This story involves a wife's infidelity. Without any repercussions. If you do not like these types of stories ... please move on to something you do like. However, if such stories are something you do appreciate - please enjoy.
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Tom leaned back in the easy chair and gazed appreciatively at his beautiful wife laying near the base of their couch, looking warily around the room. Completely naked, Amy's flesh glistened softly. Her legs were parted just enough to reveal her used, cum-filled sex. From under loose strands of her disheveled, strawberry-blond hair her eyes shined with sated lust tinged by hope and fear . . . hope that they were finished with her . . . fear that they weren't.
Counting Tom, seven men sat around the room.
And all of them had just finished with her.
At the moment the other six were splitting their glances between Amy and Tom, wondering what he would say, or do now that it was over.
As for Tom, he was thinking back over how this had happened.
Weeks earlier he'd been excited for the return of football season for two reasons. First; his alma mater held a lot of promise after a string of mediocre years. And second; him and Amy had recently bought their new house with the large den which they'd turned into a football watching oasis complete with a 70-inch television. They'd attended different schools, so what Tom referred to as "My TV room" was decorated by propaganda from both their schools. He made a show of griping about this, but he actually loved the fact that his wife enjoyed football as much as him. Especially since the two schools were in the same conference, which provided them with the opportunity to make some . . . creative wagers.
His favorite part about Amy's fandom was her collection of women's jerseys. She stood only a few inches over 5 foot and, at 32, still had a fantastic shape with full B-cup breasts, a slim waist, and a round little ass. Additionally, her breasts remained firm enough that she would often go braless and between the alcohol, innocent flirtations with the guys, and Tom's own not-so-innocent groping, her nipples would grow hard, poking obviously at the day's jersey. Adding to the appeal, she liked to combine her jerseys with a pair of tight shorts which did an amazing job of displaying her ass.
Amy's body always caught men's attention, and her looks kept it. Her soft features were enhanced by bright eyes, sensual lips, and a few freckles across the bridge of her nose, all framed by her long, shimmering hair. If she did wear make-up it was only a touch of eyeshadow to accentuate her eyes, or some exotic color of lipstick.
Football season kicked off with the usual group of friends converging on their home with its new gameday oasis. The football crew consisted mainly of six guys from Tom's work, guys who'd also attended schools in the same conference. There were also a few tag-alongs that would show up sporadically through the season, when their better halves allowed. That first Saturday they all showed up, some even bringing their wives or girlfriends. Amy was the only female fan though, so that was pretty much the last time any of the others were seen.
Like gamedays all across this nation, theirs consisted of food, good fun, a fair amount of beer, and some frivolous betting; $5 or $10 that the next play would be a 20 plus yard rush or maybe a deep pass. If it happened that a couple alma maters were facing off it would get a little heavier, but nothing too extreme. At least once a week, no matter the amount of the wager Tom or Amy lost the winner would suggest getting a kiss or some other treat from Amy in place of the money. While this was usually brushed aside by a good-hearted chuckle, it actually turned into the catalyst that led to Amy laying naked and used, curled-up on the floor after having been . . .
Well, you'll see.
The fifth Saturday Chris showed up with a bottle of tequila. As a group they tended to be fairly tame drinkers, usually sticking to beer only. And while Amy and Tom kept spare blankets and pillows available for anyone that didn't want to drive, they rarely had overnight guests.
But it was Chris' birthday.
The big 3-0! (He was the youngest in the group.)
And he wanted to celebrate.
So, at kick-off they all took a shot.
Let the games begin!
Chris's school was playing that first game and he turned it into a drinking game where every score, every hard-fought-for 1st down, or exceptional defensive play called for a shot. Although he was the only one that actually downed a shot every time, the fact that his team was pretty good meant that by halftime a few of them had downed enough shots to have a decent buzz going.
Amy among them.
She didn't make a habit of getting tipsy, but when she did, she got extra flirty. She spent halftime moving among the men, giggling at silly jokes and generally being sweet and desirable while swaying her ass in her little white shorts.
"Ten bucks says they return the kick-off for at least 30 yards," Chris announced as the game got ready to resume.
"I'll cover that," a couple guys accepted.
"Twenty says they fumble," Amy challenged.
"You're on," Chris grinned. "But when you lose - and you will - instead of the money, you have to sit in my lap for the whole quarter."
"What? No way," she declined.
Everyone thought that'd be the end of it, as usual, but then Amy's lips curled into a mischievous grin and her eyes lit up with a wicked sparkle. It was the look she got when she was feeling extra adventurous.
Tom felt a reflexive twinge of excitement.
Holding her husband's gaze, Amy spoke the words that would ultimately send their afternoon down the rabbit hole.
"Twenty only gets you two plays," she giggled.
Suddenly everyone fell quiet leaving the TV as the only sound in the room.
Amy continued to hold Tom's gaze, her expression a combination of asking permission and daring him to say "No."
Tom quickly considered what was happening. Again, it was not unusual for someone to suggest such a trade-off. But this was the first time Amy had entertained the idea. He knew she was feeling good, but she wasn't slurring any of her words or having trouble standing, so she wasn't too high. And, he thought, since he could put that together, neither was he. Coming to the conclusion that there didn't seem to be any real harm in allowing it he shrugged his shoulders in deference.
With that, Amy turned her gaze to Chris while picking up the remote to pause the game before the kick-off could happen.
"Five plays," Chris said, recognizing it was now just a matter of negotiating the terms.
"Three plays," Amy countered.
"Four," Chris responded.
Amy took a minute to sip at her beer, then gave a sultry little nod of agreement.
"Alright," Chris clapped.
Amy hit play on the remote. The kicker set the ball on the tee and stepped back into position. As he sent it sailing through the air they all watched it with a new intensity.
"Don't you lose that fuckin' ball," Chris growled as a player caught it on the two-yard line. "Hell, just take a fuckin' knee."
But he didn't take a knee.
Instead he tucked it in and took off.
As he zig-zagged past opponents Chris hissed "Don't you lose it. Don't you lose it."
Seconds later he was tackled at the 26, still holding the ball.
Not the predicted 30 yards.
But no fumble either.
"Yes!" Chris cheered.
A few others echoed his sentiment.
As the opposing offense and defense ran onto the field Chris tossed a few tens onto the coffee table to cover his losses. Then he leaned back and smiled at Amy.
Even without knowing what to expect, Tom was surprised by Amy's approach to fulfilling her end of the wager.
Pausing the game again, she handed the remote to Ken, who was sitting at the opposite end of the couch. Then, with the sparkle in her eye dancing, she strolled suggestively around the coffee table toward Chris. She didn't prance or strut, but walked with the confidence that every set of eyes in the room were glued on her.
Once in front of Chris she turned her back to him and slowly leaned forward before lowering her ass onto his lap. This gave him an astounding view of her shorts-clad rear before settling sideways atop his thighs. It also meant that his eyes were already aimed downward when she settled back against him, meaning he was gazing down over the swell of her breasts under her jersey and, further down, where her tone thighs disappeared into her shorts.
All of the men had been college athletes and stood over 6 foot, so they towered over Amy. Also, like her, they'd all managed to generally keep their waistbands from expanding, so as she settled into Chris' lap she slid way back, folding against him with one shoulder and her head resting on his powerful chest. Holding his beer in one hand, Chris wrapped his free arm around her, his hand settling atop her thigh.
It was strange, seeing his wife in another man's lap.
But Tom found it stirring . . . certain thoughts, and other . . . things.
Now, any football fan can tell you that four plays can take anywhere from a couple short minutes to several long ones. And they can even include commercial breaks. Chris' fell somewhere in the middle; no commercial breaks, but there were two first downs and a penalty.
Not that Tom saw all that much of the action on the TV. His attention was drawn to his wife and Chris. He didn't see anything inappropriate happening; the pair simply sat there, sipping their beers and watching the game. He wasn't sure if Chris was just nervous, simply being a gentleman, or unsure of what he might be able to get away with, but his hand on Amy's thigh barely moved, merely giving it a few gentle squeezes through her shorts. For her part, his wife just lounged back against Chris, her lips wearing that mischievous grin and her ass shifting within his lap a few times. As the fourth play came to an end she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then slowly slid out of his lap.
"I need a shot after that," he announced. "Anyone else?"
"Yea, I could use one," Amy agreed.
A couple others joined them.
After downing the shot Amy made her way over to Tom, sliding easily into his lap and curling up against him in a tighter, more intimate fashion than Chris.
"You okay?" She whispered.
"Yes," he answered, his eyes taking in the image of her nipples starting to poke at her jersey. No bra, he thought.
"You sure?" She pressed.
"Yes, Baby. It's all good," he assured her.
