It was so hot that I could hardly breathe. Or maybe it was my nerves because my husband was up next. The bets had been cast; the lights of the dank basement flickered. The frenzied mob made their discontent known by yelling various slangs and phrases that were an assault to the ear. Between the yelling, the sweating, and the palpable feel of antagonism in the air, I knew it would only take one spark, one comment, one smirk, and this would turn into a blood bath.

Just then, the doors opened, and the warriors emerged from their respective locker rooms. The crowd cheered on their favorite contestant. The powerhouse that they believed in enough to risk 50/50 odds. The adrenaline was like a drug, and they had to have that hit, so they took the risk.

As the competitors stepped into the ring, a hush came over the crowd. The ref didn’t even have to have a mic; he simply stated, “Standard rules apply, gentleman. And no funny business. Prior to the match, we flipped a coin, and Mr. Frasier will have the advantage.”

After a quick fist bump, the opponents took their places. From the back corner came one lonely voice, “We love you, O’Conner!”

Mr. O’Conner looked up toward the fan and waived, smacked his fist against his chest, indicating that he loved them too.

Both men took one last drink from their coaches, and mouth guards went in.

The tension in the sizzling sauna of a room was like electricity bouncing from one person to the next, serving only to amplify the excitement and anxiety of everyone present.

The ref placed his hand directly between the men, let out a grunt, and quickly pulled his hand away, signifying that the match had begun. The crowd drew in a collective gasp. All eyes focused on the center of the room.

Frasier took no time in moving his black pawn from E2 to E4.

Knowing that he was starting his typical Sicilian gameplay with his own twists on the patterns, the crowd erupted.

With some assurance that they knew the first few moves, a few dads dressed in starched khakis, pastel polos, and lace-up oxfords ran upstairs to check the burgers on the grill. Moms clad in sundresses, platform sandals, and diamond rings that could be seen from the moon went up to check that nannies had all the kids under control.

I knew that my husband was the favorite in this match, and the mix of perfume, cologne, and sweat was making my head throb, so I ascended the steps of our neighborhood community center. Ahh, the fresh air hit me like a crisp, cool rain.

I looked around and laughed at the contrast of the scene above ground to that below. Above, perfect families played yard games and ate hamburgers and chips on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. As opposed to the scene in the bowels of the community center where dads held cigars in their angered faces, and moms yelled, “What the fuck!” throwing their cashmere cardigans on the dirty floor in moments of desperation.

This was Fight Club in the Westfall Neighborhood. And it was an ironclad secret.

Hearing the thunder of the crowd getting louder, I knew I better get back to the dungeon for the conclusion of the match. As I squirmed my way to the front of the impassioned mob, I saw both men looking at the board as if that was the only thing left in the world.

And then it happened.

O’Conner moved his hand to a particular piece, and before he even touched a finger to it, I saw the glint in my husband’s eye. The same glimmer as when he kisses the back of my neck or rubs my nipples to try to warm me up for sex. It’s his, I’m playing you like a fiddle, and then I’m going to fuck you look.

O’Conner made the fateful move.

My husband countered for the win.

Half the crowd roared. The other half booed.

My husband now turned that same look on me.

Oh, shit! I guess I know what I am in for tonight, I mused to myself.

My champion collected his share of the bounty, and the rest went in the pot for next month’s food. We had a lovely lunch, socialized, played games, and as the sun began to hang low, we all packed up and headed home.

I showered first, then off to the kitchen to clean up dishes, clean out the cooler, and do other things that must be done after a picnic. Hubby showered after me and came down to the kitchen just as I put away my last chip ‘n dip platter.

“Well, there is my Champion. Adoring fans want to know what you’re going to spend your spoils on; I heard you might take your wife out to an expensive dinner,” I giggled shamelessly.

“Well, that all depends,” he said, looking at me with that twinkle I had anticipated. He wrapped his arms around my waist like a boa constrictor and drew me nearer to him. First, he smelled my hair, then nibbled my ear, then he whispered, “Call me your Champion again.”

“Mmm, you are my Champion, Mr. Frasier,” I purred, tilting my head, begging with my body for more of, well, everything that he was doing honestly.

I only had a thin robe on, making it easy for me to feel his growing shaft now pressed into the crevice between my plump, soft cheeks.

As a rule, I drew the line at anything back door! However, on occasion, his excitement rose to such a level of animal passion that I was carried beyond my line, knowing that I would be safe and that we would both experience something incredible.

Feeling the vibration of lust in his whole body, I could tell tonight was going to be one of those nights.

He pressed his rod hard into me and rubbed up and down. His kisses became frantic on my neck. My arm raised to wrap around the side of his head as I pushed myself back into him, meeting his pressure. With my arm out of the way, he moved his hand under the opening of my robe, grabbing and squeezing my breast like you would test fruit for ripeness. Urged on by my purring and moaning, he lifted his fingers into my mouth; I sucked, making them sufficiently wet before he clamped them firmly on my nipple and began twisting and pinching, making me moan even louder.

After a few moments of this nipple play and dry humping, he whispered in my ear, “Let me take you upstairs.”

I didn’t answer, just turned, hopped into his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. Now I could feel the head of his engorgement pressing just at the edge of my sodden tunnel, teasing me a bit as he shifted his weight for each step. I knew he could feel my warm liquid soaking his boxers as he slowly headed to our bedroom.

He put me down so gently and slid the robe off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. I slid his boxers over his hips. As they fell to the floor, he knelt on the bed and pulled me to him. He just looked at me for a moment, caressed my curves, ran his thumb over my lips, and held my cheek in his hand.

“Since I am your champion, can we do that thing that you don’t normally like to do but sometimes you let me do?” The smile on his handsome tanned face was like a little boy that just won his little league championship. It was adorable and irresistible.

He accepted the slightest of nods as permission enough and sprung into action. We rolled around on the bed, arms and legs caught up in a knot of tangled vines, our breath became one rapid ventilation as steamy as a hot shower. Petting, caressing, pinching, kissing, anything to get our blood boiling.

Then in one smooth roll, he moved up and entered me. There was just enough resistance that as he stretched my tunnel to meet his size, I gushed. He smiled as he kept pushing through my clasp on his manhood with the extra lubrication that I just provided.

Hubby gently pushed my knees upward towards my shoulders, broadening everything between my legs even wider for him to admire and expend. Which, of course, he did.

He grabbed my hand, placing my fingers on my swollen, tender button, and with his fingers over mine, began rubbing in circles and side to side. With this delightful titillation, my hips lift off the bed, and his shaft slid effortlessly into me again. Our eyes were closed, but our bodies worked in sync like a well-oiled machine to find each other in our desire, the vibrations acting like a homing beacon.

He propelled in and out of me as we rubbed my most tender spot. As he pulsed faster, we rubbed more quickly, and he started hitting my other tender spot.

“Oh god,” I screamed. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop fucking me. That’s it. There. There.”

We kept polishing my pearl on the outside while his hammer pounded away at my jewel on the inside. I felt the heat start to rise in me, and the muscles in my belly tightened. Just then, I felt a twitch inside from his hard tool. I opened my eyes to find him smiling at me, and that connection was enough. One. Two. Three more strokes to send us tumbling over the edge of orgasm together, still looking into each other’s eyes and letting out what can only be described as primal growls.

As he slowed his strokes, we could both feel the copious amount of cream leaking from my pussy now. The mixture of our hot culmination, now running out of my cave and down the crevice where his hard prick had pushed against me at the kitchen counter only an hour ago and started tonight’s festivities.

Now he looked at me and smirked, “Be a shame to waste all that yummy goodness, ma’am.” This was always the voice he took on when I let him do this part. It sounded kind of like a TV cop or a cowboy saying, “Howdy, partner.”

I giggled softly, but it didn’t sway the heat still radiating off my lower body. He slid a pillow under my hips and then started stroking ever so tenderly from the front of my velvety slit down to the bottom, not stopping as he stroked down into that crevice and all the way back again.

It was painstakingly slow and wispy, never showing anything too much attention on the first few passes. When I bucked my hips, he let out a laugh and pressed more firmly as he swiped through my fissure from end to end, giving love to my clit, wiggling a finger inside me as he passed, and then finally circling my tight rosebud over and over as he came to the end of the line.

“Uhhh,” I drew in my breath hard at the friction he created here, the heat building even though there was plenty of juice to oil his dallying.

I didn’t realize I was clenching my cheeks together until I heard him say, “Relax, baby,” and he was rubbing my bottom softly till I relaxed back down onto the pillow.

Placing one hand on either cheek, he spread me apart, and I heard his satisfied moan before I comprehended the thick, hot tongue that was licking up my crack. Lapping up all the cum that was left from our earlier foray and assailing my taut star.

Just when I thought he was done, I heard the lid of a bottle snap and smelled coconut before I felt oil running down my butt and pooling under me on the pillow. As his tongue continued to work its magic, he added the tip of his finger, probing slightly in and out a few times then waiting to see if I would stop him.

I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to. I was off in a cloud of euphoria, too close to orgasm to put together a comprehensive thought. So, I just lifted my hips towards him, urging him on, and he got my message.

He pushed his finger slowly in, paused a moment when he felt me tighten hard. Then he pressed past this as I yelped like an injured dog, and then both of us relaxed in it, and he was able to finger me more easily. With his other hand, he ran a finger into my quivering pussy, so he was finger both holes.

“Oh! Fuck yes, baby! Faster! Faster! Make me cum!” I yelled at him.

He obliged happily and rammed his fingers into me, finger fucking me as hard as he could in my pussy and my ass.

“I’m cumming now!” I warned him.

“Yes, baby cum for me, cum for me!” he encouraged as my body seized up with wave after wave of orgasm, taking me to a whole other world of pleasure that lasted for several minutes before I finally came back down to earth.

He took his finger out of my pussy, and said, “Are you ready for me?”

Still unable to form actual words, I just uttered, “Mmhmm.”

Kneeling tall, he added more oil, and where his finger once was, I now felt the head of his cock pressing against my clenched sphincter. He rubbed it again and said soothingly, “Try to relax, baby.”

Then he slowly goaded his rock-hard member into me. Again, there was the initial scream where I wanted to say, STOP!

But we breathed through that together, and as he slid past that, we both exhaled, and I felt him shudder. I knew it wouldn’t be much longer. I was right.

He pulled partway out and didn’t even push all the way back in before he grunted hard and filled up my insides with his hot cream.

He held there a minute and then pulled his less enlarged member out of me with much less discomfort. He removed the pillow, lay next to me, and took me in his arms.

I was back to purring in satisfaction. “Is my Champion happy now?”

He was quiet for a moment, then proceeded in a mocking tone, “That was ok, but next year I was thinking we could give the winner a trophy too!”

I smacked him on the chest, and we erupted into laughter before heading to the shower again to wash off the sweat from the night’s entertainment.