Today was her last chance to win the bet.

Isha's stomach fluttered nervously. Her plan had been in place for more than a week but it wasn't too late to call it off. The thought had nagged at the edge of her mind constantly ever since those first few mouse clicks and keyboard taps had set the whole thing in motion. It's a stupid idea, she told herself. Obviously I'm not going to go through with it. Stop mucking around and just cancel it now.

Somehow she managed to hold off those doubtful voices and now here she was, only a few hours from the moment of truth. She was terrified, though she had to admit the idea was making her just a little horny too.

"Last day of the season today!" Lewis chirped from the kitchen table.

She rolled her eyes at him.

He looked back down at the iPad in front of him, no doubt reading the latest football news. The gloating look on his face remained. As far as he was concerned, the bet was already won. He had no idea what she had planned.

She imagined that triumphant look disappearing, being replaced with a combination of shock, awe, and fear, and she basked deliciously even in that fanciful glory. That childish competitive streak of hers! It had already caused so much trouble.

It was her parents, she thought. Her father especially. His parents--Isha's grandparents--had come over from India in the Fifties. They had worked hard to build a life so that their kids could be born British. "And so I'm British, whatever anyone else thinks. And so are you." He had spent most of his life competing with those around him, arguing and fighting with his peers to overthrow Indian stereotypes and prove himself as inherently British as anyone else. He had cultivated the competitive streak in Isha from an early age, believing it would give her an advantage in life. He had taught her draughts, chess, backgammon, risk, monopoly, scrabble--and taught her there was a deep, humiliating shame in losing at any of them.

She looked over at Lewis. She loved him now as she had when they'd first met fourteen years ago, but she raged at the thought of losing to him.

They'd married young--just twenty-three--and now they were closing in on thirty-five. Another fact that no doubt had contributed to this situation, she thought wistfully.

She knew from the moment they first met that he was sex mad, a bit of a pervert. They'd been introduced by mutual friends at the pub and she could tell from the way he looked her up and down, as if she was some tasty morsel he wanted to devour. He didn't care about her brown skin--he just wanted to tear all her clothes off so that he had access to every inch of it. She shivered and tingled as their eyes met.

Things were so complicated with the other guys she met: there were the shy ones who looked at her like she was some exotic, fragile being they might break if they spoke too loud; the dickheads who just wanted to sleep with her so they could tick "Asian" off some internal list; the overly-sensitive guys who wanted to talk about her upbringing and her experience of social inequality just to prove to her (and to themselves, and to anyone else they could include in the conversation) that they were woke.

Not Lewis. He saw her, he liked her, he wanted to bone her. Simple.

This wasn't how he approached their courtship. He was a gentleman. He was sweet and funny and considerate. They chatted for a while and he asked for her number at the end of the night. They started texting the next day and it didn't take much longer for him to get what he craved; she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

It didn't occur to her that it would turn into something serious, but suddenly they'd been seeing each other for a few months and they agreed it was official. Exclusive.

They did talk about the important stuff, and she found that Lewis was much less ignorant than she had originally assumed he would be. He acknowledged what she told him about being brown-skinned in a white society, about what it was like growing up as British Asian. He had a surprising depth of insight into how this affected her life and her outlook. Most telling of all, he knew that he could never truly know what it was like for her. He could listen to her stories, uncover the ignorance within himself and those around him, and know when others were being offensive. But he would never know what it was like to be on the receiving end of it all. He understood that he could never understand.

He had a voracious sexual appetite--he hadn't just wanted to strip her naked and devour her that first time: he'd wanted to do it over and over again. He could have sex three or four times a day, and when they were married two years later this hadn't changed. She found herself struggling to keep up, but it wasn't just the volume. He was experimental--downright kinky if she let it get out of hand. He seemed to want to try everything. Every position, every sexual act invented--once he heard about it, he wanted to do it. He was respectful of her wishes but he would sulk whenever they came across something she wasn't keen on. Like anal. She had said no to him on this maybe a thousand times since they had first got together (she'd never counted but often wished she had)--before finally giving in.

It had been fine, and sometimes even now she would let him take her up the arse.

There were a number of other things over the years he had seemed especially interested in--making their own amateur video, sex outside, a threesome--but she had said no to all of those and he had never really pestered her about them the way he had with anal. Then one day he blurted out that he wanted to try swinging. She answered him with a firm slap across the cheek and stormed out of the house. She didn't speak to him for two days.

When things calmed down a bit, he explained in more detail for her: "I never need to sleep with another woman again for the rest of my life. It's about you. I want to see you having sex with someone else, my own little porn star doing a live show for me."

That softened her a bit--certainly, her first thought had been that he'd wanted to have sex with another woman--but she still said no. "It's not my kind of thing," she told him. "We've been married for three years. You must know I'm not into anything like that."

He shrugged. "Well, you don't really know unless you give it a try."

She still said no; but then he would bring it up at least once a month after that. When his birthday approached and she asked him what he wanted for it, he told her simply: "I want to see you sleep with another guy." Then again when Christmas came around.

Finally, after nearly eighteen months of badgering, she told him she would give it a try. "I don't know how you think we'll make it happen, and even if I find someone I like, I don't think I'll be able to go through with it...but fine. Let's do it."

He was like a big kid for a week after that. She set up a profile on Tinder and began swiping. She got a lot of matches but most of the guys were scared off when she explained the situation. "Don't tell them you're married," Lewis suggested, but she was adamant. She was going to be honest about it all. This would be a one-off thing and she wanted any potential partners to understand and be happy with that.

She found a dozen likely candidates. All good-looking, available, and who understood the situation and were happy to play their part and say goodbye...but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. It was just idle chit chat punctuated with her making excuses for why she couldn't meet up. "It needs to happen naturally," she told Lewis. "I just can't arrange for it to happen in advance--it makes me feel cheap and dirty."

They went out a few times to places where Lewis thought they might have a chance, but nothing ever materialised. The idea drifted away and for years they forgot all about it.

And then, out of the blue, it happened. Last New Year's Eve they were at a party--a house party hosted by one of the guys from Lewis's rugby team. They got drunk and silly. By four A.M. the party had dwindled to just a handful of people, slumped on the sofa and passing around a joint. One by one, members of the group began to drift off to sleep.

She was sitting close to Lewis on the sofa, but there was another guy on the other side of her, also pressed in close. He was a distant cousin of someone, on a month-long trip from Australia. He was handsome, chilled out. Lewis noticed right away that he was interested, the way his eyes roamed all over Isha's body. He told her that he thought Adam was interested but she waved him away, told him he was being stupid.

But as the three of them sat on the sofa, squished together like that, she knew Lewis was right. Adam's hand kept brushing her leg.

Lewis whispered into her ear: "It's okay."

She looked around and saw that everyone else had fallen asleep--it was just the three of them left. Lewis gave her a knowing wink and then closed his eyes and let out a soft snoring sound.

Her mind buzzed and her body tingled, and she didn't think it had anything to do with the joint.

"It looks like we're the only ones left conscious," she said to Adam.

"Cool," he replied, fixing his eyes on hers.

"I'm not really sleepy," she said. "Maybe we should go find somewhere else to sit?"

He nodded eagerly at her and helped her to her feet. "I think there might be a spare bedroom around here..."

"How was it?" Lewis asked her afterwards, on their way home. He had tried to follow them, had wanted to see it happen, but they went into a bedroom and shut the door and there was no way he could peek inside without alerting Adam. He had pressed his ear to the door, he confessed to her, but hadn't been able to make out very much.

Isha shrugged. "It was okay. Fun, I suppose. Pretty quick. I think he was worried you'd wake up and come searching for us."

"Worried I'd be the jealous husband and throw him out the window?" he quipped.

She laughed. "More worried that he wouldn't get to finish, I think."

"So you enjoyed it?" Lewis pressed.

She shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Would you do it again?"

"Probably not. It's unlikely that kind of opportunity would come up again."

Lewis seemed happy it had happened even that one time; when they got home, he took her straight to bed.

He brought it up again a few weeks later, suggesting a repeat performance, but she shook her head.

"I can always ask Frank if he's interested in helping us out," he joked.

Isha guffawed. Frank was Lewis's best friend, and had been since high school. Isha had known him almost as long as Lewis. Frank was a great guy, funny and kind, but he was completely obsessed with himself. He was good-looking and he knew it. He primped and preened more than any woman she had ever known, so that he always looked cool and smooth. He was in the gym five days a week, sculpting his body and toning his muscles.

She had always told Lewis that he was the last person she could ever imagine herself with. She had never been drawn to men like that. It had nothing to do with his attractiveness--she simply wouldn't ever want to give someone like him the satisfaction of knowing that all his showing-off worked.

But she liked Frank. He was a great guy and a good sport. She always teased him about his gym sessions and he accepted the banter happily. "I've gotta keep myself in peak shape, otherwise I'll have no chance of stealing you away from your husband now, will I?"

She would turn her nose up disgustedly at his comments.

"Is it cos I is black?"

She would sigh and shake her head and then scold him: "You can't just play the race card every time you don't get your own way."

And then the three of them would laugh heartily.

But it always made her a little uncomfortable, even though all of them knew it was just a joke. It reminded her of a time when she had been a teenager. She had begun to get friendly with a boy from another school, Jamal. He was black, but she hadn't really thought about that. It wasn't something that seemed important to her. They were both sixteen and things were still innocent. They weren't much more than friends really.

Then one day she brought him home to meet her family. Her mum and dad were courteous but cold, and she knew they hadn't liked that she had brought home a black boy. When Jamal had gone home later, they had come right out and admitted it to her. She might have expected it from her mum--she could be funny sometimes--but she had been so disappointed by her dad. After everything he had taught her, the way he had tried to show her the damage that racism could do...yet here he was, telling her he didn't want her spending her time with a black boy. Things escalated into a full-scale shouting match. She called him a bigot and a hypocrite and then stormed off to her room with angry tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

Then later that evening, her father came into her room and apologised. He sat down on the edge of her bed and told her that she was right. The kid made him uneasy--because he was black. "It's wrong. My whole life, since coming over from India, I've been trying to leave all that behind, unload all that baggage. I thought I'd done it but this was one of those things that reminds me I've still got a long way to go." He took hold of Isha's hand and looked her deep in the eye. "I'm truly sorry. I shouldn't have behaved that way. Thank you for arguing with me and pointing it out."

She hugged him. She was proud of him. This something that stayed with her for her whole life--the way he had been so willing to realise and accept he was wrong and to change his behaviour.

Even still, she never saw Jamal again after that day. That thought always nagged uncomfortably whenever those memories surfaced.

As well as helping out with the Rugby team, Lewis went to all the home matches of the local football team. It was a fairly small club, somewhere in League One. Isha didn't know much about it--she hated football, though sometimes she went to the games with him. Last summer--this was about six months after the New Year's Eve incident--she went with him to a couple of pre-season friendlies. They were dire, soulless affairs, and she couldn't understand why he wanted to watch them. But he had excitedly pointed at some teenager warming up and told her that he was going to be the next big thing.

She scoffed at the idea. He was just a skinny kid. Maybe he was quick and he was good with a football, but he'd get battered once the game started.

Pre-season friendlies are generally soft, but she could tell immediately she was right. The kid was pushed and shoved and kicked all over the park. Maybe he was talented, but it was impossible to tell. After the first few whacks, he had been too nervous whenever the ball came his way, basically trembling.

She gloated and teased Lewis when they got home.

"He's going to be brilliant," Lewis insisted.

"Not this season," she crowed. "I thought he was going to burst into tears at one point. I wouldn't be surprised if he quits altogether before the season starts."

"Well, I'm confident. He's going to be a huge success."

"Maybe we should put a bet on it," she teased. Lewis raised an eyebrow at her, interested, and she continued: "I bet he doesn't score a single goal this season."

"Don't be silly."

She pouted at him. "I'm serious."

"Okay!" Lewis said suddenly, seeing an opportunity. "If he scores one goal this season, you have to do a repeat of New Year's Eve--only this time with me watching."

"Now you're the one being silly."

"Well you sounded so confident..."

She glared back at him but said nothing.

"Okay, okay, let's do it this way," he continued. "I bet he scores more than you do this season."

She flashed a puzzled frown at him, prompting him to explain.

"You got your first score on New Year's Even, and I know you enjoyed it. I also know you're hesitant to take it any further, so this bet can be your motive. See if you can score as many times as the kid over the next nine months."

"Hmmm."

"So if the kid scores three goals this season, you have to score three as well to win the bet."

"I get what you're saying, but I don't understand what I'm supposed to get out of this. If I lose, I have to have sex with a stranger while you watch; if I win, I don't have to--but in order to win I have to have sex with different guys over the next nine months."

"Well okay, forget the whole watching thing," Lewis continued. "Whoever wins the bet gets to choose their prize. The loser has to agree to any sexual act the winner chooses. Anything."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah, and what would you have me do...?"

"I don't know yet but I'm sure I'll think of something by the end of the season." His eyes darkened as he spoke, just for a second. She could only guess at the perverted thoughts that must have been going through his head...

She felt heat spreading through her body and wondered how many of those ideas would sound good to her about now... She still wasn't sure.

"If you don't find anyone you like, or there's no opportunity, then you lose the bet and you have to try something a bit kinky with me... Not like you haven't done that before."

"True."

"But maybe there will be opportunities and you'll end up winning this bet, then we get to do something you really want to try."

"Hmmmm."

"Like that secret desire of yours to find out what it's like to be with another woman."

"You wish." She playfully slapped his chest.

"Anyway, I don't see you winning this one. I reckon the kid's gonna score at least twenty--you'd have to have a different guy every week to keep up with him."

And that was how she bit. She felt silly now when she thought back to it. He had played her; he knew exactly what he was doing.

"He isn't going to score at all," she insisted.

"Well in that case you don't even have to do anything to win the bet..."

She laughed. "Well then it seems I don't have anything to lose. Let's go for it." She leaned in, kissed him, and a few moments later it was all forgotten as they fell back on the bed.

Forgotten as far as she was concerned anyway. As soon as they were finished making love, he was back on the subject again. They were snuggled in bed, comfy and warm and sticky. She could feel herself drifting towards sleep, a smile on her face.

Suddenly Lewis sat up, jolting her awake as he did: "We better set the rules, I suppose. Obviously goals only count for the kid if they're scored during a league game."

She furrowed her brow slightly. If she was going to abort it all, she needed to do it now. Ah whatever, she decided. It couldn't be that bad if she lost. "Obviously," she agreed. "Doesn't include own goals, and for any dubious ones we just go along with whatever the official league record says."

Lewis nodded. "Agreed. The difficult bit is going to be deciding exactly what counts as a 'score' for you. At first, I assumed it'd just be whenever you're with another guy and you come"--The two of them locked eyes and shared a knowing smile at that. It was very difficult to make Isha come: It hadn't been until the fourth time they'd slept together that he'd begun to get the hang of it--"So, whenever you make another guy come? As long as there's some kind of physical proximity--you can't just be flaunting yourself on webcam and have some guy wanking off to you and then claim that."

Isha pouted. "Well there's the side business out the window."

Lewis smiled. "So we're clear on the terms?"

"One other thing," Isha continued. "Does this have to be different guys? Can I have several experiences with one guy and claim them all?"

"Who'd you have in mind?" he retorted.

Isha smiled cheekily but stayed quiet.

When he realised she wasn't going to answer, he continued: "if you're going to take a lover like that, I think it's fine that each time you meet up it's counted separately. Not every time you make him come--just one maximum for each time you see him." He knew full well she could make a guy come half a dozen times in one night, if she was feeling so inclined.

"If I take a lover...?" she echoed dreamily. She liked the way he'd said it.

"I suppose it's an option, if I really wanted you to go ahead and do naughty stuff with some other guy..." His voice went quiet, taut. "I don't think I'd like it though. I don't think I'd like it one bit."

She laughed and put her arm around him. "I don't think there'll be any need for that. And besides, I'm not gonna need to do anything to win this bet anyway."

 #

It seemed so long ago they had agreed those terms and she had teased him about taking a lover.

She hadn't done it--hadn't had even a single brush with sexuality involving anyone other than her husband. Looking back now, she realised what an error that was. She could have found someone, started an affair, used them to get her tally up to a score that was impossible to catch. She could have ended the whole thing in just a month.

Lewis had been right about the kid. He'd had a brilliant debut season, just as he'd predicted. Seven league goals and a bagful of assists, an incredible haul for a seventeen-year-old winger. All season there were rumours of higher-division teams looking at him, though none had made a bid yet.

It all served only to heighten her disinterest in the bet. There was no way she could win. Oh well. So he'd get to try one of the more obscure fetishes. She shrugged it off around February when Lewis reminded her of their bet and told him she'd happily pay up early if he had decided what he was going to claim for his victory.

He wouldn't say--told her he hadn't made up his mind. But she noticed the way he stuttered slightly, as if he was about to tell her but then something held him back. She saw the dark cloud that seemed to settle over his eyes. Unnerving.

She began to get very worried by the end of March. Their sex life had gone...odd. He had always been vocal when they'd made love, taking control and talking to her throughout...but now he was quiet. Silent. Sometimes he would stare at her as they did it--exactly as eerie and off-putting as it sounds--and she could see his brain ticking over, considering options, making plans. She wondered what perversions were swilling around his head and shivered.

Then one Saturday, when he was off watching the Rovers with Frank, she opened his iPad and took a look through his search history. She wasn't really expecting to find anything. Guilt twinged at her conscience briefly but was then forgotten as she saw some of the search terms: BDSM, felching, gangbang, bukkake. Yikes. Serious stuff. But at least one of them she wouldn't mind so much, she thought.

She looked further and found that he was an active member of a forum called "Wife perversion". The password was stored in the browser and auto-logged-in when she went to the home page. A bunch of private messages flashed up on the screen but she didn't click on them--just read the previews:

Made a similar bet with my girlf...

You'll definitely think of somet...

She'll act like she hates it but...

I can definitely help you out if...

Tie her up and let us all have a...

She moved on to a bookmarked site she found that specialised in erotic literature. Thousands of stories. But he hadn't bookmarked the site--just one specific story, from the look of it: "How I Punished My Whore Wife". It wasn't particularly long--twenty pages or so--and she read it through.

It was a story about a man who discovered his wife had cheated on him. Rather than confront her about it, he set her up to lose a huge hand in a game of poker which he’d set up with a couple of his work buddies. His wife had been so confident she’d agreed to have sex with his work colleagues if she lost.

Then when she lost, he tied her to the bed and gagged and let his three work friends have sex with her.

Then he leaned and whispered in her ear, revealing the extent of what he had in store for her: he had called up all the guys from the factory—seventy of them—and told them to come and have their turn. When she protested, he told her she was a cheating whore and that she had agreed to have sex with his work colleagues and that was exactly what was going to happen.

The rest of the story involved graphic descriptions of the workforce fucking her, brutalising her...sometimes one at a time, sometimes in pairs or groups. When they all had their turn, she lay on the bed--a ravaged, sticky, sore, quivering mess.

It wasn't exactly literature, Isha thought. But then that wasn't the point.

This story wasn't just about turning on the reader, either--it was about control and ownership, showing the woman who was in charge. It was violent and misogynistic and degrading. She couldn't understand why Lewis would read something like this, let alone bookmark it. 

She looked deeper into his browser history, her eyes widening as she realised that this story appeared almost every single day. He must have read it over and over again, imagining the vicious sex scene so often he could probably play it out in his head now.

This story was about an act of revenge against a cheating wife, and Lewis had no reason to take revenge on her. She had never cheated (well, apart from that one New Year's Eve party, and she had only done that because he'd practically begged her).

But she wasn't stupid. Marriage was about closeness and intimacy and sharing and love...but it was also about hate, just a little. It was impossible to be this close with someone, spend this much time with them, without a little kernel of hate growing in there somewhere too.

Even if Lewis fantasised about this, she knew he could never do anything like it. He would never disrespect her wishes, let alone tie her up and have her gangbanged.

She thought to those nights when they made love, the way he stared at her, studied her. She wondered if this was what he was thinking about. Maybe he was imagining the scenario here with her in the lead female's place. Maybe he was planning to tie her up and then invite fifty men over to take her any way they wanted. Then if she protested, he'd just point out that he'd won the bet and she'd agreed to it...

She gulped. She was reading too much into it.

But the idea wouldn't go away.  

I can't let him win, she thought to herself. She felt giddy at the thought of what she would have to do to win the bet, but she wasn't going to leave herself open to something like this.

With the decision made, the only thing left was to figure out exactly how she was going to manage it. There wasn't much time--only a few weeks left until the end of the season.

As she closed Lewis's iPad, she smiled. An idea had formed in her mind. There might just be a way to do it.

#

She posted an ad online. She did it right then when while the idea was in her head. Nothing much--just a few lines in a personals section on a well-known marketplace. She gave a basic description of herself and said she wanted to practice giving hand jobs. That would do, she thought. She could cope with the idea of giving hand jobs, even if it meant a lot of them.

She set up a new email address and directed enquiries to it, wondering if many people would take her seriously.

She knew it would be harder than she expected when she saw she had received nearly two hundred emails in the first two hours.

She spent most of the next two weeks on the phone. Starting conversations by email, trying to filter out the weirdos and the time wasters. She told them she was married but that she was worried she wasn't pleasing her husband and, like any dutiful wife, she wanted to practise her hand jobs so that they were perfect for him. She also told them that this would have to be discreet and they'd have to arrange to travel to her on a certain day when he'd be away for a few hours.

Most of the others lost interest when she wouldn't send them naked pictures, or wouldn't agree to meet on their terms, or wouldn't give out her name and number immediately.

In the end, she was left with just four guys who were willing to meet her conditions. One of them, as it turned out, was planning to be in the area that day because he was coming to the football--the very game she knew Lewis would be watching while it happened! The irony of it gave her a little thrill.

She had settled on her plan: it would happen on the very last day of the season. Lewis and Frank always went for a few drinks before a match, but on the last day of the season it was tradition to make a day of it--Wetherspoons breakfast in the morning, a steady flow of beer then onto the game for the three o'clock kick off, then a couple more after and home by seven. Passed out in bed shortly after. She knew she would have the house to herself for at least eight hours, and she figured that would be enough time.

A few days before the big day, and she still had her four suitors planning to visit her--though she was already a little unsure about one of them, who was now barely responding to her texts. But even if he did turn up on the day, four wouldn't be enough. She didn't really want to put up another post and go through it all again.

Instead, she texted the four of them, saying she was really looking forward to her practice session and asked if they had any other friends who might be able to come along to help. Christ, that must sound so desperate, she thought to herself.

The guy she was unsure of didn't reply, and nor did one of the others. She'd scared them both off.

But the other two responded positively.

Darren, who had confided to her that he was nerd and didn't have much experience with women, told her he had two friends who would definitely come along.

The other guy, Tim, was clearly much more confident. Well I'm heading down there with a bunch of mates. I'm sure they'll be bang up for a bit of action before the game.

She didn't press him for the exact figure--that might sound too odd. She knew it still might not be enough to win her the bet. But it would have to do for now--she could think of something on the day if she still needed more.

#

Am I really going to go through with this? she asked herself now, looking across the room at Lewis as he scrolled through the sports on his iPad.

She sighed. Well, she'd come this far.

Lewis looked up from the screen. Gazing out the window, he saw someone walking up the driveway towards their front door. "Oh, look who it is," he said, looking knowingly at Isha.

She rolled her eyes and went to the door. It was their neighbour, Jamie. She opened the door before he'd even had a chance to knock and he stepped right in. "Hi, Mrs Martin!" he said happily.

Jamie had started coming to their house when he was fourteen, looking to do odd jobs to earn pocket money. He had earned a small fortune out of them over the years. They had found a few things for him to do--wash the car, tidy the garden, clear out the shed, that kind of thing--but he was so earnest and enthusiastic they would find something for him to do even when there really wasn't anything they needed. It had seemed fine when he was fourteen; but now he was eighteen it just seemed weird. He was a grown adult, could go out and get a real job--and yet every Saturday he would stroll up their driveway and ask if they wanted their lawn mowed for a measly fiver.

"It's because of you," Lewis would say to her. "He looks at you like a lovesick puppy." Other times he would tease her: "Don't ever tell me there aren't other guys out there who'd be willing to sleep with you--I reckon Jamie would crawl over hot coals to have a chance with you."

It was probably true, Isha thought. He likely did have a crush on her of some sort. That kind of thing happened when you were a teenager. But Isha thought there was something more to it than that: she thought he had a rough time of it at home. Those days when he came to their house to help with the chores, it was more that he simply enjoyed getting away from whatever was going on with his own family. Maybe he was too old now, but this was a safe place for him. And it wasn't like he had loads of friends around here. She suspected he didn't have many friends anywhere, to be honest.

This was going to be his last summer here anyway, Isha knew. He had applied for University up north somewhere, so these weird Saturday morning visits wouldn't be happening much longer anyway.

Now Isha smiled at him. "Fine thanks, Jamie. How are you today?"

"All good, thanks very much."

He reached up and swept the soft curls of his brown hair out of his eyes and she followed him into the living room.

"Hey, Mr Martin, how are you?" he continued.

Lewis looked up from his screen and smiled. "Can't complain, Jamie. Last game of the season today--should be a good one."

"Ah yes, I forgot! Do you still have a chance at the play-offs?"

Lewis shook his head. "Unfortunately not, but it's been a good season so it'll be a decent atmosphere as we send them off for the summer."

Jamie nodded. "You won't need help with anything around here then today, I take it?"

"No thanks, Jamie--though I don't know if there's anything Isha might want your help with while I'm out?"

Jamie looked around at her hopefully. Isha looked back at him and out of the corner of her eye she saw Lewis beaming a mischievous look at her.

She appeared to consider for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't think there's anything I need. I'm gonna head out shopping while Lewis is out at football all day."

"Oh well." Jamie smiled at them both. "Let me know if you change your mind. I'll be just over the road."

"Of course." She walked him back out to the door and shut it behind him. She watched him walk down the path. Though Lewis had obviously been joking, there was another score if she needed it, she thought to herself.

She shivered at the thought and felt sick. He had been eight when they'd moved in. He was a good kid. He looked like an adult now, she supposed--albeit a young one. He was tall and he had muscles and all that. But he would always be a kid to her, nothing would be able to change that.

She went back into the living room and Lewis stood up. "I'm going to jump in the shower and then head off," he said.

She nodded.

"You remember that our bet is over at the end of today?" he asked, a glint in his eye.

She nodded again.

"Payment next week, I'm thinking."

"Ah, so you've decided what your reward will be?" she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. "Oh no, I haven't thought of it yet."

But of course he had. How could he suggest next week as a good time to pay up if he didn't even know what it would be. He knew exactly what the payout would be.

I have to win this bet, she thought sickly as she watched him leave the room.

#

He was out of the house by ten thirty. She kissed him goodbye and told him to enjoy himself, then watched him disappear out of sight.

Then she picked up her phone and fired off texts to both Darren and Tim, asking what time they would be in town. Obviously she hadn't given out her address--she had promised both of them she would send it as soon as they were in town.

Darren responded immediately: "Actually, we're already in town. Can come to you whenever suits."

She took a deep breath. Now or never. "Come now," she typed, and then followed with the address.

She slumped back on the sofa and took long, deep breaths. She was really going through with this. When the idea had first come to her, she thought she would get herself all dressed up, glamorous and sexy in some impossibly skimpy outfit. Maybe just lingerie. But there was no motivation in her to go get changed. Instead, all her energy was concentrated in trying to quell the nervous, sickly feeling in her stomach.

Another text pinged on her phone and when she looked down at it she realised she had been slumped there, staring at the wall, for nearly twenty minutes.

It was Darren again: "We're outside."

She stood up and looked out the window. Sure enough, three guys lurked at the end of the drive, looking nervous and lost. She understood immediately what Darren had meant when he'd told her he hadn't had much experience with women. All three of them looked like total geeks.

She recognised Darren from a picture he'd sent her. He wore thick glasses with wide frames and his nose was turned up awkwardly. He wore a faded black T-shirt with some kind of fantasy scene upon it, all flames and dragons. He held his phone down in front of him and stared at the screen, waiting for her to respond to his message.

His two friends weren't much better. One of them was extremely tall and thin, with scruffy blond hair that looked like it had been cut roughly with a pocket knife. Even in the heat, he wore a full-length leather jacket. He had a prominent belt with a chunky silver buckle, and he rested his thumbs in it like a gunslinger surveying for trouble. The other guy was short and chunky. His head was shaved but unmistakably a sharp orange colour. He was the first one to see her, and he squinted his eyes as she opened the door, then nudged Darren and nodded over at her.

She waved them in. The three of them scuttled over and filed past her and into the house. The little fat one came in last, his squished eyes widening as he looked her over up close. Undoubtedly he couldn't believe their luck. Not only was she real, she was also hot. His mouth split open into a smile and crooked, uneven teeth burst out at her.

Isha shut the door and all three of them jumped, as if it had just occurred to them that this whole thing could be some kind of trap. They shuffled into the living room and looked around at her nervously.

Isha realised she was going to have to take control here. "Why don't you sit on the couch and get comfortable?"

"Sure," Darren said. He wanted to sound breezy but she saw the way he gulped just before he said it. She saw beads of sweat that had formed on his top lip. He dropped into the sofa and looked back at her; the other two remained standing.

Isha walked over and dropped onto the sofa beside Darren. Her hand rested on his thigh. She looked him in the eye and smiled, and slowly moved her hand towards his crotch.

His eyes widened and his breath hitched.

She felt his hardness, and then quickly unzipped him and plunged her hand into the front of his jeans. His cock was average-sized, fitting neatly into her hand. It was red hot and throbbed as she closed her fingers around it. She began jerking.

"Oh, oh, oh," he muttered. Then he closed his eyes and said: "Ohhhhh."

He twisted and jerked under her and she felt hot liquid trailing over her fingers. That was quick, she thought, smiling inwardly. She turned to the tall one now and nodded at the empty seat on the other side of her.

He moved across the living room in two big steps and sat down, slipping his trousers down as he did. A thick protuberance bulged at the front of his boxers.

Isha pulled her hand away from Darren and used a tissue to clean the slimy spunk off her fingers, then turned to his friend. She reached and took hold of his boxers, pulling them down, freeing his erect cock with a comical boing. She took hold of it and began working, jerking up and down.

The young lad threw his head back and gasped. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the majestic movement of her hand.

Isha looked down at it. She had never seen a circumcised one before. She watched it, entranced, as she jerked it up and down. It didn't really seem any different, she though. She had read that sex was basically the same but that blowjobs were completely different.

She could feel a dull heat in her loins now. Could this really be turning her on? she thought. Apparently so. She could feel herself leaning into him, lowering her face to his penis.

She sat up straight, jolting some sense into herself. How could this be turning her on? How could she be getting hot over these three?

He was moving under her now as she jerked, only slightly. His leather jacket made little squeaking sounds. She could smell his body odour wafting out from under the jacket and that was enough to dampen any horniness building inside her.

And then he was spurting, little jets of come spraying up into the air and splashing down across her hand and his bare crotch. He let out long, satisfied breaths and opened his eyes, smiling at her. "That was amazing," he said to her.

She smiled and cleaned her hand with the tissue again. "Thank you." Then she glanced around at the little fat one, the last of them.

He bolted across the room at the sofa, pushing Darren out of the way and scrabbling at his flies at the same time. He jerked his jeans and boxers down to his ankles in one thrust and then dropped onto the sofa. His dick--this was a big one, she saw, maybe eight inches--poked up at her.

She dropped down next to him. She put her hand on his knee first and then slowly moved it upwards. His breath became fast and ragged, and she wondered how quickly she could make him come.

But as she took hold of his erection, he began to take long, slow breaths, clearly wanting to savour the feeling, not wanting it to be over so quickly.

As she jerked, one of his hands crept out and settled on her thigh, then moved across her stomach and up towards her breasts. "Is this okay?" he asked suddenly, blurting out as if suddenly realising she might not want him pawing at her. "You're just so beautiful."

She smiled sweetly and nodded her head.

His hand kept moving, settling on her left breast first and then across to the right. Her nipples tingled and she let out a gasp.

And then it was over for him. His come sprayed and he let out a long, hard groan.

Isha wiped her hand again. Her nipples still tingled, and she felt a rising heat between her legs.

She thanked them all and then suggested they might want to use the bathroom before they left, and they all did, one after the other. She led them back out to the door and shepherded them out.

"If you ever need anything else," Darren said, suddenly turning back to her, his eyes beaming. "Just let me know."

His two friends either side of him nodded eagerly. "Anything," the fat one added.

She promised she would and then shut the door. She watched the three of them walk dreamily down the driveway and turn away from the house and then she went back to the living room.

That was easy, she thought to herself. Three scored in a little under half an hour. She could win this bet easily if they were all going to be like that.

She slumped onto the sofa and held her right hand up in front of her face. Three orgasms given. Well done.

She could still feel the heat emanating from between her legs. This made her think of the throbbing heat that had come from their cocks as she held them, which in turn made her own heat intensify... There was nothing about the three of them that had turned her on--quite the opposite, to be fair--but she still felt a surge of horniness thinking about it, how she'd brought all three of them to a shuddering climax.

Her phone pinged and she checked it. Tim: he would be with her in about forty-five minutes.

She looked back to her right hand and flexed her fingers. They'd given three orgasms already today, and she knew the heat between her legs wasn't going to go away unless she dealt with it. She didn't want to spend all day worked up like this--maybe if she got rid of that itch now it wouldn't bother her so much later on.

Her hand slid down between her legs and began its magic once again.

[To be continued...]