Game Day

James and Tom were shocked. Mike and I, as husbands, were scared for the man's life.

Lisa twisted in his arms and glared at him. "So now I'm an embarrassment to you?"

Harry backpedaled furiously. Thinking with your dick will make a man need to do that. "No! Never, babe!" He babbled furiously. But I'll give him credit. He hung in with the game. He wanted to tease his wife a little. I'd had all the fun so far. "But this is a big game, you know," he went on sheepishly. "It's not really very... supportive," he said, running out of guts and words simultaneously.

"Well!" Lisa said, yanking herself free from his arms and shooting to her feet. She glared down at him. "I'm so ashamed to be... disloyal!" she spat angrily, turning away from him and stalking toward the TV. When she reached it, she stopped, took a breath, and then smoothly slid the blouse up and over her head. She tossed it away.

I surmise that she turned and then walked away from us to do this because, as I have mentioned, she has the best ass in the room, the neighborhood, the city, and possibly the whole state of Georgia. If her tits weren't quite up to Jess's, she wanted nobody to care. We would not have cared anyway. Then she turned around, hands balled into fists on the hips of her tight jeans and glared at Harry, then the rest of us. "Better?" she growled at her husband.

"Much," Harry said, cowed, both by her glare, and by the fact that she had actually done something under his prodding.

"Good," Lisa said firmly. She had barely taken one step back toward Harry, when Tom, now thoroughly over his earlier paralysis, said smoothly, "In all honesty, Lisa, that bra is an even closer match to the Rams' blue than your top was."

Full Disclaimer: Actually, Tom was right this time. The attractively cut, if plainly constructed bra that Lisa wore was a near perfect match to the blue in the Rams' uniforms.

Lisa froze.

"Bad enough to be embarrassing like I was," Jess drawled into the silence. "I can't imagine being... disloyal."

My wife was evil... bless her.

Lisa pondered how to draw this out. But she was clearly only trying to draw it out, not avoid it, I noticed with interest. Then she just grumbled, "Fuck it." She reached back behind her back, unclasped the bra, and let it slide off. She tossed it off into the growing pile of red and blue women's clothing that somehow had become a feature of our living room.

I know I have gone on about Lisa's tits coming in third in my wife's group of friends. Even in a room full of greats, someone has to come in third. But they were third among greats, I must repeat.

Not quite a handful each, her breasts were bouncy and so firm that they ignored gravity as if they were fake, which they most assuredly were not. Her nipples were pointy, and puffy, and pink, and they betrayed damned near equal interest and enthusiasm for the events of the day as did Jess's under James's continuing subtly massaging grasp.

"Thank you for your loyalty," Harry chuckled, still a little wild-eyed that his wife had followed mine down the road to Crazy Town.

"You are not forgiven," Lisa said to him, with no real heat in her voice. Then she smirked and turned to Jess. "And you definitely are not!"

With that, Lisa finally got out of the way of the TV screen so we could resume keeping an eye on the game. It was the playoffs after all. I had to keep an eye out.

Or did I? Because instead of returning to her husband, Lisa instead decided to sit with me. On me.

I had been sitting with my legs together. This was uncharacteristic, but with the huge erection distending the front of my Falcons athletic shorts, I had felt it was the best posture to keep that bulge from visibly tenting the bottom of my Bartkowski jersey.

Lisa just walked up to me, turned, and sat down with her legs straddling both my thighs, and her ass pressing against the bulge that was no longer hidden, at least from the nerve endings of her spectacular ass. She gave me a mind-bending grind as she settled in.

I was... bemused.

Lisa glared over at Jess. I merely cocked an eyebrow at my wife in enquiry.

Jess just laughed. Then she stopped and looked at me. "Honestly, Dale. Now Lisa is doing the distracting from the game."

Oh.

I had not considered that this position implied that now I should...

Lisa turned to look back at me. "Help a girl out? I want to keep my hands free to drink my wine."

I lifted my hands slowly, but made Lisa grab my wrists and move them the last few inches onto her flesh.

Very nice flesh. As I had always estimated, they were not quite handfuls, but I most certainly did not care at the moment. They were so crazy firm, and warm, and smooth, with almost sharp points pressing into my palms.

"Holy..." Mike began.

"... shit," Gail finished for him.

I looked at Harry. I probably appeared as tense and confused as I actually was.

He looked back at me for a second, then slumped back alone in his seat and chuckled. "Well, I asked for it I suppose."

I tried very hard to emulate James, and keep my groping to a deniable flex of my fingers here and there. It was hard, what with Lisa's stupefyingly hot ass softly, subtly grinding against my cock. The fact that there were several layers of clothing in-between felt immaterial.

But I was not so strong a man as James. Locking eyes with Harry, I let my hands slide slowly off toward the sides of Lisa tits until my finger tips were resting on her nipples. I gave each a quick, gratifying flick, then slid my hands back into concealing place. Harry just snorted.

The football game went on... interminably. It was barely halfway through the second quarter, and nothing had happened since about ten minutes into the first. The birds clung to a three-point lead over the goats... the 'sheep guys'.

I could be happy having this dull-ass game go on forever like this.

But my wife is never one to leave things alone. Few of us among our group of football friends were, to be honest.

At first, I thought that Jess as trying to communicate something wordlessly to me as she stared my way, but I realized that she was actually going back and forth with the topless woman sitting in my lap, whose tits I was groping.

At last, Lisa just nodded toward Jess, as if to say, go for it.

As an ad began, Jess piped up.

By the way, see what I mean about how awesome my wife is? She could not care less about football, even though this was playoff game, but she still considerately waited for an ad break before she started stirring the pot anew.

"Mike," Jess asked in a deeply serious tone, "weren't you also concerned when Gail was getting dressed?"

"Huh?" replied Mike, whose attention to the game had been nearly as distracted as mine. Beside him, Gail froze.

So that was what was up.

"It was disloyal enough of Lisa to wear blue today," Jess said, voice now filling with disappointment, "but you must have been mortified to have Gail wearing a dress that not only is blue, but it has those yellow flowers all over it. They look like the Rams' horns on their helmets."

"They do not," Gail protested hotly.

"Speaking as a graphic designer," Tom intoned, his base personality fully recovered, "they really do, Gail. Of course they aren't swirls, and you can see that clearly, but what matters is the subconscious impression on the audience. When we are all watching these hateful Rams try to block our beloved Falcons from their destiny, you really give the strong impression of a Rams booster in that." He paused. "And the colors are spot on."

Full Disclaim... No, they weren't.

Gail shrunk into Mike's arms.

Lisa piled on... to Mike. "Mike, really? She always shows off for you when she gets dressed. You could not have stopped this abomination?"

Gail glared at her husband.

"I... did kind of think it might wrong choice," Mike said timidly. He didn't mean it. He just probably felt obligated to push things some more, like the rest of us.

But Gail disentangled herself from his clutches and backed away from him to her feet.

"Judas!" she hissed at him. "You two are as bad as you ever were," she turned on Jess and Lisa. "You are not getting me out of this dress!"

"This from the girl to streaked the whole way through the Tri-Phi's back yard during a kegger," scoffed Jess.

Gail?!? Streaked?!?

"Twice," added Lisa smugly.

"That was the dare," Gail snapped.

"The dare was for three times," Lisa went on.

"They got handsy on the second pass," the defendant growled.

"Hey! What?" Mike asked sharply, leaning forward. Interestingly, he had not reacted to the streaking revelation, just the sudden mention of unwelcome groping.

"They were pretty damned handsy on your first time through," Jess observed drily. "You didn't seem to mind. At all."

Gail?!?

"They started pinching the second time I went through," Gail reminded my wife. "We called it good at two, remember?"

"But... you like being pinched," Mike said, before realizing that he might be oversharing with the group.

But Gail actually smiled at him a little. "Not pinched that hard," she corrected almost fondly. "And not like that one guy who clamped onto my nipple and tried to not let go," she glared back at Jess and Lisa.

"And that's why we called it good at two," Lisa said amiably.

"You used to be so much fun," Jess added absently, with a touch of fondness. Probably not a wise move, babe.

Gail was fortunately more scandalized than angry, but she was still angry. "Oh, so I'm not only disloyal to the cause, but I'm a stick in the mud?" she demanded of Jess.

My wife immediately realized that she had been out of line and backpedaled furiously. "Geez, I'm sorry Gail. You are always fun to hang with. I... I just meant you used to be wilder than me. I... Sorry!"

"But I'm still disloyal?" Gail demanded relentlessly, grabbing a handful of her sundress's flowing skirt.

"Yes?" Jess said meekly. James had momentarily stopped massaging my wife's tits during this exchange, because he was a gentleman. I was still massaging Lisa's, because I sometimes am not.

"Well, we can't have that, now can we?" Gail snapped. "And I'll show you how much fun I still am!" And sonofabitch if my wife's most staid and conservative friend didn't flat out slip those spaghetti straps off her shoulders and just push the whole dress down to the floor, revealing...

It was already obvious that the dress did not allow for a bra, and I may have squeezed extra hard on Lisa's breasts as I realized what I, what we all, were about to actually get a first-hand look at.

What I had not expected was that Gail also wore no panties either.

And she was completely shaved. Not a hair in evidence.

Oh, by the way, they were definitely the best tits I had ever seen naked and in-person in my life. It was not even close. They were generous, bordering on huge, without being bulbous. Their shape was perfect--round, full, and incredibly bouncy as they popped free of the descending dress. Her nipples were... I'd have bitten my knuckles had I been willing to let go of Lisa's tits. Harry literally did bite his.

Those little peaks were tiny, and rosy in color, but they stuck up, it must have been half an inch or more above the perfectly oval rosy surrounds. Those aureola were similarly surrounded by battlements of goosebumps. Despite the manifest weight of those mounds, they absolutely did not sag. They hung, to be sure, but they retained their shape as if fencing with gravity, not succumbing to it.

Holy. Shit.

I thought that Tom was going to die.

"No panties today, Gail?" Lisa asked archly.

"In all the time we have known each other," Mike observed to the room in general, hailing his wife's sudden exposure with swifter aplomb than either Harry or I had been able to summon, "the only time Gail has ever worn panties was on our wedding day. And those were something else." He looked around. "Her drawer is filled with plenty of awesome bras, of course. But I don't think she currently even owns a set of undies."

Smug bastard.

Of course... look at this girl. Sure her ass was the tiniest bit meaty, and her waist a tiny bit thick. But her face was suddenly being lit up with one of those animating smiles at us. And of course... I mean to say... those tits.

Then the smile flashed away as she glared at Mike, as if he was at fault for her nakedness. "Oh, so you want to brag about my secret commando lifestyle, do you?" she snapped, trying to sound nasty. "I guess it is a good day for sitting elsewhere."

The only two available laps were Tom's and Harry's. Amazingly, they didn't look at her, but mostly tried to stare each other down.

Unfortunately for Tom, Gail didn't hesitate. She just smirked at Lisa, and went to nestle her sweet self down on Harry's lap. She didn't even bother with making fake noises about her tits being distracting. Her tits were distracting even before they got exposed. She just grabbed Harry's hands and mashed them over her boobs.

"There," she said, as if grumpy. "No more wardrobe problems, and no exposed nipples either. You boys can finally go back to watching your game."

And there we sat for five more minutes of game time, with James, me, and Harry getting subtle lap dances, and Tom and Mike looking a little forlornly on.

But Tom had already had a lap full of my naked wife... and Mike went home to those tits in Harry's hands every night, so I wasn't that sorry for the two odd men out.

The Falcons scored again, on a long bomb, and were up ten points. All us guys threw up our hands in the touchdown signal. This was great because it exposed six marvelous tits. It was bad because Jess took that moment to declare that she was going to go heat up the empanadas for halftime, and invited her buddies to come with her.

Two naked and one topless hottie started to leave the room.

I couldn't help myself. As the host, I had responsibilities.

"Lisa! Um..." I said slowly. They all stopped. "I'm actually disappointed. I mean, I think we all are. We were just hopping you'd see it on your own."

"What?" my recent lap ornament asked dubiously.

I indicated her pants. "Those," I said. "I mean they are pretty damned blue. It's even in the name, blue jeans."

That got me a laugh. But not from Lisa.

"Blue jeans aren't the color blue," she snorted. "They are the color bluejeans. You know, like grape soda isn't grape, it's purple flavored."

As one, the rest of us guys all gestured to Tom.

"I'm afraid that's not accurate, Lisa," he said in his most professional tone. "The standard indigo dye used in your jeans is quite blue... and quite close to what those bastard sheep people sport."

"Indigo is a whole different scientific color on the spectrum," Lisa parried.

"We in the Biz," Tom said merrily, "know that Isaac Newton just flat-out made up indigo because her liked the number seven. And those jeans are Rams blue. It's downright shameful, you trying to skate on this, Lisa."

"Fuck this, we've got to set up the main course," grumbled Lisa. But instead of blowing off my gambit and Tom's, she simply short-circuited any more byplay by pulling the button fly of her jeans open and peeling them, along with the plain white cotton panties underneath that no one would have had an excuse to make her take off, right down to the floor. She wasn't even particularly careful about keeping her legs together in the process.

When she straightened up, we were all treated to pubic hair artfully trimmed into a narrow V, like an arrow pointing downward...

And the three trooped off to the kitchen. "I like the chevron..." I heard my wife say to Lisa as they left.

The five of us looked at each other.

James quailed and spoke first. "Um, sorry Dale. I... uh..." But I just waved him silent.

"This is the greatest game in the history of football," Tom observed.

It was hard for any of us to argue with him, actually. Beers were somewhat dazedly raised in a toast.

The girls had been in the kitchen for a while, but I knew Jess had prepared several hot dishes that she wanted to serve, so I knew everything was fine.

Except on the field, where the Rams scored on a quick pick six. Back to a three point lead.

"Shit!" Harry exclaimed. "Hey! In the kitchen?" he shouted. "The game got close again. We need some naked women back in here for good luck!"

"I wanted to say that, but I figured I'd be shot," Tom grumbled.

A few moments later, the three sailed back into living room, bearing platters.

"We are all ready, and were just waiting to hear we were appreciated," Jess said merrily, setting down her plate and climbing companionably into my lap. Lisa and Gail returned to their own husband's laps as well, rather than beside them as before, but beyond that, and the continuing nudity, things seemed to be back to normal.

Yeah, right.

"These are delicious," James told Jess around a mouthful of the empanada he was wolfing down. I murmured agreement, but said nothing because, unlike James, I don't talk with my mouth full.

Halftime sped past, which was nice for once, and we demolished all the hot food. As the game was about to resume, we all sat back, the girls settling in. I was utterly disinclined to cover Jess's tits back up, nice as it would have felt them. But if Mike could leave Gail's wonders hanging out there in the open, I'd have been churlish to hide Jess's lovelies from the group.

I noticed that after he was mostly finished with his shrimp skewers, Harry did cover Lisa's boobs enough for a good grope, if only intermittently. Upon quick consideration, I decided that was a good idea after all. Mike swiftly, wordlessly agreed.

So there we were, three husbands feeling up their naked wives in front of two more friends, watching the start of a three point playoff game's second half.

Again I must iterate, Jess doesn't give a shit about football. She had long ago stopped asking stupid questions that fall, not because she had learned anything from our careful answers, but because she decided she just didn't care enough to ask any more. Lisa and Gail similarly showed up for game days because they wanted to hang out together while still being with their husbands. They didn't care about football either.

In all their cases, though I was obviously most aware of Jess's, the three women began to grow more interested in the feeling up, and less interested in the intermittence.

Best game ever, indeed.

Then the Ram's scored on a horrifyingly swift and efficient 62-yard drive.

All us guys shouted in dismay--not just because of the fact that we were now losing, but because there had been a desultory suggestion at the beginning of the half that maybe the girls should cover up. All five of us guys had shouted that idea down. The Falcons were ahead with naked chicks all over us, and no true sports fan will let anyone stop doing anything that they were doing when the team went ahead.

Now... not only were we behind, but that pile of clothes by the TV could permissibly get picked up.

I'm not sure the girls actually so much as contemplated getting dressed though, because they are awesome. But they did pick up that we were all suddenly upset, and knew enough to realize that it was over the score.

And my wife then decided to come through. In spades.

"Shit!" she said dramatically. "They can't be ahead! Not the sheep people!" She turned and kissed me. "We need more mojo," she told me, in a voice once more far louder than needed for just me to hear it. Her hand slid between us and I felt her massage my bulge swiftly. Then she twisted out of my lap, hand still on my cock and, shooting quick looks at her two friends, knelt on the fucking floor between my legs!

Now I really was about to panic, as Jess plucked my shorts' elastic waistband outward and tugged it down. When my hard cock bounced free in front of fucking everybody, she swiftly grabbed it, and did her best to hide some of it from their view again... in her mouth.