I'll Take That Bet

My husband, Craig, bought me the outfit after I lost a bet on a football game. I should have known better than to put money on my Cowboys. But I lost, and even though the season had long been over, I still hadn’t made good on payment.

The wager we shook on was that if my Cowboys won, he had to take me shopping for a new purse. An EXPENSIVE purse. If HIS team won, he was STILL going shopping, but rather than a purse for ME, he was going to buy something for himself - a sexy outfit that I had to wear for him. Knowing that option left quite a few open possibilities ,and I didn’t want to somehow get stuck wearing some over-the-top leather getup with metal spikes, I told him I had to sign off on his item of choice for the bet to be official. There was a lot of scrolling through online lingerie stores and a little back and forth. As expected, he showed me a few items that made me respond that if I were 25 and a porn star then perhaps, but that they were a hard “no.” After showing me an ensemble that I considered but ultimately responded no to, he laughed and called me out, saying that I had no faith in my team and that a bet has to at least be a little risky, or it’s not really gambling.

He had a point, and I couldn’t back down from that, so I agreed to the last selection he had showed me – a sheer, black, CROTCHLESS, full body stocking with a very low-cut V-neck in front that wrapped around the neck and left shoulders and back exposed. It was completely see through but, admittedly, elegant in a slutty, high-class call girl kind of way. And frankly, it was WAY better than the schoolgirl outfit he selected comprising of the stereotypical green plaid skirt, tight white button down blouse tied in the front and long white thigh-heel stockings. It looked like it came out of a Brittney Spears starter kit. Not my style and a bit creepy in my opinion. I finally agreed to the body stocking, to which he responded with an amendment, saying that payment would not be accepted without an accompanying pair of high heels. So, that was that, and a bet was a bet.

My Cowboys were yet again an utter disappointment, and he’d won handily. And now he was calling me a welcher because two months later, I still hadn’t put on the body stocking that had arrived within days of the big game. He gave me some ribbing about it, calling me “scared” and “prude” and “lame”. I knew he was just playing, but I also felt the call to action. He was throwing down the gauntlet, and I had to respond.

Two days later on Saturday morning, we woke up early to a great day. Craig left for an early tee-time, and I settled in on the back patio to sit with my coffee and a book with plans to lounge by the pool later and perhaps work in the garden a bit. I sat and read my cheesy romance thriller, and then planted some flowers in the garden. The solitude gave me time to think back on “the bet,” and I decided that today was the day I was going to follow through. I headed into the house and took a long bath. I put on some sexy R&B tunes to set the mood and began to do my hair and makeup and put on some cute earrings, some bracelets and rings, and a cute, blingy necklace – my usual repertoire. Then I got out and pulled on the body stocking and looked at myself in the mirror. Yep…high-class call girl. It showed off A LOT of my body. Everything in fact. But it was sexy, and I felt that way. I added the crown jewel of six inch black heels, took a last look and gave myself a “damn you’re good” wink in the mirror.

Not long after, I heard the unmistakable sound of our back screen door sliding open and shutting. He was home from golf. I jumped up from my spot on the couch in the living room where I’d been waiting for Craig to get home. I stood in front of the little wet bar with my back to the den where he would walk into the living room from, holding onto the bar and bent over just enough for him to visually verify that his gift was indeed crotchless. I arched my back to give him my best naughty porn star look as I heard him enter the room. Not a word from him. Success! I’d struck him speechless. A good sign that he was enjoying the show he was getting. I smiled and turned to give him a good look at the front, saying, “you like what you see?”

Complete shock and embarrassment followed. Standing there completely exposed, wearing nothing but expensive jewelry, a sheer, crotchless body stocking and high heels, I froze as a large black man stood just ten feet away, staring at my body. I recognized him as one of the sanitation workers who’d emptied our bins earlier in the day. I can only assume that he’d seen me just I’d seen them working. He was big and burly. He looked to be six-foot-three or four weighing in at least 250 pounds. He looked muscular with broad shoulders but had the full gut of an older man who enjoyed pumping iron and drinking beer. He was dressed in the traditional blue jump suit that you’d expect a sanitation worker to be wearing. It fit him tight, and his thick arms and legs strained against the material. He was bald with a graying, close-cut beard and a pair of big, heavy work boots.

I guess the shock of a stranger standing there in my living room took hold because I didn’t react immediately, and we stood there looking at one another. Then he reminded me of how exposed I was when he said, “Daaaaaaammmnnn. Hell ya, I like what I see. These new houses got some damn fine amenities!” He licked his lips as he looked me up and down, making me feel like one of those old cartoons where the big bad wolf imagines one of the three little pigs as a big, tasty, ready-to-eat ham. And I was STILL frozen there. I made feeble attempts to cover my crotch and boobs, but it was futile. Thinking back, I don’t know why I didn’t run away. I knew I shouldn’t be there. But my mind raced and wandered and the excitement took hold as he stepped more into the living room, continuing to look at my body. “Mmm!,” he grunted while he rubbed his hands together as if developing some elaborate scheme in his head. “I could use a little piece of that tasty white meat right about now! That’s what a nigga need!”

I was shocked. But my legs didn’t move. And now he was a foot or two in front of me as he looked down into my eyes. I watched his eyes travel down to my exposed boobs. I shivered and breathed heavily, knowing how vulnerable I was at that moment. And how excited I was. And curious. I suppose that’s why when he reached out I didn’t move away. He put his hand on my breast. I’ve got big boobs, but his huge hands covered my boob as he grop-ed me. He wasn’t gentle. Not romantic. He just squeezed my breast and then reached out for the other to fondle them both. I glanced across the room and could see the two of us in the mirror hanging on the wall, and I suddenly realized what the scene would look like to someone who’d just walked in. There I was, a prim and proper suburban white housewife, pretty much fully exposed in naughty lingerie with some black man grop-ing me in my own living room! I looked like a dirty slut…and I really liked how it felt. It was arousing and exciting and so unacceptable in my life. It always had been. And that made it even more delicious.

One of his hands slid up my chest and wrapped around my neck for a moment ad then slid behind my head and grabbed a handful of my hair forcefully. Not so much as to hurt, but enough to let me know his intention. My body trembled under his touch as I stood there in front of him, helpless to do anything but no desire to move. Then he stopped abruptly and stood back, smiling as he continued to look at me. His eyes lowered to my boobs as he reached for the zipper of his jumpsuit resting on his chest. He began to pull the zipper, exposing his big barrel chest, revealing that he had no shirt on underneath. I watched the zipper lower as it reached his crotch. I was glued to his hand in anticipation of what might happen next. With one hand he pulled one side of the jumpsuit to the side and reached inside with his other hand. I licked my own lips instinctively as he reach down his pant leg and pulled both cock and balls free and let them spill out in front of me. I was stunned. His cock wasn’t fully erect, but it easily dwarfed my husband’s cock. Even his big bull balls were more than my husband’s penis as they were big and full and heavy and hung low between his legs. He was uncut and thick and a huge vein protruded and ran down the length of his black shaft.

I looked up at him innocently as if I didn’t know what to do. And in fact I didn’t. He was huge and any dirty thoughts I’d had running through my brain didn’t come anywhere close to what I was thinking before he’d taken his cock out. Now I stared at it in front of me and realized I had no idea what to do with a cock so big. In my head I’ve always told myself that size didn’t matter. I always believed it. Men who bragged about their size didn’t realize women can handle it, but now I wasn’t so sure. This man’s cock was menacing. I was suddenly back to scared and apprehensive, and shocked and even offended. But he clearly didn’t care as he grabbed his cock with one hand and slowly began to stroke himself and he put his other hand on my head, pushing me down to my knees. On my way down I knew what he wanted. And he knew that I knew. And he smiled more as if he knew that in my mind part of me didn’t want to, but I was going to do it anyway. So as I felt is growing warm cock push against my lips, I parted them. I wrapped my lips around the head and was resigned to the fact that I was about to give this black men and never even met a blowjob. But that’s not what happened. Instead, he held a hand on my head and pushed his cock in my mouth. And kept pushing. And just like that I had the biggest cock I’d ever seen taking up more space in my mouth than I ever imagined even possible! He slid in a few more times and I did what I could to suck it and lick it inside my mouth, but soon enough he was pushing further down my throat than I could handle. I was gagging on him. I made sounds as a struggled to accommodate such a huge black cock down my throat, and it seemed the more I struggled, the more forceful he got with his thrusts.

Now he had another handful of my hair as he looked down at me, thrusting his fat cock into my mouth. “That’s it, bitch.” He coaxed. “Suck dat black dick.” I looked up as him and just did my best, but it would be better described as letting him use my mouth for his pleasure than actually giving him head. This went on for quite some time right there in my living room until he stepped back and looked at me stroking his cock. “I need to get after that white pussy, bitch. Stand up,” he commanded. I did as told and he put his hands on my shoulders and turned me around and then pushed me onto the couch on my hands and knees, facing the big living room window. “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout he said,” as he admired me from behind, my big butt sticking out, completely exposed by the crotchless opening in the body suit. He grabbed my hair again and pulled back, forcing me to look forward and finally realize that this entire scene was enfolding in from of our window in the middle of the day! I felt his thick head rubbing up and down my soaked pussy. His cock was so warm and it felt wonderful rubbing against me, but he had other things in mind as I felt him begin to push inside.

I tensed as his thickness spread me open and I felt him begin to fill me up. Part of me was still shocked, but another part of me desired to feel all of him inside me, knowing all too well that it would be a wild mixture of pleasure and pain. And that’s exactly what his plan was, but he was so big it took a bit of effort to get it in. But he was determined, and he wrapped his big, rough, dark hand around my throat and worked his cock back and forth, deeper and deeper until he was pretty much the star of his own Star Trek movie, going where no man had gone before. I grunted and moaned and screamed until he was finally as far in as he could go, practically pulling my insides out each time he retreated to prepare for another forward thrust. Then he began stroking in a rhythmic pace, sliding in and out of me. First a slow pace, gradually getting faster. Before long he put a foot up on the coach beside me, practically mounting me like a ravenous a****l, pumping in and out of me while he pulled my hair, grop-ed my boobs, spanked my ass occasionally and grabbed my hips to try and bury his cock just a little deeper inside me with each thrust. His enormous black balls swung back and forth like a pendulum and slapped against my stomach with every thrust forward.

“That’s it, bitch,” he grunted. “Take all that nigga dick,” That was all I needed to hear, and I exploded with a miraculous orgasm, spasming on his cock, convulsing underneath him. He never lost rhythm as he pounded me hard, calling me names like “married white bitch,” “nasty slut” and “whore”. I kept cumming over and over. I was sore. I felt dirty and used, but that feeling also made me feel alive and sexy. But he hadn’t had his fill just yet. He grabbed my hair with both hands, making me arch my back and raise my ass up for him as he continued to pound inside me with no mercy. And finally he stopped and grunted loud as he rammed deep inside one last time. A primal, a****listic grunt. And suddenly I felt my insides flooded with his hot, sticky cum. His cock pulsed inside me and I could feel him pumping his seed inside me like a machine. So much that it had no place to go, and bit egan to flow out long the sides of his cock and run down my thighs. His cock was so virile and full and demanded satisfaction…and he got.

He seemed to pump inside me for an eternity until he was finally done. He pulled out and the rest of his cum spilled out of me, and I collapsed on the couch, struggling to catch my breath, sweaty, legs weak and shaking. He simply zipped up his jumpsuit and turned to walk out. He didn’t look back but simply said, “Trash pickup every Saturday, slut.”