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Two college roomies...Blake, a Mets fan, and Rob, a Cards booster. Both betting guys. Blake was confident, and the bet had been kind of silly, anyway. "Whoever wins gets to do whatever he wants to the other," Rob had said. Blake didn't quite pick up on the "do whatever he wants" part. They were both broke college students, so he figured the payoff, if by some horrible chance he lost, would be maybe springing for a few brews at the pub and being XXXX by Rob to wear a damn Cardinals cap around campus.

Rob, of course, had a different idea. He watched the 7th game alone in their dorm room while Blake was hanging out with some asshole New York fans on a different floor of the dorm. As the 1-1 score dragged on into the 8th, Rob wasn't too worried. If he lost, well, he knew Blake wasn't that imaginative, and his payoff wouldn't be very tough. But if he won......

Rob popped wood as the Cards scored 2 runs, and then the Mets were down to their last out. He had to admit that the Met catcher Paul LoDuca was a major hunk, but he pushed that out of his mind as the final out was made and the Cards celebrated on the field at Shea. He knew how dejected and depressed Blake would be, lowering his defenses even more than usual.

Rob heard voices in the hallway, and sure enough, Blake stepped through the door, looking shell-shocked.

"OK, dickwad," he called out, "You won...what do I have to do? And I AIN'T doin' your stinking laundry!"

Rob sprang out from his hiding place and clamped his hand over his hot roomie's mouth, while circling his chest with his other arm. They went down in a pile, and Rob grabbed the rope he had strung out over the couch. Within a minute or two, Blake's hands were tightly bound, and Rob was unfurling an orange bandanna which was stuffed into his buddy's mouth and tightly tied behind his head.

"MMMMPPPHHH!!" said the startled Mets fan, feeling as helpless as he had a few minutes before watching his team go down in flames.

"Payoff time, little bitch", growled Rob, pulling off Blake's flip-flops as he tied his ankles. "Your hero David Wright can't help you now!!"

"What the fuck??" mumbled Blake, but it came out as "Mmma ma mmmk??"

A chill ran down his spine as the deranged St. Louis fan ran his fingers down the length of his super-sensitive soles. His bound and helpless body went rigid, then bucked, then went stiff again, then bucked again as the tickling sensation ran through his nervous system. His feet were extremely ticklish, and that bastard Rob knew it. Soon the beleagured Mets fan was screaming and panting through his gag as his handsome roomie kept up the relentless foot torture.

"Like that?? Like that??" taunted Rob as Blake squirmed and struggled helplessly. "That's more action than those damn Mets showed all night!!"

Even more than the tickle torment, Blake was hurt by the mean comments about his team. As he gasped and wiggled, desperate to break free, he was planning a World Series bet, which he had every intention of winning!