tagLoving WivesBet the Boner

Bet the Boner

by99_percent_oral©

"I just shot..." I began excitedly as I opened my front door. [T]he round of my life! was to be the conclusion of my exclamatory entry but I froze after just three words. The subject of my excitement was my first golfing triumph over our neighbor and two-time Pac10 champion, Jerry.

The source of my (hopefully) temporary immobility was my wife Amy. She lay prone on the living room sofa leafing through some glossy women's magazine and sucking a lollipop. Just beneath her elbow, I could see the swell of her breast, forced by the cushion into a tight ball, straining against the overmatched cotton weave of her tank top. The shadow of an erect nipple beckoned obscenely. Her tiny skirt ended above mid-thigh and draped over her rounded buttocks more like film than fabric.

Her legs angled ninety degrees at the knee and she pointed her toes like an Olympic diver. Her thighs were parted offering a tacit adventure. Oh how I wanted nothing more than to sidle over and slide my hand into that inviting crevasse, venturing all the way to where her sweet, gooey labia folded together like the sticky rolls of a steaming cinnamon bun. My tongue dampened as I imagined it following my palm, inch by silky golden inch, laving and poking, until her legs dangled around my neck as I licked from her another of the ten thousand orgasms I promised on the day I proposed.

I couldn't do any of that because, as I already mentioned, my ambulatory abilities were suspended. Now, I was breathless as well. My wife is gorgeous, of that there's no doubt, and it wasn't the first time I'd lost control just looking at her. Yet none of what I've just described was the source of that day's immobility.

What had really caught my eye was halfway between where her toes clutched her thong sandals and the taught, calf muscles providing power to those clasping toes. There, bunched at her crossed ankles was a pair of shiny -- glossier even than the bright pages she lazily thumbed past -- pastel panties.

"Hi honey," she said, cocking her head to the side but without otherwise changing her position.

"You look comfortable," I said, trying to get a rise out of her.

"Mmm hmm," she responded, refusing to engage.

"What are those doing there?" I asked, taking a decidedly more direct approach.

"What are what doing where?" she teased.

"Those," I answered, pointing at her ankles. She craned her neck as if she needed to follow the line of sight my index finger provided to understand the question.

"Oh," she answered with apocryphal earnestness, "I got chilly."

It had been an ill-advised "joke" -- one I'm apparently never to live down -- I told on our first date. "Why do cheerleaders wear panties?" I asked rhetorically. "So their ankles won't get cold." To this day, I don't know what I was thinking.

"I was a cheerleader," she pouted causing me to mumble a blush-enhanced apology. It wasn't until a few days later that I discovered the true extent to which she'd turned my feeble attempt at amusing her in my disfavor.

"What makes you think I was a cheerleader?" she asked innocently when I probed for hot pictures of her in uniform.

"You said you were."

"Oh yeah. I made that up to teach you a lesson about telling bad jokes," she informed me nonchalantly.

Panties provided more than a few interesting provocations after that. In all candor, Amy was (and is) an incorrigible tease. She wears her skirts too short and her bras too seldom. She often smiles generously at strangers who stare. Several times there were outrageously delicious incidents like...

At a bar, we sat on adjacent sides of a square table having a drink. Directly facing her, to my right, a handsome man stared openly. I challenged my wife to do something shocking.

"I'll be right back darling," she breathed huskily, getting into her role. I watched her delightful derriere disappear into the ladies room. I'm sure her unknown admirer did the same.

She returned breathless. "You'll never guess whom I just saw!"

"Whom?" I asked mocking her occasional penchant for proper grammar. She stuck out her tongue...at me but for him.

"I can't say out loud; I'll write it down for you."

"Why all the drama?" I asked as she took a pen from her purse and scribbled on a napkin.

My knees are a foot apart and he is looking right up my skirt, the note read.

"You're kidding!" I exclaimed aloud, pretending to be startled at a name she'd pretended to write.

"No, I swear!"

"Did he see you?" I asked, enjoying this almost as much as the guy happily ogling her raunchy display.

"Of course he saw. In fact, he can still see."

I motioned for her to give me the pen. Is that the best you got? I wrote and pushed our improvised correspondence back. As she read the simple sentence, without looking, she hooked a finger inside her purse and half removed something lacy and silky and pink.

She'd done something shocking all right. As her panties lay partially exposed, she took up the pen again. Since I've been flashing him for the past 15 mins., he knows my panties are pink. Now he knows they're in my purse. I guess he's figured out I'm doing this on purpose, huh? Anyway, screw him. Get me out of here. I'm soaking fucking wet.

As I sped homeward, Amy attempted to keep our excitement going. "Shit that turned me on!" she proclaimed using her skirt to fan her legs spread welcomingly wide. Each time she picked it up I could see all the way to her bare pussy.

"Who knew I married my own 'Lady Godiva'?" I asked, smacking my lips to let her know I enjoyed her "charms" every bit as much as he had.

"Easy there Evil Knievel," she admonished after I rounded a curve on two squealing wheels.

"What do you suppose your poor Peeping Tom's doing about now?" I asked.

"Jackin' the beanstalk, I suppose," spake lovely Amy as she laid her head in my lap.

[Let's see, where was I? Oh yeah.]

Amy slid her legs with their precariously perched panties sultrily off the sofa and stood.

"Want a beer?" she asked as she shuffled ever so sexily in the direction of the kitchen. My circumstances imposed laryngital paralysis returned as I stared in slack-jawed silence until, almost simultaneously, Jerry burst [Kramer-on-Seinfeld style] through our front door, saying, "Tom, here's that twen..." and my wife waddled out of the kitchen, a bottle of beer in each hand, ankles still hobbled by those precious panties. Her walking difficulties immediately drew our neighbor's attention.

"...ty I owe you," Jerry finished in a cadence so slow he may well have just suffered a stroke.

"It's a bet Jerry," my wife said, completely blasé to the fact that our neighbor was seeing her in that unconventional state. "When you get home you might want to double up on your thyroid meds. Song lyrics notwithstanding, Bette Davis bug eyes aren't actually attractive."

The bet! I thought. So that's what this is about, the bet. How could I have forgotten the bet?

As best I can recall, here's how the conversation went.

Me: That's it! Oh yeah, that's it! Hell yeah, just like that! OH FUCKING HELL YEAH!!!!

Her: [Some moments later] You're really addicted to those.

Me: Me? What about you?

Her: I like sucking cock, sure, but I'm not addicted like you.

Me: Am not.

Her: Are too.

Me: Am not.

Her: You're such a baby.

Me: Am not.

Her: You couldn't go a whole week without a blowjob.

Me: Wanna bet?

Her: I thought you gave up betting.

Me: I gave up sports betting...like cock fighting. Cock sucking is a different matter entirely. Plus, sure things aren't bets.

Her: No sports bets? Then why does Jerry have forty of our hard earned dollars this afternoon?

Me: He only has twenty of our dollars smarty pants. He bought drinks, the bar at the clubhouse has twenty. Besides, with Jerry it isn't really a bet, it's more of a ...

Her: 19th hole investment?

Me: Ha ha. I love it when you try to be funny. I was going to say "performance enhancer." Like steroids but cheaper and with fewer medical complications. Helps me focus so I don't play poorly and come home all grumpy.

Her: So the bets are really for my benefit.

Me: Basically.

Her: OK, if you go the whole week without asking for a BJ, you win.

Me: Why would I agree to that?

Her: To prove your point.

Me: Ha ha, you're funny.

Her: If you win, you get ten blowjobs whenever you ask. I can't refuse or tell you to wait till later.

Me: Sweet! You're on.

Her: What if you lose?

Me: Ha ha, you're funny.

Her: I need a stake or else it's not a bet. It's in the rules.

Me: You get a weekend off from sucking my dick.

Her: How exactly is that a reward for me?

Me: What do you want?

Her: Do do do do do do do, do do do do doot do dodo dodo [humming the theme from Jeopardy!]. Jewelry you moron!

Me: Done.

Her: [shaking hands] Done.

So there it was in all its triteness: the archetypical battle-of-the-sexes bet. He gets head or she goes shopping.

[Let's see, where was I? Oh yeah.]

"Denise, hi, it's Amy," my wife said into the mouthpiece of the phone I have no specific memory of her dialing. "Yeah, Jerry's over here and I'm sending him home. He's going to need some mercy sex. Either that or you guys are going camping. That's some tent he's got pitched." Amy looked at Jerry's crotch then directly into his eyes before smiling sweetly at him.

"Denise wants to know if you want a fuck or a blowjob?"

"Pardon me!" my wife said, rolling her eyes and holding the phone away from her ear, "what Miss Manners actually said was do you want intercourse or oral."

"That's not really a choice anymore," Amy said to Denise without waiting for Jerry to respond. "I was just reading that sucking cock is now the number one activity among couples. It's true! More than fucking. Married couples, singles, it doesn't matter. Yeah, well, you ever met a guy didn't want to shove his dick in your mouth?"

"Disregard the question," Amy said to Jerry, "Denise says you're getting a BJ."

"Maybe later, Tom and I are going to Bailey Banks & Biddle in a few minutes. Of course he's going to buy it. A bet's a bet."

How can she be so cocksure? Or is it cunt-sure? Christ, those panties were really fucking with my ability to think. And she thinks something will happen in the next few minutes? No way she's getting me into that snooty fucking jewelry store today!

As she chatted, Amy, pseudo-absentmindedly, picked up a bottle of lotion and began applying it in long strokes to her beautiful, smooth legs. Her hands went all the way up until they abutted her pussy. Had her skirt gone any higher, her nonexistent pubic hair would have shown. Her golden skin glistened like Winnie the Pooh had dipped her in his honey jar. Somehow she managed to keep her panties affixed at her ankles. Jerry and I gawked shamelessly at the show she performed.

Capping the lotion and hanging up the phone, Amy looked up. "Jesus, Jerry are you still here? Tom would already be choking the last drops out of his chicken neck if he'd gotten the offer Denise gave you."

As he turned to leave, Jerry just shook his head while openly adjusting his hard-on.

No sooner had the front door closed behind our painfully erect neighbor than Amy was on her feet, standing in front of me, hand gently brushing the bulge in my shorts.

What the fuck made me think I could ever win this bet? I thought as I felt my wife's hand slip down the front of my pants, a task made easier by the fact that I was sucking in my stomach to widen the pathway. Opening the fly, she let them fall to my feet and we stood together, pants-upon-ankles like we'd been posed for some posh Paris fashion shoot.

Amy stood on tiptoes pressing her tits lightly against my chest. Cupping my bare cock in her hand, she nibbled at my earlobe and breathed huskily, "Let me suck you off."

There it was, the moment of truth. All I needed to do now was to utter a single syllable and half a score of blowjobs from the hottest mouth north or south of the Mason-Dixon Line would be mine for the asking.

I was still having trouble finding my voice as her lips and tongue sucked a hickey onto my neck. Then, just as my diaphragm started the physical process that would refuse her request, the dynamic changed.

"Please," she murmured. "Teasing you, especially in front of Jerry, has made me so horny I have to taste you, have to have you fuck my mouth. Please Tom."

How many times does a man hear a beautiful woman beg to blow him and turn her down? So far as I know, none, and I wasn't destined to blaze new ground that day.

"Yes," I breathed as Amy slid urgently down my body.

"Ask me," she demanded. "It makes me so fucking hot when you ask." She sensed my hesitation. "This isn't about that silly bet anymore. I don't care about it. This is urgent, something I need right now!!"

"Oh god Amy, yes!" I screamed insanely. "Suck my dick! Will you? Please?"

She was already on her knees when I finished my interrogatory.

"You're so fucking hard," she whispered as she pressed her puckered lips against my throbbing cock. Opening her mouth, she slithered all the way down in one incredible motion. It is only when Amy is exceptionally turned on that she can take me to the back of her throat like that.

She took her mouth off me only once. "Wait for me!" my wife cautioned knowing I was closer than she. Pressing her lips against my scrotum, she let my shaft wave free while I slowed down and she sped up. I saw her hips undulate and felt her tongue wash my nuts until she grunted, "Oh god, here I cum!! Fuck me hard, Tom!!!"

She quickly recaptured my throbbing phallus. I took hold of her head and did what she commanded. I held my breath as I pumped the head of my cock in and out of her throat as forcefully as I dared.

On her knees as she was is the only time Amy transfers complete control over her body to another. It is almost as if she goes into a trance as she starts to shudder. The crescendo peaks and her final release, an explosion like none other, comes when I withdraw my cock and blow my load all over her face.

Both her eyes and mouth flew wide open when I yanked my cock out. Holding her firmly by the hair above her forehead, I performed the last few strokes with my hand. Her tongue began lapping at her lips.

"Yes baby, YES!" she cried as my first jet struck her cheek forcefully. "Shoot it for me! Put your goo all over me!" she continued as I painted her skin with creamy, white semen. "Don't forget about my mouth," she urged, wagging her tongue as a slick, liquid rope splashed against her pearly teeth and dripped onto her pink tongue. "Mmmm, you are sooo fucking delicious."

I put my cock back into her burning mouth and fucked out the remainder of my climax. Finally, the fountain ran dry. My strength was sapped and my knees buckled as I flopped backward onto the very couch where everything started a scant thirty minutes earlier. I could hear her labored breathing even as I struggled to catch my own breath. I opened slits in my eyes so I could watch her.

She still knelt a few feet from where I was slumped. Her buttocks clenched and relaxed oscillating her pussy back and forth as tiny orgasmic aftershocks rippled through her groin. Her nipples bumped outward against white cotton like tempting gumdrops. Had I been able to summon even a single joule of new effort, I would have gotten up and suckled them until she sagged in final exhaustion and they melted back into her areola.

Like a pugilistic feline recovering from an alley dust up, she licked at her slimy fingers as she scraped gooey strings of cum from her face. She tilted her head back; I knew what she was doing.

"Show me," I demanded.

She opened her eyes and smiled at the realization I was watching her. Opening her mouth, she stuck out her tongue showing me the silver white pool in its center. Tilting her head again, I saw the contractions of her throat as she drained my essence into her belly.

Scooting closer to me, she snuggled between my thighs. At the tip of my cock, the last viscous morsel had gathered itself into a teardrop as if my cock now wept in tribute to her magnificent mouth. Her lips made a quick slurping sound as the pearly liquid was vacuumed away to rejoin its milky brethren inside Amy's pretty tummy.

My mind was just beginning to clear. Life was good. A long overdue links victory had been followed by a loving blowjob. I'd even bested my wife on that silly bet. Could it get any better? Apparently not. And, it seems, the better the feeling the shorter it lasts. I gloated for perhaps twenty seconds before Amy began to stir.

"We'd better get going," she urged. "That bracelet isn't going to buy itself."

""What?" I thought you said you didn't care about the bet."

"Mmmm, I love it when you act naïve," she smiled, pinching my thigh. "C'mon, get your pants on."

If it wasn't for my dick, that bet would have been so easy to win. Still, I have to admit those diamonds and gold add a wonderful sparkle to her wrist.

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