Super Bowl Wife Pt 01

[This is a nod to one of my favorite stories, Poker Wife. Not My Story is the author of the extended series. I cannot find the author of the original first 4 part series. I hope my remix is allowed.]

Friday, February 7, 2026, hit Brent's office with the crisp hum of a typical noon. The space sprawled across six open-door rooms, a modest real estate hub carved out by his father's decades of hustle. Brent's office, the second largest, sat just shy of his dad's sprawling corner domain--a room now often empty as the old man eased into retirement. Brent leaned back in his chair, the faint clatter of keyboards and phone chatter buzzing around him. His eyes drifted to a framed photo on his desk: Abby on their wedding night, nearly two years back. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, framing a face radiant with grace--petite yet striking, her 32-D curves hugged by a white dress that clung just right. He traced her outline with his gaze, marveling at her beauty, the way her eyes sparkled with a loyalty he'd reclaimed from their high school days.

From the office next to his, Abby's voice carried clearly through the open door and glass wall. She stood with an older couple, wrapping up a deal on a $900,000 house. Brent caught every word as he admired her photo, her professionalism shining through each one.

"Thank you so much, Abby," the woman said, her tone warm. "You've been an absolute delight. So much better than our last experience."

"Oh, absolutely," her husband chimed in, nodding vigorously. "That Legacy Real Estate bunch--nightmare. The young man over there was so crude, dismissive. Got upset if we didn't sign after viewing just three houses."

Abby tilted her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Sounds like you were dealing with Matthew."

"Yes, that's right," the woman replied, her voice dropping to a hush. "Matthew. He was a bit of a prick, if I may say so."

Brent smirked, catching Abby's mirrored hush as she leaned in slightly. "Oh, definitely sounds like him. I don't like to talk ill of my competition, but I went on a date with him once--before Brent and I got back together. Crude doesn't even cover it. Obnoxious, too."

His mind flickered back to that story she'd told him years ago. Matthew, all smug entitlement, yapping about her body over dinner, on a first date no less, like she was a prize cut of meat. His hand sliding onto her ass as they walked, ignoring her sharp "stop it." Then, insisting on walking her home despite her protests, trying to force a kiss at her door, muttering some bullshit about "rocking her world." When she shut him down, he'd sneered insults--called her a tease, a prude--before texting for a second date like nothing happened. Brent's jaw tightened. Spoiled prick didn't deserve the empire his dad was handing him. Legacy Real Estate's billboards plastered Matthew's smug face on every corner, a constant taunt to Brent's smaller firm.

The couple's goodbyes snapped him back. "Thanks again, Abby," the man said, shaking her hand. She saw them out with a wave, and Brent stepped into the lobby, grinning.

"Nice work, babe," he said, pulling her into a quick hug. "That's a hell of a sale."

She beamed, wrapping her arms around him before their lips met in a soft, celebratory kiss. "I'm so happy I got it done before Super Bowl weekend."

"Forty-five grand for the company," Brent said, pride lacing his voice. "Great job."

"Alright, I'm heading out to grab groceries," Abby replied, stepping back. "See you at home?"

"Yeah, wrapping up here. I'll be back at the usual time."

-

Home greeted Brent later with the faint scent of cleaning supplies and Abby bustling in the kitchen. She turned as he walked in, her tight top and skirt showing off every curve he adored. He congratulated her again, mentioning he'd told his dad, who'd been thrilled. They chatted briefly about the sale, the weekend ahead, until Abby glanced over her shoulder.

"What do you want for dinner?" she asked.

"Don't worry about me," Brent said, loosening his tie. "I'm meeting the guys for a drink. Watching the college basketball game."

She frowned playfully. "Stop that betting. I don't want you losing all my $45,000 before I can spend it."

He chuckled. "Blame Adam. He's got me hooked. But don't worry--I'm still in the green."

-

Hours later, Brent sat in a sports bar's dim glow, the roar of the game on TV mingling with clinking glasses. Adam sprawled beside him, scruffy and intense, eyes glued to his FanDuel app. Pat, sloppy in shorts and already half-drunk, nursed a beer across the table. Sammy, quieter, scrolled his phone nearby. Their bets ticked along--Adam chasing a three-leg parlay, Brent sticking to safer picks.

Adam grinned, leaning back. "Remember that big payout I got from my five-leg parlay? Paid for that bottle service in Miami you never thanked me for."

Brent laughed, sipping his drink. "Yeah, you lucky bastard. Wild night. How much was that VIP table again?"

"Shit, like $2,500 after all the booze," Adam said, smirking. "They charged me $300 for a bottle of Grey Goose."

Pat piped up, voice thick with liquor. "What was that girl's name hogging all the Grey Goose? Sky or something?"

Adam's grin widened. "Oh, that hot bitch with the big tits--Skylar. Bet Brent remembers her."

Brent tensed, his smile faltering. "Whoa, whoa. Thought we were gonna forget that one."

Sammy leaned in, his reserved facade cracking with a sly grin. "Aw, come on. That bitch was hot. No shame in getting a little dome before you're hitched."

"I mean, she was hot," Adam added, "but not Abby-level. Could you imagine her face if she knew?"

Brent's frustration flared. "Look, I'd never had coke before. You guys insisted. I barely remember it. Let's drop it."

Adam's eyes flickered, a hint of menace behind the playfulness. "Jeez, all these favors I do--the trip, VIP booth, keeping your secret. Starting to feel owed, man."

Brent sighed, deflating. "Fine, I'm thankful for all you do."

-

Saturday,

The midafternoon found Brent and Abby weaving through Walmart's crowded aisles, prepping for their annual small Super Bowl gathering. The cart rattled with chips, dip, snacks--Abby ticking off her mental list.

"We've got everything," she said, glancing at him. "Can you grab the beer?"

"Yeah, over here." Brent led her down the beer aisle, snagging two cases of Bud Light and sliding them under the cart.

"Is that it?" Abby asked.

"Solo cups," Brent said. "Oh, and ping pong balls--beer pong tradition."

She pointed at a hanger between the beer displays. "You're in luck."

Brent smirked. "Smart shelf placement. Beer pong setup right by the beer."

They headed toward checkout, Abby mentioning Advil for the inevitable hangovers. In the pharmacy aisle, after adding a bottle of Walmart brand advil to the cart, Brent's eyes caught the display of condoms, lube, and such. He nodded at it, playful. "Maybe some of that for celebratory anal?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please, in your dreams."

"Aw, come on," he teased. "You need to open up a bit more, if you know what I mean."

Abby glanced around looking for people in earshot, her voice sharp. "Oh, stop it." Her light smack on his shoulder carried a stern edge.

He backpedaled, a little defensive. "I was kidding... But it would be nice."

"Brent...," she said, her tone firm.

Brent pressed, softer now. "Come on, we need to spice it up eventually. Hell, I can count on one hand the times you've put my meat in your mouth--and you didn't even let me finish."

"I don't like it there," she snapped, "and I don't want it back there. Let's go check out."

He dropped it, but inside, disappointment simmered. Vanilla sex was all he got--her lips rarely ventured south, her ass a forbidden zone. Abby, meanwhile, felt a pang of guilt. Brent was good to her. Maybe she should focus on his needs--blowjob for his birthday, maybe even anal for their upcoming anniversary. They paid and headed home, tension unspoken.

-

That evening, after takeout, they lay in bed. Abby scrolled her phone, back to him, her shorts and tank top hugging her frame. Brent's eyes lingered, wishing she'd sleep in something more alluring, or even nothing at all. Heat built as he imagined her--those curves, that grace. He slid closer, wrapping his arms around her, lips brushing her neck.

She stiffened slightly. "I'm not really in the mood."

"Aw, come on," he murmured, nuzzling deeper.

Guilt nudged her as she thought back on the events at Walmart. She rolled over, peeling off her top. "Fine, because I love you."

He grinned, chancing it. "Maybe start with a little foreplay?" His nod toward his groin was unmistakable.

She smirked, playful now. "Easy there, cowboy. Don't push your luck."

His face fell as she slid off her shorts, settling on her back for missionary. Brent climbed over her, his hands roaming her skin--soft, warm, familiar. He entered her, the heat of her body wrapping around him as he murmured, "God, I love your body." She didn't respond, her silence thick with unease. Talking dirty always felt awkward to her, like a line she couldn't cross. He thrust gently at first, then added, "Aw, yeah, that feels so good. Do you like that?" Inside, she fumbled for words--Oh, it's so deep or You're so big danced on her tongue--but shyness clamped her lips shut. Instead, she nodded, pushing out a small, tentative moan.

Brent caught it, surprised. Abby wasn't one to make much noise or any at all--her quietness was her norm. That tiny sound, barely reciprocative, sparked something in him, fueling his lust. He picked up the pace, his hips driving deeper as he leaned down, lips brushing her neck. His kisses trailed hot and hungry to her mouth, igniting a passionate clash of tongues. She noticed it instantly--he hadn't kissed her like this during sex in more than a year, a closeness she'd missed. That little moan had stirred him, and the realization loosened her restraint. She sank into it, savoring his reaction.

The kiss broke, and courage flickered in her chest. "Oh, keep going," she whispered, a soft moan trailing the words. Brent's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah, that's it," he growled, his mouth diving to her chest. His lips grazed her breasts, then climbed back to her neck, kissing with fervor as his thrusts grew harder, faster. Her nipples tightened under his touch, and she felt a shift--watching his hunger ignite from her brief display actually turned her on. Heat bloomed between her legs, her body responding with slickness she couldn't deny.

He felt it too, her wetness coaxing him on. "Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" he asked, voice rough with need. She met his gaze, the lust in his eyes a mirror to her own power. Boldness surged. "Yes, baby, keep going," she said, louder now. "Please make me cum." It was the most she'd ever said in bed, and Brent's arousal spiked. He crashed his lips into hers, kissing her with a desperate edge. She loved it--really loved it. Her hands slid up, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly. Then, instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating against her lips as he thrust with wild intensity. A few small moans and a handful of breathy words had unleashed this, and the thought made her feel sexy, potent. She was giving him this, driving him to this edge, and it pushed her own pleasure higher. Their kiss deepened, tongues tangling as she moaned back, louder now, her voice spilling into his mouth. It sent him into a frenzy. "I'm gonna cum," he gasped, breaking the kiss. "Can I cum in you?"

Her orgasm hit, a wave crashing through her. She moaned loudly--sharper, rawer than ever before. "Wait, no, no, pull out," she managed, her voice trembling through the pleasure. Those moans, the loudest he'd ever heard, tipped him over. He pulled out just in time, his release spilling hot across her stomach, thick ropes painting her skin as he shuddered above her. They collapsed, panting, the air heavy with their shared breath.

"Damn," he said, chest heaving. "That was... that was like the best ever." He paused, then added, softer, "Truly, thank you for that." He rolled off, heading to clean up.

Abby lay there, his words echoing. Thank you for that--like she'd performed some act for him, not shared it. It stung. He thought it was fake, a gift she'd faked for his sake, when it had been real; it had been the best for her, too. And that sincere thanks, for just some moans and a few words? It hit her hard. Such a small effort had rocked him, this man who did so much for her, and she'd held back for so long. Guilt twisted with the afterglow as he returned, sliding into bed.

She rolled over, hugging him close. "Honey, I really liked that too," she said, voice soft but firm. "I'm going to try to do more. I love how happy it makes you." Then, with a sultry edge, she added, "Plus how good it feels for me too." Brent smiled, warm and genuine, his arm tightening around her. The moment hung between them, charged and tender, before sleep claimed them.

-

Sunday,

The Super Bowl pregame hype blared from the TV as the four guys sprawled across Brent and Abby's living room. Adam slouched on the couch, eyes flicking between his phone and the screen. "Alright," he said, voice rough with excitement, "I got money on a 30-yard kickoff return or more."

Sammy leaned forward, nursing his third beer. "I got 200 bucks on scoring in the first drive, 3 to 1."

Brent shook his head, smirking. "Damn, y'all are crazy. Why not just bet on who wins?"

Adam snorted. "What, so the house can text a ref and have him make a game-losing call?"

"Ah, yes," Brent said, "there's the conspiracy theorist." He raised his voice, turning his head slightly. "Hey, babe, another round of beers, please!"

Abby rounded the corner from the kitchen, her shiny skirt catching the light--mid-thigh, tight enough to hug her hips, paired with a loose, decorative tank top. It draped over her taut midsection, hiding its curve, but the thin fabric betrayed her braless state, her nipples faintly pressing through. She grabbed four beers from the fridge, the bottles clinking as she walked them over. The guys, well into their buzz, didn't bother hiding their stares. Adam's eyes lingered longest, a grin spreading across his scruffy face. "Damn, I like the bottle service. Reminds me of another night." He winked at Brent, who shot back a glare, his jaw tightening. Luckily, Abby didn't catch the jab, busy setting the beers down.

The first drive ended with a punt, and Sammy groaned. "Damn, I'm down 200 bucks already."

Adam cursed under his breath. "Shit, that 21-yard return has me down 500."

Brent raised an eyebrow. "You put 500 on that?"

Abby stepped up again, placing a bowl of chips on the coffee table. She flashed Brent a playful smile. "Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?"

He smirked back, but Pat jumped in, slurring slightly. "Hell yeah, I need that kind of control over a pretty woman in my life."

She straightened, tossing a quip over her shoulder. "I think hanging on to the money you have might go a long way to make that happen, instead of losing it on a dumb gambling app."

Adam chuckled, leaning back. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe we can just do some friendly bets for a few bucks between each other."

Abby walked off toward the kitchen, and Brent caught Adam's stare locked on her ass, the skirt swaying with each step. Adam didn't flinch when Brent's eyes narrowed. Instead, he continued, voice casual. "How about this: when a new possession starts, we bet on the outcome--fumble or intercepted, punt, field goal, or touchdown. There's four of us, we each pick one. Since you're not as experienced, we'll let you go first."

Brent tilted his head. "Alright, but what are we betting?"

Adam glanced around, ensuring Abby was out of earshot, then leaned forward, his tone dropping. "Well, since I think you owe us, the winner gets the reins."

Brent frowned. "The reins of what?"

"You know," Adam said, a glint in his eye, "of Abby. Control of her housewife marching orders."

Brent scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Sammy piped up, smirking. "Hey, that sounds fair. You flaunting her around, showing off her obedience while we lose money."

Adam nodded. "Plus, you owe us."

Still scoffing, Brent shot back, "Oh yeah? For what?" The words slipped out before he could stop them, and last night's bar conversation flashed in his mind--Adam's veiled threat about Skylar.

Adam's smile turned sharp. "For, you know, the secret."

Brent froze, searching Adam's face. Was this a game or something darker? He tested the waters. "So what are you saying? If I don't agree, you'll spill the beans?"

Abby breezed back in, a tray of bacon-wrapped jalapeños in hand, her cheer cutting through the tension. "What beans?"

Brent jumped in, voice tight. "Oh, nothing, baby. We're talking about, uh, something that happened at Adam's work." He scowled at Adam as she bent to set the tray down, her face turned away.

"Oh, okay," she said, then leaned into her playful tone again. "Is there anything else I can get you, sir?"

Adam seized the moment. "Hey, Abby, we were about to start playing a game, you know, so we can stop losing money."

She perked up. "Oh, sounds like you're finally getting some sense in you."

"Yeah," Adam continued, "it's Brent's idea. We told him how jealous we are of a pretty little housewife walking around following his orders, so he's wagering his throne as man of the household. Just for fun."

Abby's brows furrowed, waiting for a punchline that didn't come. "Huh. Yeah, I bet he said that," she said, brushing off the weirdness. "Oh, let me get the ranch dip for the jalapeños." She headed off, leaving Brent and Adam locked in a stare-down.

Brent hissed, "What the fuck are you up to?"

Adam shrugged, voice low. "Chill, man. Just trying to have some fun. But you do owe me. Get her to play, or she deserves to know about the girl."

Brent studied Adam's face--dead serious, no bluff. "What got up your ass?"

"I'm dead serious," Adam said. "Play along, and..." He mimed zipping his lips.

Abby returned with the ranch dip, setting it down before turning away fast to dodge more awkwardness. Adam kicked Brent's shin. Brent sighed quietly. "Hey, honey, come on, have some fun."

She spun around, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

He hesitated, then pushed. "Come on, I thought you said you were gonna start having me in mind more."

It hit her--last night's promise. "Okay," she said slowly, "pretty weird... but if this is what you want."

Adam clapped. "Great! Game on!" Pat and Sammy hooted, the energy shifting. Abby perched on Brent's lap, her skirt riding up slightly.

Adam grinned. "Alright, Chiefs on their 30, first down. What do you say, Brent?"

"Field goal," Brent muttered. Pat picked touchdown, Sammy took punt, leaving Adam with fumble/interception. The next play--a long toss--ended in a Chiefs touchdown. Adam shot up, celebrating. "Hell yeah! Wish I had money on that one."

Abby glanced at Brent, reading his face. If this was what he wanted, fine. She leaned in, playful. "Is there anything I can get for you, sir?"

Adam didn't miss a beat. "Yes, babe. Could you get me a glass of wine? I need something more refined than this beer. Oh, and grab one for yourself too."

She stood, poured two glasses from a white wine bottle, and returned, handing one to Adam. She sipped hers, settling back on Brent's lap as the kickoff rolled. The Ravens took possession.

Adam eyed Brent. "Your pick."

"Punt," Brent said. Adam took touchdown, Sammy grabbed fumble/interception, Pat went field goal.

"Damn," Adam said, "I hope they draw this drive out." He turned to Abby. "Hold up, why are you sitting on our guest's lap? You need to sit on the man of the house's lap."