You Bet Your Ass

[ElJefe]

Just a little short story about how a desert city might make a comeback.

You Bet Your Ass!


“Hey, what's this? You bet your...donkey?”

Deb rolled her eyes; Lynn wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. “You bet your ASS!”, she exclaimed.

In a room full of garishly lit slot machines with every beep, bell, and cheesy video game sound from 50 years ago, it took a place of prominence, at the end of a double row of slots that projected almost to the middle of the room. The gaudy backlit panel at the top read, “YOU BET YOUR”, followed by a donkey, facing away, flicking it's tail and looking over it's right shoulder with a grin. Next to it was a buxom cowgirl, also presenting her rump and holding the animal's reins, wearing chaps over the sheerest yoga pants that were ever tucked into cowboy boots. The painted cowgirl leered over her left shoulder as if she knew what everyone was staring at.

Lynn chuckled. “God, these old slots are so cheesy.”

“It's video poker,” Jill observed. She read the instructions on the backlit plastic panel. “Looks like deuces are wild, and the payout is...three million dollars!”

Lynn and Deb poured over the machine, trying to understand the lengthy rules sheet that was visible through the plastic. Three million dollars was the biggest jackpot in the room.

“...But if you lose, you automatically sign up for three years of slavery. To the casino.”

“You'd have to suck a lot of dicks to get three million dollars,” Deb added. The other two giggled.

“So, how does it work?” asked Lynn, inquiring about the rules of the game.

Jill read through the instructions. You had to play for 5 hours straight. Every half hour, you had to consume a shot of alcohol, and you had to play at least 2500 hands. If you came out ahead after 5 hours, you won $3 million, and if you didn't, they owned your ass.

“But what are the odds of beating it?”

Jill looked them up. “It says that if you play it right, the payout is 101.6%”

“What does that mean?”

She shook her head. “That doesn't make sense. All you have to do is learn the strategy, and you can't lose.”

Lynn's eyes narrowed. “I bet I can beat it.”

“If you can beat it, I know I can beat it”, announced Deb with a toss of her head.

“I don't know,” added Jill. There had to be a catch. In Las Vegas, there was always a catch.

There wasn't a place to add money, either coins (which were still used; most of the girls had never seen one before) or from credit. Besides the payout table, the instructions just said to go to the Sports Betting desk and ask for someone from Special Games.

Deb ran her finger over the instructions. “Let's go. I'll bring my next boyfriend so you can suck his cock, too. Or maybe they make slaves eat pussy. That'd be weird though, having you eat my pussy.”

“As if,” retorted Lynn. “You're the one who's going to be eating pussy. And dicks. And whatever.”

She stomped off to the Sports Betting desk, still where it was when they had passed it earlier. A handsome man with slicked back hair worked the wagers. “Excuse me,” she asked. “We'd like to talk to someone about Special Games?”

He hesitated a moment, perhaps expecting them to lay a bet on the Raiders game instead. “Oh, ok. Let me go get someone, we'll be right with you.”

He returned with a middle-aged woman, who appeared almost exactly as one would expect a well-dressed middle-aged woman from a movie to look, right down to the cat-eye glasses and the tailored suit.

“Hi, I'm Sara Klingensmith, I do Special Games here. How may I help you?”

Lynn got right to the point. “We want to play the, 'You Bet Your Ass' game.”

“Why don't you come to my office? It's a little quieter there, and we can get you all set up.” Sarah led the way to a small, well-appointed room nearby.

Deb and Lynn took seats before the desk. Jill stood by the back wall, still scrolling through her phone.

“I'm so sorry, I usually don't have so many visitors at once. I can get you a seat?” But Jill waved off her offer.

“Now, who will be playing today.”

“I will”, the dirty blonde and the brunette said with one voice. They looked at each other, and Lynn silently mouthed, “Jinx!”

“I see. And may I interest you as well, Ms...?”

Jill smiled and put away her phone. “No thank you. And it's Ms. Green.”

“Very well. We'll have to get a second machine out of storage, but we can do that while you're being prepped.”

“Prepped?” Deb cocked her head.

“You'll have to be fitted for your game outfit. It's a dress with our logo, Fremont Funstay!”

Lynn looked at Deb for a moment. “Do we get to keep the dresses if we win?”

“Of course! We'd be honored if a lucky winner took one home as a memento of her big day.”

“Let's do it,” Deb announced.

“Excellent.” Tablets lit up, inset into the surface of the desk. “As you can imagine, for three million dollars, there's a contract involved. I'll walk you through all the paperwork. Do either of you have an Estimated Slave Value on file?”

Both young ladies shook their heads.

“Well, that's no problem, we can get you one when you change. Now, the next page is to help manage your estate if the game doesn't go your way, you just need to list everything you own here in the state of Nevada. Just list items of sentimental value, we usually just sell everything else and put the money in your account at interest.”

“Um, all our stuff is up in our room.”

Sarah looked up at Jill again. “Ms. Green, could I trust you to point out to the bellboy which items belong to whom, should that be necessary?”

Jill grinned. “Only after I move all the good stuff to my suitcase.” Everyone shared a laugh.

“If your friends can overlook your profiting at their expense, I suppose we could, too.”

There were pages about outstanding warrants and health problems, but since both girls were young and law-abiding, those went quickly. Lynn signed with her finger, then watched as Deb did the same.

“If I end up in a collar, I hope they paddle your bare butt every day.”

Lynn stuck out her tongue. “And I hope you get two paddlings a day.”

“Now, now. I certainly hope it doesn't come to that. Well, shall we get you set up?”

She rose and led the way to another small room, complete with lockers and cameras, and a curtain dividing the room in half. Sarah glanced at Deb's feet.

“Are you about a size eight?”

“Eight and a half.”

“I'm a size 9,” added Lynn.

“I'll get your shoes. Now, everything has to go in the lockers for your Value Estimate, and I do mean everything, even body jewelry. Whenever you're completely ready, just step around the curtain one at a time, and stand on the yellow footprints.”

Jill glanced around nervously while her companions stripped. Aside from one time in the apartment after a pool party, they had never seen each other naked. Her suspicions were confirmed; both Lynn and Deb had better bodies than she did, although in different ways. Lynn had the best boobs, and Deb had the best butt. Not that Jill lacked for male attention, but she was grateful that at least she was the brains of the bunch.

“Just put your hands down by your sides, and relax. Look straight ahead...there. Oh, that's a nice score, over 170 thousand. The computer must think you're a very healthy young lady. Does a dress size 6 sound right?”

Jill could hear Sarah rummaging around, moving clothes on a hangar, and peeked around the curtain with Deb, still stark-ass naked. The dress Sarah handed their friend was pretty but short, the hem well past mid-thigh. The cups were little more than demi-cups, and Lynn's nipples showed through the thin fabric. Sarah pulled the decorative red cord tight, and helped lace up the corset bodice from the front.

Lynn paused for a moment, thinking something amiss. “Um, did we forget the underwear?”

Sarah shook her head. “Sorry, Hon. The alcohol has to go up your backside, the dress is just to give you some modesty. Let me get your shoes.”

“Up my...”

Jill giggled. “Chug, chug, chug--”

Lynn clasped her hands to her backside. “Oh, no. Nothing's going up my butt. There's got to be some other way.”

“It was right there on page two of the contract you signed. I can show you, if you'd like. Or, we can void it, but there'll be a $100 cleaning fee because you're already worn the dress.”

“And you won't be able to keep it,” giggled Deb.

“I signed up to play a game, not to be a porn star,” Lynn growled.

“Nobody will see anything,” Sarah said. “The dress hangs down and covers everything.”

“Fine,” snapped Lynn. “I can butt chug better than you, anyway.”

Deb and Lynn traded places on opposite sides of the curtain, and Jill admired Lynn's new dress. It was far too racy to wear for anything other than clubbing, but if she ever wore it anywhere other than the casino, she'd have to fight the men off with a stick. The cut and construction were excellent; where else but Las Vegas could one get slutwear made to Seventh Avenue standards?

Deb was valued at 165 thousand, and soon fitted in the same black open-toe pumps that Lynn wore. If only they had time for hair and makeup, they'd have looked as good as they ever had in their life. There was a little restroom break (“because you won't be able to go for several hours”), and then Sarah made the fateful announcement, “Whenever you're ready.”

Jill hadn't seen her do it, but she must have taken one of the many breaks they'd had to notify someone that a second “Bet Your Ass” machine had to be wheeled in place. The two machines took the place of honor near the center of the retro portion of the casino, still facing the double row of slot machines. A few heads turned to ogle the two in the red-and-back livery as the foursome approached the scene. Sarah carried a large tote with the “stuff she needed to set up the machines”, and withdrew from it a black plastic object that resembled a stubbly little baseball bat, a little smaller around than Jill's last boyfriend. Well, smaller than that part of him who have given her concern over his girth. Sarah snapped it into a receptacle in the saddle, such that it jutted up obscenely.

Deb and Lynn just stared. Surely it was too big.

Sarah put on a glove, generously slathering lubricant on the thing, wiping her hand on a paper towel. “It's not as bad as it looks.”

“You're first,” announced Deb.

Lynn shot her a glare as Sarah draped a white paper skirt around her waist, nearly reaching the floor. “I'll be behind you, so nobody will see what you don't want to show.”

Resigned, Lynn allowed the older woman to guide her into place, felt her hands separating her buttocks, lowering until the greasy tip touched her tailbone and slid forward to press against her most sensitive opening.

Lynn started down, then stopped. “Oh, no, it's too big.”

Sarah had anticipated her resistance, and pressed down on her hips. “Just try to relax, it'll fit. The discomfort passes once you get it in.”

Lynn tried to stand, but with her knees already bent, she couldn't lift the weight of both women. She whimpered as it slid inside her, then her buttocks pressed down on the saddle, a quilted paper covering like a diaper or a menstrual pad covering her perch. Sarah had been right and she'd been wrong, the damn thing was uncomfortable inside her, but the worst had clearly passed.

The saddle had a seat back with a heavy leather belt, and Sarah fastened that around her to hold her in place. Lynn glanced back over her shoulder as Sarah ratcheted the end into some kind of locking mechanism. She was committed now, with the probe deep inside her and the belt around her waist, there was no way to get off the seat without help. She would either win the game or go to her fate.

Deb had decided that if a miniature baseball bat was going up her butt, she was going to make it as painless as possible. She lowered herself in stages, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sting in her anus until it snapped shut around the recess in the base. There, that was the worst of it. She glanced over at Lynn while the older woman strapped her in.

Sarah collected the white paper drapes and moved to the game consoles, pressing a few buttons to activate the two machines. “Now, you both know how to play poker, right? What the hands are, what beats what?”'

Both women nodded.

“That's the deal and draw button, and these five are hold buttons, you push those to hold the cards you want to keep. The payout table is at the top. Any questions?”

“So, wait. You get more for a Royal Flush without deuces than you do for four deuces?”

“That's right. But four deuces is the next best hand.”

“Got it.”

Sarah took out two little keys, and inserted one into the side of each machine. “When I turn the key, you'll get your first shot you know where, and you'll see the countdown timer in the corner. Are you ready?”

“Ready!”

Deb followed. “Ready!”

“Good luck!” She turned the key on Lynn's machine, and move to activate Deb's.

Something squirted a few ounces of fluid into Lynn, cool and hot at the same time.

“Ah, that shit burns! What's in it?”

Deb squealed as her own bunghole burned.

“Vodka, cut with water. It's only about a shot's worth. Next one is in half an hour.”

The first hand was a pair of jacks. Lynn held them, and drew two pair, a losing hand. The money counter read minus $25.

The next hand was an inside straight that she failed to fill.

Three cards toward a flush plus two queens. She kept the queens and drew a deuce for her first win, still $50 down.

Three to a straight flush, but they were the wrong three. She held onto the deuce and lucked into a straight. Minus $25 now.

Three queens, but damned if she could draw another queen or deuce. Still down $25. She glanced over at Deb. Five more hours of this shit. Then she thought, $3 million. It was worth it.

A loudspeaker blared over the din. “Attention all Funstayers! We have not one, but two brave young ladies on the second floor who are betting their asses! Feel free to check out the games on the second floor and cheer them on. If they win, they go home with three million dollars! If they lose, their asses are ours for the next three years. Let's hear it for Ms. Lynn Neehall and Ms. Deborah Bell!”

A crowd started to form around the pair. Jill stepped back and followed Sarah.

“Ms. Klingensmith, may I ask you a couple of questions?”

“I don't see why not.”

“What does Fremont Funstay do with the slaves they acquire?”

“Giving up on your friends already? I thought you'd cheer them on.”

“Oh, I will, and I'll give them strategy tips, too, if they're sensible enough to listen. But they're going to lose, aren't they?”

“What do you think?”

“The payout is 101% if you follow the strategy. You can't lose. But they just jumped right in this without learning the strategy, and I doubt I can teach it to them in time to recover their losses.”

“Actually, 101.6%. But you have another question.”

“I mean, what if someone did learn the strategy? They could come in whenever they want and clean you out.”

“Do you think you could learn the strategy? What do you do if you're dealt a full house?”

“Full house is a winning hand. Stand pat.”

“Unless you have two or more deuces. Then hold the deuces and toss the rest. The odds are you'll do better than a full house with two deuces. Still, you probably could learn the strategy. Probably take you a couple of days, but you could probably do it. Now, the question is, can you remember it with ten shots of vodka up your ass?”

Jill smiled. “I wouldn't bet my ass that I could.”

Ms. Klingensmith smiled and kept walking. Jill kept pace.

“You still didn't answer my question.”

“Your friends will be shipped off to slave basic training, where their aptitude will be judged. If they have the talent, the next stop is high-end courtesan training. After that, we feed them to the whales.”

“What?!”

“Whales are what we call super-high rollers. The kind of guys who'll bet a million on a single throw of the dice. For that kind of money, a $5000 slave whore might as well be a chocolate we put under the pillow. Hell, if they request it, we'll send up two of those bitches to their room.”

“And if they don't have that kind of talent?”

“The Fremont Fuck Shoppe. $400 an hour. An extra $100 to have them sent to your room.”

“Do they have to service women, too?”

“A good slave does as she is told.”

Deb had lost track of time. The only windows looked out over indoor spaces; she couldn't see the sun. And dammit! She was falling behind! Down $175, with her ass on the line!

“So, what's the big deal with these two?” It was a young guy, a little overweight, talking to an older man with a well-trimmed beard.

“They're playing video poker.”

“I can see that.”

“If you'll let me finish? They play to a time limit, and at the end of their time, if they're up, they win a jackpot. A million dollars.”

“Three. Million,” interjected Lynn, quite weary and trying to focus on the next hand. An inside straight, with a deuce. Hold the deuce, dump the trash – shit, nothing. The pad squished under her; she'd pissed herself after God knows how many shots of vodka up her ass. They didn't even sting any more.

“Uh, yeah, three million dollars.”

“What if they lose?”

“They go into a collar for three years.”

“I'd like to see her in a collar. Slave naked, to hell with that dress.”

The older man leaned over to look at Lynn's payout, or lack thereof. “I'd say come back in a few months, you'll probably get your wish if you look her up in the Fuck Shoppe.”

“Fuck you.” Two deuces and trash. Keep the deuces...four of a kind! Minus $1375. She told herself that she could do it, a few more wins and she'd make that up. She only had to win by $25.

“If I can afford it, I'll let you.”

She flipped him the bird as she hit the button for the next deal.

Time passed, people came and went. Some were nice, some were assholes. Next to her, Deb had nodded off again. That was bad. Deb was going to become a slave. If you got behind on your hands, they were automatic losers and you could watch your total drop, $25 at a time. It was what, every six seconds? Seven seconds? Poor Deb. Lynn tried to push thoughts of kneeling on a dirty floor out of her mind.

The game was getting to be so hard! Deb thought for sure she had a flush, or was that the hand before? The number in the one corner of the screen was getting smaller, and the number in the other corner was red and getting bigger. Ugh, what was that thing in her ass? She reached down and felt around but couldn't figure out how to get it out of her without getting the belt off.

“Deborah! Deborah, wake up! If you don't win back some credits, you're going to be indentured. Come on, girl, you can do it!”

Deb gawked. The woman who was talking looked familiar, but she couldn't place her. Everything was fuzzy, and her gold name tag was too fuzzy to read. Jill was beside her, but Jill was fuzzy, too. She looked over to her right. Lynn was wearing the same dress as she was, and she was slumped over the console of the game she was playing. Sleep – why didn't she think of that?

“Deb, wake up!” Sarah jostled her; there was no response. She turned to her trainee, Ted. “See, no response to verbal stimuli. Sternal rub is next.”

Jill watched intently as the older woman rubbed her knuckle hard on Deb's breastbone. She wished she could help her friends but had made her peace with the fact that they would be enslaved over an hour ago. Deb didn't even grunt.

“Call it. 4:18 pm. Loss of consciousness, game is forfeited per rule 8-5.” She turned the key to turn off the machine, withdrew her phone, and punched some keys. “Hi, this is Sara. Two code twos on You Bet Your Ass. Yeah, both of them.”

“Attention all Funstayers! We've reached the exciting conclusion to the You Bet Your Ass game played in the second floor casino. Ms. Neehall and Ms. Bell put up a good fight but were both tagged out by old demon rum. We'll be fitting them to their new slave outfits in the second floor casino, so stop by if you 'd like to see what happens when someone starts a new life of servitude!”

Sarah retrieved a faux-gold collar from her satchel, and turned to Jill. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Jill gingerly took the restraint. “No, but I think I ought to be the one to do it.” She bent over Deb to slip the collar behind her neck, then held it in both hands where the two ends would meet.

“God! They put it up her butt, and it's still on her breath!” Jill heard the chuckles around the room at her impromptu remark and thought that there was no dignity in slavery. Then she thought that Deb could cope with that, and that Lynn could stand to be taken down a peg.

Jill had never kissed a girl before but thought it only appropriate to lock lips and slip her tongue between her friend's teeth. For a moment, she thought that Deb stirred, but when she pulled back there was only snoring.

“I love you, you crazy bitch, but for the next three years, every dick that goes in your mouth is on you.” Then she pushed the two halves of the collar together until they clicked.

They worked on Deb while she repeated the ritual on Lynn, loosening the belt that held her into the saddle and fastening matching wrist and ankle cuffs. Jill thought at least Deb looked like she was owned by someone special. They eased her off the butt probe, which disappeared into a plastic bag.

“And now the grand unveiling. I'd like to introduce the latest acquisition of Dry Rock Enterprises, the owners of Fremont Funstay. The slave formerly known as Deborah Bell, and here's what she looks like in her new slave uniform!”

The crowd cheered as Sarah worked the dress over Deb's hips, and up over her head, leaving the unconscious woman completely slave naked.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

“So, since you were nice enough to take me to Vegas and put me up and everything, I thought I'd do something really nice for you.”

Nardo beamed. He had learned that when his girlfriend wanted to “do something for him”, it was something really special. She was more than halfway to becoming the next Mrs. Leonardo Rodriguez.

He gaped when she led him into the Fremont Fuck Shoppe. Although technically banging a slave wasn't cheating, she was plenty good enough in bed for him.

She held up her phone. “Rodriguez, there's the order.”

The woman at the counter smiled. “That's so romantic, a couples room. Right this way.”

He was even more confused. What did they need a couple's room for? They already had a hotel room for hot monkey love 24/7. Did she want a threesome with another woman? She hadn't mentioned being into that, but hey, why look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Those robes are for your use during your stay, and you can get completely comfortable whenever you like. I'll send your order in now.” The woman smiled and closed the door behind her.

She was all over him, peeling his clothes off until he was nude. Little Nardo was good and hard, and ready for action. She kissed him and reached for his cock.

“Now, don't you say a word, and this goes exactly where I put it. Understand?”

Again, gift horse, etc. He nodded.

They were sitting side by side on the edge of the bed when the two girls came in, each wearing the faux-gold cuffs and collars of the Fuck Shoppe. By then, she had moved his hand to her slit, inviting him to play with her until she was as wet and horny as he was hard. As the second girl closed the door behind her, she spoke. The play of emotions on their faces was, he thought, interesting.

“These are a couple of old friends of mine who lost an unfortunate bet. They will answer to their real names while they service us today. 2450 is my friend Lynn, and 2449 is my friend Deb. Guys, this is my new boyfriend Nardo, and you're going to get to enjoy him today.” She parted her legs. “Lynn, get over here and lick my pussy 'til I come.” She gave his cock another tug. “I want you to fuck Lynn doggie style, long and hard. And Deb, I want you over here on your back next to me so I can play with your tits while he licks your pussy.”

As one, the slaves answered, “Yes Mistress”, and moved to comply. As Lynn knelt to provide service, Jill grabbed her curls by her ears to stop her. “Lynn, I've never had a girl do this before. Are you any good at it?”

She answered, “Mistress, I've been trained,” and gasped as Nardo plunged his dick into her.

[SteveBurke]

Nice! I love the game element.

[SteveBurke]

As a side note, I'll just add that taking alcohol rectally is actually very dangerous due to the fast absorbtion rate and the fact that it bypasses the vomit reflex that most people have when drinking too much too fast.

https://www.healthline.com/health/alcoh ... ople-do-it

So, as a public health warning - don't butt-chug. Your taste buds and digestion system have various mechanisms to protect you from toxins - usually by making you puke your guts out. That in itself serves as a reminder not to be so fucking stupid next time - and yes, I learned that the hard way.

Drinking too much is bad. Butt-chugging can be fatal. You have been warned, I'll leave the follow-up to Darwinism.