The Bet
by Nancy Fairchild — nancy.fairchild@hushmail.com
We had just arrived at Oliver Tambo Airport in Johannesburg after a nerve-wracking flight on a tiny plane from Gaborone in Botswana. We had ended a week’s holiday at the Tau Lodge in the Madikwe Game Reserve. It was my first real vacation with my husband in over a year although I had spent months previously traveling separately with my lovers Richard in Europe and Charles in the Caribbean. I had just come back from two months in Barbados with Richard right before Brian whisked me off to Africa.
I’m a very spoiled Jewish American Princess (JAP) married to a wonderful (and sometime very neglected), loyal, youthful and handsome American gentile. We have a one-sided open marriage: my side is completely open and his side is totally closed. It has worked for us because Brian gets a very happy wife and I get a totally devoted husband.
It was my first time in Africa. I had accompanied my husband, Brian, who gave a series of lectures at the University of Botswana while we stayed at the Gaborone Sun Hotel. First shock: Africa isn’t a shithole. Second shock: It’s not poor, at least in Botswana. Third shock: They are Tremendously. Nice. People.
What wasn’t shocking were the white South Africans, or Safers, as they are referred to in the UK. Although the women can be beautiful, they are the most ignorant and annoying subset of human beings I have ever run across. There are exceptions which I will delve further into in a subsequent story. However, if I ran across a man who fit every wish list I ever had for a potential lover, including a nice cock, an accompanying nice body, drop dead looks, lots of money, a desire to spoil me, etc., and if he opened his mouth and spoke in a Safer accent, I would, under no circumstances, fuck him.
That brings me to the second week in Africa, which we spent in the luxury of the Tau Lodge in Madikwe, in northern South Africa, right on the border with Botswana. The rangers, who are almost entirely white, are chosen for two reasons: they have a cursory knowledge of wildlife that they could have picked up by reading a book (if they can read) and they are eye candy for the wives of the rich Europeans who bring them on a safari. They are hired mainly to fuck those wives, so they’ll insist on bringing their husband back on an annual basis. I picked up on that in about 30 seconds and, as everyone of them had that awful accent, I stayed faithful to my loving husband.
I had gone a record two weeks of being faithful to Brian when we arrived at the airport in Johannesburg. If I am not mistaken, that really is a record, at least for the last nine years of our marriage. I was getting that itch, though.
We had some very interesting sex together in Gaborone and at the Tau Lodge. I had forgotten the power of jealousy. Rediscovering it was a revelation because it makes me very hot and drives Brian crazy. I made Brian cum once in his trousers under the table at dinner by just whispering tales of infidelity in his ear. I didn’t even touch him. I wrapped him around my finger to the point that he would do anything for me, which is why my new yellow two carat stud earrings are officially certified diamonds from Botswana. Don’t worry about the ethics of all this, Brian loves me wrapping him around my finger and he loves spoiling me. He gets an erection buying something special for me. How many husbands do that?
We weren’t late for the flight when we arrived at the Joburg Airport and we had business class tickets, so we had considerable leeway on check in time. We weren’t flying directly to London, we were going through Frankfurt.
Brian and I approached Lufthansa check in, quickly noting the absence of any crowd. There were two German attendants behind the desk so I let Brian do the talking because, among other talents he has, he can speak in conversational German and can read a German newspaper (they’re actually better than their American and British counterparts). Brian quickly determined that all flights to Frankfurt were cancelled because of massive snowstorm (it was January). We were given vouchers for a room at the nearby Intercontinental and shown where the shuttle bus stopped to take us there.
Neither or us were even slightly disappointed. Brian knew I would probably disappear the night we arrived back to London, so he was happy for one more night with me, and I was happy to be able to wear heels and a dress again and be taken to dinner. After the shuttle ride to the hotel we were confronted with real chaos when we entered the lobby. Obviously, all the flights to Europe had been cancelled so travelers were overwhelming the hotel capacity around the airport. Brian took one look and led me outside and got into a cab and ordered the driver to take us to the Balalaika Hotel in Sandton neighborhood of Johannesburg. How he knew how to do this is beyond me. Thirty minutes later we were in a top floor suite in the hotel dressing for dinner.
In any sort of marriage where there’s an age imbalance that involves the wife being a decade older than her spouse there’s an assumption that the woman brings experience and wisdom to impart to her ingenue husband. Our marriage is the polar opposite. Brian knows how to do things and get things done. That comes to getting out of a jam, making a jar of jam, styling and blow drying my hair, choosing what clothes make me look my best, investing money, buying property, doing my nails, rubbing my neck and telling me I am making an idiot of myself with the wrong man.
I wanted to do something special for Brian that night. I had been driving him crazy with jealousy for the last two weeks and I was feeling very wicked.
“Would you like me to go down to the bar alone, and you come later, and we pretend we don’t know each other?” I asked. “It’s our last night on holiday together and I want to do something wicked. I’ve been faithful for two entire weeks and that’s way too long for me.”
“No,” Brian replied. “Let’s go down together and see if some man has the balls to try to pick you up in front of your husband and fuck you. Let’s make a bet on that.”
“I can do that,” I replied, actually more excited about Brian’s idea than my own because if I want to attract men’s attention, I really know how to do it. “Considering all our money is yours, what sort of bet did you have in mind?”
“All our money is ours,” Brian replied with a laugh. “You can empty our accounts tomorrow, if you wish. If I win, and nobody has the balls to pick you up, then you’ll stop seeing Adrian for a year. I’m tired of his ridiculous musings about you that he posts on the internet every day.”
Actually, losing Adrian for a year was not a bad idea on my part. His obsession with me was taking turns that even I had never imagined they would. His most recent fantasy involves me forcing him to suck Brian’s cock, an event as likely to happen as a huge Moscow style May Day Parade in Antarctica. One of Adrian’s fantasies did strike a chord with me, though, and that involved doing something very special with Brian.
“My bet is, if I win, then we go out for a very nice dinner while you are dressed as a completely convincing girl,” I said with a wicked smile. “I think you would make a very nice girlfriend. You already know how to make one woman beautiful.”
The look of astonishment on Brian’s face was a sight to behold, but he quickly regained his composure. I actually got wet, right then and there, at the thought of what would happen if I won the bet.
“Try for once not to look so slutty,” Brian said with a smile. “Try to look like a nice wife from Iowa who’s with her husband at the annual Rotary Club dinner in Des Moines.”
“Give me a second to change into a shorter skirt and take off my panties,” I said. “I’m going for that total New York slut look tonight, like I’m slumming at a Puerto Rican dance club in the South Bronx.”
The inherent problem with our bet, at least for me, was that the bar would likely be full of South African men and I wasn’t going to fuck one just to win the bet. But I had a secret up my sleeve. I went into the bedroom while Brian stayed in the sitting room of our hotel suite and picked out my shortest skirt. As I was putting it on, I took out my phone and texted one of my lovers, Richard, in London. He runs a gallery and is an international art dealer.
Text to Richard: “I need a huge favor. Like immediately.”
Text from Richard: “So do I, I miss you What do you want?”
Text to Richard: “A man to pick me up in front of my husband tonight. At the bar at the Balalaika Hotel in Sandton. No Safers. An arrogant stud.”
Text from Richard: “Tall order. Give me a second.”
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror: short skirt, tanned legs, high heels, slutty ankle bracelet, no bra and virtually transparent top. I looked so slutty it was almost embarrassing.
I came out of the bedroom and noticed the smile on Brian’s face as I grabbed his arm and left our suite and headed towards the elevators. At that point, without a glass of wine to muster my nerve, I wanted to be right by Brian’s side.
“You have to let me decide on the dress you’re going to wear when you take me out to dinner,” I said to tease my husband while we descended to the ground floor in the empty elevator. “I think I want your nails painted red to match your lipstick.”
“Adrian is going to miss you,” my husband retorted. “I guess he’ll have to find someone else to endlessly fantasize about in his blog.”
“That’s an idea,” I exclaimed. “Maybe he could come along on our dinner date. Once he sees how pretty you are as a girl, he might just want you for himself that night.”
When we arrived on the ground floor, I heard my phone ping in my purse. I pretended to ignore it because I didn’t want Brian to know his wife wasn’t just a slut, but a cheater as well. I excused myself on the false claim that I was desperate to use the loo. As soon as I went inside and the door shut, I pulled out my phone.
Text from Richard: “Struck gold. Zach. English, between wives. Very rich, you’ll know him from Hello! Be there in 30 minutes. Sent pic of you.”
I knew exactly who Zach was because, for any slutty London wife, Hello! magazine is required reading and having one’s picture on the arm of one’s lover appear in the magazine is the ultimate goal. I have been in Hello! several times, although I have yet to be named in the captions. I’m just described as the ‘attractive blonde’ who escorted some lucky man to an art exhibition, film premiere, etc. Thankfully, Brian has never opened the pages of the magazine, which he considers utter trash written for the most vacuous women in the UK. He’s right, I’m vacuous and it’s an addiction for me. I buy every issue.
“Let’s take a look around before we go to the bar,” I suggested to Brian. “I want every man in the hotel to get a good look at me before we have a drink.”
We went outside briefly and walked up the street towards Mandela Square. There were vendors out selling the same sort of African handicrafts that you can buy all over the continent. There is supposedly an industrial sized operation in Malawi where all the handicrafts sold in Africa are made. Then we went back into the hotel and explored the dark courtyard while Brian used the opportunity to explore my thighs and bare pussy. I responded to his caresses with a moan and kissed my husband on the lips. Little did he know, at the time, he was doing a very good job of warming me up for another man. When I judged thirty minutes to be up, I suggested we go to the bar and see who was going to win the bet.
We grabbed an empty booth at the bar and waited for someone to come and take our drinks order. Instead of that happening, a waiter delivered a bottle of champagne in an iced cooler and three glasses. A strikingly handsome man slipped into the booth, on my right side, at the same time. I looked over at Brian with a feigned look of shock, as if the scenario being played out was a complete surprise to me.
“My name is Zach,” the newcomer said in a refined English accent and a confident smile. “I’m sorry for being so forward but I happened to see your lovely wife in the lobby, and I couldn’t help myself. I’m alone in Joburg for a few days and I thought it would be fun to make a new friend. She’s got such beautiful legs, a really cute ass and really nice tits, you must be very proud to show her off.”
“You’re quite forward,” I said, turning to face Zach, who was even more handsome in person than in his photographs. “But I like men who are forward.”
“Don’t I like forward men?” I asked Brian, as I turned to face him, trying to put on my best look of total innocence. “Tell Zach how much I like forward men, particularly when they are handsome. Tell him how much I like handsome men who take what they deserve.”
“I’ll tell him nothing of the sort,” Brian said, with a note of irritation in his voice as he turned his head to face Zach. “Thanks for the champagne, but now that we’ve met, why don’t you fuck off.”
“You haven’t even introduced yourselves yet,” Zach responded. “At least tell me your names, or at least the name of your wife.”
“I’m Nancy and this is Brian,” I responded. “And I don’t want you to fuck off. I want you to stay and talk to us. Move a little closer to me so I can hear every word you say.”
“I’d be glad to,” Zach said as he scooted over until he was right next to me. “So, what brings you to Joburg and where do you live? I’m from London. You sound like you’re from New York, but your husband has a different sort of accent.”
“We’re here because our flight to Frankfurt was cancelled,” I said, facing him and turning my seduction dial up to high. “Yes, I’m a Jewish American Princess from New York. We made a little bet tonight before we came down for a drink. It’s a special secret between us.”
“Don’t you think Brian would make a good-looking girl?” I asked Zach. “He’s got that dreamy ethereal look. Too bad you can’t see his legs; I think they’ll look great in heels.”
“As a matter of fact, I think he would be very fuckable as a girl,” Zach said with a superior smirk. “I know men who would be very interested in him.”
“We live in London, which would be very convenient for your friends who might like to see the feminine side of Brian,” I said with a smile to Zach as I felt his hand touch my bare thighs underneath the table.
“Brian, Zach has his hand on your wife’s thigh,” I said to my husband with a look of shocked innocence. “Imagine that. We’ve talked to each for about thirty seconds and he already is sliding his hand up and down on your wife’s thighs. It feels nice but I forgot to wear knickers tonight so he might feel your wife’s pussy.”
“Brian, Zach has his finger in your wife’s pussy,” I said with a professed sense of urgency, while I placed my hand on top of Brian’s cock, which I could feel was growing in size rapidly. “It feels really nice and it is making your wife very wet. Imagine him doing that right in front of your wife’s husband. It’s not very respectful to either of us. I’m afraid he thinks your wife is a slut and will want to take me into the dark courtyard and make me suck his cock until he comes all over my face.”
“Brian, Zach just whispered in your wife’s ear,” I told Brian, with a false sense of urgency in my voice. “He thinks your wife is such a total slut that I will simply follow him to the courtyard after only a couple of minutes of conversation. I’m afraid he’s right. Your wife is a slut. Hold my purse, I’ll be back soon and you can take your wife to dinner after Zach takes what he deserves. You have to understand men like Zach just want to use married sluts like your wife and then they discard them. So, you don’t have to worry about me coming back. I’ll try to give him what he wants as quickly as I can.”
Zach took my hand and helped me out of the booth and escorted me to the dark courtyard. We were laughing all the way. Once we were in a dark recesses of the courtyard, Zach took me in his arms and kissed me deeply, reaching his hand under my skirt and playing with my clit. I was in heat. We moved to a bench and I pushed him down and took off my skirt, laying it to the side, and undid his belt and pulled his zipper down. His cock was already hard and I was already wet so I sat on him and guided him into my pussy and rode his cock. He lifted my blouse and took one of my nipples in his mouth. He came within five minutes of me bucking on his cock, letting out a moan and shooting his spunk deep in my pussy.
I quickly slipped back into my skirt and straightened my blouse as his spunk was running down my thigh, a sensation I find quite erotic. At Zach’s request I entered my number into his phone and told him to text me so I could have his number as well and made him promise to take me to a very special dinner.
Two weeks later, my work was almost complete. Brian’s fingernail polish had dried, the slutty little dress I had bought clung tightly to his slim body, his bra held silicon body forms in them to give him a cute figure and he had been thoroughly trained to walk in heels. I just needed to carefully apply the false eyelashes, which took five minutes of fiddling to get right. When I finally finished and looked at what a convincing job I had done transforming my husband into a pretty girl, our doorbell rang.
“Who could that be?” Brian asked in an irritated voice. “Whoever it is, tell them to go away.”
“I think it’s that horrible man Zach who fucked your slutty wife in Joburg,” I said innocently. “You know the one who took your wife into the hotel courtyard and made her sit on his big cock and ride it until he soaked your wife’s pussy with his potent seed. He’s taking me out to dinner tonight and he was really sweet to find a blind date for you.”
As we sat in the restaurant twenty minutes later, I felt Zach’s hand on my thigh. By the look of utter and total humiliation on Brian’s face, I could tell that his date was doing the same thing to him. I guided Zach’s hand to my pussy, just so he could feel how wet I was.
