Chapter 5: The Football Game and the Bet

A week after the gloryhole adventure, I decided it was time for another lesson—something to push her boundaries further, show her the thrill of being desired by more than just me. The big game was on that Sunday—football, playoffs, the kind of thing my old buddies and I used to gather for back in the day. I invited three of them over: Tom, a retired mechanic in his late 50s with a beer gut and a loud laugh; Mike, 62, ex-construction guy, burly and tattooed; and Frank, 58, former accountant like me but divorced three times and always chasing tail. Solid guys, trustworthy in their way, but rough around the edges—especially after a few drinks.

I told Drew about it the night before, while she was kneeling between my legs in the living room, her mouth working my cock slow and deep like I’d taught her. “Tomorrow, sweetheart,” I murmured, hand in her hair, “you’re gonna serve us. Food, beers. Wear something cute. Flirt a little if you want. See how it feels being the center of attention.”

She pulled off with a wet pop, eyes shining. “Like ... a good hostess?” She licked her lips, tasting me. “I can do that, Uncle Gary.”

The guys arrived around kickoff, beers already in hand, slapping backs and bullshitting about the teams. The living room smelled of whiskey and pretzels as they piled onto the couch and armchairs, yelling at the TV. Drew emerged from the kitchen in a short plaid skirt that barely covered her ass, a tight white crop top that hugged her perky B-cups, nipples faintly visible through the fabric—no bra, like I’d suggested. She carried a tray of chips, dips, and cold beers, her long dark hair tied in a ponytail that swayed with each step.

“Here you go, gentlemen,” she said sweetly, bending over to set the tray on the coffee table. Her skirt rode up just enough to flash the sheer black lace panties underneath, the ones that left her shaved mound outlined for anyone paying attention—and they all were.

Tom whistled low. “Damn, Gary, who’s this little treat? Your niece? She’s grown up fine.”

Drew giggled, straightening up but lingering, handing out beers one by one. “I’m Drew. Nice to meet you all.” She leaned in close to Tom, her tits brushing his arm as she passed him a bottle. “You need anything else?”

Mike grinned, already a bit buzzed from his pre-game drinks, his eyes raking over her legs. “How ‘bout a refill on that smile, honey? And maybe sit on my lap for luck—the team’s down already.”

She flushed pink but played along, twirling a strand of hair. “Only if you promise not to spill your beer on me.” She winked, then sauntered back to the kitchen, hips swaying. The guys exchanged looks, chuckling, but I caught the hunger in their eyes. Frank leaned over to me during a commercial. “You’re a lucky bastard, Gary. She’d make any man forget the score.”

As the game went on, Drew kept coming back—refilling bowls, fetching more beers, each time bending a little lower, lingering a little longer. The alcohol flowed, and the guys got looser, drunker. Tom patted her ass lightly once when she handed him a fresh bottle. “Thanks, doll. You’re sweeter than halftime.”