Ellen's Bet Ch. 04

Soon they were leaving the room, used condoms in hand. A moment later Roberta tapped on the open door and walked in.

"I looked in on you in the middle of that," she said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm OK," I reassured her. I lowered my voice a little, why I didn't know, and said, "Lost bet or not, I had a little bit of an O in that."

Roberta looked at me, a little surprised, but said, "You know, lost bet or not, I think I would have gotten off on all that cock in me, too." She showed a look of embarrassment.

"I tried not to let on," I said.

"Good for you," Roberta said. "Just as well."

My bangs were plastered to my forehead. Roberta suggested I use the bathroom and try to recover to whatever extent I could before my next bout, saying she'd laid out a washcloth and towel for me.

I wandered down the hall nude. Like lubricating my pussy before, I didn't think anything about it - wandering around this strange house nude - until I made a conscious effort.

I closed and locked the bathroom door and flipped on the lights. I moved to the sink and rested on my forearms. I could see only my face in the mirror -- flushed, hair plastered to my forehead by sweat and cum, the hair on the sides of my head still spiked out from the rough handling Adam and Steve had given it, congealing semen around my mouth and on my chin and most of the rest of my face.

'Oh, my God!' I thought, regarding with horror the reflection I saw in the mirror, 'look at you!'

'Well, what did you expect?' another voice inside my head seemed to answer.

I straightened up and stepped back and could see myself to my shins. I gasped. My knees were red -- I'd been on them a lot tonight either kneeling or on all fours. My nipples were a dark, tender looking red, my areolae and the breast skin around them covered with dark red welts. I spread my legs and held my labia open to see a pussy that was far redder than I remember it ever being. The term 'well-fucked' came to mind.

I sat on the toilet and peed, making a plan for when I got home. It would be a Tuesday night and David and I would likely not have sex until the weekend, by when I hoped the red marks on my breasts would have faded completely. If he seemed amorous before the weekend I could beg off. I could hardly claim jet lag on a north-south trip, but I could claim (and without lying about it) how tired I was, and offer him a blowjob to tide him over. He's a sweet guy and I'm sure he would refuse out of consideration for me.

If the red welts were still on my breasts at the weekend I could, as I sometimes did, keep my bra and a tee shirt on during sex, complaining of a little backache and saying I needed the support. David never complains.

Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. What was I thinking? I felt terrible guilt as I engaged in this plotting, but what could I do? It was not as if I were trying to hide an affair with a lover, although the distinction at this point didn't seem to me too great or too important. It did not, in any event, make me feel innocent, and I hung my head.

I briefly considered maybe I should just tell David about what happened, about my absurd bet and try to explain why I'd made it, how I'd lost, and give him the details of the rest of the night. David is a very mild-mannered guy, my own personal Clark Kent. It's one of the traits that attracted me to him. I tried it on for size: 'Honey, I lost this bet at a Superbowl party on my trip and I spent the rest of the night as the party's gangbang slut.' Hmmm. I don't think he's that mild-mannered. I decided I'd have to table this internal debate for future resolution. I still had a long night ahead of me.

I lifted my head and sniffed, wiped the tears from my cheeks and brought the waterworks under control. I took some paper and wiped myself. Then I gingerly felt back to my ass. I put some paper on it and was relieved to see it came back with no traces of blood. The miracle of lube. I felt it with my middle finger and found it had rapidly returned to its normal, tight dimensions. I wondered how many more times it would be stretched this night.

Moving to the sink I turned on the water and washed my hands, and then started washing my face, scrubbing at the hardening semen on my chin and lips (and nose, and cheeks, and forehead, and below my left eye). I soaked the washcloth in hot water and applied it over my whole face, reveling in the warmth. After the cloth cooled I repeated the procedure a second time and a third. It made me, at least a little, feel like a respectable woman again instead of a whore who opens her mouth and thighs in response to a stack of currency.

There was a hairbrush to the side and I ran it through my hair, setting my doo to rights as far as was possible. Again I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, 'show time.' I unlocked and opened the door, shut off the lights and walked toward the living room.

Everyone was there, of course, all fully dressed and I nude. The chair in which I'd watched the game was empty and I went over and sat in it. When I did a realization I found comical struck me: I'd sat down in the chair sitting forward, my hands folded in my lap, my back straight, knees bent back, and my ankles demurely crossed, just like a female host on an a.m. talk show. Except they wear clothing.

I looked at the clock on the mantle and was shocked to see that it was only 11:00 p.m. After a few minutes of comments that could have grown into conversations but died quickly on the vine, Patrick said, "Well, I guess we're around to Adam again."

Adam sat back in his corner of the couch. He squinted his eyes slightly, seeming to come to a decision about some internal debate. He got up and, to my surprise, took me by the hand. "I think I'd like to have a little private quality time with Ellen, if you don't mind," he said. Adam pulled me up in a sudden move I hadn't expected. I came to my feet, my breasts bouncing and swaying, and he lead me by the hand out of the living room and down the hall to the guest bedroom I now knew so well.

Adam closed the door, stripped off quickly, and walked to a spot directly in front of me. He reached up, cupping my breasts gently at first and then more firmly, feeling their texture and resistance, running his thumbs over my nipples. He put a hand under my chin and tried to bring my face up so I was looking at him. I resisted, remembering the last time he'd done that in the living room after his blowjob. He was insistent and my face rose to meet his. Then he did the last thing I would ever have expected: he kissed me!

His lips met mine and his tongue pushed through my lips and into my mouth. I really didn't want this so personal contact and resisted. I kept my lips pursed, like I would use them to push his mouth from mine, rather than offering him a loose and pliant mouth. His tongue explored and found my tongue, flicking and wrestling with it. His hands had left my breasts when he'd kissed me and were now on my buttocks, kneading them, pulling them apart, pulling my hips toward him.

He kept this up, breaking the kiss and then going back for more, for many minutes. Then he shifted around behind me. His hands snaked under my arms and found my breasts, handling and squeezing them. While this went on, he nuzzled his face into my hair and kissed the back of my neck. Then he moved his mouth to my shoulder, applying little kisses and licks.

'He's making love to me!' I thought, but didn't know what to make of it.

His cock was stiff and soon worked its way into my ass crack. The hotdog in the bun, like with David, and that creeped me out too much. I pulled myself out of his arms and went to sit on the bed. I preferred to get fucked than spend another second with this boy unknowingly doing a bad imitation of my husband. He went to the night table and found a condom, put it on and slathered it with lube.

I was lying on my back, up on my elbows. As he got on the bed I turned from him. Now on my side, I stuck out my ass, offering him my pussy from the rear. He got the idea, and seemed to have no objection to that position. I chose it for two reasons. Making love spooning is something my husband and I have done only rarely, and it would keep me from being face-to-face with him.

I preferred him to fuck me this way, in this position, so I encouraged him. He slipped his cock into my vagina. He'd put his one arm under me, so I took the other and brought it around the top, putting his hand on my breast. I pushed my ass back inviting him to go deeper. He pushed farther into me while he played with my breasts and nuzzled my neck.

I closed my eyes and hoped he would finish soon, although I was not hopeful since he'd already come once. I thought about whether or not my powerpoint slides were all in order for tomorrow morning's class. I was pretty sure they were. He fucked me like that for eleven minutes (I was facing the side of the bed with the clock on the night table). Suddenly, he withdrew and I felt disappointment that my plan hadn't worked entirely. He went to his knees and rolled me on my back. There was no point to resisting or trying to dissuade him so I readily opened my legs.

He got between them and put his cock into my vagina again. He lifted my legs, obviously wanting me to wrap them around him and I obliged. Anything for the cause. He licked and sucked my breasts, grabbing my nipples with his teeth and pulling them gently. As I looked at the clock again (three minutes since I went on my back) I thought that if a girl actually cared about this guy and actually wanted him on top of her, he wouldn't be doing a half-bad job.

Adam reached back and pulled my legs from around him. Holding my legs at the back of my knees he splayed them wide and high and he began pounding his cock into me. His stamina after the blowjob was both impressive and distressing.

I was way beyond bored, although I kept up a low key moaning that I thought might help bring him to a quicker orgasm. I saw that the ceiling was plastered. Some workman years ago had swirled the plaster onto the ceiling, and I found one swirl that reminded me of a French horn, another that suggested a snail's shell, and a third that was a dead ringer for the big ears on those Ferengi people on Star Trek. After another seven minutes of this he let go of my legs. I put my feet, soles flat, on the bedspread, knees up, in a way I hoped didn't show too much disinterest.

Then he was at it again. His arms went behind my back, and he pulled himself tightly to me and he was kissing me again, sloppy wet kisses with his tongue licking around my lips and into my mouth. I had to try hard not to gag. But I got the impression this might be the big finale, and indeed it was. A minute more and he rammed his cock in to the hilt and I could actually feel the spasms as he ejaculated.

There is nothing in Emily Post about this I'm sure, but I was pretty certain sexual etiquette demanded I not recoil from him too quickly. Over the space of a minute or so he disengaged and withdrew his cock, still distressingly rigid, from my body and was mercifully off me.

As I sat up he put his arms around me and hugged me from behind, placing a kiss in the middle of my back. I finally had to say something, but I decided to be gentle about it. In spite of his testosterone-fueled outburst earlier, he seemed a sweet enough kid.

I turned and looked at him. "You know, Adam," I said, "I'm not your lover or your girlfriend. I'm paying off a bet. If some lady gets what I just got from you I'm sure she'll be thrilled and yours forever. But that lady isn't me."

He blinked his eyes a couple times and said, "No, um, no, of course not," and his arms fell away from me, the spell broken. I asked him to give me a minute and surprisingly he got the hint. Adam dressed and moved toward the door. Before he left the room he stopped in the doorway and turned back toward me.

"Hey, Ellen?" he said timidly.

"Mmmmmmmm?" I replied.

"You know, about before, um, out there," and here he nodded his head toward the living room. He didn't continue, perhaps hoping I'd carry the load, but I thought the exercise would be good for him and I believed him up to the challenge. When I didn't pick up his thread he finally continued. "What I said was wrong, and I don't know what got into my head. I'm sorry and I hope you can forgive me." Well, there! I felt my ability to evaluate people reaffirmed.

"It's OK, Adam," I said. "We all make mistakes. I appreciate you saying something." A shy smile crossed his face and he moved out into the hallway, pulling the door closed.

I fell backward onto the bed, exhausted. I looked at the clock: 11:47. I groaned, realizing I'd been at this for over three hours and still had over seven hours to go. Roberta came in then, her concerned eyes on me.

"Hey, Girlfriend, how're you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm all right," I answered. "Tired. My pussy is sore, but thanks to you not raw. Thank you for looking out for me."

"Don't you mention it, Ellen," Roberta said. "I saw right off before, with Adam out there in the living room, that you can watch out for yourself. What went on in here?"

I gave her the thumbnail sketch of our romantic encounter. She giggled a little too loudly behind her hand, and I hoped Adam hadn't heard out in the living room. I giggled a little too, trying to see the humor in it. "I don't know if that's funny or sad," Roberta said. Then she put her serious face on. "Listen," she said, "my hubby is next and you know he's really into this bondage thing. The next one might be a little tough." "Are you sure about that?" I asked.

"Oh, you can trust me on that," Roberta said. "I get it this way sometimes."

"Well, it can't be any tougher than big wet doggy kisses all over my face, can it?" I asked. Roberta laughed her laugh again. "OK," she said, "you take your time and come out when you're ready."

"No, let's go." I said. "I'm ready now." I wearily stood and followed her to the living room.