to ever see what’s under there,” Jessica said, turning to me. “Tara’s hardly even been on a date, let alone risking holding hands.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Tara shouted, blushing angrily.

“What was it you said to me earlier?” Jess said sweetly, “Something like put up or shut up, I think?”

“Two hard penalties for you against my shirt and bra? Fine. It’s a bet,” Tara snapped. My life had just reached a new pinnacle. Either Jessica was going to draw two nasty punishments, or Tara was going to actually undress in front of me!

I could hardly contain my excitement as I dealt the cards. Slowly, money changed hands as first Jessica, then Tara hit winning streaks. Tara’s cash pile was larger than Jessica’s, but not by terribly much. One serious hand could take it all.

[Dares1234]

Finally, a pause in the bidding occurred. Tara was trying to decide how many cards to take, two or three, and Jess was waiting her turn. I looked at the pot; it seemed like there was about $30 in already.

I watched Tara closely. She was ostensibly looking at her cards and thinking, but I caught her eyes flicking up to watch Jess every second or two. She was trying to pick up some sort of clue as to Jessica’s hand. Meanwhile, Jess was getting impatient. “Come on, Tara – how many cards do you want?”

Tara placed two cards on the table face down. I dealt her two new ones, watching her closely as she looked at them, but I couldn’t tell if they helped her or not. Jess had quickly passed me three cards, and I handed her three replacements. She took one look, then grinned.

Tara bet $5, and Jessica called and raised her bet another $10. It was clear she had something good, but what did Tara have? The blonde seemed confident enough, because she asked for a new $100, knowing that if she lost the hand, that meant she lost the bet. She calmly raised the bet another $5, but if she had hoped to scare Jessica into folding, it didn’t work. Jess raised another $10 instead, taking $100 to cover her bet and making this hand the one that would decide the bet. Finally, Tara called, the pot having swollen to upwards of $100. Both players wore a smile as they looked at one another.

“Three sevens!” said Jess, dropping the trio on the table. The other two cards were a 4 and a queen. She looked up expectantly.

Tara’s face said it all. She put down her three sixes and the two junk cards with them. “Yes!” shouted Jessica, pumping her fist into the air. She raked in the pot, nearly $200, and started to sort it out.

This changed the character of the game significantly. While Jessica was now down to her last $100 withdrawal from my “bank”, she now had a large cash stockpile. Tara still had two withdrawals available to her, of course, but it looked like Jess now had more cash overall to work with.

By the way, did I mention I was going to see Tara topless?

You know how time just sort of slows down when you’re in a car wreck? Everything goes into slow motion? Your brain works, but your body seems stuck? Well, that was nothing compared to the overload I was having at the moment. Not in my wildest dreams—no, that’s a lie. Some of my wildest dreams involved a lot more than Tara taking her top off. But there’s no way I would have believed this would happen in real life. Not today. Not now. If the house was on fire, I don’t think I could have moved. I certainly couldn’t talk.

I didn’t have to, though. Jessica, having piled her winnings neatly, was now clapping loudly. “Let’s go, Tara! Take ‘em off, baby!” She wolf-whistled at the blonde teen, who was still sitting there looking crestfallen. “Who’s sorry now, loser?”

Tara seemed on the verge of tears, but somehow she mustered up the courage to stand up. She turned away from us, but Jess quickly objected. “No way! You’ve got to strip in front of us—that was the deal. I want to see your face when you show Fred what you’ve been hiding under there.”

Reluctantly, Tara turned back around. Her eyes were now brimming, but she quickly set her face with a look of steely resolve. I thought she would stare off into space or close her eyes, but she didn’t. She looked directly at me. It wasn’t an angry stare, though—more like she wanted to prove something to me.


Her hands went to the hem of her pink T-shirt and she grasped it. With a swift motion, she shucked the shirt off over her head, but to me, it seemed like an hour as the fabric rose, revealing a flat belly, then just the bottom of a plain white bra. Up the shirt rose, and now I could see Tara’s breasts snugly held by the undergarment, bare chest gleaming white under the florescent glow of the kitchen lights. Then she was free of the shirt, shaking her hair out as the ponytail pulled free of the neck of the clothing. She was still looking straight at me. I can’t describe to you how beautiful she was. The defiant look on her face made her even more spectacular.

Jess clearly wasn’t seeing the expression on her friend’s face, or she just didn’t care. Either way, she was doing her best to humiliate Tara. “Look at those hooters!” she said, faking astonishment. “Never before seen by man or beast, Fred. That’s virgin territory you’re discovering!” She laughed at her own joke. I kind of wanted to slap her. What had Tara ever done to her to deserve this?

“OK, Tara, time to take that bra off,” Jess continued. “You don’t want to keep your audience waiting, do you? Would you like a drumroll?”

Tara continued to ignore Jess, although she was blushing bright red now. She stood there motionless for a moment or two, and I thought for a second that she might quit, throw me out, and find a way to get Jess to keep quiet about the whole thing. Jess wasn’t having any of it, however. “You told me to put my money where my mouth was, Tara. Your turn to step up now. Lose the bra!”

Tara’s hands went behind her back to the clasp. I saw her fumbling for a moment, and then she was bringing them forward again, the straps now hanging loosely on the tops of her milk-white shoulders. As her hands came back around to the front of her body, she dropped her shoulders. The small piece of white fabric slid down her arms, and fell to the ground. And just like that, Tara was standing in front of me, naked from the waist up. She placed her hands to her sides, and in a dangerously low voice, said “Is that good enough for you, Jessica?”

I know you want to know what Tara’s breasts looked like, but honestly, I’ve never figured out how to describe that sort of thing. I mean, it isn’t as if I haven’t seen a nice pair since, but there are only so many words that one can use to paint this particular picture. I don’t know what her chest size was, nor would I want to guess, but from my limited experience, she seemed to have average sized breasts. Like the rest of her body, they looked firm, not particularly bouncy. Each was about the size of an apple, and the creamy skin was tipped on each by a small aureole, perhaps a bit bigger than a quarter, of a dull rose color. Her nipples didn’t stick out particularly. I saw that freckles really do appear just about everywhere on a girl with freckles. Even now, as I read over the description I just wrote, I can’t for the life of me figure how to communicate to you how incredibly beautiful Tara is. You can’t put it into words. The gentle curve of a breast, the flow of hair on a bare shoulder, the modest blush, the tapering waist—alone, they are beauty, but taken as a whole, the result is overwhelming. Even the tear that rolled down her cheek did nothing to detract from her radiance.

And then it hit me. Tara was crying. She was standing there, looking straight at me, trying to show nothing in front of Jess, who was cheering “Go, Tara!” over and over again, but she was crying. I hadn’t seen her date before, and I knew that she wasn’t the type to have gotten wild at a party or something, but I hadn’t realized how big a thing this was to her. I was the first guy to ever see her even slightly undressed, and now, less than a week later, I was the first guy to see her breasts. Not voluntarily, but because she had lost a bet. I couldn’t imagine how she felt. There was nothing I could say that would change that.


I looked back at her, and I willed my face to communicate everything I wanted to say to her, everything I had ever wanted to say. I mouthed the words “You’re beautiful” to her. And I swear to you that, despite the tears, her face collapsed into a weak smile.

“I think that’s enough,” I said. “Tara paid off her bet. She can put her clothes back on.” With a grateful smile, Tara dropped to her knee, grabbed her bra, and quickly put it back on, then drew her T-shirt over her head.

Jess smirked. “Wow, I didn’t think you had it in you, Tara. But aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Forgetting something?”

“Yeah. You didn’t just lose the bet. You also cashed in your first hundred. You owe an easy draw.”

“Wait a minute!” I objected. “The deal was that she would strip if she was the first to be put into a draw situation. She’s paid in full.”

“The bet was for the consequences for whoever lost first,” insisted Jessica. “It didn’t replace the normal rule.”

I was going to answer, but Tara reached over and put her hand on my arm. “It’s ok, Fred. I’ll draw. It sure can’t be anything worse than what I just did, not from the easy bowl.” I watched her fish around in the bowl, and pull out a slip, which she handed to me.

I opened the folded paper, and read the penalty. “WET WEDGIE – You get a glass of water poured into your underwear, followed by a wedgie. Did I put this in here? I don’t remember it.”

Tara blushed again. “I, uh…added a few penalties. I thought it might make today more interesting.” Really, I thought? Tara was full of surprises. This one, though, seemed to have backfired. Jessica was already back, carrying the glass Tara had used before to soak her. Once again, it was full. I think she was hoping I’d let her do the honors, but Tara quickly spoke up. “OK, Fred, we’ve done this before. Let’s get it over with. She turned around, presenting me with her shapely rear end once again.

I took the glass of water from Jess, then reached down the back of Tara’s shorts. I found her panties (cotton, again, by the feel) and pulled back and away, leaving myself room to pour. “Ready?” I asked, and Tara nodded. I poured the water down into the pants, watching the damp spot blooming into a large, round patch. Tara squirmed as the water soaked her panties, ran down her legs, and dripped from her shorts.


I put the glass down, and reached again into the back of Tara’s pants. Finding the waistband of her undies again, I got a firm grip, and hauled upward. Last time I wedgied Tara, I did it slowly and gently, but this time I decided to make it as quick as I could. The lanky blonde’s panties shot upward, as did Tara, who found herself up on her tiptoes and squeaking as the damp cloth worked its way up into her privates.

I looked down at the cotton underpants I was tugging on. Last week she had been wearing white undies with little flowers on them; today they were a pale baby blue color. There’s something that’s just so delicate about a girl’s panties; it turns me on every time I catch a glimpse. Of course, delicate didn’t mean that they were flimsy, and I was doing a good job of stretching them out for Tara. The girl was now leaning forward against the table, palms down, trying to relieve some of the pressure her underwear was creating as it disappeared into intimate portions of her anatomy. I could tell she was getting wedgied solidly, but I told myself that I needed to be sure to make it a top-notch wedgie in order to keep Jessica from making a fuss. Tightening my grip, I gave the blue underpants a sharp jerk upward.
“Are…”
*yank*
“Oh!”
“you…”
*jerk*
“Aaah!”
“feeling…”
*tug*
“Uhh!”
“properly…”
*pull*
“Erm!”
“wedgied…”
*yank*
“OH!!OH!!”
“Tara?” I finished. Her cute blue panties were now stretched up to the back of her shoulder blades, and Tara was hopping up and down, making frantic noises. I imagine that the wet cloth was chafing her something fierce. “YES! YES! I’M WEDGIED PROPERLY! OH! ENOUGH!” she squalled. “Okay, then,” I said, and released her waistband. The now-stretched underpants drooped, and Tara’s hands shot down the back of her shorts as she desperately tried to unwedge the cotton. It took her a good fifteen seconds to do it, but the look of relief on her face was absolutely unmistakable. That was a serious wedgie.

“Whoa, Fred! You don’t kid around with those, do you?” said Jessica, who had been enjoying Tara’s gyrations from the far side of the table. “You wouldn’t believe the look on her face when you were doing that!”

“I bet you’ll look about the same when it’s your turn,” Tara said shortly. “And it WILL be your turn soon. You’ve been lucky so far, but that won’t last forever. And YOU—“, she turned to me, a very stern look on her face, “You had damn well better give her the wedgie of her life!”


I assured her it would be my pleasure, and dealt the next hand.


The two girls faced off over the cards. Jessica had a large pile of cash at her disposal, and wasn’t shying away from betting. She opened for $15, and when Tara called, she handed me three cards. I gave Jess three new ones, then dealt three to Tara, who had tossed her discards my way. Again, Jess bet $15, and I wondered if she had anything decent or if she was just trying to bully Tara into folding. Judging from what I had seen of Jessica’s personality, that seemed a real possibility. Tara, on the other hand, was harder to read. She kept the same expression of concentration all the time, so I couldn’t tell if she was holding anything worthwhile. I could still see a little bit of the light blue panties I had stretched out sticking up from her shorts.

Tara put down another $15. “I call,” she said, and laid down her cards. “I’ve got a pair of tens.”

Jess had two eights, and Tara gleefully took the pot. “Looks like your luck is changing, Jessica! I hope you enjoy getting embarrassed…”

Jessica tossed her brown hair unconcernedly. “Whatever…you won one hand. I still have a pile of money here, and you’ve got, what, $75 before you have to draw again to get $100?”

The next hand, however, also went to Tara, and the third as well. Now Jessica was looking a little less self-confident, as her stash was much smaller than before. If I had to guess, she was under a hundred again—and she only had one more withdrawal before she was out of money completely. Not to mention the hard forfeit she’d have to pay if she took that withdrawal…I have to admit, though, I wasn’t feeling terribly sorry for her. I didn’t think I’d feel nearly as conflicted about enforcing her penalties as I did with Tara.

Still, it had been a while since anyone had drawn, and I decided to call for another bet. “Okay, challenge time, ladies.” I shuffled the cards. “We’re going to play a quick game of high/low. Each of you gets to guess whether the card I turn over after our start car will be higher or lower. We’ll do three cards. The person who gets the most cards right wins, and the person who loses draws from the medium bowl. If both of you end up with the same score, you both draw.”

“Why do we have to do this?” Jess grumbled. “Aren’t you getting enough ‘entertainment’, Fred? You already got to see Tara half-naked!”

“You wanted me to tutor you in probability, and you’ve got to compute probability to decide what the odds are on a card being higher or lower.”

“Whatever,” Jessica said in a sulky voice.

I turned over the first card. It was a four. Both girls agreed the next card would be higher, and with good reason. When I flipped it over, it was a six—a tougher call.


“What if the new card is the same number?” Tara asked.

“Good question,” I replied. “I’ll turn over a new card in its place.”

“OK. Then there are five cards below and seven cards above. I’ll take higher.”

“Me too,” Jess chimed in.

I flipped the card. It was an eight.

This time Tara kept quiet, waiting for Jessica to make a choice. I think she realized that she had been doing the calculation for both of them, and that Jess wasn’t nearly as good at it as she was. Jess waited expectantly for a moment, but Tara was silent.

“Higher or lower, Jess?” I asked.

“Ask Tara first.”

“I asked her first last time. Your choice this time.”

Jessica was clearly not happy. She stared at the eight as if she hoped it would tell her the answer. “Um…okay. Higher.”

Tara quickly spoke up. “Lower.” Jessica muttered a curse under her breath, knowing she had made a mistake.

The final card was a three. “You win, Tara, two to one,” I said, collecting the cards. “Jessica, why did you lose the last draw?”

“Bad luck!” said Jess, scowling.

“Not luck—bad calculation. In a thirteen number list, seven is the median. Anything higher, you should bet low, and vice versa.”

Tara laughed. “Gee, Jess—that’s a simple problem. I hope you don’t have to do anything more complex…especially if you have to draw if you lose!” She was clearly pleased to be getting a measure of revenge. “And speaking of drawing, I believe you have a penalty coming up from the medium bowl. I just want to wish you the BEST of luck.”

Jessica gave her a sarcastic grimace, then reached into the bowl to pick a slip. “Oooh, I have to take a penalty. Big deal.” She unfolded the slip and read it. FILL A CUP WITH ICE. DROP THE ICE DOWN THE BACK OF YOUR UNDERWEAR, AND SIT ON IT UNTIL IT MELTS. “Geez, who came up with this? That is SO lame.”


“I’ll get the ice!” Tara said brightly; she actually skipped over to the fridge and back. It was cute, in a kind of sad way. “Please, allow me to assist you.” Jessica got up from her chair, and Tara scooted behind her. “Open wide!” the blonde said, pulling her friend’s shorts back. I couldn’t see anything else, but I certainly heard Jess shriek when the ice slid into her pants. I think the neighbors heard it too.

“CRAP! That is COLD!” Jess shouted, tugging at her shorts in an attempt to get the icy cubes away from sensitive flesh.

“Don’t worry,” Tara said gleefully. “They should melt pretty soon, especially once you’re sitting on them.” She took Jess by surprise, shoving down on her shoulders and dropping the brunette back into her chair.

[kmacroxs]

This is awesome please continue

[female-from-denmark]

I like his way of teaching
The story is good reading material, so please keep it up. I enjoy reading it