A Winning Wager

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A wager over a football game gets out of hand.
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swingerjoe
swingerjoe
1,318 Followers

Looking back, if I am completely honest with myself, I have always known my wife is a slut. Her sexual appetite is one of the many qualities that attracted me to her in the first place. We had sex on our very first date, and it was clear that she had quite a lot of experience. While we were dating, we shared our sexual resumes with each other, and hers was quite extensive. She claimed she had been with twelve men in total, and I knew that women always under-report this number by at least half.

One time, after she had quite a lot to drink, she confessed that she once sneaked into the boys' locker room after hours while in high school and sucked off her boyfriend and three of his friends. They stood around her in a circle with their pants down around their ankles, and she took turns sucking each of them until they each erupted in her mouth. Although I never admitted it to her, that story has always aroused me incredibly, and I fantasized about it often.

Rebecca and I have been married for sixteen years. We have three children, all of school age, and she stays at home and takes care of the house. At age 41, she still turns heads with her stunning good looks. She has a petite and athletic figure, with beautiful C-cup breasts and a firm, round, delicious ass. Her soft, pale skin, long, curly red hair and stunning green eyes give away her Irish heritage. And she has an outgoing and fun-loving personality that men tend to find intoxicating.

We have always had a strong and loving marriage, and up until a month ago, I had no reason to believe that she had ever been unfaithful to me. But my worldview was shattered that day, and I realized that the woman I married was still a sex-crazed slut after all these years.

It was a typical frigid autumn afternoon in New England, and I had unexpectedly left work early. I drove through our suburban neighborhood, and as I approached our house I noticed a van was parked in our driveway. I remembered that we needed to have our roof repaired, and assumed the van belonged to the foreman who was scheduled to give us an estimate.

I began parking behind the van, but was suddenly overcome by an inexplicable yet undeniable sense of suspicion. I had no reason to be suspicious, and even today, I don't know what possessed me to feel that way. Yet, for whatever reason, I backed out of the driveway, drove around the corner and parked near an abandoned lot. I then hiked back toward our house, feeling both anxious and ridiculous.

I tip-toed toward our front door, peered inside, and saw no one stirring within. As I moved to the side of the house to peer through another window, I glanced toward our neighbor's house and hoped they weren't watching me at that moment. I felt ridiculous spying through my own windows. I saw no one in the side window, nor the back window. They must be upstairs, I thought.

Just to satisfy my curiosity before heading back to my car, I knelt down to look through our basement window. And that is when I saw them. He was standing before her, facing me, and she was on her knees in front of him. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and he was holding the back of her head with one hand. Her red hair was tied back in a pony tail, and he was grasping it while she slowly bobbed back and forth.

My initial reaction was pure, white-hot rage. I was so furious, I wanted to dive through the window and pummel both of them. But at the same time, I was surprised to feel a stirring in my loins. I was fully aroused and oddly mesmerized by what I was seeing. There was something about watching my wife service another man that was strangely thrilling and erotic. My body was frozen in place and I couldn't take my eyes off of them.

The pace of her bobbing head quickened, and he shuddered and let out a loud moan that I could hear through the double-paned window. She continued to work on him for a little while longer, slowing her pace, before she rose to her feet. They didn't kiss or hug. She just stood there and wiped her mouth while he zipped his pants. He then reached over to the table next to him, grabbed a clipboard, wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. They then exited through the door to our garage.

I waited until his van backed out of our driveway before I walked back down the road and returned to my car. My heart was pounding and my body was shaking as I pulled into the garage and walked up our cellar stairs and into our kitchen. She was standing at the counter, waiting for a cup of coffee to brew. She tried to hide a look of panic when she saw me, but her eyes gave her away.

"What are you doing home already?" she asked.

"Who was that who just left?" I responded, trying my best to contain my anger.

"That was the roof guy. He just gave us our estimate."

I paused, waiting for her to confess, but she simply crossed her arms and stared at me as if trying to ascertain what I knew.

"Anything you want to tell me?" I finally asked, raising my voice just a bit.

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you!" I yelled. "I know what you were doing with him, Rebecca. How could you?"

Her eyes immediately reddened and welled with tears. "I'm sorry!" she cried. "I...don't know what to say."

"Why?" was all I could manage to utter through my rapidly closing throat.

There was a long silence as she tried to gather her thoughts. Neither one of us moved a muscle. Finally, she broke the silence.

"I did it for us," she said softly.

The statement was so absurd. "You did it for us?! Are you kidding me?"

She suddenly became indignant. "I got $300 off the estimate for the roof repair."

"$300? You cheated on me for $300?"

"I wasn't cheating!" she shouted. "It was only a blowjob! I don't love the guy or anything! It took me five minutes, and I saved us $300. You know we're hurting for money. Until I can get a job, it's my way of contributing."

"Contributing?" I responded with a laugh. Then a thought came to me like a revelation. "Wait a minute. How many other times have you done this?"

A guilty look flushed over her face. "Only a few."

"A few?? How many is a few?"

"Well, why do you think we got such a great deal on that new furnace?" Now she was getting angry. "How do you think we managed to get that expensive sports package from our cable company for free? Do you really think the cable company just fucked up? And when our dishwasher busted, and the repairman fixed it without charging us for his labor, do you think he did it out of the kindness of his heart? I have literally saved us hundreds of dollars – maybe thousands."

"Thousands?" My head swirled with visions of my wife servicing all of these strange men in our house, right under my nose, and without my knowledge. "How long have you been doing this?"

"I don't know," she said. "For a while, I guess. I really didn't think it was a big deal. It was just a few blowjobs."

"If it isn't a big deal, then why didn't you ever tell me you were doing it?"

"Because I knew you would overreact like this!" she cried. After a long pause, she finally moved from her spot. She moved toward me and hugged me, and buried her face in my chest.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I really am. I'm sorry I did it, and I promise I will never do it again. Please don't let this affect our marriage. What I did had nothing to do with our marriage, and it didn't change a thing about how much I love you. I will do whatever it takes to make this right, I promise."

For the next several days, I gave her the cold shoulder as I tried to sort my feelings. I had trouble sleeping at night. My thoughts constantly replayed that image of her bobbing head in the basement and the look of ecstasy on that man's face. I could not deny the fact that I was turned on by what she had done. Although I never let her know, my anger was slowly overwhelmed by my arousal.

As the weekend approached, it was time to host our weekly football party. We began hosting this party the year we had our basement finished. Of course, I now couldn't help but wonder if we received such a great price from the contractors who did that job because of Rebecca's "negotiation tactics." But this was a question better left unanswered. Once the basement was finished, we added a few comfy couches and chairs, a nice bar in the corner and a large high-def TV. Soon, this became the setting for our weekly gathering.

During these events, Rebecca loves to play the role of our sexy hostess. All of the guys shamelessly flirt with her, and she loves all the attention. She usually dresses in a tight-fitting jersey and either tight yoga pants or tiny shorts. I have often seen her deliberately pose in a way to attract attention, and I have caught all of the guys sneaking peeks at her many times through the years.

When these weekly gatherings first began, we hosted a large group of people, but the number of "regulars" has since dwindled. On this particular weekend our hometown favorite, the New England Patriots, played a rare Sunday night game against our long-time rivals, the New York Jets. With the work week beginning the following morning, this particular group was smaller than usual, as only three guys showed up: Roger, Matt and Ben.

Our neighbor, Roger, is in his mid-50's and divorced. When his wife left him, he was allowed to keep his house, so for over a year he has lived alone in his rather large house. He is loud and boisterous, and usually dominates our conversations. He is also shamelessly flirtatious with Rebecca, and enjoys trading sexual innuendos with her. Matt is a younger guy, in his early 30's, who takes pride in being a bachelor. Rebecca and I met him at a local bar many years ago and struck up an instant friendship. He's a good looking guy, and the ladies all seem to gravitate toward him. He lives with his roommate, Ben, who is around the same age. Ben is a self-described "nerd", and can be shy and quiet at times, although he tends to loosen up after a few beers.

A native New Yorker, Roger is a Jets fan, and the only person in our group who doesn't root for the home team whenever we gather together. He attends because he enjoys our company, our food, our beer and my wife. He takes great delight in playing the role of "villain", and this weekend in particular he was even louder and more obnoxious than usual, given that our two teams were facing each other head-to-head.

We often place wagers on the games to make them more interesting. Usually, it is no more than a few bucks, though we will occasionally step it up. Thanks to the late starting time of this game, we all had a few beers before the opening kickoff, and the mood in the room was a little rowdier than usual. Although the Jets were considered to be major underdogs, Roger loudly insisted his team would win. I proposed that he put his money where his mouth is, and suggested a $10 wager.

"Ten bucks? What is this? A children's birthday party?" he howled. "This game is far too important for such a pussy bet."

"Okay," I said, "how about $50?"

"Fuck money," he roared between bites of a chicken wing. "Let's get serious. I'm talking personal humiliation or some sort of services rendered."

He took a long chug of his beer while he contemplated. "How 'bout this: if the Pats somehow pull off a miracle and win this game, I'll shovel your walkway the next time we get a storm."

I smiled wide at the thought of seeing this arrogant jerk shoveling my walkway. "Okay," I replied, "no problem. And what if – and I can hardly say this without laughing – the Jets win?"

He took another extended swig of his beer, and the corners of his mouth curled upward with an evil grin. "WHEN the Jets win", he said, and then paused for dramatic effect, "Becky over there will show us her tits."

The room erupted in loud laughter, and Rebecca's jaw dropped. "Excuse me? How did I get dragged into this?"

"You're on," I said. The words sprung from my mouth before they had a chance to sink in. The men all burst into laughter once again, and I extended my hand to show I was serious. Roger looked at my hand, and then to Rebecca.

"Are you seeing this?" he said with a laugh. "Can you believe this guy?"

I looked at Rebecca. In the weeks since it happened, we hadn't discussed what she had done with the man in our basement, nor the others she had serviced. This little wager was my way of humiliating her for what she had done, and she seemed to understand this was her penance. Her smile faded and she nodded her head in agreement.

"Okay, I'll do it," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "We all know the Pats are going to win anyway."

Roger immediately reached out and shook my hand with enthusiasm.

"Man, oh, man!" he yelled. "This game just got REAL interesting!"

As our three guests settled into their regular seats, I pulled Rebecca aside.

"You understand why I'm doing this," I stated, and she nodded her head. "You promised to do whatever it would take to heal our marriage, and this is what I need you to do." A look of uneasiness came over her face.

"Don't worry," I consoled her. "Like you said, it doesn't matter. The Pats are going to win."

The Patriots jumped out to an early lead by scoring a touchdown on their first possession. There was a very odd reaction in the room when it happened. The usual cheering and celebration was a bit muted, and it seemed as though the guys were all a little disappointed. Even I found myself experiencing mixed feelings. As much as I wanted to see Roger shovel my walkway, I felt an even stronger need to see Rebecca raise her shirt and show her tits to these men. I wanted her to feel as humiliated as I felt when I saw her on her knees in that very same room a few weeks before. But I also felt strangely aroused by the idea. I wanted them to look at her. I wanted to show her off.

The Jets managed to tie the score before the end of the first quarter, and the vibe in the room grew rowdier. When a Patriots turnover led to another Jets touchdown in the second quarter, it almost seemed as though we had all become Jets fans. Roger, of course, was happiest of all. He leaned back in his big, comfortable chair with a shit-eating grin on his face and enjoyed every minute of his team's temporary good fortune.

The Patriots kicked a field goal, and the Jets answered with one of their own. New York then added another touchdown just before halftime, giving them an unexpected 20-10 lead as the teams headed into the locker room. Roger was cockier and more obnoxious than ever, and told everyone he couldn't wait to see Rebecca's tits.

"I've been lusting after those puppies for years," he said with a wide grin. "Hey, Becky, you should take your bra off now to make it easier for you later."

He began to question the ground rules, and wanted to establish how long she was required to display them for us.

"You don't need to worry about that," I answered. "The Pats are a second half team."

"Not today they aren't," he shot back.

"If you're so confident," I finally said after listening to his endless trash-talk, "let's up the ante."

"Absolutely!" he crowed. "What do you have in mind?"

"If we win, you shovel my walkway for an entire month." I then paused, took a sip of beer, and made eye contact with Rebecca. "And if you win," I continued, "Rebecca will strip down right here in this room for all of you. Fully naked."

The men erupted in laughter and cheers. Likely believing that I was bluffing, Roger extended his hand, and I immediately shook it.

"Wait," he said, still laughing. "Hold on a sec. Are you fucking serious?"

He immediately looked at Rebecca, who was filling her third glass of wine. She normally didn't drink more than two at these gatherings, but she had a sinking feeling she might need a little extra that night. She just smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.

"Whatever," she muttered.

"Awesome!" he shouted, and exchanged hearty high-fives with Matt and Ben, who were both grinning and shaking their heads in disbelief.

As the second half began, there was a great deal of electricity and tension in the air. Each play now carried such tremendous significance that there was a constant eruption of cheers and agonized groans no matter what the outcome was. Normally, Rebecca was a whirlwind of activity at these parties, constantly refreshing drinks, preparing snacks and ensuring her guests were comfortable. She didn't care much about the game itself. But on this occasion, she merely sat in the corner of the room, transfixed upon the game and slowly sipped her wine.

The Patriots only needed six plays to drive the ball all the way down the field and into the end zone in their very first possession of the second half. The room erupted in celebration, and even Rebecca leaped to her feet and pumped her fist in the air. But the celebration didn't last long, as the Jets kicked a field goal on their first possession of the half, making it a 23-17 game.

In the fourth quarter, Patriots quarterback Tom Brady connected for another touchdown pass, which gave New England their first lead of the game. The score was now 24-23 in their favor, and yet the Patriots fans in the room all seemed a little disappointed. Even I found myself secretly rooting for the Jets. The thought of all those men leering at my completely naked wife was causing a persistent stirring in my pants.

A Jets field goal gave them the lead once again, by a score of 26-24, with only two minutes remaining. The room filled with raucous shouting and trash-talking. Although the Jets held the lead, the Patriots only needed to kick a field goal to win, and they have one of the league's most consistent and reliable kickers.

With the two-minute warning came a commercial break, which allowed me and Roger to engage in more trash-talking.

"Man, I can't wait for it to start snowing so I can start collecting from you," I said with a grin.

"Okay, hotshot," he responded. "You wanna up the ante one more time? I'll shovel your goddamned walkway for the entire winter."

"And how am I supposed to up the ante on my end? You want to see me naked, too?" I asked, laughing.

"Hell no! I'd rather scoop my eyes out with a rusty spoon." He then looked toward Rebecca, and I could see the hunger in his eyes. I decided to see how far I could push her.

"Okay," I said. "I'll tell you what. If you win – and there's no way that's going to happen – Rebecca will not only give you guys a strip show...but she will suck you all off, right here, to completion."

"WHAT?!"

"WHOA!"

"NO WAY!"

All three of our guests nearly fell over laughing, and Rebecca burned a hole through me with her eyes. She motioned for me, and I excused myself from the guys.

"Honey," she whispered, "don't you think you're taking this a bit too far?"

"It's just a few blowjobs," I replied, echoing the words she had used with me. "It's not like you're in love with these guys, right? And think of how much it would cost to pay for someone to shovel our walkway all winter. You'd be saving us hundreds."

She clearly wasn't amused with the way I had thrown her words back in her face. She was also a stubborn Irish woman, and she wasn't going to let me win this one and admit that I had proven my point.

"Okay," she said, casually. "If that's the way you want to play this, then fine. I'll do it."

"Good," I said, calling her bluff, and I returned to my spot in front of the TV just as the game resumed.

"I'll bet she gave you an earful!" Roger bellowed at me.

"Nope, not at all," I responded. "She's up for it."

Roger's jaw dropped, and he looked wide-eyed at Matt and Ben. He then extended his hand, and I shook it without averting my eyes from the television. He shook his head and laughed.

"You are a crazy motherfucker," he said. "That's why I like you."

"You're really willing to shovel my walkway for an entire winter?" I asked.

swingerjoe
swingerjoe
1,318 Followers
12