As bets went it was stupid. But that was part of its appeal. In a sense, it was a heads I win, tails you lose situation. If Mexico won in the match, I won. If Iran won, Maeve won, but her prize was an evening as my Domme. Not being a very amenable switch, this was a challenge, but intimacy with Maeve was sure to be a sweet situation.

Her thick red hair and fair complexion were matched with her fiery spirit and her rapacious appetite. We had never been lovers but had often flirted and I was sure that the realization would be worth the risk.

We watched the game with some friends who were totally unaware of our bet. When Iran won, three to one, I nodded to her and toasted the Mexican team.

Three hours later, the knock on my apartment door was right on time. Maeve wore a white London Fog raincoat and high laced white boots. I offered to take her coat. With eyes downcast, appropriately, she took the coat off. Beneath it she wore nothing. I smiled, knowing that she had taken the subway. She would have enjoyed the titillation of knowing that no one knew how near to naked she was. I was willing to bet she was already moist.

Leaving her by the door, I went into my room. I felt her follow. I removed my clothes and put them away. I wouldn't need them anymore tonight. I gestured to the bed. Maeve was slender without being truly skinny. She had a thick red pubic bush that looked too neat not to be trimmed. Her legs were well-shaped and well toned. Her breasts were nicely shaped and sized, not too big, but more than a mouthful. She had the pinkest areolas that I had ever seen. Her nipples stood out sharply. She climbed up on the bed; I enjoyed the display of her ass. I snapped my fingers and she stopped on all fours, looking back at me, awaiting further instruction. I ran my hands over her hips and caressed her lovely derriere, appreciating the shape and tone. No cellulite. My fingers trailed between her lovely thighs and caressed her moist lips. I was right. She was well into it. I stepped back, and gestured for her to lie down on her back.

I showed her the leather gauntlet. I had made it myself. Like a macrame leather glove that tied above the elbow and criss-crossed to the wrists then wove into a net over the hands and into a leash that could be tied to the bed post, or over a door, or on a hook. She slid her hand into the first and wriggled her fingers into the mesh. I secured the end and tied her to the bed. As I pulled on the mate, she was pulling gently at the first. She realized that as she pulled, it tightened and squeezed around her arm and hand. The harder she pulled the more securely she was bound. I saw her chest moving a little faster as she sought more air. I tied the second gauntlet and let her enjoy the feeling.

Wrapping a thin band of suede around her ankles I affixed the shackles that I had bought, then tied them to the feet of the bed, being sure to pull her lovely legs as far apart as I could.

I enjoyed seeing her displayed like that, and sat looking at her for a