Chapter 3
 

I was still awake when Sally gently lifted the covers and slid her naked body underneath. It was our first 'normal' night in over a week, with both of us in bed at the same time. Janey was sleeping comfortably now, and with their link, Sally would be awake at the first sign of trouble.
 

At first, Sally stayed completely on the far side of the bed, not wanting contact, or perhaps not wanting to wake me. After restlessly tossing about for a while, unable to get comfortable, or maybe just making sure I was awake, she edged closer, finally moving her gorgeous ass into me 'spoon fashion.' Now, under normal circumstances, when she came to bed naked and backed into me like that, it was a signal for a night of wild sex. Even though we had gone a long week without any sort of sexual relief, somehow I didn't think that was what she wanted tonight, and, fortunately, my dick behaved for once and didn't try to poke into her uncharacteristically unreceptive body. Self-preservation runs deep in my family.
 

I figured with all the bouncing around she had been doing that she wanted me to be awake, so I moved my arm over her and drew her close. Her large, firm tits, normally so convenient in that position, went unmolested as we cuddled. She gave a deep sigh and snuggled firmly into my body, savoring the simple skin-to-skin contact she shared with me all along her back from shoulders to toes. I expected more tears. She just sighed.
 

Sally was still in crisis mode and her mind was going a thousand miles an hour. So was mine. Several minutes - hours? - passed in silence.
 

"Larry? You awake?"
 

"Uh-huh." I hesitated, not knowing which direction to go. I took the safe route.
 

"You think Janey's going to be OK?"
 

I could feel her nod. "Yes. The doctors said by Monday she could go back to school with full activities. The counselor, too. She said the sooner the better."
 

"Monday? So soon? But.?" I let the unspoken question hang there. She didn't answer it.
 

She was quiet for a long time. I had almost given up continuing the conversation and, in all truth, I was content just to hold her. Skin on skin was something I could get used to. Especially when it was hers and mine. Under the circumstances, the closeness had a healing, bonding effect on me. I hoped she was feeling the same things. Comfortable with these sensations, I almost missed it when she continued.
 

"Larry, you know how much I like sex."
 

Huh? Out the blue, left field, from nowhere. My bewilderment must have been obvious, even in the dark. I could almost feel her grinning at my confusion.
 

"You must have realized by now, Larry, that I have a much higher than normal sexual appetite. I always have. I have been aware of it since I first learned boys and girls were different. It was difficult, especially when I was Janey's age, but I never let it control me, or determine my actions. Influence, yes, sometimes unwisely, but determine, no. Sex has been one of the biggest joys of my life.
 

"Janey is my daughter. In every way. I haven't encouraged or discouraged her sexuality. I didn't need to. She has masturbated since age 5, the same time I started. However, she has been aware from the beginning that other people wouldn't understand if she involved them in her activities and has always acted responsibly. She was - she is a good kid. She hasn't given me a bit of trouble in that way, and I always assumed she would grow up and have as rewarding a sex life as I have.
 

"But now? Oh, God, Larry, now I'm so afraid for her. Maybe it's weird, but she and I have a link or something between us, especially when we are close to each other. I can't explain it, exactly. It's like we can sense each other's moods and feelings. It's not mind reading, exactly. But I know when she's horny or happy, and she senses when I am sad, and how very happy you have made me." She stopped and brought her hands up between her breasts, capturing my hand between hers.
 

"The Janey I had 'felt' before is gone. Until today, no, it was last night sometime, all I got when I was near her was fear, fear of sex, fear of men, fear of herself and her sexual feelings, and tremendous guilt. It's as if she thinks she is responsible for what happened.
 

"I know right now she is healing physically and that she'll get over most of the pain in time. But her first sexual experience with another person was so traumatic, so horrendous! I'm afraid she'll never let a man near her again, that she will never experience this, that she will never let anyone close enough to know love." She hugged my hands to her again to show me what she meant. "I'm afraid she will never have the courage to meet new people, to trust them, to venture out into the exciting places in life. That she will always be suspicious of people and that it will turn her into an ugly person. 'Ugly on the inside becomes ugly on the outside.'"
 

I let her talk. I didn't understand some of what she was saying, especially about that link thing and all, but I knew enough to keep quiet. But the silence finally got to me, and I had to open my big fat mouth.
 

"So is there anything we can do to help her get over this?" That's right. I said "we." Stupid, stupid, stupid.
 

She seemed to give a start, as if 'doing' something about it had not occurred to her. Or maybe it was that 'we' would do it together. I don't know. I do know I could sense the sudden change in her attitude and the change in the direction of her thoughts, even without being able to see her face. Her whole body radiated excitement as she grasped on to this tiny ray of hope.
 

"Well, what I think she needs is someone who can teach her, be patient with her, let her be the instigator while gently encouraging her exploration of her sexuality until her fear of sex is gone. It would have to be someone older, someone she trusts, someone more experienced. Someone she knows already."
 

"Where would you find someone like that?" I asked. "It doesn't sound like they would be listed in the Yellow Pages."
 

I just about said something about a particular High School teacher who came to mind. We had discussed his known proclivities for young girls before, but the fucking teacher's union was strong in this state and he just kept on molesting - all right, allegedly molesting, young girls. I also didn't think a 'funny' remark would have been the right thing to say at that particular moment. Given what she said next and what happened as a result, I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had broken the mood at that moment. But we'll never know, will we?
 

"I don't know. Right now, you're the only man I know of who I trust enough to.Oh, my! Larry!..." her voice trailed off as the solution became as obvious to her as my sudden erection jabbing into her ass.
 

Let me explain a few things. First, Sally is, as far as I am concerned, the perfect woman. Not just for me. She is THE perfect woman. I personally know of several other red-blooded males who agree, and who are extremely jealous of my relationship with her. Comments about giving a left nut in exchange for an evening with her, etc. might be inappropriate given the circumstances, but hey, it is the thought that counts, right?
 

Sally is smart, witty, loving, caring, giving, yada yada yada. Don't misunderstand. I don't mean to trivialize those attributes in any way, I just need to save several megabytes of hard disk space by not listing each and every one of them. I consider things like honesty, integrity, and trust to be among her best qualities, but, for the moment, her physical attributes are more appropriate to consider.
 

Sally stands 5'2" in her stocking feet. Those delicate feet grace the ends of two of the shapeliest legs God could ever dream of forming, if God ever dreamed at all, much less of female anatomy. At the top of her thighs, she is both trim and voluptuous at the same time. In front, her mound doesn't mound at all. Her stomach is hard and flat. Not a bulge, not a wrinkle in that silky smooth expanse of skin, even when bending over. Her hips flare slightly, and narrow to a waspish waist. And that's after one birth!
 

From behind, she looks slightly more rubinesque. You've heard it said before, but in this case it is true: She has an ass to die for. High, tight and firm, yet soft to the touch with resilient, fully rounded, mouth watering mounds.
 

I remember vividly the first time that I had seen her near naked ass revealed to me in all its splendor. It - she was in a thong bikini. We had been dating for about a month and things were going well between us. We were both anxious about out first sexual encounter, but realized that what was building between us was special. We both wanted to give it time to grow at its own pace. Not ready for an overnighter, - well, I was ready, I just didn't want her to reject me this early on. Anyway, I invited her to a friend's secluded place on the island for the day.
 

When I arrived to pick her up on the appointed day, she skipped out to the car, not waiting for me to get out and come to the door as I usually did. Stopping by the door on my side of the car she slid off her thin cover-up, posed for me once or twice sexily, and then twirled around.
 

I must have choked or something, as she stopped halfway around and looked back inquisitively at me over her shoulder. My leering, lusting expression would have gotten me fired for sexual harassment in any office in America but the Oval Office, and I blushed, embarrassed at my obvious lust and arousal. My cock, earlier content to rest in the confines of my own suit, broke ranks and showed its swollen head over the waistband, high enough she could see it from where she stood.
 

My jaw moved, and I gestured apologetically, convinced she would bolt for the nearest policeman. Her spontaneous laughter and pleasure at my visible appreciation of her appearance and my obvious desire for her body saved the moment, making it one of the most special memories we shared.
 

I did wait until we got to the beach house, but I had to fuck her in the car before we even got to the sand. I couldn't walk I was so hard. When I think back, I didn't fuck her. We fucked each other. The fucking was more than mutual. We did it again on the blanket - before lunch. Twice more after lunch and a couple of times on the way back to the car. It was a long beach. Every time she walked in front of me in that tiny black thong bottom, I got rock hard. She knew it, too, enjoying her affect on me as much as I did.
 

That night at my apartment she came to bed in just those bikini bottoms, walking back and forth several times as she prepared for bed, dancing and teasing me to a hardness I had never thought possible this side of concrete.
 

That was the first time we did it anal. It wasn't the last. She wore that suit often.
 

So much for her ass.
 

If anything, Sally felt her tits were 'smallish'. They were no where near "small," filling her C-sized bra cups to overflowing. She liked the tight feeling, the bounce and jiggle a tight garment gave her chest, so she wore them that way. However, she didn't need to wear one at all. Her tits rode high, and were only slightly more rounded on the bottom when loosened from their confinement. Perky light pink nipples surrounded by darker rosy aureoles a little larger than a quarter. Those sensitive nubs would stiffen to hardened turgid buttons a little less that ½ inch long when she was aroused, which was often. Oddly, one of her nipples, the left, had been pierced at some time prior to our relationship. One of her mysteries, as yet unsolved.
 

Blonde hair, unusual green eyes - Irish green, not hazel - that didn't miss a moment of life, creamy smooth skin that tanned in two seconds and held it for months. When Sally learned of my penchant for tan lines, those three tiny white triangles of un-tanned skin over her nipples and pussy lips, she developed a seemingly permanent set of distinct tan lines. I have always preferred white meat over dark, and I proved it to her the night she unveiled her new look, but it took hours and hours until she was fully convinced. I didn't mind at all.
 

Even with her killer body, it was her face I loved the most. I could watch her for hours, and did so as often as I could. She wasn't embarrassed at the attention I paid to her, even when she learned I got hard as iron simply by looking at her. She would just give me a knowing smile and laugh. Depending on the circumstances, she would alternatively torture me, making me even harder by flaunting her body, or she might relieve me with her hand or mouth. She was a sexy, beautiful woman, breathtaking, heart-stoppingly gorgeous, generous to a fault.
 

She had one special look that could pierce my darkest mood and fire my blood as no one had ever done prior. She would kind of a look up at me through her eyelashes with her face tilted slightly down and a little to one side. Her pouty lower lip would glisten with just the tip of her tongue showing, an innocent smile teasing the corners of her moist lips. I would melt. Diamonds, rubies, my kingdom for that smile.
 

Once, when she looked at me like that, her tongue wasn't showing. Instead, she had just the knob of my swollen cock in her mouth. We had made a bet - I was still under the mistaken impression I had some control in this relationship - that she could make me cum with no hands, no bobbing, no sucking, no tonguing. Just her mouth. In under a minute.
 

She won. I didn't last 30 seconds. She just looked up at me with those incredible green eyes, batted them once or twice, wantonly winked at me, and had to swallow a gallon of my juice. Which she did, laughing with me. As the loser, I 'had' to attend the opera with her for six months.
 

That's the first thing I needed to explain.
 

The second is that Janey is all that, just younger and maybe a bit firmer in one or two places. Hell, she's almost 20 years younger, and, not to say that Sally looks or acts her age, Janey has the advantage and the allure of youth. More energy, more curiosity, more innocence.
 

Of course, I have to assume she looks the same naked as her mother. I have never seen anything but her legs and arms bare, and those matched up pretty close. I knew the two of them traded clothes all the time and Sally would only stretch out the smallest of Janey's tops. Those tight ones happened to be my personal favorites, especially the bare midriff tanktops made of thin material. I checked the label for the size on one after it was carefully discarded for the night and purchased Sally several of her own. For us. I replaced several of them as they kept being ripped off her whenever she wore them. I think Sally was secretly pleased with her overall effect on me, as she wore them often, many times taunting me in public by revealing she was wearing one under a sweater or sweatshirt.
 

But I digress. Although I had noticed and admired Janey, I had never thought of her in a sexual sense. Sally was all I wanted, all I needed, and Janey was a minor, a mature minor, for sure, but still underage. Let's face it, Sally was all I could handle, and besides, why spoil a terrific thing? On top of that, I didn't have all that much contact with Janey as I wasn't staying overnights that often. She had her life, Sally and I were building ours. I hoped, kind of, that she would be a bigger part of my life with Sally at some point, but like that? Holy Shit! No way!
 

So there we were, lying in bed, Sally's wonderfully firm, warm ass nestled in my crotch. Talking quietly. Dealing with this crisis in an adult and reasoned manner. And suddenly this picture of my cock disappearing into Janey's soft, warm, moist mouth springs unbidden into my head. It was clearly an inappropriate moment for a hard-on, but my pecker seemed suddenly to have developed a suicidal mind of its own. Instant woody, and it jabbed forcefully into Sally's ass, pressing directly into, but not penetrating her asshole. Thank God for small favors. Hey, how about an 'On/Off' switch on these things next time You design something? OK, Big Fella?
 

Somehow that vividly erotic image, and the multitude of others that quickly joined it in my brain of that vibrant teen in various sexual positions, invigorated my organ. It was a most inopportune time, considering she had just been assaulted.
 

I knew I was in deep shit.
 

There was no way for her to miss my arousal or to not know what had caused it. We had both realized the obvious, albeit ludicrous, solution at the same time. We just had different images of it. If I hadn't been so pre-occupied with the erotic visions filling my head, I might have tried to cover, scrabble together some romantic reason for my arousal, make it perhaps a little better. As it was, I knew she knew. As I realized what had happened, time stopped dead while I waited for her to do or say something.
 

I almost cried out when she shifted her body away from me, leaving my erection bobbing freely in the space between us.
 

"Well. I see you like them young." Her voice was sounded almost bitter, hurt.
 

With that, she moved farther away from me. It was the first night we spent together, apart. I didn't like it.
 

I felt like dead man walking. Walking in deep shit.
 

Chapter 4
 

The smell of fresh coffee and bacon filtered into the room late the next morning. I surveyed the room. I was at Sally's, so it hadn't all been a bad dream. Damn! I raised the sheets and checked my equipment. I breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't pulled a Bobbit. In fact, it looked and felt as if my erection had never gone down. The few personal items I kept at her place were still hanging in the closet and sitting unbroken on the dressing table. So far, so good. No open suitcase for me to pack and leave.
 

I reviewed the final events of the previous evening in my head. Same conclusion. I had really fucked up this time.
 

The wafting aroma of a hearty breakfast had me confused, however. Sally and Janey were extremely health conscious and didn't eat a lot of eggs and bacon, or as Janey called them, 'cholesterol and nitrates in non-saturateds.' It's what she meant when she said 'CNN.'
 

Under normal circumstances, I had been able to associate these particular smells with the hearty breakfasts we would have following an exceptional night of wild passionate sex. Or of nights filled with passion and romance, not just fucking and sucking, as had been the case more often than not of late.
 

I slipped on my robe and walked out to the kitchen. On the way, I went past Janey's door, which was open. The bedroom doors in this house were always open, even during sex. It took a bit of getting used to, as Sally was extremely vocal during intercourse, announcing her pleasures with descriptive words and sounds. Privacy was for the bathroom, unless, of course she was horny. Janey respected the privacy visually, but I wondered how much she heard.
 

I peeked in on Janey. To check on her, of course. She was still fast asleep, but curled into a protective fetal position, as if hugging herself. I continued on, following my nose to the kitchen.
 

At the door to the kitchen I paused and reconnoitered. Two place settings, both with coffee cups, one of them was the cup reserved for my use. Another good sign. Fresh squeezed orange juice, a special treat. Sally hated the work it took. I cautiously cleared my throat, ready to duck at the first sign of flying utensils.
 

"Good morning, lover. Hungry?"
 

'Lover?' Me? I quickly checked behind me to see if anyone else was there. Nope. Just me.
 

"Uh, sure. You know I like a big breakfast."
 

I bit my tongue, as I had almost added 'after a night of great sex.' I edged closer to the table, still watching for flying pottery or hot grease.
 

Sally was standing at the stove, wearing her 'I just had another night of great sex' robe. It was the red silk one and was short enough you could just see the bottom swells of her ass cheeks. When it was cinched tight with the silk rope belt, like it was now, you could see everything, back and front. Usually that meant 'breakfast can wait, shove the dishes on the floor and do me hard and fast on the table.' I had no idea what it meant this morning. I took another cautious step towards the table.
 

She watched my progress with a strange expression on her face. It was more a wry smile than anything, but there was a definite element of sadness in it to, or seriousness, maybe.
 

"Sit." It was gentle, like the final concession in an argument. But an order, nonetheless.
 

I sat. Trembling slightly.
 

She came over with two plates, business-like. They were hot out of the oven. She put them down, poured the coffee and sat down with me at the table. She then proceeded to push her food all around her plate until it was a congealed mass in the center. It looked just like my plate.
 

I had been watching her fidget for the longest time. I had only known her to fidget once before, and that was the first night she asked me to stay over with her when Janey was there, too. Indecision was not something I was used to from her. She finally noticed me watching her and blushed. That surprised me.
 

"Something on your mind, Sally?"
 

"Yes. No. Yes. But I don't know how to start."
 

This was even more uncharacteristic of her, and immediately I misunderstood. "Look, if it's about last night, I'm terribly sorry. I don't know what happened that it popped up like that. I was tired, we were both stressed out because of what - you know, all that happened. And it's been a long time since we, well, did anything together to relieve the stress. I swear to you with all my heart, soul and body, I have never thought of Janey in that way before. Cut it off and toss it out if I'm lying! I don't know what came over me."
 

I hesitated, choked up a bit. "Just don't make me leave you."
 

My eyes started to water. Hey, it was an emotional moment. I was really sincere, and I was sincerely afraid she would never let me see her again. I was prepared to continue to beg, plead, scream, grovel or whatever it took to obtain her forgiveness. Fortunately she took pity on me and stopped me.
 

"That's very sweet of you. I'll bet I could almost get you to grovel on the floor, couldn't I?"
 

I nodded. My heart sank to my knees. I wasn't all that good at begging, really.
 

"And I wouldn't think of cutting it off. It has - you 'both' have brought me too much happiness and pleasure. That's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about."
 

She chewed on the next line for a long time.
 

"I want you to teach Janey about sex."
 

My ears were playing tricks on me, but my prick had heard and was rising once again to the challenge. It popped its head out between the flaps of my robe, as if wanting to participate in the conversation. It was so hard it hurt. I was going to have to do something about these uncontrollable erections. More sex more often, maybe?
 

Sally looked at me, waiting for a response, other than the one sticking out of my robe. I think she wanted something verbal, some response from the cognitive side of my brain.
 

"You're serious." It was a statement, not a question. A thousand thoughts whipped through my head, with the foremost being the jolting realization my position in this house was not as precarious as I had at first thought. In fact, I suddenly felt pretty damn smug. But I wanted to see how much it meant to her.
 

"You want me, a much older man, to teach your underage daughter about sex? Do you mean teach, as in 'tell her about it,' or teach, as in 'actually have sex with?'"
 

Her hands over her beautiful face muffled her answer, as if trying to hide from the absurdity of this conversation, to blank it from her mind.
 

"What? I didn't quite catch that." So I lied. Big deal. I had heard just fine. I just wanted her to repeat it. For posterity. And to make really, really, really sure.
 

"Have sex with. I want you to have sex with my under-aged teenage daughter and show her how wonderful it can be. Whatever it takes to do that. Satisified?" She had enunciated her answer very carefully, as if speaking to an idiot or a foreigner. No offense intended. Everyone does it to foreign visitors. She glared at me across the table.
 

"No."
 

She looked at me disbelieving, almost in shock.
 

"Check that. Let me clarify. I mean, 'No, I'm not satisfied with your answer'. Don't take that as a 'No' to the sex part. Yet."
 

I was grinning at her like an idiot, which I was. I had the upper hand for the first time and she knew it. She also didn't like it and knew I was going to rub it in. Good.
 

"How much sex?"
 

She glared at me. I kept going.
 

"What kind of sex? How often? Is she on the pill? You know I don't use condoms."
 

I looked down and then grinned up at her.
 

".They don't fit very well, as you well know."
 

God, this was fun! I had her squirming, dangling at the end of a short line, the hook set deep.
 

She actually blushed again. This was amazing. When she answered, it was not what I expected.
 

"Do whatever she wants, whatever you want. Just make her enjoy it. No, wait. Now let me clarify. 'Help' her enjoy it. Don't 'make' her do anything."
 

She looked up at me, pleading with her eyes. Damn, she played unfair!
 

"Help me, Larry. Help me help her. Please, Larry. I don't know what to do. I just don't know.."
 

The tears started then.
 

Leave it to a woman to cry just when it was getting fun. Hell, even I'm not that insensitive, and I had halfway thought she was kidding. She wasn't. She was serious. I felt like the schmuck I had been acting like.
 

I reached over and both took her hands in one of mine. I wanted to stop her wringing them, if not to comfort her. She was clearly nervous, and scared I would turn her down. While doing untold good for my ego, her request and the implicit trust it placed in me scared me absolutely shitless. I realized very clearly that no matter whichever way I went, there was a more than even chance I could lose it all. I didn't think I could take that.
 

I was quiet for a long time, silently holding her hands. She wisely let me think of exactly what I wanted to say. For once.
 

"First off, I am sincerely sorry about my physical reaction last night. You are the only woman for me, and you have been the only one since that first moment I laid eyes on you. Please believe me."
 

She nodded. "I know. But it surprised me. Your reaction seemed somehow, well, inappropriate. I know she's attractive and that she's growing up - and out! - very fast, but I never sensed you had those kinds of thoughts about her. If I had, whether it was true or not, you would have never seen us again.
 

"And I do believe you think you love me. Geez, you've asked me to marry you enough times."
 

Ouch. That one hurt. All right, so I had proposed to her within 5 minutes of seeing her the first time. We had barely been introduced and it popped out of my mouth. Funny thing is, we both knew I was dead serious. I had cut down my barrage of proposals a lot in the last 6 months, mostly just begging with her during, before and after sex, of which we had a lot. She didn't seem to mind. She just never accepted. At least now I knew she had heard me. Maybe one more shot at it? I was in a good position here, after all.
 

"Second, she will have to approach me. I won't seduce her."
 

As she nodded her agreement, a tear trickled down her cheek.
 

"Third, if it means any chance of losing you, the answer is 'No.' I will not risk that."
 

Another nod, more tears.
 

"Last, I don't want this to create trouble between you two. I'm not so vain as to think I could turn the head of a pretty young teenager, but if you two are sharing the same man on a regular basis."
 

I saw her flinch at that comment.
 

".there is bound to be an emotional bond that grows between Janey and I, as well. Maybe even a little competition? What happens if she falls in love with me, or thinks she is? What if she tries to displace you in my heart? Can you deal with that? You'll have to, as I don't think I could without crushing her spirit even more than it is now. I won't risk that, either. She has been hurt too much."
 

That last was said almost with vehemence.
 

A grin crept spread across her face. She realized I had all but agreed, and was relieved. And she had thought that far ahead to contemplate the possible complications and she was not concerned. That part she could deal with. Or would if and when it happened.
 

"If you think I am going to lose my man to some fresh-faced young chippy, you had better think again!"
 

She looked at me directly in the eyes, grinning smugly.
 

"I've got tricks up my sleeve you haven't even dreamed about, buster. Experience will beat out youthful exuberance any day."
 

God, she was beautiful. But I still had the upper hand. I wanted something from her, something big. But I couldn't make her just give it to me because of the situation. She would resent it, later, if not now, and so would I, really. I had to win it fair and square.
 

"OK. On one condition."
 

She paled. She hated conditions. "What is it?"
 

"I want to win the bet."
 

For a minute she had a puzzled look on her face. She had no idea where I was going. Then she realized I had said 'the' bet. She grew more perplexed.
 

"Huh? What makes you think you can win now? After last time? What's your record, 30 seconds?"
 

She eyed the silent helmeted observer peeking out from my robe. She reached over and lightly stroked the dark head with the tip of her finger. I almost shot my load then.
 

"Or do you just want a blow job? I'll give you that right now, no charge!"
 

In a shaky voice I responded, "I can win. I have to. And I want to raise the stakes."
 

"Oh, really? Remind me of the original bet."
 

"We, you bet that you could make me cum in less than one minute using only your mouth, no hands, no tongue, no suction, no motion."
 

"And the stakes?"
 

"If you won, which you did, I was to accompany you to the opera for six months, my treat, which I have done. If I won, which I didn't, I was to get to shave your pussy bald, and help you keep it that way for six months."
 

"What do you want to raise the stakes to?"
 

"Same stakes as before. Plus, if you win, I do anything you decide."
 

Sally was quiet for a minute.
 

"At first I thought to myself, 'Big deal. He loses and he gets to fuck my daughter after taking me to the opera.' But." she paused for effect, ".anything?"
 

I nodded.
 

She paused again. "Anything? You would never, ever ask me to marry you again, if that's what I wanted?"
 

I paled. I could even hear the italics in her voice. She knew me too well. I nodded my agreement. Slowly.
 

"Those are pretty big stakes. You must really want something big. What do I have to do for you if you win on a fluke? Come on, what do you want, Stud?"
 

In answer, I said nothing. I simply played with the shiny golden ring on the little finger of my left hand. It was a simple band, but designed for a much smaller hand. One more her size. It had been there almost 18 months, in constant readiness. I was ready if she ever changed her mind and said "Yes" to one of my proposals.
 

She followed my gaze to my hands. She saw the ring.
 

"Oh. Larry, I., we., Oh, shit!"
 

I waited for the explosion that never came. I waited for her to turn down the bet. She had turned them down before when she felt the stakes were too high. I waited for.
 

"Five minutes. I get five minutes to make you cum."
 

"YES!"
 

It was a shout of spontaneous joy after a lifetime of hopelessness. My heart leaped in my chest. She had agreed to the bet! We were simply negotiating the details. I had not dared hope she would agree. I had only wanted to get it back on the table and move her closer to what I considered the inevitable. But, shit, 5 minutes. I was not made of stone. We had proven that the last time!
 

"I mean, No! Not 5 minutes. 90 seconds," I countered.
 

"Four minutes."
 

"Two."
 

"Three." It was all the concession I was going to get and we both knew it. God help me.
 

"Done."