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Taking 9 For The Big 10 free porn video
ARLINGTON, Tex. — With a spot in the NCAA championship game at stake, Kentucky’s freshman starters had battled No. 2 Wisconsin from behind nearly all night. But needing two points to force overtime after a furious second-half rally, there was no question which Wildcat would get the ball. With 5.7 seconds left, Kentucky put the ball in the hands of Aaron Harrison, half of the team’s 6-foot-6 twin back court. And once again, he defined the meaning of clutch, sinking a three-pointer — his lone three-point shot of the game — to win it.
— Liz Clarke, NCAA Final Four: Kentucky defeats Wisconsin, 74-73, on three-pointer by Aaron Harrison with 5.7 seconds to play, WASHINGTON POST (April 6, 2014).
I couldn’t believe it.
The Badgers had lost the game.
And I had lost the bet.
“Don’t even think of welshing,” my cousin Rob chuckled as he leered at me across the tavern table.
Not that I would. Robert and I had been rivals our whole life, being second cousins attending the same catholic grade and high schools. He’d just edged me out for the Most Outstanding Student Award when we finished eighth grade at Blessed Virgin Academy, but he’d been Salutatorian to my Valedictorian when we graduated from Sacred Heart High School. We ended up going to different colleges, though. I stayed instate, studying Business at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Rob wanted to become an architect, and Madison doesn’t have an Architecture program. So he ended up going to the University of Kentucky.
Ironically, after he graduated, Rob got a job with a firm in Milwaukee, where I had just moved to attend law school at Marquette. At heart though, I’ll always be a Badger, while Rob had become pure Wildcat. So, when Wisconsin and Kentucky came to face each other in the Final Four, we inevitably got together to watch the game.
The tavern to which he’d invited me was much like so many others that occupy a large percentage of Milwaukee’s street corners. Deep and narrow, with a tin ceiling, a massive oak bar with an antique mirror behind it on one side, and a line of tall booths on the other, it had an open area in the back with about a dozen tables and a huge flat screen TV. We’d sat back there to watch the game.
Originally, we’d bet a hundred bucks on the game. At halftime it appeared Wisconsin had everything under control, and I started talking about how I’d spend my winnings.
“You’re awfully confident,” Rob said. “Shall we double the bet?”
“You’re on,” I replied instantly, then an idea came to mind. I still felt an intense rivalry with my cousin, and liked the idea of humiliating him once and for all. I could tell from the greetings he’d received when we walked in that he was a regular at this bar. I smiled deviously as I continued. “And let’s make this really interesting. If the Badgers win — which they will — we come back here in a week, next Saturday that is, with you dressed in drag. I get to pick your outfit.”
His eyes darted back and forth. I could tell he was trying to weigh how his friends and acquaintances here would react to that, as opposed to the ignominy of backing down from my proposal. Then an evil glint flashed in his eyes and he grinned.
“Accepted,” he said. “But only if you agree to my terms. If Kentucky wins, then you blow me, here tonight, in front of all these people.”
I clenched my teeth to keep my jaw from dropping or from saying something stupid like “you’re kidding.” Of course he was serious. I had offered to humiliate him, he now simply replied in kind. I took a sip of my mojito to disguise my discomfort, but I couldn’t back down, having been the one to first propose raising the stakes to this level. Besides, I had every reason to expect to win the bet. Still, my voice cracked a bit when I replied. “Agreed.”
I barely remember the second half of the game. The sick shock I felt when Harrison sunk that three-point shot dominates my memory. Then the buzzer sounded without the Badgers having recovered.
Rob shouted in triumph and made his comment about welshing on the bet. Then he pushed his chair back from the table to where he could rest his head against the wall. I fear I looked at him with pleading eyes, but he just shook his head, snickered, then glanced down at his crotch. I could see his erection developing, starting to stretch the pleats in the front of his chinos.
I glanced around and saw no one looking at us. The lights were low, and everyone was watching the TV as reporters tried to get interviews among the tumultuous fans. If I did this quickly, I hoped, perhaps no one would notice.
I got up from my chair and squatted down between Rob’ parted knees. When I unzipped his pants, his organ did not emerge on its own, requiring me to slip my fingers though his fly and pull it out. I admit to being carelessly rough, and probably scratched it on the zipper with some self-satisfaction.
Then I gasped. The reason Rob’s penis had not easily come out of his pants was because it was huge. Now almost fully erect, it looked to be at least nine inches long and of corresponding width. It glowed in the bluish light of the television, a thing of beauty.
For a moment, I forgot my circumstances, and hungrily took its large, smooth head in my mouth. Obviously, I could never take anything near its full length, but this didn’t worry me. From such experience as I had, I had already realized that the tongue predominates in the best oral sex.
Nevertheless, I started by drawing him several inches into my mouth, thereby coating the entire end of his organ with my saliva. I moved my head back and forth several times, taking him a bit deeper each time, until I knew any more would gag me, then I repeated that a half dozen more times. To his credit, Rob kept his hands off my head, not forcing me to go further than I chose.
Then, leaving less than two inches of his penis inside my mouth, I started to go to work with my tongue. I began to lick the head, slowly at first, just lapping the underside, then increasing in ambit and tempo. I used not just the top of my tongue, but its sides and tip as well, to vary and intensify the sensations. Soon, my slick tongue was dancing like a dervish upon his penis head, under, above, across, and around.
I heard Rob moan slightly when I stopped suddenly because something occurred to me. The tavern had gone strangely quiet. All conversation had stopped. Only the drone of the ESPN commentators remained.
I didn’t have to look to know why the bar patrons had stopped talking. I could practically feel them watching me. I felt petrified, pinned there by their imagined gazes. I closed my eyes as tears of embarrassment started to seep from them.
Rob’s hips started to thrust slightly as he sought the stimulation I had ceased. I remembered the bet. My lips remained around his penis, but I could not move. I felt like running away, but that would simply add the disgrace of welshing on a bet with my rival to the humiliation I’d already suffered.
Then I realized that I’d already endured whatever humiliation might come from this. Somehow, that made me actually feel better. NowTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
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