Loser gets fucked.

You're so hard, you can barely think straight. God, you want to cum. So you're kind of surprised to hear yourself say "The winner gets to have sex with the loser."

"Wow. Going all the way, huh?" Bob asks with a smile. He knows just as well as you do - you don't plan on winning tomorrow's bet. You can feel yourself blush as you turn away from him.

He pulls you towards him onto the sofa, making you the little spoon as he wraps his arms around you, his other hand reaching down to undo your jeans, and gripping your diamond-hard member. "Well then... I don't want you to have TOO easy of a win. We better... wow. Dude, you must be hurting. Anyways, let's take care of this so you don't just explode tomorrow."

You can feel him start to harden as his flacid cock grows, still sticky with your spit, pressing against your lower back. His arm holds you against him while he jacks you off, and it hurts so bad you'd be willing to let him fuck you right then and there if it meant you got to cum.

It doesn't take but two minutes for him to get you off, and you're humping his hand as you explode, dumping what feels like gallons into his waiting palm.

He brings his sperm covered hand to his mouth, tasting your goo. He shrugs a little bit. "Not bad I guess. But I like seeing you eat it. Here." He brings his hand to your mouth, and you looking him dead in the eyes as you lick your own sperm off of his hand. It's a different flavor than Bob's, but not bad at all - maybe a little bit less watery, but you'd been saving up for a while.

After you finish cleaning his hand off of your junk, you stand and zip up. Bob doesn't bother pulling his pants up. He just slowly masturbates while watching you. "See you tomorrow," he says. "It's going to be kinda weird though... Never screwed anything that didn't wear a skirt."

"You never know," you reply haughtily. "I might win, and make you wear one." He just smiles, and gives a small wave as you head out the door.