MFM: Contest

Microfantasy Monday is brought to you courtesy of Sweltering Celt and, this week, by Scintillectual who threatened me with great bodily harm and the theft of my favorite boots if I didn’t write a damned MFM. It’s late, but whatev.

Truth be told, I am not a sports fan. I do love to watch live sporting events, though. I don’t even care what the sport is, if it’s pro or semi-pro and live, I’ll have a great time.

My friend Shelley is a huge sports fan. She invited me to watch a hockey game with her. Shelley is one of those sort of dykes – she has the biggest television known to mankind and a huge sofa with an equally big ottoman and what amounts to another full kitchen in her basement. For watching sports.

“You know,” Shelley says, almost a drawl, “I know how we could get you more interested in this game.”

I just looked at her, skeptical. Yeah. “You’re going to find a way to make this interesting? Huge men with no teeth slam into each other, get into fights, knock each other over all to get a little piece of what? Plastic? Into a stupid net.”

“Mmm hmm. Interesting. Pick a team. Every time YOUR team gets a goal, you can take off a piece of my clothing. Every time MY team gets a goal, I get to take off a piece of your clothing. I don’t care which team you pick, neither of these teams are my teams.”

“Okay, then, I pick the Red Wings. I’m from Michigan, after all. Besides, they win everything, so I have a better chance of winning this bet.”

“Done.”

We got our drinks, our snacks and snuggled on the couch to watch the game. Shelley tried to teach me about about pucks and sticks, icing and power plays.

The first goal was made. It wasn’t the Red Wings. Damn. Shelley grinned at me. She pulled my sweater over my head and tossed it across the room. The game continued.

The fucking Red Wings let the other team get another goal. We went to commercial. The wicked, wicked look on Shelley’s face made my mouth grow dry and my pussy get wet. She pressed herself against me and kissed me. Her tongue finding its way into my mouth before she kissed her way along my jaw, down my chest, stopping to bite my nipples through my bra. That was a brief pause, though, and she reached the top of my jeans. Her tongue ran along the skin just above my jeans, while she unbuttoned them. She motioned for me to lift my hips and off came the jeans. Also tossed across the room. It was going to take me an hour to find my freaking clothes.

She was right, though. I did get more interested. I started cheering for the Red Wings, cussing at them when they did something so stupid even *I* could tell it wasn’t good.

Then, a miracle happened. The Red Wings scored! The fans at Cobo Hall went nuts and we went to another commercial break. I don’t always play nice. “I want to take off your underwear.” Her eyes twinkled, she started to protest, but then decided against it. She stood, unzipped her jeans and dropped them. I kneeled in front of her, hands on her hips. For a second, I just breathed in the scent of her, the delicious smell of Shelley. I slid my fingers between the waistband of her underwear and her skin, hooked both sides with my fingers and slid them down her legs. I pushed them down, and she kicked them away. I stayed there, with my face *thisclose* to her sweetness, getting ready to … and the game resumed. I pushed Shelley back on the sofa and climbed up to sit beside her. She looked stunned and I just laughed.

Her team got the next score. “I am so glad you wore that bra. I can open the fronthook kind with my teeth.” And she did. With that, she pulled me against her, and we watched the next bit of the game, with me sitting between her legs, with her arms around me.

Of course, her hands didn’t stay on my waist. They moved to my breasts, pulling on my nipples, almost as if it was unconscious. I leaned back against her, I started to squirm. When I turned to kiss her, she stopped me. “Uh uh. There’s still more of the game to watch.” I tried to pay attention, I tried to watch it. I even managed to see some of it. Mostly, I was conscious of her hands.

“YES!” I jumped up and did a little happy dance. The Red Wings had scored! “You are SO losing that jersey, woman!” I stepped up close and tugged it over her head. Of course, we were down to one piece of clothing each, so we had to watch the game, right? To see who would win. It was close but no one was scoring. There I was in my panties, Shelley in her bra.

During commercials, we teased each other. She sucked ice into her mouth and slid the cubes over my stomach, down to my thighs, along the edge of my panties. I raked my nails down her back, bringing my hips up, wanting her mouth. The roar of the crowd brought Shelley back to the game. GodDAMN it.

The Red Wings lost. Oh, but I didn’t. I stood up, I let Shelley remove my purple silk panties and they joined my clothes strewn around the room. Shelley eased me back onto the sofa and knelt in front of me. She knew how wet I was, how little I needed any more foreplay and she didn’t give it to me. Three fingers slid inside of me, her tongue on my clit. It took me about 2 minutes to have my first orgasm, but she didn’t stop. I had two more, in quick succession before I pushed her away, I couldn’t take anymore.

I fell back on the sofa, eyes closed. Shelley sat next to me. I opened one eye and looked at her. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it? Since you won our bet?” She laughed. “I’ve been wanting to taste you, to fuck you since I met you. I win either way.”

We spent the rest of the evening making sure she won in every way.