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I gripped his rapidly swollen member in my hand. Through the cloth of his pocket I could feel where the smooth shaft turned into the knobbed head. I gripped the head of his penis with my hand, like the claw in an arcade machine trying to pick up a prize. I rolled it around in my hand.
With his head still turned to the side, I saw him close his eyes.
“Let’s make a wager,” I said. “You get this ball in and I’ll give you that request plus the three for your remaining balls.”
He didn’t answer, so I squeezed the hard helmet resting in the palm of my hand. “Deal?”
He tried to turn towards me, obviously wanting to look eye to eye, but I gripped his cock and steered him straight ahead.
“If you want a chance at putting this inside me, throw the ball.”
He steadied himself, took a deep breath, and then reached back to me with the ball in his outstretched hand. “Would you mind blowing on this for luck?”
“What is this, Ocean’s Eleven?” I asked.
I released my grip on him and blew on the ball with what I hoped was a sexy gesture. I’d never really practiced blowing in a sensual way and I have to admit I felt a little bit ridiculous with the plastic Wiffle ball in front of my lips.
He smiled, turned, and tossed the ball with no more hesitation. It rolled, bounced gently off the backboard, and landed in the basket.
“Ooooooh that was good,” Braden announced.
I reached around once more and gave his cock a squeeze.
“You just needed a little bit of incentive,” I said. “Let’s go.”
As we backed away from the counter, the attendant called out, “Wait, your prize. A bear or a flamingo for the lady?”
Braden looked back at me. I shrugged my shoulders.
“No preference?” he asked.
I shook my head. Braden held up a hand, his finger going back and forth between the bear and bird as if he were silently doing eenie meenie. Then his finger fell and pointed towards the bear.
I leaned against him again from behind.
“Leave the bear. I really don’t want it. You got your points and I want a real prize.”
The attendant sniggered and shrugged his shoulders. “I’d do what the lady asks.”
Braden was leading me away from the games area when I did a quick inventory in my head. He had four requests. I had none. I didn’t think it would really be a problem but not having any power was bullshit. I wanted to do some things to him and I had some things in mind that I wanted him to do to me. The only way to secure my pleasure was to take control of this myself.
“One more game. This time only I play. I need a few of these points myself,” I said.
“Okay,” he said with a laugh. “What’s your game of choice?”
“Where’s the dart and balloons game that always gives shitty prizes? You know the one with the 80s hair band mirrors. I won a Whitesnake one the last time I played. That’s my game.”
He knew what I was talking about right away and helped me search for it.
“It’s a dollar a dart. Pop five balloons and you win a mirror,” the attendant called out on our approach.
Ha, yes, I want a freakin’ Skid Row mirror.
I was an infant in ’89, but I knew me some 80s tunes. As Braden handed five bucks to the attendant, and I took aim, the lyrics to “I remember you” flowed through my head.
I threw the five darts like a skilled ninja master. Well…like a semi-skilled one as I only hit balloons with three out of five darts, not enough to win the damned mirror.
I pouted. I do that sometimes. I don’t mean to, but I’ve been told that my bottom lip protrudes just a bit. Vince says it’s adorable. Susie says it’s ridiculous. The attendant seemed to think it was somewhere in between.
