Our Serious Wager

Our Serious Wager

The bet was that she couldn't fuck a different man for thirty days straight without missing a day.  Actually, I knew she could.  It was just a way of giving her a thousand dollars and having some fun doing it.  We bought a calendar and labeled it "Our Fuck Diary."  We started in January, first day of the year.

The first few days were easy, mostly friends, neighbors, and all she had to do was put the word out and they were pretty much lined up at the backdoor, ready to fuck my wife.  She started with Manny, my good friend, who fucked her on our back porch, on the swing seat, ironic, right?   He came in just over five minutes.  She was off and running on my challenge and the race was on.  I knew pretty much, if she sets her mind on something, there is almost no way to keep her from it.

Manny was so horny for her, which I knew, that he barely got it in before he came.  Then she did Carl, my business partner, who fucked her in his car, only minutes after we proposed it.   She was pretty confident at that point.  Then came Rudy, our next door neighbor, a widower who had been beating off since he lost his wife two years before.

On her third day on the diary, she had Grant, her coworker, who was so horny he came before he got it out of his pants.   Number four was Justin, a friend of mine from work.  He thought he had died and gone to heaven, and had been lusting after her for years.  He lasted all of ten minutes.

Number five was Marcos, who worked on our car and just happened by when we needed a name for the calendar.   He was happy to join the group and lasted twenty minutes.  I think he had just fucked his wife before leaving home and had an edge.  Six was Anthony, who does our taxes, and had not had a woman in five years.  He was better with numbers than he was with pussies and I thought he wasn't going to be able to get it up, let alone ejaculate actual body fluids.

Number seven was Phillip and he finished out the week.  He fucked her in the laundry room, on the washing machine, with his pants around his ankles and her skirt pulled up to her waist.  He couldn't wait until the machine was turned off and the vibration actually added to her orgasm.

Number eight was Jim, who had had a crush on her since the fourth grade.  He was in absolute heaven and thought it meant he had a chance for more than one afternoon delight.   Number nine was Sean, and he did wives as a hobby.  He was the husband of her friend Carol and had another engagement later that day.

Barry rounded out the ten first and volunteered to eat her, but she only had been interested in just fucking, but changed her mind when he stuck out his tongue and she saw a potential explosive climax coming on the horizon.

Number eleven was a door-to-door salesman who just happened to ring our bell at the right time.  She pulled him in by his tie and took him on the futon in the family room.  His name was Harvey and he even sold her some brushes.

Harry rounded out the first dozen when he stopped by to ask to borrow a lawn mower.   He fucked her in the garage next to the cutting tool and came after just a few quick thrusts.

Unlucky thirteen became lucky when he came to fix the leaky faucet and fucked her on the sink next to the dripping appliance.   Fourteen was Wayne who she ran into at the super market and got really super service in the back of his van in the parking lot.  He will never forget that trip to the market I am sure.

Fifteen was rather fortunate when a policeman stopped her for a California stop at a stop sign and she talked her was out of the ticket and into the backseat of the squad car.  Highway patrolman Brian got on the calendar as my wife's car sat idly by and patiently waited for her to come and return to drive home.

Sixteen was a jogger who happened to be on the same lap around the block as she was and was distracted by her flashing him as he jogged by.  Show your tits, get a man's attention.  Works every time.  He didn't go far, and they fucked in the bushes next to the road.   He wanted an address, but she gave him a kiss and a hug and a wave goodbye.

Number seventeen was a delivery man attempting to drop off a package next door.  He spent some time in our patio giving my wife lessons in rapid delivery.   When they were finished, he forgot the package and she had to bring it to his truck.  "Oh, yeah, thanks," he said trying to catch his breath and buckle his belt at the same time.   "I am Vince," he said.  "I run this route every week," he said, hoping for a return on his delivery.

Eighteen was not only his number but his age at his last birthday, and it pretty much was the gift of a lifetime.  David was just starting his junior year of college and now had a story to tell his classmates that each of them would try to outdo with a horny-lady story of their own.

Number nineteen was a gift from me because I had run into an old college roommate who was trying to find an old friend,  I introduced him to a new one and the two of them were fucking within the hour.   He went off with new memories and a stiff leg that occurred when he was trying to fuck her standing up, holding her under her bottom and balancing as they consummated their new friendship.

We were thinking number twenty was going to break the string when by ten o'clock nothing amorous had happen yet, but the phone rang and it was my brother asking for a favor.  "Well, one good turn deserves another," I said, "how would you like to help out your older brother?  Or, more accurately, your sister-in-law?"

When I explained the situation, he barely got off the phone before he was ringing our doorbell.   "I really appreciate this Randy," she said as he sat on the couch, facing out and straddling him, facing the back of the sofa, bouncing on his lap, forcing my brother's cock deep into my wife's married pussy.

"Oh, any time baby, any time," he said between bounces.   My brother didn't want to leave, but it was late, his wife was waiting for him to get back, and he had to think of a reason to have run off to his brother's so late at night.

Number twenty-one is a meter reader who will be telling the story of the house with the inside meter for years to come.  The meter really isn't inside, but she told him it was, explained our bet, and convinced him to get his name on the calendar.   They fucked in the kitchen, right next to where the mystery meter was said to be, on the sink, with her seated and him standing between her legs and leaning into her and up on his toes.  Being five feet seven almost queered the deal, but he raised up on his toes and met the challenge.

Twenty-two was an accident who came to the wrong house looking for a man trying to sell a washing machine and left with a smile, a limp, and an improved frame of mind.  He fucked her in the workshop as she stood at the workbench and faced away from him, holding her legs apart and open and holding her dress up, her panties thrown on the counter.

He offered her two hundred dollars for our washing machine, but she told him we'd just got it and he left, satisfied but still needing something to wash his clothes in.

Twenty-three we went looking for and found him at a club where he asked Claire to dance.  I could see them talking as they danced as his attention suddenly got full on.  She had explained our bet, I was sure, and he began to smile like a man who just got told he won a publishing clearinghouse sweepstakes and was suddenly a millionaire.

Their second dance was slower, more romantic, obviously he was interested in getting on the calendar.  His name was Jason, and he had a wife, two kids, and a dog.  His wife had told him to get out of the house and have some fun and I could see he thought he found some.  We got a room, I said goodbye at the checkout desk, and watched them disappear up the escalator.   Twenty-three didn't come down for two hours and had to be convinced he hadn't become part of our family.

Twenty-four was an insurance salesman who made the mistake of trying to sell Claire life insurance but ended up on his back under my wife riding cowgirl over him on a patio cushion in our backyard.  He wasn't much of a salesman, but she tells me he is gifted in all the right places.

Ah, number twenty-five will go down in one-night-stand history.  He asked directions as we stood on a street corner waiting for a light.  "Do you know the way to San Jose," he asked, trying to be funny.

"No, but I know how to get laid tonight in Santa Barbara," she said back.  "Follow us to our room and we'll give you explicit directions," she quipped.  I had never watched another man fuck my wife before, but it was worth the price and better than an old movie.   I actually sat in a chair in the corner, just like the old cliche and watched him fuck her.  He was her twenty-fifth in less than a month an the odds were not looking good of my collecting on our bet, although the purpose of the bet was to challenge her rather than see her go down in defeat.

If she was to go down, it was to be on some hunky handsome fellow with time on his hands and lust in his heart.   The wager had gotten us to some great sexual adventures, so I am so happy I made the bet.  That brings me to number twenty-six.  His name was Matt and he was  on the train with us on the way home to Santa Barbara from LA.  He was reading and Claire noticed the book he was reading.  It was a James Paterson she'd just finished.   He was on his way from Idaho to visit friends in Los Angeles and had a stateroom on the train.   Well, as they say, one thing led to another, and pretty soon he had invited us to his room.

Claire noticed no ring, which she does way more than me, and asked him about what he did.  "I teach psychology," he said and had found my wife's weak spot.  She swoons over academics.  "My specialty is human sexuality," he added.

"Oh, my," my wife said, beginning to swoon.  After recovering, my wife said, "I once met a woman who bet her husband she could bed 30 men in 30 days.  A most interesting woman," she said.

"I would give a months salary to meet such a person," he said.

"Well, it just may be your lucky day," Claire said.  On the way to his stateroom, she said, "Other than your salary, what else would you give, to meet her?"

"I would be honored to just talk to her," he said.

"What if you could do more than talk?" she said.  "What if you could have a private audience with her right in your very own stateroom?"

Realizing her double meaning, he began to redden and get flustered.   "You could be number twenty-six," my wife said, continuing the word play.

Well, he did become number twenty-six and has become a reoccurring name on her list.  They fucked from San Luis Obispo to Goleta as I waited back at our seats in the club car.  She invited him to visit us on his way back to Idaho and it was the first time she made additional arrangements with someone from her "list."

Twenty-seven fell right in our laps, literally.  We we out walking and a tree trimmer slipped out of his harness and fell out of the tree he was trimming and right on to the bicycle she was riding.  He was so embarrassed he couldn't stop apologizing and she finally just said, "Well, you may have fuck me to make up for it."

It took him a minute to process what she had said, then he smiled and nodded.  "Okay," he said.  "It's a deal."  They went right to our house and she introduced him to our four poster bed, even removed all the pillows.  The tree trimmer's name is Clark and he is also a "birder" (another of her passions), and he made up for falling on her in a big way.

Twenty-eight is a friend who called out of the blue and asked if he could "stop by" (actually) and she told him absolutely.   He came for dinner and stayed for breakfast, even had my wife for dessert.  He was fascinated by the calendar and honored to be included.

Number twenty-nine was a man named Julian who had been married for thirty years to one of Claire's best friends.  She decided he should be on her list for "his sake" because he no longer had his kindred spirit he had been married to for so long.  Julian came to the house, stayed the night, and celebrated our wager with gusto.

Thirty had to be really special, so we got a room at the Hilton and went out specifically to find the perfect number thirty.   When she saw him, dressed in a sport coat with leather patches on the elbows and and a string tie she said, "There he is."

He was a little older than us, maybe fifty, and had a little gray in his hair, at the temples.  He seemed self-assured and moved like an athlete, with grace and confidence.  Being a person who knows what she wants, Claire went right up to him and introduced herself, then me.  He said his name was Charley and was visiting from Canada.

He invited us to sit with him and asked about us.  Also, being the kind of person she is, she told Charley about our bet.  "You would be person number thirty," she said coming right to the point.

"I would be honored," Charley said, a little blush around his cheeks.

"We rented a room at the Hilton," she said.  "You would help me win the bet," she added with a girlish grin.  "Have you eaten yet?"  He shook his head.  "Then I would like to take you to dinner.  How do you feel about having sex with another man's wife?" she asked with her characteristic straightforward approach.

"Well," he said with a bit of Nova Scotia accent, "I have done some that in my time.  Yes, I would say that sounds mighty tempting.   In fact, dinner and you for dessert sounds wonderful."

Clearly, she was extremely happy to have Charley agree to come with us, no pun intended.  On the way up on the elevator, Charley was a bit nervous, preparing to go to the room of the couple he was about to have sex with another man's wife.  I didn't blame him.  But when we got to the room, and got inside, he seemed to unwind and relax.

Claire began casually taking her clothes off, so I did, then Charley followed.  When he was nude, Claire turned to him and said, "Holy cow, Charley, that's beautiful."  He put out his arms playfully, then made like introduction music.

"What you see is all I have to give," he joked.

"That's enough, Charley," she said.   "Come get in my bed," she said.  She motioned me towards the chair and I, like a good cuckold, sat down and took in the show.  Claire got on her back, then gestured with her head for Charley to get on the bed.  Once on the bed, Charley's instincts took over and he mounted her like a pro.

I watched Charley's very ample cock disappear into my wife's very wet, very ready pussy.   Charley began with slow, long thrusts into her, then picked up the speed until she was screaming and he was steadily pounding his erect cock into my excited and sexually ecstatic wife.  Even at fifty, Charley was doing well for himself, and I was pleased that I had lost the bet and got to see her with number thirty.

It was a bet I wanted to lose. It was for a thousand dollars and I figured I would help her spend it, like putting money from one pocket to another.  Charley showed me that guys over fifty can be just as virile as younger men with higher testosterone levels and more hair.  She just might try to break her record next year.  I'll let you know.