Wanna Bet - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

I'm excited to share Chapter 1 of my new story, Wanna Bet! I've had this story in my head for years and it's great to finally be able to write it. 

Let me know what you guys thinks of Jackson! How do you think he ends up naked and what do you wanna see happen next? 

Let me know in the comments and if you enjoy this, please give it a like! 

Despite my current state of attire, I felt flushed and hot. I could feel the sweat trickling down my exposed, muscular back.

Fuck, was I really going to do this?

I looked down at the throbbing bulge in my tight briefs, a pearl of precum glistening on the white fabric.

Apparently yes . . . yes, I was!

I hooked my thumbs under the waistband and took a breath to steady myself.

I could do this . . . right?

“You’re wasting time, Jackson. Get them off.”

The voice in my air pods made me shiver – pleasure, fear, or a mix of the two? I didn’t know, but I obeyed.

I pushed the briefs to my knees and watched them drop and pool around my ankles before I kicked them away.

That was it . . . butt naked, diamond hard and under someone else’s control.

What the hell was I doing?

The previous day . . .

After a long day in the office, I had fifteen minutes to get changed and head out to some swanky book launch event.

I stripped out of my navy suit and white shirt and appraised myself in the floor length mirror in my bedroom.

I couldn’t stop the smug grin that usually followed a check in the mirror.

At 6’1, I had broad shoulders, big furry pecs, and a fairly flat stomach. My legs were thick and muscular, and my crowning glory was my juicy bubble butt.

My messy dark hair accentuated my blue eyes and my stubbled strong jaw.

I looked damn good and despite my best attempts at not being vain, I failed miserably.

Sure, I sometimes got off on my own reflection, but I was just proud of my body.

Forcing myself to step away from my vanity session, I grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans. I’d just pulled them up to my thighs when the voice echoed in my head . . .

“Are you really going to wear those briefs? Such a shame you won’t wear something slutty.”

I inwardly groaned as I looked down at the snug briefs. “Wanna bet?”

Kicking off the jeans, I pushed the briefs to my ankles, freeing my cock and balls.

I went over to my underwear drawer and started rifling through the varied selection. There were boxer shorts, boxer briefs, briefs, jockstraps, and thongs. I had a fascination with underwear, and I firmly believed that tighter was better.

I picked up one of my favourite jockstraps, a black liquid latex pouch with neon yellow straps.

By the time I got it on, my cock was at half-mast, and I could practically hear the voice chuckle in my head.

I picked up my jeans again, but . . .

“Those jeans are so boring. There’s no way you’d wear something tighter.”

“Wanna bet?” I said as I rolled my eyes and tossed the jeans on the floor.

Hearing a daring voice in your own head probably isn’t normal, but I’ve had it for the last ten years.

It started in my senior year of college. Me and some buddies had gotten into a game of truth or dare where the truths had disappeared.

Rather than the standard “I dare you” approach, we’d started saying things like “I know you won’t do this” and then we’d instantly respond with “wanna bet?”. And that was how the voice in my head had come to life.

I’d always enjoyed a dare and an adrenaline rush, and the “wanna bet” approach became a personal challenge on an almost daily basis. It started innocently enough with daring myself to wear something tight to show off my body, but over the years it had definitely escalated. Now I’d jerk-off in the gym showers or grope a hot guy’s ass on the train home.

So far, I’d been lucky in that I’d never been caught, but at 33, I felt like I was on borrowed time. I needed more risk and more adrenaline to enjoy the bets, and that meant taking on more challenging dares.

At least, for tonight, my horny impulse was satisfied with a slutty jockstrap and some skin-tight, ripped jeans that barely covered my butt.

I finished the outfit with black boots, a white V-neck, and a grey blazer.

Smart, but sexy.

The book launch was being held in a basement bar downtown. When I descended the stairs, the bar was packed with well dressed, attractive people who were taking advantage of the free cocktails and canapes.

“Jackson, over here!”

I turned to find one of the guys from my publishing house.  “Hey Matt, it’s busier than I expected.”

Matt laughed. ‘Yeah, I think the free drinks helped.”

A passing waiter handed me a glass of bright red liquid with a strawberry hooked onto the rim of the glass.

I took a sip of the cocktail as Matt brought me up to speed on who some of the special guests were. I hadn’t worked on the book that was being launched, so I felt a little out of the loop.

Passion Resisted was expected to be the next smut bestseller and the author of the hour, Madeline Quentin, was very specific that the launch party should happen somewhere dark and mysterious.

Based on the dim lighting and the gaggle of well-dressed bodies pushed together, she’d gotten her wish.

After my third lurid cocktail, I headed towards the bar for a proper drink.

It felt like the room was even more crowded than before as I pushed my way through the sea of bodies to the mahogany bar that ran the length of one side of the room.

I was beginning to regret wearing the blazer as I felt the sweat on my chest and my brow. It probably didn’t help that I was wearing a jockstrap that created more sweat than I knew I was capable of. Liquid latex is not a cooling fabric.

Maybe you should slide your hand into your jeans and see how sweaty you are? Not that you’d do such a thing!

My hand was moving to my waist before I even muttered the words, “wanna bet”.

After a quick glance around, I was fairly confident that no one was paying me much attention, so I popped the top button on my jeans and slid my hand over the liquid latex pouch of the jock. The combination of sliding my hand inside my jeans in the middle of a packed room, along with the contact with my cock had me starting to throb and harden in seconds.

I stifled a moan as I gave my cock a squeeze, the inside of my thighs moist with sweat.

Not wanting to get caught with my hand down my pants, I withdrew and rebuttoned my jeans.

The rush of doing something risky in public had its usual effect and within a matter of seconds, my cock was solid, or at least as solid as it could get within the tight confines of the jock.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, wishing I hadn’t set myself off.

One thing that made me more impulsive was being horny. Add alcohol to that and it was a recipe for chaos.

“What can I get you?” a cute, black barman with the most amazing smile said as he leaned slightly over the bar.

I smiled back. “A JD and coke please.”

‘You got it,’ he replied with a wink before turning around and giving me a view of his impressive butt in a tight pair of black slacks.

Such a hot guy and there’s no chance you’d ask for his number.

“Wanna bet,” I said with an internal eye roll as I paid for my drink.

“I’m Jackson,” I said as I leaned towards the barman. “Any chance I could get your number?”

The barman laughed. “You don’t waste any time, do you? Where’s your phone?”

I pulled my phone from my pocket, unlocked it, and created a new contact – hot barman!

He laughed again as he took the phone and typed in his number.

“Text me some time,” he said as he handed the phone back.

“Count on it,” I said with a grin as I turned around to re-join the colleagues I’d been stood with.

However, I instantly came to a stop.

I couldn’t be sure I was still conscious.

He was like a wet dream come to life.

A similar height to myself, he had dark hair that was streaked with grey. He had to be in his late thirties or early forties. His shoulders were broad, and he had a toned, thick chest that tapered down to a slim waist. He was impeccably dressed in a tight-fitting pale blue shirt, tucked into a pair of tailored grey suit pants.

I watched him walk past me and couldn’t resist eyeing up his perfect round ass, not to mention a bulge that should have been classed as obscene in a public space.

He let himself lean forward against the bar and it took all of my self-control not to drag him off to the bathroom.

Like you’d be that forward. You wouldn’t even have the nerve to grab his ass.

Oh fuck!

“Wanna bet,” I whispered to myself.

I was conscious of everyone around me as I stepped towards him. His ass was hugged perfectly by his tailored suit pants, and it was the most inviting sight I’d ever seen.

I knew I needed to be discreet but the alcohol and the throbbing in my jock overrode my senses.

I was just inches away from him and I could smell his woody, rich aftershave, a smell that made me practically drool.

Common sense would tell me that I was too close to grope this guy without him automatically knowing it was me, but common sense was something that had completely escaped me in that moment.

I placed my hand on his right cheek and gave it a squeeze, discovering that his ass was the perfect combo of firm but squidgy – perfect.

Before I could step back, or turnaround, or even blink, he spun around and grabbed my wrist.

“Who the fuck gave you permission to grab my ass?”

His voice was deep and rich, like the darkest chocolate.

I opened my mouth to give an excuse, any excuse, but nothing came out.

His grip on my wrist tightened and he leaned closer to me to be heard over the noise, his lips just inches from mine.

“You may wanna speak before I lose my patience. I can’t believe you’re stupid enough to grope a guy at a bar without a damn good reason.”

‘Wanna bet?”

Fuck!