Place Your Bets!

This is our third recent story for MH! It has been so much fun to write again, and for those who like our “style” (light dialogue, funny/playful), you can check out some of our other stories by clicking on our username in the byline.

We are a very ordinary, happily (for the most part) married couple of 35 years. Like many couples, our sex life was great at first, then got utterly destroyed by the pressures and responsibilities of family, jobs, and middle-age angst. It bloomed again when we became empty-nesters and learned anew what God wanted us to be for each other: best friends, helpers, biggest fans, and last but not least, legendary lovers!

Several years ago, we were in a book/supper club with a few other couples. During the book discussion, my husband, Tom, and I got into a friendly argument about the personal life of one of my favorite authors, and we were both certain we were right.

One of Tom’s “Rules of Life” is that husbands never win arguments with their wives, a philosophy I heartily endorse. I’m sure I have been wrong once or twice in my life, but Tom doesn’t say so! So I was confident enough to announce to our friends that I was certain I was right.

“Would you care to place a small wager on that, my dear?” Tom asked.

I wasn’t about to back down in front of everyone. “Absolutely, Mr. Smart Guy! Name the stakes. Chores for a month? Laundry, dishes, bathrooms? I’m going to love being a lady of leisure with a hunky manservant!”

“I had something else in mind,” Tom said. He held out his right hand. We shook on it, to the oohs of our friends. “Okay, you can’t back out. I have witnesses!”

“I’m not backing out!” I replied as I grabbed my phone and went straight to Wikipedia.

Jane Austen. Personal life. “Though Jane had a long list of suitors and was engaged twice, she never married.” But what about Mr. D’Arcy? Darn it, Tom was right. And he knew it from the look on my face.

“Okay, I stand corrected. But I do all the housework anyway, so don’t sit there looking so smug,” I said.

Tom just smiled.

When the evening was over, we said our goodbyes and headed for the car.

I was intrigued about what Tom meant when he said he had “something else in mind” for our little wager that I had lost. I suspected I knew, but I asked just in case I was wrong.

“So, babe, what did you mean when you said you had something else in mind? I don’t want to have to clean fish or caddie for you for a month. I might chip my nails.”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Tom assured me. “It will be easy. In fact, you can pay me off on the way home.”

He smiled and pointed to his lap. “I want a blow job, right here in the car. It’ll be like when we were dating and you were trying to make me think you were a horny little sex kitten.”

I wasn’t surprised. But I knew if I played my cards right, there would be something nice in it for me too.

We live in a country club neighborhood with a beautiful golf course and tennis courts, and we are active members. So as we drove past the club on the way home, Tom pulled into the empty parking lot. He parked in a secluded nook well out of the sight of the road and clubhouse that overlooked the lake. Then he turned off the engine, reclined his seat, and put his hands behind his head.

“Get to work, loser,” he joked. “They don’t call it a blow JOB for nothing.”

Tom knows I enjoy pleasuring him with my mouth and hands and consider myself quite an accomplished little cock-sucker. And he always reciprocates; he enjoys going down on me so much that I am rarely expected to finish what I’ve started.

“Here? What if we get caught? We could get arrested!” I protested.

But Tom just smiled and unhooked his seatbelt.

I could have refused, but the wine at dinner and the excitement of possibly getting caught made me feel adventuresome. I looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Except for the reflection of the lights from the houses around the lake, it was dark and hushed. I could hear the tree frogs croaking and the wind softly moving through the pine trees. It was peaceful and very private.

Or so it seemed.

I unhooked my seat belt and gave Tom the sexiest smile I could muster. I slowly unbuttoned my blouse, reached in, and pulled my boobs out of my lace pushup bra, exposing my nipples. They were already hard from the slight chill of the evening and the anticipation of an evening of grownup fun. I slowly licked my fingers and wet each nipple. Tom was loving this!

I reached over and unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned the top button of his trousers and slowly unzipped him. I could already feel his cock growing in anticipation. I reached inside his boxers, and it eagerly jumped out. It was a bit startling!

“Whoa! Down boy!” I remarked and wrapped my hand around the shaft. I began to slowly stroke and squeeze him. He moaned with pleasure as I kissed the tip, then swirled my tongue up and down the shaft as if it were an ice cream cone melting on a summer day. I then engulfed the head with my mouth and felt Tom’s hands move up my arms to my shoulders.

“Ip you uch ma head mm biding it oft…” I said.

“What?”

I came up for air and took his cock out of my mouth.

“I haven’t figured out how to talk with a mouth full of cock. I said that if you touch my head, I’m biting your dick off.”

“Don’t worry, babe, I know the rules. Look, Mom, no hands.”

“Good boy,” I said and dove back down into his lap.

Tom loves it when I gag on his cock. Why do guys think that is so sexy? I think it sounds like our cat trying to cough up a hairball. But it made Tom’s cock very hard to hear it, and the sweet-salty taste of his precum turned me on. I pulled my skirt up so I could get a free hand inside my panties.

After a few more licks and some enthusiastic moans, I got into a rhythm. My head bobbed up and down on his shaft like a duck in a mud puddle. I started wondering how much longer this would take when I heard Tom say something I haven’t heard during a blow job, before or since.

“Uh-oh.”

Not good, I thought and came up for air just in time to see a flashlight heading toward our car. There was no way we could get ourselves put back together again. We were busted!

I could see the headline. “Housewife Arrested for Public Indecency – ‘But it was my husband!’” And the mug shot: lipstick smeared, hair mussed, mascara running from crying.

Tom started the car and rolled down his window. I hid my face in his lap and tried to get my boobs back in my bra.

“Hi, Mr. Anderson. I didn’t recognize your car. Is everything okay?” It was Brad, the assistant tennis pro. He had given me a lesson a few days ago.

“Yep, yep, everything is just fine here. Just enjoying the peace and quiet!” Then he said, “Ouch! Annie, be careful!” I was trying to get Tom’s cock back into his pants, and I must have gotten something caught in his zipper.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. A. I didn’t see you down there. I mean, um, in the car and all. I mean. Oh my.”

Poor boy. I’m sure Brad, who was about 22 years old, was stunned at the thought of a sixty-year-old married lady giving her husband a blow job in the parking lot of the country club.

“Okay, well, you guys are fine. I’m just going to… go. Gee, I’m really sorry. See you next week, Mrs. A! Keep working on that stroke—I mean backhand! Oh, heck, I don’t know what I mean. Sorry!” He was babbling.

“That’s it,” I said to Tom. “We are resigning. And moving. How in the world am I going to ever face him again? You and your bets!” I sat up and rebuttoned my blouse.

“Wait, that’s it?” Tom protested. “I’m sitting here with a hard-on, and that’s it? Show’s over? No way!”

“We just got caught red-handed by the 20-something tennis pro, and you still want me to finish you off? Right here?”

“Well, I guess we could go home. I was kind of enjoying this until, well, we got interrupted. It’s like we are in high school again—Hey! Your parents aren’t home right now. Let’s go make out in your room!” Tom suggested playfully.

“I don’t know, Tommy. When we do that, I get a funny feeling down there, all slippery, and it’s hard to resist. I don’t want to go all the way with a boy until I get married.”

”No problem!” Tom said. “I promise I’ll keep all of my clothes on. We’ll just take yours off!”

“Hmm. That might work. I’ll show you what I can do with my pillow.”

We raced home. Despite his promises, Tommy’s clothes stayed on only long enough to get to our bedroom. Because I had left him high and dry, he came about 30 seconds after putting his cock inside me. I was so wet that it was like I was 15 again.

While we waited for him to get hard again, he sucked and fingered me to a gushing, toe-curling orgasm. I then sucked his pussy-flavored cock until he got ready to go again. I turned my back to him, and he rode me until I came again and was begging for him to come inside me a second time. He thoughtfully obliged.

Now I ask you, do you really think a lady with a Ph.D. in English Lit. doesn’t know that Jane Austen never married?

Who really “won” the bet?