I don't remember which of us had the idea to swap wives during Super Bowl LI. Could have been Moe, could have been me, who knows. Actually, it just sort of popped up during a conversation about something totally unrelated. We were talking about a new line of women's undergarments -- one of the many companies Moe and I own manufactures upscale lingerie -- and Moe said, "You know, Solly, I never knew it when I was younger, but there's lots of money in women's panties!" We both laughed at the several many possible meanings of that phrase, all of them true in their own peculiar way. And then the conversation turned from the panties themselves to what's inside them, namely, cunt.
Moe and I are alike in many ways. We are two short, balding, paunchy, smartass hucksters from Brooklyn who came up the hard way in New York's garment industry and then, thanks to incredible amounts of luck and chutzpah, managed to become filthy rich. We both like to drink expensive Scotch, smoke expensive cigars, and fuck expensive women. And right now we are fucking two of the most expensive women on earth.
We had divorced the frumps who bore our children long ago, and now we are married to shiksas who are half our age and gorgeous. Some might call them trophy wives. Mine is on the petite side, 5 foot 5 and 110 pounds, a green-eyed brunette with a Mediterranean complexion, perky, upturned breasts with nipples that poke out like bullets, and ass cheeks about the size of oversized apples that turn the color of apples when I spank them. She wears her hair short and keeps her bush trimmed so that the cunt lips just barely peek out from behind the curls, just the way I like it. I had the breasts lifted a little, not too much, and given just enough extra heft so they sway a little when she rides me cowgirl-style. A rigid diet and workout regimen keep her looking like a Greek goddess.
Moe, on the other hand, has different tastes in women. His is big, almost 6 feet tall with long limbs. She has milky white skin and blue eyes the shade of the Caribbean. She wears her bleached-blonde hair in a long, braided ponytail that hangs down to the small of her back but shaves her snatch so it is completely bald. When I first met her, she reminded me of a perfectly formed Amazon warrior princess, but Moe had some work done anyway. He had the nose shortened, the chin reduced, the lips thickened, and the stomach flattened. He had the breasts enlarged to the point of being almost too big for the already large frame. He had the nipples pierced with gold studs and the clit fitted with a small diamond ring. The only thing he didn't fix, he said, was the cunt and the asshole, because they fitted his prick like two velvet gloves and he didn't want to fuck that up, no pun intended. As Moe likes to say, we have the most beautiful wives money can buy.
But our prizes do not come without a price. The girls are gold diggers; we knew it when we met them, and they knew we knew, but no one cares. They are perfectly agreeable to letting us do whatever we want to do, to and with their bodies, so long as we pay for the privilege. And the payment is steep: a multimillion-dollar mansion in the Hamptons, a million-dollar "bungalow" on Biscayne Bay, a six-figure sports car, and any number of extravagant vacations and lavish dinners and parties at which they flaunt the latest additions to their expansive, and expensive, collections of clothing and jewelry.
But I digress. Moe had been hinting, and not very subtly, that he wanted to have a go at my wife. I played dumb and pretended not to understand what he was talking about, just to see if I could piss him off. Eventually, he got tired of beating around the bush and he just came out with it. He asked if I had ever fantasized about watching another man have sex with her, because he had heard or read somewhere that that was a trending thing. I replied no, did he? And he surprised me when he said, yeah, I'd like to watch you fuck my wife, especially while you're watching me fuck yours. And that's how the idea for the party got started.
We worked out the details that evening with the girls over drinks and dinner at our favorite Manhattan restaurant. Not surprisingly, they were cool to the idea, maybe even a little grossed out, but when we explained what was in it for each of them -- a diamond ring equal in value to a Super Bowl ring (which, unbeknownst to them, we could get at a hefty discount from Moe's ex-brother-in-law, who's a jeweler) -- they were good to go. By the time the dishes were cleared away, we had a full-blown game plan.
During the broadcast of the game and its related festivities, each wife would wait on the man who was not her husband, keeping him well-supplied with food, drink and handjobs, and she would do it in the nude. Moe and I picked teams -- he wanted the Patriots so I took the Falcons -- and whenever somebody's team scored, he got to fuck the other guy's wife. After the game, whoever's team won got to use the loser's wife for the rest of the evening, in any way the winner chose, barring violence and public humiliation, while her husband watched. The girls agreed, but argued that a field goal should be worth only a blowjob, not a fuck, and that ass fucking not be allowed until after the game. Moe and I agreed, but only if the girls would put on a halftime show consisting of a lesbian 69 followed by a double dildo fuck on all fours. The girls agreed, but added one stipulation: if a team scored a safety or failed to score an extra point after a touchdown, then instead of getting fucked the wife in question would get her pussy eaten out. Moe and I agreed, but only if ass fucking would be allowed after halftime. The girls agreed and we shook hands all the way around. While Moe and I enjoyed our usual after-dinner Scotch and cigar, the girls enjoyed looking at large diamond rings on their smartphones.
Moe christened the whole proceeding Super Blow LI, which he pronounced "Lee" because he thinks that is the name of my wife-- it is not, by the way -- who he insisted would be sucking his dick all night long, "except for when it's buried deep in her ass, right, Solly?" I just shook my head and smiled. Moe can be a real schmuck sometimes, but he's a lovable schmuck.
Moe insisted on hosting our wife-swap at his place, so right before game time the four of us congregated in what he called the "rumpus room." A pool table, a pinball machine, a refrigerator, and a fully stocked bar graced the room. The important features, however, were a huge, flat screen TV that took up almost one entire wall and two authentic leather La-Z-Boy sleeper sofas placed against the opposite wall. As host, Moe insisted that he and I stand at attention and salute the flag during the playing of the National Anthem, not just with our hands but with erect penises as well, so he instructed the girls to start jacking us off right as the Schuyler Sisters started singing "America the Beautiful." I was about to shoot my load when Luke Bryan finished the last note of "The Star Spangled Banner" and Blondie -- my name for Moe's wife since I can never remember her real name; Moe always calls her "Doll Baby" -- stopped stroking me with a hand as soft as velvet.
The first quarter was slow, much slower than either Moe or I would have liked. I had to content myself with being handled, albeit rather expertly, by Blondie for 15 scoreless minutes. She seemed to enjoy fondling my cock and balls, and she knew how to keep me erect without letting me cum. She even tickled my asshole with one of her long fingernails, licking her lips suggestively as she did. As much as I wanted to fuck her pussy and ass, now I found myself wondering how good it would feel to slip my cock between those inviting lips and feel her tongue do a number on me.
And then, much to Moe's chagrin and my delight, the Falcons got rolling. Not long after the start of the second quarter, Devonta Freeman scored a touchdown from five yards out. We had to wait for Matt Bryant to add the extra point, and once he did it was time for me and Blondie to fold out our La-Z-Boy and get down to business.
I thought my wife was a good fuck, and she is, but man oh man, Blondie does it like a pro. She had complete control of her cunt muscles, relaxing as I pushed in and squeezing while I pulled back. She hooked her long legs behind my ass and pulled me in deep, and in no time I shot a load of gooey spunk into her soft, pliable pussy. I couldn't see his face, I was too busy concentrating on the task at hand, but I hoped that Moe was enjoying the spectacle of me screwing the hell out of his big-titted bitch.
No sooner had I finished than it was time to mount up again. Less than four minutes after Freeman scored, Matt Ryan found Austin Hooper in the end zone for Atlanta's second touchdown, and my second fuck. Bryant's kick was good, and Blondie and I went at it again. Instead of giving it to her in the missionary position, like the first time, I decided to mount her doggy-style. She hoisted that Amazon ass in the air and I poked her sweet slit again. Now I really wanted to screw her in the ass, as that tight little hole kept winking at me invitingly. She seemed to be enjoying herself as she rocked back and forth, up and down, on my creaming cock, coating every inch of it with sweet cunt honey. I think she was as eager to get Moe's goat as I was; after all, this whole wife-swapping thing was his idea, and now he was getting what he had coming to him.
