Roberta & Patrick's Bet Ch. 01

This story is presented in five parts. The story is finished and all chapters have been submitted, so hopefully you should be able to get into the story and enjoy a chapter every day. As always, your comments and observations are welcome.

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My arms went around Patrick's neck, my nose nuzzling into his cheek. I left a kiss there as I pulled back a bit and said, "Happy birthday, Sweet Thing." I hugged him close to me again and then released my hold.

Patrick was sitting at the breakfast table finishing a bowl of cereal. Our two young ones were already off to school. Morning sunlight spilled across the table, a red and rippled patch of it on the opposite side of Patrick's juice glass, a deep shadow on the opposite side of his coffee mug.

He turned his face back toward mine, reaching back to put an arm around my neck, the name 'Roberta' leaving his lips in a way that made me shiver. He pulled me close again, returning the kiss on my cheek and then moving lower to nuzzle my neck.

He was thirty-seven today and this was his seventh birthday he had shared with me as his wife. I wanted to share many, many more with him.

We had met ten years ago when I was a graduate student at a small college in the South. We were an exclusive pair within a few months of meeting. It wasn't long after that when we both began to regard our wedding to be a pre-ordained event we were each looking forward to, rather than wondering if our relationship would survive to see us to the altar.

Patrick stood and I moved in to hug him; he returning the affection with enthusiasm.

"Don't get any ideas," he said. "I can't miss this morning; can't even be late."

It was a Friday. I had to be to work too, although my lab manager stuff was not so critical today, no disasters that I knew of needing my managerial magic today. I could call in, but I thought it just as well that Patrick had important manager stuff going on at work. Birthday sex was on the unspoken and unwritten agenda for today, but I didn't want to blow it, pun intended, on a morning quickie. I preferred to wait for the evening when we could take our time. I had a birthday surprise waiting for him anyway.

"OK," I said. "But get out of there on time or I may decide you don't deserve your birthday present."

Patrick regarded me with a questioning look. "Haven't I already had all the birthday present I'm going to get?" he asked.

He was referring to the previous weekend's Super Bowl Sunday. An executive visiting his firm for a week, Ellen Ryan, had been over to watch the game, as were four young guys from Patrick's office. Here in Baton Rouge we, of course, were all in a tizzy over the possibility that the Saints might bring an NFL championship to the city that had been nearly destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. But Ellen was in from Chicago and wanted the Colts to win. A bet ensued.

Ellen and I became close friends that night, and if you'd like to know what happened you can read her story, called "Ellen's Bet."

Really the term 'friend' doesn't quite do it for me; I've never shared so personal a crisis with another woman, and I feel closer to her than the word 'friend' really conveys. Patrick and our four male guests had each bet a thousand dollars on the Saints, but Ellen didn't have the cash to cover the bets.

She proposed betting her body against the cash. I don't know what motivated her to propose that bet, although having experienced a similar situation I can guess. I don't think she herself even really knows why. I don't know. But Ellen and I have promised to stay in touch, and eventually I want to explore that subject with her. But not yet; not yet. She is still too close to the event itself to dig at all into it.

Of course, betting on the Colts she had lost her bet; had spent the rest of the night naked, her body available for use by the five men she had wagered against.

It wasn't like in the erotic stories. She didn't spend the night in orgasmic bliss. She spent the night getting fucked. The next morning she had a sore vagina, an overused asshole, and a jaw and mouth that begged for rest. It was an ordeal. My heart went out to her, remembering my similar experience, and I helped her through the night as best as I could.

Anyway, I had told Patrick that with his birthday imminent my present to him would be permission to participate in the bet. Of course, the men could have lost, in which case I hoped he would not expect another gift today after blowing a thousand dollars on a Super Bowl bet.

But, hey, it's the guy's birthday. The thousand dollars is back in our account. I had thought of buying him something, but you know how men are. They're about as likely to open up about what sort of present they really want as they are to start menstruating. So they get ties. Serves them right.

But yours truly put her little mind to it and came up with something, although it is not the kind of present you buy with a credit card, and it might well end up being a very big present for me.

"Oh, no," I told Patrick. "I've got a present I think you may enjoy."

Patrick looked at me expectantly. "Go to work," I said. "You know you're not going to get it out of me now." I made a zipping motion across my lips.

He collected his work things and was soon out the door. I was headed in the same direction shortly after.

On the way home from work we met at Patrick's favorite Mexican restaurant to celebrate his birthday with a few couples we are close to. I'm a steak house kind of girl. I could have ordered a steak at the Mexican place, but preferred to join Patrick and our friends in a Mexican repast.

The dinner was great. We didn't have to be in a hurry. The kids were at my mother's for the night, and likely for the weekend if anyone bothered to ask their preference. My guacamole salad filled me in a tasty way and a couple of margaritas got me feeling relaxed, satisfied, and slinky. I had thought of ordering a third, and would have had I not had to drive my car home.

By the time we had finished dinner with our friends, had the dessert birthday cake, and spent time enjoying each other's company, Patrick and I didn't pull into the garage until after nine o'clock.

As soon as I had thrown my purse onto the entryway hall tree storage bench Patrick's arms were around me from behind, his face buried in my neck.

"Cool your jets there, Birthday Boy," I said. I led him by the hand over to the couch and we sat.

"So I've been waiting all day," Patrick said. "Do I get to find out now, or were you talking about next year's present?"

"Oh no," I said. Now that it had come to the point I either didn't know quite how to begin or was reticent.

"Well, you know how we've tried a few things sexually over the years?" Patrick nodded. "We've found most of them good for both of us." Patrick nodded again.

"The one we don't see eye to eye on is the one where your dick goes up my kiester," I said, using the term for asshole that my mother had always used. "Well, happy birthday."

I paused for effect, then looking in his eyes said, "Maybe."

I saw Patrick's eyes spark with enthusiasm. Our few forays into anal penetration had been enthusiastically promoted and sold by Patrick and were a big and satisfying hit for him. Not so much for me. It was painful for me at the entrance, even with plenty of lube. And the feeling was uncomfortable: too tight and full, too stretched, and too little sexual stimulation for me, except that which I provided to myself. But usually I was not turned on enough to bother.

Then I saw that spark in Patrick's eyes dim just a little.

"Honey, thank you," he said. "It's great of you to offer, but you don't have to do something that you hate just over my birthday."

My heart always melted at moments like these when Patrick firmly placed my feelings and preferences before his own. He did that a lot, I tried my best to reciprocate, and those efforts were one of the reasons I knew we would celebrate our fiftieth together someday.

"Oh, I wouldn't say I hate it," I said, not actually lying. "Hate is really much too strong a word. It's just far down my list of preferences. But it's OK."

Patrick smiled, but got a look on his face. "Um," he began. "Did I hear you say 'happy birthday, maybe'?"

"You did," I said.

"So it's only a 'maybe' that I'll get to open the back door tonight?" He asked.

"That's right," I said. "If you want it you're going to have to win it."

He looked at me oddly, and then a smile showed, the recent wagering which had occurred in our home a fresh memory. "OK, Jimmy the Greek," he said. "But I think I better hear all of this before I say yes."

I went to the dinning room hutch and took out our cribbage board and a deck of cards. I placed them on the coffee table, the same one Ellen had graced just five nights previous. I turned to Patrick.

"A regular win is one point, a skunk win is two points." I explained. "When one player gets one point the other player strips to their underwear. Whoever gets to two points first wins and the loser is done with clothes until noon tomorrow. If you win, my ass is yours until then."

"Till noon." He said.

"Yup," I said. "As many times as you want it." I let out a little laugh. "Well, as many times as you can manage to get it up for."

"Oh, I think you might have a little surprised waiting for you," Patrick said.

"You managed three times with Ellen the other night." I said.

"Which means I can definitely manage at least four for you, Sweetest." He said. "And if I lose?" Patrick asked.

"Do you remember that bet I made back in graduate school?" I asked, making a motion and sound like I was barfing, just as I had at the football game at the moment I lost that bet.

"Sure," Patrick said. "Wish I could have been there to watch you pay it off." He grinned.

"Do you remember what the boys were going to have to do if I won?" I asked.

Patrick got a thinking-cap look on his face. "No, I don't think so," he said.

"Well, at the time I really wondered if watching what they would have to do would turn me on," I said. "And every once in a while over the years when I've thought about that bet that is the part of it I've thought about most."

"So?" Patrick asked.

I cleared my throat. "Well, they were going to have to strip for me, jerk off while I watched, and when they came they would cum on a plate and have to lick it clean." I said. "Oh, and they were going to have to suck each other off too, but since we don't seem to have a spare dick around here I guess we'll just have to skip that part."

"My, my, you are one naughty little girl." Patrick said, giving me a smile.

"Well, it seemed fair to me," I said. "They dreamed up this bet that ended up with me going through this humiliating ordeal. I just thought they should get as good as they wanted to give."

"So," Patrick summed it up. "You lose and I can fuck your ass all I want until noon tomorrow. I lose and I have to jerk off for you."

"And eat your cum," I reminded him.

He seemed to hesitate, but only for a moment. "You've got a bet." He said.