Dad Lost Bet Mom to My Friend

### Chapter 1: The Bet That Started It All

It was a humid Saturday night, July 14, 2024, the kind where the air clung to your skin like a sweaty handshake. Jack, a broad-shouldered dad with a salt-and-pepper beard, sat slouched on the worn leather couch in the living room, nursing a lukewarm beer. He wore a faded Metallica T-shirt, the black fabric stretched tight over his gut, and a pair of gray sweatpants that sagged low on his hips, showing the elastic waistband of his plaid boxers. Across from him, sprawled on the recliner, was Ryan--his son's wiry, cocky school friend. Ryan, 18 and full of swagger, had a mop of dark hair and a smirk that never quit. He was in a tight white tank top, showing off lean arms, and ripped blue jeans that hugged his thighs.

The TV blared a football game--Jack's team was losing, badly. "Fuckin' assholes can't catch a damn ball," Jack grumbled, slamming his beer on the coffee table. Ryan chuckled, twirling a vape pen between his fingers. "Told you, man. Should've bet on my team. What's it gonna be, huh? You owe me."

Jack snorted, too stubborn to back down. "Double or nothing, kid. I ain't paying you shit yet." That's when Sarah stormed in from the kitchen, her bare feet slapping the hardwood. Jack's wife was 42, with curves that still turned heads--full tits straining against a red tank top, no bra, nipples faintly visible through the thin cotton. Her denim shorts were frayed at the hem, clinging to her thick thighs, and her blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands sticking to her flushed neck. She was pissed.

"Jack, you're not fucking betting again!" she snapped, hands on her hips. "You lost fifty bucks last week to this little shit!" Ryan grinned wider, eyeing her up and down, not even hiding it. Jack waved her off. "Relax, babe. I got this." But he didn't. The game ended 28-10, and Jack's team ate dirt.

Ryan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Pay up, old man. Or..." His eyes flicked to Sarah, lingering on her chest. "How about her? One night with me if you lose again. Bet's on the table." Sarah's jaw dropped, her green eyes flashing. "Excuse me? What the fuck, Jack? Tell him to get out!" But Jack, drunk on bravado and beer, laughed. "Fine, kid. One more bet. She's mine anyway--you ain't got a chance."

Sarah stormed off, slamming the bedroom door. The next game started. Jack lost. Ryan stood up, stretching, his tank top riding up to show a strip of tanned skin above his jeans. "Guess I'll collect tomorrow night," he said, winking at Jack before sauntering out. Jack sat there, stunned, dick half-hard at the thought, even as guilt gnawed at him.

That night, in bed, Sarah wouldn't even look at him. She wore an oversized gray T-shirt and black panties, her back to him under the sheets. "You're a fucking idiot," she hissed. Jack reached for her, sliding a hand up her thigh. She smacked it away. "Don't touch me." But his fingers lingered, brushing the edge of her panties, and she didn't stop him this time. He slipped a thick digit under the fabric, finding her pussy already wet despite her anger. "You're mad, but you're dripping," he muttered, stroking her clit slow and firm. She bit her lip, glaring at the wall, but her hips rocked against his hand. He fingered her hard, two fingers plunging deep, until she came with a stifled groan, soaking his palm. "Fuck you," she whispered, rolling away. Jack grinned, licking his fingers clean.

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### Chapter 2: Ryan Shows Up

Sunday, July 15, 2024. Sarah was still fuming, stomping around the kitchen in a white sundress that hugged her tits and flared out over her hips, the hem brushing mid-thigh. No bra again--her nipples poked through when the AC kicked on. She'd paired it with flip-flops, her toenails painted cherry red. Jack lounged at the table in a navy polo and khaki cargo shorts, pretending nothing was wrong, scrolling his phone.

The doorbell rang at 7 p.m. sharp. Ryan stood there, smirking, in a black muscle tee that showed off his biceps and dark green cargo pants slung low, a sliver of boxer briefs peeking out. "Evening, losers," he said, brushing past Jack. Sarah spun around from the sink, suds dripping from her hands. "Get the fuck out of my house," she spat. Ryan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "A bet's a bet, Sarah. Your man sold you out."

Jack shrugged, avoiding her glare. "He's right, babe. One night. Just... chill." Sarah's face went red. "You're both disgusting." But Ryan stepped closer, close enough she could smell his cologne--woodsy, sharp. "You're hot when you're mad," he said, voice low. She froze, dish sponge still in hand, as he reached out and grazed her bare arm with his fingertips. Her breath hitched, and Jack watched, jaw tight.

Ryan's hand slid to her waist, tugging her dress up an inch. "Let's start slow," he murmured. Sarah slapped his hand away, but her eyes lingered on his crotch, where a bulge was already forming. "Fuck off," she said, but her voice wavered. Ryan chuckled, stepping back. "Fine. Kitchen's boring anyway. Where's the bedroom?"

Jack stood up, fists clenched, but Ryan ignored him, heading down the hall. Sarah followed, yelling, "This isn't happening!"--but she didn't stop him. In the bedroom, Ryan flopped onto the king-sized bed, kicking off his sneakers. Sarah stood in the doorway, arms crossed, dress riding up slightly to show the edge of her white lace panties. Jack trailed behind, muttering, "This is bullshit."

Ryan patted the bed. "C'mon, Sarah. Let's see what you've got." She glared, but something shifted--anger mixing with curiosity.

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### Chapter 3: The Tension Breaks

The bedroom was dimly lit, just the glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows across the rumpled navy comforter. Ryan lay back on the bed, propped on his elbows, his black muscle tee riding up to expose a thin trail of dark hair disappearing into his cargo pants. His bare feet dangled off the edge, socks balled up on the floor. Sarah stood rigid in the doorway, her white sundress wrinkled from pacing, the lace of her panties still peeking out. Jack hovered behind her, his navy polo untucked, a mix of anger and something darker flickering in his eyes.

"Sit down, Sarah," Ryan said, patting the bed again, his voice smooth but edged with challenge. "You're making this harder than it needs to be." Sarah's fists clenched, cherry-red nails digging into her palms. "I'm not your fucking toy," she snapped, but her feet moved anyway, stepping closer despite herself. Jack growled low in his throat, "Watch it, kid," but he didn't move to stop her.

She perched on the edge of the bed, as far from Ryan as possible, her thighs pressed tight together under the dress. Ryan smirked, sitting up fully now, his knee brushing hers. "See? Not so bad." He reached out, slow and deliberate, and ran a hand up her bare calf. Sarah flinched, but didn't pull away. "Don't," she muttered, glaring at him. His fingers kept going, tracing the curve of her knee, then sliding higher, under the hem of her dress.

Jack shifted, his cargo shorts tenting slightly despite his scowl. "You're pushing it," he said, voice rough. Ryan ignored him, his hand now on Sarah's inner thigh, inches from her panties. "She's not stopping me," he said, eyes locked on hers. Sarah's breath hitched, her chest rising fast, nipples hard against the thin fabric of her dress. "Fuck you both," she hissed, but her legs parted just a fraction.

Ryan took the invitation, slipping his fingers under the lace, finding her pussy already slick. "Shit, you're soaked," he muttered, grinning. He rubbed her clit with his thumb, slow circles, while his middle finger teased her entrance. Sarah gripped the comforter, knuckles white, her face a mix of fury and something else. "You little bastard," she spat, but her hips twitched toward his hand. Jack stepped closer, looming over them, his dick straining against his shorts now. "Sarah, you don't have to--" he started, but she cut him off with a sharp, "Shut up, Jack."

Ryan slid a finger inside her, then two, pumping slow and deep, his thumb still working her clit. Sarah's head tipped back, a low moan escaping despite her clenched jaw. Jack watched, frozen, as Ryan finger-fucked his wife, her pussy making wet, obscene sounds. She came hard, sudden and shuddering, soaking Ryan's hand. He pulled out, licking his fingers with a smug, "Tastes better than I thought."

Sarah slapped him--hard--leaving a red mark on his cheek. "Asshole," she panted, but her eyes were wild, pupils blown. Ryan just laughed, rubbing his face. "Worth it."

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### Chapter 4: Jack's Turn

July 15, 2024, stretched into the late hours, the clock on the nightstand glowing 10:23 p.m. Sarah sat there, chest heaving, her sundress bunched around her hips, white lace panties damp and skewed to one side. Ryan lounged back, wiping his hand on his cargo pants, the bulge in them impossible to ignore now. Jack stood over them, his polo soaked with sweat under the armpits, his khaki shorts unzipped halfway from adjusting himself.

"You liked that, huh?" Ryan said, smirking at Sarah. She glared, smoothing her dress down, but her thighs were still trembling. "Fuck off," she muttered, voice shaky. Jack finally snapped, grabbing Ryan by the collar of his muscle tee and yanking him up. "Enough, you little prick. This is my wife." Ryan stumbled to his feet, hands raised, but that damn smirk stayed. "She came on my fingers, man. You saw it."

Jack shoved him back onto the bed, hard enough the headboard rattled. "You're done." But Sarah stood up, grabbing Jack's arm. "No, he's not," she said, her voice low, dangerous. "You started this, you stupid fuck. You bet me. Now you deal with it." Jack's jaw dropped, his dick twitching in his shorts despite the sting of her words.

She turned to Ryan, who was already unbuttoning his cargo pants, sliding them down to his knees. His black boxer briefs hugged a thick, hard outline, a wet spot at the tip. "Fine," Sarah said, stepping closer. "You want your prize? Take it." She grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand to her chest. Ryan squeezed her tit through the dress, thumbing her nipple, while Jack watched, rooted to the spot.

Sarah sank to her knees, yanking Ryan's briefs down. His cock sprang free--longer than Jack's, veiny, with a glistening head. She gripped it, her hand barely closing around the base, and gave it a slow, firm stroke. "Fuck," Ryan groaned, head tipping back. Jack's breath hitched, his own hand drifting to his shorts, rubbing himself through the fabric. Sarah shot him a venomous look. "Don't you dare enjoy this."

But she kept going, jerking Ryan off with tight, deliberate pumps, her fingers slick with his precum. She leaned in, spitting on the tip, then wrapped her lips around it, sucking hard. Ryan's hips bucked, hands tangling in her blonde hair, pulling strands loose from the bun. "Shit, yeah, like that," he grunted. Sarah bobbed her head, taking him deeper, her tongue swirling around the shaft. Jack unzipped his shorts fully now, pulling his dick out--shorter but thicker--and stroked himself, eyes glued to his wife's mouth on Ryan's cock.

She pulled off with a wet pop, glaring up at Ryan. "You're a smug little shit," she said, then went back to it, sucking harder, one hand cupping his balls. Ryan came fast, groaning loud, spilling down her throat. She swallowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and stood up, dress still hiked up. "Happy now?" she spat, turning to Jack, who was still jerking off, close to the edge.

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### Chapter 5: The Curveball

The air in the bedroom was thick with sweat and unspoken fury, the clock now ticking past 11 p.m. on July 15, 2024. Sarah stood between the two men, her white sundress crumpled and stained with a faint smear of Ryan's cum on the hem, her white lace panties twisted around one thigh. Her blonde hair hung loose now, strands plastered to her sweaty neck. Ryan sprawled back on the bed, cargo pants and boxer briefs still bunched at his knees, his softening cock glistening in the lamplight, black muscle tee rucked up to his chest. Jack stood near the dresser, khaki shorts unzipped, his thick dick in hand, precum dripping onto the hardwood floor, navy polo clinging to his heaving chest.

Sarah wiped her mouth again, glaring at Jack. "You're pathetic," she snapped, voice raw from sucking Ryan off. Jack's hand faltered mid-stroke, his face flushing red. "You didn't have to fucking do that," he shot back, but his eyes betrayed him, darting to Ryan's spent cock with a mix of envy and heat. Ryan chuckled, pulling his briefs up but leaving the cargo pants down. "She wanted to, man. Bet or not."

Before Sarah could retort, the bedroom door creaked open. All three heads snapped toward it. There stood Tyler--Jack and Sarah's 19-year-old son, Ryan's best friend, home early from a night out. He froze in the doorway, lanky frame clad in a gray hoodie, faded black jeans, and scuffed Vans, his hazel eyes wide behind messy brown bangs. "What... the fuck?" he stammered, taking in the scene: his mom disheveled, his dad with his dick out, his friend half-naked on the bed.

Sarah yanked her dress down, covering her panties, her face a storm of shame and rage. "Tyler, get out!" she yelled, but he didn't move, rooted by shock. Jack stuffed himself back into his shorts, zipping up clumsily. "Kid, it's not--" he started, but Ryan cut in, sitting up with a lazy grin. "Your dad bet your mom to me, bro. Lost big. She's just paying up."

Tyler's jaw tightened, fists balling in his hoodie pockets. "You're all fucked up," he said, voice low, but his gaze lingered on Sarah's thighs, then flicked to Ryan. Sarah stormed toward him, shoving him back into the hall. "Go to your room, now!" Tyler stumbled, then turned, slamming his door down the hall. The sound echoed.

Back in the bedroom, Sarah rounded on Jack. "This is your fault, you dumb bastard!" Jack rubbed his face, muttering, "I didn't think--" Ryan stood, pulling his cargo pants up, buttoning them slow. "Night's not over," he said, stepping toward Sarah. She shoved him back. "You're done, you little prick." But Ryan caught her wrists, pinning them, his breath hot on her neck. "Not yet."

He pushed her against the wall, her dress riding up again, and slid a hand between her legs. She struggled, but her pussy was still wet, betraying her. Ryan fingered her fast, three fingers now, stretching her, his thumb mashing her clit. "Fuck you," she gasped, but her hips bucked, grinding against him. Jack watched, dick hardening again, unable to look away as Ryan made her cum a second time, her juices dripping down her thigh. She slumped against the wall, panting, glaring daggers.

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### Chapter 6: The Line Blurs

Minutes later, the room was a tangle of heavy breathing and shifting power. Sarah slid down the wall, legs splayed, sundress a useless heap around her waist, panties soaked and clinging to her pussy lips. Ryan stepped back, wiping his hand on his muscle tee, his cargo pants tenting again despite his earlier release. Jack hovered near the bed, shorts unzipped once more, stroking himself slow, his eyes locked on Sarah's dripping cunt.

"Happy now, asshole?" Sarah rasped at Jack, pulling her panties up with shaky hands. He didn't answer, just kept jerking off, his breath ragged. Ryan glanced at him, then back at Sarah. "He's into it. Look at him." Sarah's head snapped up, green eyes blazing. "Shut up," she spat, but her gaze dropped to Jack's cock, thick and red in his fist.

Ryan moved before she could react, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her to the bed. She flailed, kicking at him, her flip-flops flying off, but he pinned her down, knees on either side of her thighs. "Let's give him a show," he muttered, yanking her dress up to her tits. Her bare nipples peaked in the cool air, and Ryan leaned down, sucking one into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make her yelp. "Bastard!" she hissed, but her hands gripped his hair, pulling him closer.

Jack groaned, stroking faster, precum slicking his hand. Ryan's free hand slid down, tugging Sarah's panties aside, and he rubbed his cock against her wet slit, not entering yet, just teasing. "Fuck, you're tight," he grunted, grinding harder. Sarah arched, cursing him, "You piece of shit," but her legs spread wider, inviting it. Jack stepped closer, close enough to smell her arousal, and Ryan smirked up at him. "Want a turn, old man?"

Jack hesitated, then dropped to his knees beside the bed, shoving Ryan's hand away. He buried his face in Sarah's pussy, licking her clit hard, tasting her and Ryan's mess. She moaned loud, thrashing, "Jack, you fuck!" Ryan laughed, jerking himself now, watching Jack eat her out. Sarah came again, squirting this time, soaking Jack's beard. He pulled back, panting, chin dripping, as Ryan leaned in, kissing her rough, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She bit him, drawing blood, but he just grinned, smearing it on her lips.

The bedroom door creaked again--Tyler, watching from the hall, hoodie unzipped, hand down his jeans.

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### Chapter 7: The Unseen Watcher

The bedroom was a humid mess by 11:45 p.m. on July 15, 2024, the air thick with the musk of sex and sweat. Sarah lay sprawled on the bed, her white sundress shoved up past her tits, the fabric stretched tight across her chest, nipples red and swollen from Ryan's teeth. Her white lace panties hung off one ankle, soaked through, her pussy glistening and puffy from the night's chaos. Ryan knelt over her, cargo pants unbuttoned again, his black muscle tee tossed to the floor, revealing a lean, tanned chest slick with sweat. His cock hung heavy between his legs, half-hard and sticky from earlier. Jack crouched beside the bed, navy polo drenched, khaki shorts around his thighs, his bearded face still wet with Sarah's cum, his own dick throbbing in his hand.

Tyler stood in the shadowed hallway, hoodie unzipped to show a plain white T-shirt underneath, his black jeans undone, hand moving slow inside his gray briefs. His hazel eyes were locked on the scene, breath shallow, a mix of disgust and something hotter twisting his gut. Sarah's head lolled to the side, catching a glimpse of him through the cracked door. "Tyler!" she screamed, scrambling to pull her dress down, but Ryan pinned her wrists above her head, laughing low. "Let him watch," he said, voice rough. "Kid's already hard."

Jack whipped around, spotting his son, and lurched to his feet, shorts falling to his ankles. "Get the fuck out, Tyler!" he roared, but his dick bobbed, betraying him. Tyler didn't move, just stared, hand still stroking himself through his briefs. "You're all sick," he muttered, but his voice cracked, eyes darting to Sarah's exposed cunt.

Sarah thrashed under Ryan, kicking at him with bare feet, her cherry-red toenails flashing. "Let me go, you bastard!" Ryan tightened his grip, grinding his cock against her thigh, leaving a smear of precum. "You're still wet, Sarah. You love this shit." She spat in his face, a glob hitting his cheek, but he just wiped it off, grinning, and shoved two fingers back into her pussy, pumping hard. She gasped, hips jerking despite herself, her juices squelching loud in the quiet room.

Jack stumbled toward Tyler, tripping over his shorts, but Sarah's moan stopped him cold. He turned back, watching Ryan finger-fuck her, her legs trembling as she fought not to cum again. Tyler stepped closer, crossing the threshold, his Vans scuffing the floor. "Mom..." he started, voice low, but Ryan cut him off. "She's mine tonight, bro. Dad's rules." Jack growled, "Fuck you, kid," but his hand was back on his dick, stroking fast.

Sarah's eyes met Tyler's, wild and pleading, but her body betrayed her, shuddering as Ryan curled his fingers inside her, hitting that spot. She came again, a guttural "Fuck!" ripping from her throat, soaking the sheets. Ryan pulled out, licking his hand, then grabbed her by the hair, dragging her face to his cock. "Suck it again," he ordered. She resisted, teeth bared, but he forced the tip past her lips, thrusting shallow. Jack groaned, cumming in his hand, ropes of it splattering the floor, as Tyler watched, his own briefs darkening with a wet spot.