Standalone Stories featuring Belle

BEST FRIEND'S GIRLFRIEND IS A CATCH

BEST FRIEND'S GIRLFRIEND IS A CATCH

My best friend was a master of convincing. I'd wanted to practice on real turf, but Artie countered that the beach would be better. He claimed the golden sand and ocean waves had magic powers that'd help center my chakras, putting me in a better state for the weekend.

This Saturday was the Skills Summit I'd been practicing for. It was an amateur sports-themed event for middle-aged folks who yearned for the glory days, but couldn't run as fast or handle physical contact anymore.

I, Oscar Xavier, was one of those old fucks. In high school, my stellar play at quarterback had earned me a scholarship at a D1 university. Ironically, my frame resembled more of a linebacker, which led to teammates nicknaming me Ox, a two-letter shorthand that stuck with me beyond the field.

This afternoon, Artie and I had an empty backshore to ourselves. The marine layer was cooling the sweat on my forehead, the tingles in my rotator cuff. I'd thrown the football about 50 times already, trying to hit plastic bins I'd placed at various distances in the sand.

"Not too shabby, Ox," Artie said. He had his high-end camcorder in hand, examining the footage from my last round of throws.

"How's it look on playback?" I asked.

"Throwing motion's smooth on the short throws. Your mechanics get spotty beyond 20 yards. It shows in your accuracy."

"Damn," I said disappointedly.

"You'll do better at the summit," Artie said. "The sand here makes it hard to plant your feet."

"Other than chakras, remind me why I'm not training on grass?"

"It's good to change things up," he said. "You're activating new muscles. You'll thank me later." He shook my shoulder as encouragement.

Artie had taken the day off for me. He was usually a busy business professional, with clients and ventures that demanded a lot of his time. I told him I'd just see him on Friday for the drive over, but the guy had insisted on helping me practice before then. It was just the type of friend he was.

After I reloaded my rack with footballs, Artie held his camcorder up, its red light switched on. I shook my arm loose and readied myself for another round of throws. As I picked up a football, I got distracted. Beyond the targets, my vision caught a female in the distance—an hourglass figure wearing a red one-piece bikini, with blonde locks that flowed to her mid-back.

Artie stopped recording. "Ox, what's the hold up?"

"Check out the eye candy," I replied, pointing in the distance. "Perks of practicing on the beach. Looks like she's got a nice set on her too, legs and breasts. Thinks she wants to talk to us?"

"Hmm, maybe. Throw her the ball first," he said, which instantly confused me.

I squinted back at the silhouette and saw her standing in place, about 50 yards away. She had both hands up, palms out, expecting me to launch a deep ball in her direction.

"Yeah, no way she'll catch it," I said. "At this distance? It's gonna drop heavy like an anchor."

"Try it," he said.

I gave Artie another look, and he nodded to just sling it. Fuck it, alright then. Ball cocked back, I shuffled forward and torqued my hips, launching a deep bomb into the wind.

My throw spiraled tightly in a rainbow arch. She shuffled several feet to her left, adjusting to the ball's trajectory. I watched as the ball wedged itself against her body, secured with both hands.

"Wow," I said. "She actually caught it..."

"Surprised?" Artie said. "I get it, I love her surprises too."

I shot him a puzzled glance, then turned back to the red one-piece. She was now jogging our way, a football tucked in her arms, bouncing jugs and long thighs glistening under the sun.

As she drew closer, I realized this wasn't any random sexpot...Shit.

"Nice throw, buddy," Belle said when she reached us, tossing me the football.

"Perfect catch, B," he said to her.

She sidled up to Artie and kissed him on the lips. I turned my eyes down, embarrassed that I'd just objectified my best friend's girlfriend in front of him.

"Hi Ox," she said, strolling over to greet me. She wrapped her arms around my body, and her fingertips pressed gently into my lats. "Your muscles are activated. Must be a good workout."

"Uh, hey Belle," I said, releasing from our hug. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Artie told me you guys were at the beach. Figured I'd say hi and get some tanning done. And also ask you a question..."

She served a look in Artie's direction, then returned her focus to me. "So I heard you guys are going to this Sports Summit thing. I was wondering if I could maybe tag along? I could help cheer you on, be part of your support system. It'd be nice to hang out together too, the three of us."

I turned to Artie first, wondering if she was being serious. He stood stoically, expecting me to speak for myself.

"You wouldn't be busy with your modeling?" I asked her.

She grinned. "I wouldn't be asking you if I were."

"Right, of course," I said, letting seconds tick by.

"But..." Belle said. "If I'd be a distraction or something, then I don't have to go..."

She'd put on her best puppy eyes, which, paired with her bikini body, exuded a potent mix of cute and sexy. I was close to coming off as snobbish if I hesitated further.

"Obviously, you're welcome to come," I said. "You're my friend too, obviously..."

"Two obviouslys," she quipped. "You sure I can come?"

I looked to Artie again, and his eyes were signaling me to seal the decision already.

"Yes, the more the merrier," I said to her, which sparked a smile across her face, prompting her to hop twice. It took major willpower not to gobble her jiggle in that red one-piece.

Belle then walked beyond us to park herself at her desired sunbathing spot, which gave me and Artie the privacy to huddle up.

"Sorry," he said. "Maybe I should've given you a heads up earlier. Didn't wanna disrupt your mental before you threw today. Belle just told me this morning she was interested in coming. I said only if you agreed to it."

"It's all good, bro," I said. "And sorry too, for, y'know, what I said about her... I meant no disrespect."

He shook my shoulder, softer this time, tacitly pardoning me.

Eye candy. Nice set. Legs and Breasts.What I'd said wasn't anything I hadn't said to Artie before, but it was always about a stranger—never about a girlfriend.

"Belle will be a good luck charm for you," he said. "Trust me, her presence alone will do wonders."

"More centered chakras?" I joked.

He laughed, then gave me a fist bump.

THE DRIVE OVER

THE DRIVE OVER

Friday arrived, and Artie had kindly offered to drive us. It was going to be a two-hour trip to the fringe town that hosted the athletic facilities for the summit tomorrow.

When he picked me up at my house, Belle greeted me and moved to the back row, giving me the passenger seat. Her gesture was a thoughtful nod, I assumed, to the longstanding friendship I shared with her boyfriend.

Her deference also felt like a sign of respect for her elders. Unlike Belle, Artie and I were in our forties, past our physical peaks, but still active and healthy, thankfully not on high-cholesterol meds yet. Belle, on the other hand, was in the prime of her twenties. She was the perfect embodiment of fitness, youth, and feminine charm.

Privately, I worried when Artie had told me he started dating her. He worked hard to earn his wealth, and I didn't like the possibility of a busty vampire siphoning his bank account. I hadn't gotten to know her well yet, so I had to take Artie at his word when he said Belle never coerced him into lavish purchases, or relied on his wallet to pay her rent. He said she was successful in her own right, proud of the modeling work she did for fashion brands.

I had no reason not to believe my best friend. He was as honest and trustworthy as they came. That said, this weekend trip would give me the chance to come to my own conclusions.

"So for tomorrow, how's this Sports Summit thing supposed to work?" Belle asked from the backseat.

I turned around to answer. "There'll be events across all types of sports. I'll be competing in the QB Accuracy Showdown."

"B, did you know Ox used to play quarterback in high school?" Artie said.

"Oh, really?" she said, perking up. "I used to date my high school QB. He's the one who taught me how to catch a football."

"Yeah, amongother things,"Artie said cheekily, which prompted Belle to pinch him from the backseat.

I chuckled at their playful exchange, my pervy brain going a step further, conjuring whatother thingsmight mean. What naughty acts had Belle been taught then? And was she a master of them now, years of experience later? I guess only Artie would know.

***

An hour into the drive, when conversation died down, I found myself ruminating on more existential matters.

I thought about where I was in life two decades ago, when my life path looked bright and promising. I'd finally earned the starting QB job in college. If I capitalized on my opportunity, I knew there was a decent chance I could make it to the NFL.

On paper, my first game as a starter had me licking my lips. It was a lopsided matchup against a lowly university. When the game started, my team's first possession began with a pass play. I fired off a dart down the seam for a sweet 20-yard completion. My second throw was a sharp out route that I timed perfectly with the receiver. I was feeling myself early on, body language dripping with bravado.

On my third throw of the game, before I could even let the ball fly, I got tackled low by some slimy edge rusher, and my knee instantly buckled. I fell to the turf and clutched my leg in agony. It felt like an eternity before the medical staff came out to stretcher me off the field.

The official diagnosis the next day was depressing. I'd been ruled out for the year with a torn patellar tendon, which left me utterly devastated, confused, and angry. I could only watch from the sidelines as life went on without me. The backup QB thrived in my place and permanently took over, and I lost my confidence as a result, never playing meaningful minutes again.

My future as a pro had evaporated. Gone was the fantasy where I saw myself throwing touchdowns on Sunday.  After graduation, I settled for a life selling cars on all the other days of the week...

I stared out the passenger window like a pensive widow.

"You good, Ox?" Artie asked.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Um... how's the Benz treating you?"

"No complaints," he said enthusiastically.

My mind drifted to much happier thoughts, thinking about the car we were in. It was a red Mercedes-Benz that Artie got from the dealership I worked at. At the time, he'd offered to pay whatever price to have it. That spelled good news for the dealership, sure, but I obviously wasn't going to treat my best friend like a schmuck.

I'd politicked my manager to drastically mark down the price. I also tacked on the best service package, free on the house. Artie told me I didn't have to do all that for him. I smiled and told him it was no sweat off my back, and to shut up and enjoy his beautiful new E-Class.

***

We arrived at the Airbnb an hour later. It was a small house I'd found an unbelievable deal on, a short drive away from the summit's facilities.

Once the three of us stepped through the front door, it felt like walking into a sauna. My eyes perused the compact living room and saw three pedestal fans in each corner.

"Kinda toasty in here," Artie said.

"Can we blast the AC?" Belle added.

I walked over to the air conditioning panel on the wall, and there was a sticky note right above it:Broken unit. Sorry!

"The AC's shot," I said. "Explains the three fans."

"We've got another problem," Artie said, standing next to an open door. "I've found one bedroom, but where's the other?"

Belle chimed in, "Ox, the listing said two bedrooms, right?"

"Ummm," I said, pulling up the reservation on my phone. "It does say two beds. I'm confused."

Belle strolled over to the living room couch, then removed one of the cushions, which revealed the underside of a pull-out bed. "Welp, there's your answer."

I immediately felt like an idiot, in more ways than one. The fact there was also no air conditioning was probably why the listing was dirt cheap.

"Shit, I apologize, guys," I said. "I wasn't paying attention when I booked it. I'm not usually the one handling this stuff on family trips."

"It's okay," Belle said in her cheery tone. "It's a cozy space, I like it." She dropped her duffel bag and circled the living room to switch on the fans.

"Go ahead and take the bedroom, Ox," Artie said. "You'll need a king's sleep for tomorrow."

"Nope!" I said, walking over and parking my ass on the couch, eager to atone. "You two are taking the bed, that's the call."

"Well then," Artie said, "the QB has spoken. You heard the man, B."

Unprompted, Belle gripped the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled it up and over her body, revealing a tan sports bra beneath. Then she kicked her shoes off and pulled her sweatpants down, revealing matching bike shorts, the skin-colored fabric sticking to her curves.

The perv in me thought she was stripping down as a thank you for me offering them the bed. My brain awaited full nudity until I realized how absurd that thought was. Obviously, Belle was just shedding layers to get more comfortable in this sweat lodge.

I glanced at Artie to see if he'd caught me drooling over his girlfriend. Hilariously, his eyes were just as guilty, also stuck to Belle's wardrobe, mesmerized all the same.

***

Come dinner time, Belle suggested a nice restaurant for the air conditioning, but Artie quickly put the kibosh on that idea, stating we'd done enough driving for one day. The inner lech in me wasn't going to argue. Staying in the house meant Belle would remain in her current apparel, serving passive stimuli for our eyes to snack on.

With food delivery as the call, Belle took the initiative and placed an order with my nutrition in mind. Forty minutes later, we were huddled around the dining table, enjoying a platter of whole-wheat pasta, topped with grilled chicken and chopped vegetables—an ideal pre-competition meal.

"Feeling ready for tomorrow?" she asked from her seat beside me.

"As much as I can be," I said. "My arm's not 21 anymore, but I like my chances against other dad-types."

"I brought the camcorder," Artie said. "I'll record you tomorrow. You'll have footage to show your future grandkids."

"Let's hope it's better than my college tape," I said sardonically.

"Y'know," Belle said, "I don't think I ever got the full story of how you two met in college."

"It was a few years after," Artie said. "Ox was my gym trainer when I was in business school. This guy basically taught me how to lift properly and build a regimen."

"Interesting," Belle said to me. "Ox, you hadn't started at the car dealership yet?"

"Nope," I said. "Back in those days, I did personal training. Practically lived in the gym."

"You still do," Artie said.

Belle reached over and playfully squeezed my bicep. I snuck another glance at Artie for his reaction. He simply nodded and agreed, feeding himself more pasta.

"So what was Artie like as your trainee?" she asked.

"He was a hard worker who never whined," I said. "After one session, I remember him asking if I wanted to get beers and watch soccer, and that moment was the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Correction!" Artie said. "I'd said football, and you thought I'd meant NFL."

"I mean, there's only one kind of football," I replied, prodding him.

"Ah, here we go again," he said. "Everyone knows 'soccer' is the real football. It's literally played with the foot!"

"Last I checked, we live in America," I countered.

"Football is the world's game!" Artie said. "Tally up the countries that call it football instead of soccer, then tell me if I'm wrong."

"Belle," I said, "you don't wanna know how many times we've had this argument. What do you say? Is soccer called soccer, or football?"

She grinned and placed her palm over Artie's. "I think I'm siding with my boyfriend on this one. He makes a convincing case. Sorry, buddy."

"Fair enough," I said, chuckling, palms up to wave the white flag. "Master of Business Administration, master of convincing. Am I missing anything else, Artie?"

He held up pinched fingers, pretending to look at his résumé, a smile plastered on his face.

***

After dinner, we lounged in the living room, chatting more until it approached my desired bedtime. I told them I wanted an early night in favor of tomorrow, and they were happy to oblige.

We took turns washing up in the lone bathroom. Before we said our goodnights, I offered them a pedestal fan to bring into their bedroom, but Artie told me they'd just crack open a window.

Thirty minutes later, I let out a sigh, still awake, unable to fall asleep. I opened my eyes and futilely stared at the living room ceiling, where trickling moonlight had cast a bluish gradient across its surface.

Why couldn't I sleep? The fold-out couch wasn't unbearable, so I knew the issue wasn't discomfort—at least not physical. It had to be nervousness for tomorrow. With the hours ticking closer, I could feel insecurity creeping in. Truth was, I hadn't competed in this manner since college, and the last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself by believing I still had the juice.

The faint sound of giggles tickled my ear, coming from their bedroom.

Like a fly to honey, I couldn't help myself. My mind was jittery, aching for stimulation. I quietly crawled out of bed and tiptoed over to the closed door. I placed my ear to the hollow wood and listened for details.

Low moans replaced giggles. When the squeaking of bed springs joined the sound mix, I pressed my ear harder, and the gremlin in me hopped the mental fence of Belle being my best friend's girl. I pictured her body engulfed in carnal flames, her blonde hair tossed over a pillow, breasts out and thighs spread, her warm pussy thirsting for cock.

I spent a few minutes consuming their sounds when a thought dawned on me. I remembered what Artie had said about cracking open their window...

I took a second and asked myself:Are you really going to sneak outside to spy on your best friend and his lady?Apparently so. My feet were already in motion, my nosy libido as my compass.

Silent as a ninja, I tiptoed to the rear door of the house, unlocked it, and entered the backyard barefoot. The paved yard was rough and prickly. I could feel its texture imprinting on my soles.

I slithered along the exterior wall, seeking their window. I suddenly stopped in place, scared shitless, when I saw a security camera looking directly down on me. Upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn't a camera at all. It was a tall basketball hoop, affixed to a freestanding base. I exhaled in relief and continued my mission.

I finally reached the window of their bedroom. It was cracked open as expected. I tried peering through the open sill, but there was a drape on the inside blocking my view. I couldn't see anything past it. My bat ears, however, remained active.

"How about after?" he asked.

"I dunno," she whispered, breathing heavy.

"When, then?" he asked.

"Shh, don't be too loud. Keep fucking me. I want your cum."

Seconds later, I heard Artie's muffled groans, in tandem with the bed springs creaking their loudest. Silence followed for the next minute.

"Mm, I should wash up," she said.

I swiftly switched into self-preservation mode. If Belle were to use the bathroom, she'd need to pass the living room first—the place I was supposed to be at!