Pantsing and Stripping Forums

Hello, all!

My name is Fred. I’ve been hovering around this board for several months now, enjoying the stories. I haven’t shared my own work yet, though, and I have a story that I posted elsewhere long ago that I think is good enough to share. I don’t take that lightly in the company of writers like Executionus or BlushingPrincess or superevil or any of the other prolific and talented folks here.

I tend towards slow builds to the reward, so if you are looking for rapid gratification, you may want to skip this. I also have a few other things besides ENF here, but nothing that I imagine will cross anyone’s lines.

If you enjoy the start, please let me know and I will continue the repost.

Fred

The Tutor

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.

Oh boy, I *do* love this start! So I'm letting you know—I really hope you do carry on!

Now this here thing is one of my favourite *ever* genres—when someone takes a pretty much total cliche (tutor/tutee) and gives it a unique vibe, style (and hopefully a twist ) of their own.

The probability/statistic thing is definitely cleverly used so far—a great way into dare-type scenarios.

Tara's description stands out as well. The idea that maybe she isn't the stunner of a girl in her school year, but she might just be the girl for you / Fred, the emphasis on beauty being in the eye of the beholder, rules of attraction and all that, I dig that. Big time.

Kudos for a great start and yes, please! Welcome, and do carry on!

"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?"

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.

“”“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. ““RIIIIIGHT. …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…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 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?”

Tara nodded. “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? You have a thing for whipped cream?”

“”“Okay, Tara,” I answered, “you “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 spanking? You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you whack my butt?”

“”“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.“

“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. I knew I had to talk fast—I could see the window slamming shut.

““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 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?”

What do you THINK the point is? I thought to myself. I didn’t say that out loud, of course.
“”“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 love how this story is shaping up!!! Hopefully Tara gets some good punishments! I feel like that wedgie she claimed to be harsh isn’t the tip of her problems with panties up her butt.

Thank you for the encouragement! I promise some ENF to come in this one.

Love a good slow build, please keep going!

Really liking the story so far, but is there an issue with the formatting on the last chapter, or is my computer having a stroke? The first chapter looks fine, but the second one has a lot of random squares everywhere?

Sorry about that. I’ll try to figure out the issue before posting part 3.

ENFfanatic wrote: ↑Sat May 27, 2023 3:45 pm Really liking the story so far, but is there an issue with the formatting on the last chapter, or is my computer having a stroke? The first chapter looks fine, but the second one has a lot of random squares everywhere?

Can't see them... Looks ok to me.

Great chapter!

Hopefully, this will fix the format issue. Be patient - we're getting to the good parts.

The Tutor, part 3


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. I love smart women.

“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. I continued, ”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, arent 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?”

“I'm still game,” she said. ”How about five in ten on that $40?”

Again, this surprised me; she was betting very aggressively. Still, in retrospect, I guess I shouldn't have been shocked by this. She was a competitive girl, and liked winning. Why wouldn't that translate to games like this? I wasn't going to argue. ”For a medium risk?”

“I was thinking easy risk,” she answered, “but I guess I'd go for those odds on medium.”

“Then roll away, partner.” A two. Tara was clearly not pleased about this. “Damn!” she swore.

“I guess you're drawing,” I said, since you don’t have $40. Unless…” I let my sentence trail off.

I’m a high school student, not a psychologist, but it was dawning on me that Tara had more in common with gamblers than she thought. Part of being an athlete is chasing the rush of performing at your peak, outdoing someone else, and emerging victorious from the test. I was betting here, too—betting that Tara’s competitive instincts would outweigh her reasoning in the heat of a moment. I guessed that she'd grab at any hope I offered rather than stop while losing. She didn’t disappoint.

“Unless what?” she asked, looking me dead in the eyes.

“Well, I guess you aren’t going to want to play this game for long if you haven’t got some money to back you—there’s too much risk. So, since I want you to play, what if I offer you a line of credit?”

“What does that mean?” Tara asked, interested.

“You can risk money you don't have, up to a limit of, say, $200. That way if you win, you can earn back the money you don't have. You'll get more shots at playing.”

I was being a little deceptive here, as you no doubt realize. The Gambler's Fallacy says that eventually, you have to win any game. It isn’t true. Odds remain the same, no matter how many times you play. But Tara, I guessed, wasn’t clear enough on odds yet to know that.

“But what if I hit $200 in losses?” she asked.

“I guess you’d owe me several draws, but if you manage your odds well, it shouldn't be a problem, right?”

Tara obviously didn't know the answer to this question, but she also clearly wanted to keep playing. That $40 she had held briefly whetted her appetite. ”I suppose not. Ok, then I won't draw, and I owe you $25 on credit.”

“Right. Now, what's our next bet?” I said, trying to hurry her along to keep her from considering the issue too carefully.

“I think I'd better go small, since I'm on credit. What odds will you give me on a $20 bet?”

“Twenty dollars? Well, I'll give you 3 of ten for an easy draw, four of ten for a medium, and six of ten for a hard one.”

“Six of ten? That's only a 40% chance for you to win!”

“Yes, but if I do…” I pointed to the hard bowl.

Her brow furrowed for a moment as she considered. Suddenly, though, her face cleared and she seemed satisfied. “OK,” she said. “Six of ten against a hard draw, with $20 at stake.” handed her the die, and she rolled. The die bounced, landing at last on a 4 again. I had won!

“Bad luck, Tara-the odds were really in your favor that time.”

“It's OK,” she said brightly. “I still have credit, remember? I’ll give you your $20 from that, and then I don't have to draw.”

Of course, I figured that this was what she had realized a minute ago when she agreed to take the bet, but I can't say I hadn't hoped I was wrong. It was a little disappointing to have had her within an inch of drawing from that hard penalty bowl and have her slip out of it, but that was part of the overall scheme. I knew that if I could keep the odds in my favor most of the time, she'd lose more than she'd win. She certainly wouldn't draw from the penalty bowl unless she had to, so her credit would be extended further. It was only a matter of time before she hit $200.

I sighed dramatically; I wanted her to know I was disappointed, and to think that I hadn’t seen this coming. ”I guess that means you owe $45 on credit, then. Not nearly as much fun as a draw would be, though.”

Tara laughed. “Fun for you, but not for me, Fred. So what's the next bet? I've lost the last few, so I'm due for a winner. Would you give me the same odds on another $20?”

“No, not since I know you aren’t going to have to draw if you lose. You’ll just put the $20 on credit,” I said. “Why should I give you anything better than the odds for an easy draw? You aren’t risking anything more than that here. 4 in 10 for $20.”

“Oh, come on,” Tara pouted. “That’s only a 40 percent chance! You should at least give me a fifty-fifty shot.”

“Nope. Not this time. 4 of 10 is as high as I’ll go for $20 —unless you want to promise that you'll draw as a result, not take the credit.”

“And if I do promise to draw?”

“OK, I'd give you better odds. 5-10 for easy, 6-10 for medium, 7-10 for hard.” Even at 7 of 10, I still had nearly a 1 in 3 shot of getting Tara to draw a hard slip, and with only $20 at stake, she'd still owe me money if she won. It was worth the risk to try to push her deeper in debt.

“I'm not willing to risk that hard draw, even at 7 of 10 odds. But I'll go for 7 of 10 against the medium with a promise to draw. How badly do you want a chance to penalize me?” She looked at me, smiling, hands on hips. If there had been any doubt in my mind that she knew I was interested in her, it was gone now. I told you she was smart.

Sure, the odds were low, but it was still worth it. “OK, Tara, you win. 7 of 10.”

She picked up the die, and took a deep breath. “Wow,” she said, “I guess this one's for real stakes, huh?” Shaking the die in her hands, she let it fly, and it came to rest with a 10 facing up.

Tara jumped up, pumping her fist in victory. “Yes!” she shouted.

“OK, so you won $20. You're still $25 in debt to me,” I reminded her.

“Not for long! she answered happily. Same bet again?” I considered it. The odds were still well in her favor, but she would also still be in the hole if she won.

And there was always that off chance she would lose….”Same bet again. Roll.” I was starting to sweat just a little bit.

Tara rolled a five, and won another twenty from me. “This is easy!” she squealed. “Same again? I only owe you five dollars now.”

I could let it go once more, I decided. Would she cash out if she broke even? Somehow, from the look on her face, I didn’t think so.The die was tossed once again, and this time, she rolled a six. Now I owed her fifteen dollars, and I gave her a ten and a five. “Told you I'd take your money before long!” she gloated. “I guess I know my odds now, huh?”

That sounded a little too much like she was ready to quit while ahead, so I answered quickly. “Maybe. So far, I haven't made it very hard for you to calculate. Everything has been out of 10. But what if we change dice?” I reached over to the small pile she had brought in and pulled out an 8-sided die.

Laughing, Tara said, “That's not so tough. All I have to do is swap 8 for 10 in the denominator, right?”

“That's the idea, yes, but can you do it in your head when the pressure's on? I don’t know….” I looked at her as if I was assessing her game skills. “I have my doubts.”

“Oh, really?” she said, hands dropping to her hips, giving me a cocky Wanna step outside? kind of look. “Would taking more of your money be a good enough demonstration? What's the bet?”

Game on again, I thought to myself happily. While she's trying to prove me wrong, she's not thinking clearly. Now's the time to hit hard. “Think you can handle $50, or is that too much for you to risk on your mental calculations?”

“I can handle it,” she snapped without pause. “What odds out of eight?”

“What odds do you want?”

She concentrated for a moment. “Four of eight would be fifty percent, so anything higher is in my favor. Five out of eight.”

“Five out of eight? Against what? I'll give you three out of eight against a medium draw.”

“Four out of eight. The odds are fifty-fifty.”

“For a medium draw?”

She nodded. “Well…” I pretended to consider, ”I guess that's reasonable.” I handed her the die. Fifty-fifty was just that, fifty-fifty. If I lost, I'd be in the hole $60. I had more, but I doubted she'd keep playing if she won this time.

Yes! The die came up 1. Tara's face fell.

“So, Tara, what's it going to be? Credit again, or do you want to keep the money and draw?” I waited for a second, then started to reach for the draw bowl.

“No, wait. I'll take the credit,” she said, handing me my fifteen dollars back.

“OK. Now you owe me $35. Tell you what—you like those fifty-fifty odds, right?”

“I'd rather have better ones,” she said, ”but fifty-fifty isn't too bad.”

“I'll make you a deal. I’ll put up $100 if you win, but if you lose, you only pay me $75. This time, however, you have to roll twice, and you have to win both fifty-fifty tosses. If you lose one, you lose.”

This took Tara by surprise, and she stood silent for a moment, trying to figure out the odds involved. “Let’s see… for each roll, the odds are fifty-fifty. There are two rolls, and I have to get both of them…wait a minute! You said something about this when we started! For each roll, the odds are still the same, no matter how many there are, so the chance of my winning is still 50%. And since you stand to lose more than I do, the risk outweighs the even odds. Deal.”

This was not true, of course. If each roll was to take place as an independent event, Tara would be right. The odds of rolling high or low would be fifty-fifty each time. However, this was a PAIR of events happening in sequence, and that meant the two probabilities must be multiplied together. Her chance of success was really only 25%, not 50%. But I didn’t feel compelled to point this out right now. Better she should learn from the mistake, right? Better for me, anyway.

She rolled the first time, and got a 7, which gave her confidence a boost. The second throw came up a 4, however, and suddenly Tara found herself $110 in debt.

“How much do I owe you now?”

“$110 on credit. Do you have anything like that kind of money?”

Tara looked up in surprise. ”What?”

“Have you considered where you're going to get the $110 to pay me? That's a fair amount of money, Tara.”

“But I don't have $110 dollars! That's why I was playing on credit!

“I know, but eventually you have to pay the credit off, right? I’m not saying you have to pay me today, but you do owe me now. Of course, since you're already down $110, a few more dollars won't matter much—how about one more roll? Your debt, double or nothing. You win, you owe nothing. You lose, you're still in debt to me. What do you say?” I tossed the die casually in my hand.

Tara looked fairly distressed now. “Fred, it’ll take me ages to pay you that money already! I don't have a job because of sports, remember?”

“Sure, I said, I understand. We can talk about the payment in a minute. We’ll work something out. For now, though, are you willing to chance one last throw? You might get out of this completely.”

“And I might be totally screwed,” she muttered under her breath. That would be fun, I thought, but kept it to myself.

There was silence in the room as Tara thought about the choice. Finally, she spoke. “Are we talking about fifty-fifty odds again?”

“Not this time. You owe me now, so I don't have to be as generous. But I won't be unreasonable, either. I'll give you a choice: 3 out of 8 or 4 out of 10.”

Again, Tara considered. 8 is smaller than 10 by two, but 3 is only 1 less than four. I know 3 into 8 is 2 and some, but so is 4 into 10—damn! I think 3 out of 8 is better. I'll take that. One roll, double or nothing.”

Again, a miscalculation (3 in 8 is only 37.5%, while 4 in 10 is 40%), but not a big one. It really wasn't much of an edge in my favor, to be honest, but I thought she should get her money's worth in tutoring, even if I was the one getting the better deal. I handed her the 8 sided die. Best of luck! I said.

Tara glared at me. “Like you’re rooting for me.”

She closed her eyes and rolled.

When she opened them, she saw the number 5 staring up at her, and slumped. She sat down in her chair, and although I wanted to, I refrained from gloating. “Crap! Now I owe you even more. Honestly, Fred, I have, like, NO money. I probably can’t pay you until summer.” Tara looked a little ashamed. “I can't ask my parents for it. But I will pay you. I make good on my bets.” The last bit was said almost defiantly, like I thought she'd back out now.

“I know you will. Still, you made two mistakes with the odds there.” I took a moment to explain the errors she made. She sighed. ”Don't worry. You just need more practice,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. “Look, I know how you can pay me off and get practice at the same time. We'll keep playing, but the way we were playing before—with bet against draw. If you win the bet, I'll knock the money off your account. If you lose, you have to draw, but I’ll still knock the money off your account, since you will have paid with the penalty. What do you think?”

Tara would obviously have rather never gotten into this game, but it was clear that being that far in debt was a scary thing for her. Maybe she thought I'd demand some sort of sexual favor in lieu of the money. I wouldn’t, but she didn't know that, and I suppose that's what I'd expect if I was a good-looking teen girl in debt to some guy and with no immediate way to pay. That sort of thing always happens in the movies. Still, I was offering her a chance to get herself out, even if it did mean some risk. A chance was better than no chance, I hoped she’d reason.

When she finally spoke, it was with good-humored resignation. “Well, I thought I'd manage to get away from any of those bowls of yours, but I was stupid. I should have stopped as soon as I was ahead. So I guess it's only fair that I get penalized if I dont get lucky, especially if you’re wiping clean the money I owe you. You know I would have taken yours without blinking, don’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t think you would have been that cold about it, but I knew you would keep it if you won it. That's what the risk was about, right? I was willing to take it, too.”

“OK, then, let's get on with it. I have $210 to pay off, and I want to do it before my folks get home. How much will you let me risk at a time?”

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..”

“Ummmmm—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 such a 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 didnt 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?” I asked.

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 kind of a 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.

ara 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 wondered. 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?