Game Day

Amy Lynn Steele had an uneasy feeling in her stomach as she placed her bare feet onto the cool slate tiled floor of the bathroom and checked her watch. She knew she was not late, in fact she was running almost a half hour early, an almost unheard of phenomenon in her busy life. Now she hesitated, but not because she was getting ready a half hour early and could afford the time to lallygag a bit, but because on the bathroom vanity lay a satchel of provocative clothes. Twice she started to pick up the bag, and twice she put it back down. There would have been no hesitation if she was going to wear the little uniform for her husband, but with her husband's boss and co-workers in the house, Amy knew what sort of image she would be presenting them.

As the sounds of skates sliding over ice reached her ears, and the pre-game babble of excited announcers began their coverage of the first game of the Stanley Cup Final's, Amy reached into the bag and pulled out the colorful uniform. It hardly made for a handful of clothing, and with a surge of courage that came from the conflict of exhibitionism and fear, Amy began to slide her petite frame into the same cheerleading uniform she had squeezed her body into only six months before.

Her husband Gary certainly was not perfect, but he had spent the last ten years married to a wench that did not appreciate his dedication to his children. For years he had went without luxuries to provide for his family, only to have to fight for every nickel and dime he could get at the divorce hearing. As his new wife, Amy wanted to right that wrong and had a two part plan to give her sports-crazed husband a perfect Superbowl Sunday.

The first part came with the delivery of a large screen television. Costing more than her engagement and wedding rings combined, Amy had signed the loan agreement for the plasma screen television without hesitation and was not surprised to learn that a his co-workers and boss would be joining him for the festive football day, eager to see the ultimate game on the ultimate television. Continuing with that ultimate theme, Amy received another delivery, but this time it was much smaller and much less expensive. Parading around in a sassy cheerleading outfit, Amy knew she would be the ultimate host for her husband's Super Bowl Party.

For the Superbowl Party however, Amy was not as much nervous as much as she was excited. Knowing her husband would be thrilled to have his beautiful wife dress the part, she remembered putting on the tight uniform. Everything about the uniform was wrong; from the predominately dark crimson red color of the uniform she ordered to match the colors of her husband's team, to the tight stretchy fabric. She had ordered it a size smaller than what she normally wore, and was not disappointed when the polyester top clung tightly to her chest, billowing out and hinting at the extra cleavage that such a tight top produced. The bottom half of the outfit did not disappoint either. The soft pleated skirt clung tightly to her shapely hips and bottom with a hemline that hovered well above the halfway point from her waist to her knees. She knew most cheerleaders did not wear nylons underneath their skirts, but to give her winter legs a tanned and evenly toned look, Amy opted for them on that cold blustery January day. The very sheer, tan nylons almost were invisible however when she laced up her red and white canvas shoes over matching red and white slouch socks. Stepping out from the kitchen with a tray full of finger rolls and a handful of long necks, Amy distinctly remembered the look of amazement on the men's faces as she strutted about the room and delivered the food.

"Now this is a perfect Superbowl Party," she remembered Jack saying as he grinned at Gary.

"I'd say," came his boss's reply. "A great T.V. and an even better hostess. You got it made my friend."

Amy did not bother to ruin the moment with words. She was content to let the men look at their hostess with awe as she delivered their beers and let them pick the diminutive sandwiches of tuna, ham and egg salad. She made her delivery to her husband last and added a kiss to his cheek for added measure before sitting down beside him. As she placed her long legs onto the coffee table and cracked her own beer, Gary could not help but ask her about her recent deluge of generosity.

"What do I owe you for all of this?"

"Nothing, you're a good husband, you deserve this," Amy said, watching his hand slowly sink to her thigh and gently rub it right up to the hemline of the short pleated skirt. She also watched as the other two men looked on with jealousy. Amy only gave her husband a wanton smile that promised the outfit would come off in the heat of passion later that night.

For much of the game Amy played the part of hostess well, fetching beers, retrieving trays of food and making sure their empty bottles were promptly picked up. Between these tasks, she drank a few beers herself, watched as much of the game as her hostess duties allowed and struck up a conversation with her husband's boss. They had a few things in common and the two chatted up quite the storm between stoppages in plays, commercials and the endless statistics that the announcers never seemed to tire from reciting.

As another commercial presented itself upon yet another stoppage of play, Gary excused himself to go to the bathroom while Amy was beginning to crave a cigarette. Since Gary did not smoke, a concession was made that she could only smoke in the garage and as she made her way there, Gary's boss followed her.

As Amy leaned up against Gary's workbench puffing smoke out of her lungs, his boss promptly lit up a cigar and blew smoke rings as their conversation continued between their inhalation of the toxic smoke. As they chatted, Amy was sure she could see the mans crotch, bulging from an erection he was trying to suppress.

She was not offended, for Amy knew what sort of image she presented in the skimpy cheerleading outfit and tried not to smile as the unheated garage made her chilly, and thus made her nipples stand out just a bit more. Trying to hide what her own body could not, Amy turned from the man as she pretended to look out the back window at the snow drifting around the hedge. As she did so, it was just the situation Gary's boss was hoping for.

He had been toying with a roll of duct tape as he smoked his cigar, but now he put it to sinister use. Just as Amy heard the duct tape being ripped from the roll, she turned to see John charging towards her. Before she could even get a scream out, he had placed the duct tape around her mouth. Grabbing her arms from behind, he pushed her across the workbench and began to add a few wraps of tape around her wrists as well.

Amy kicked and screamed, but her soft shoes and awkward position came harmlessly upon her attacker, and her screams were barely audible, let alone penetrated the insulated walls of the garage and the sounds of the full surround sound television belting out the details of the game.

"No. No. No, "Amy muffled out through the silvery tape, but all to no avail. In an instant John was behind her, grabbing at her mini-skirt and hiking it up to her waist. As she squirmed helplessly, John placed his thumbnail up to the reinforced crotch of her nylons, and easily ripped a gaping hole in them. Amy cried out at the degrading result and tried to clamp her legs tightly together as he used a single hand to unbuckle his belt, undo the front of his trousers and push his pants and underwear down to his knees in one fell swoop.

In her awkward position is was fruitless to resist. She felt the man settle between the apex of her legs, felt his uncircumcised tip split her outer lips and then reach her neither hole. She cried out once more, still holding desperately onto the idea of being monogamous all through her married life.

"But you're married," she moaned through the tape.

"But not to a woman like you. So fine, so pretty, so thrilling..."

And then her husband's boss thrust forward, shocking her body into submission as she opened, barely, but enough for her to feel the pain of the attack as he began to send his cock into the young woman twenty years his junior.

Amy made a loud muffled cry as his blunt ended shaft sunk into her a few inches. She was not sure if it was his untapered shaft, or if he was actually bigger than most of the men she had ever slept with, but his finger had not adequately opened her for what she was going to take. Tears began to stream down her face from the pain, but Amy's captor was not about to let her reluctance stop him from getting his pleasure.

"I like tight girls Amy," he said, and she knew he must have been on cloud nine as he forced his way inside her snug vagina.

Amy felt like she was tearing inside, an intense burning coming from the friction of having him forcing his way within her. As he opened her up millimeter by millimeter, she fought to maintain her balance. Amy obviously was on a precarious perch, teetering on the tip toes of her canvas shoes and slouched forward over the workbench. Only the heavily planked bench top against her waistline kept her immobile enough for him to shove his raging hard on the rest of the way into her.

"I think you're the tightest woman I've ever had."

"That's because I don't want this," she mumbled only half-audibly through the silvery, sticky tape.

"Right, like you didn't want to be ogled at wearing an outfit like that?"

"I only dressed for the football game," she said, now too upset to continue talking as tears streamed down her face.

He was not bothered by that fact, or the fact that she cringed every time he placed a kiss around her neck and shoulders. When he swooped in with his hands to cup her breasts and knead her nipples, it did have the effect of making Amy slicker inside.

"You make a beautiful cheerleader," he lamented, and plunged his cock in and out of her quicker and quicker. His kneading hands helped in that regard; confusing her body into thinking that this was something she actually wanted and let her pussy ease around his prick.

He quickly moved inside of her, banging her into the edge of the bench top that she tried to keep in check so that their noises did not radiate into the living room and the football party it contained. It was difficult at best, and once when he gave her a very hard shove that sent her hips gyrating, Amy heard the radial arm saw of her husband rattle on its mounts. She cringed at the sound it made, and was not surprised when a few moments later, the door to the living room slowly swung open.

Gary stood at the door of the garage with his jaw gaped widely open. Before him stood his wife, bound up with duct tape as his boss pressed his partially nude body deeper into her vagina. He could see tears streaming down her eyes as the older man behind her clearly took what he sought. Her body jerked and bounced into the bench top, her young supine body shaking from her fear and tears as he forced himself within her depths again and again. Still he did not stop, even upon seeing Gary step into the garage.

He was close anyway. To close to stop and it mattered little what the consequences were. He had taken the young vixen and had no regrets about it. Then came three hard shoves and he could feel the unstoppable feeling well up in his balls. It surged, swelled and then released itself inside the woman in a rush of hot, thick liquid that shot deep into her womb. He pounded into her a few more times for good measure even as he was going soft, then let it slow to an ooze before he withdrew his flaccid member with a pop and looked at Gary with a sheepish grin.

Gary gave him a stern look, but did not move. He did not jump in a punch him like Amy thought he would do. He did not even grab him by the scuff of the neck and throw him through the garage door in anger. Instead he grinned, a sly little grin in a way that Amy had never seen him grin before, and then thumbed his boss towards the door leading to the living room as he stepped deeper into the garage.

As his boss began to hoist his pants to a more respectable level, Amy watched from the corner of her eye as Gary lowered his. In shock, Amy felt her own husband move up behind her vulnerable position and insert himself in the same soiled hole that his boss had just exited. As she began to cry again from the added indignation and willingness to share his own wife, Amy felt her husband's familiar shaft begin to fill her sore and already used vagina again.

"Oh Amy you slut. You fucking slut," she heard him say as he began to thrash into her harder and faster than she ever had before. ""God I love this...I love sloppy seconds."

Amy was a rush of emotions as she realized she had allowed her husband's perverted fetish to come out. She wanted the entire ordeal to stop, for their monogamous relationship to continue, for their marriage to endure as it was supposed to. Not like this, not some pent-up sick passion wrought with violence and non-consent.

Yet with this indignation came another feeling, a feeling so deep and disturbed that Amy never knew it existed. Sure she had fantasies about rape, but she always thought they were just that, fantasies. Now that it was real she felt scared, helpless and vulnerable. But with those feelings came freedom, excitement and thrill.

It felt so different for her. The same sweet shaft of her husband, but it felt so odd, his thrusts pumping another mans semen deeper into her womb as her husband swooned with the feelings of sharing his wife. She could tell it was more than a novelty, more than an interesting turn of events, but a deep primal need that she never knew existed. She could tell this by the extent of his hardness, the extent in which he ground into her, pushing and forcing, enjoying his wife beyond words and gentleness.

As this awareness awakened in tune with her husband, she realized her body was welling up as well. As Gary gave one final push to consummate his ultimate fantasy, she exploded with him. As round after round of pent-up baby batter jettisoned inside her, far powerful then any orgasm she had ever shared with him before, a deep sense of satisfaction overtook her. That very thought extended her release, a mixture of additional man-seed mixing with her own powerful orgasm as she rocked with him upon the workbench, shaking it vigorously despite its heavy construction. His final act was to kiss the nape of her neck and draw out the length of her auburn hair as he slowly went soft within her.

"I suppose...I suppose you want a divorce," he asked her quietly?

"I don't know what I want right now," Amy remembered herself saying nearly five months before. She then remembered her duct tape restraints being removed and fleeing as quickly as possible to the refuge of the bathroom where she took the longest shower of her entire life.

Now Amy stood in the very same bathroom remembering that fateful day. She looked down upon the very cheerleading uniform she had worn for the men that day; the very men that were now in her home for the Stanley Cup Finals. As she thought about her husband's boss taking her so quickly, so roughly that day, she began to think about her husbands surprising reaction, and her own reaction to a fantasy realized. She then flashed a wanton smile into the mirror and knew she could do this again. In fact, as her vagina grew damp at the very thought of her fantasy realized, she secretly hoped the Stanley Cup Play-Offs would go into all seven games.