Chapter 1: Side Out Side Boob
The bar shook as if an earthquake had struck. Not from tremors, but from a hundred booted feet stomping on hardwood, an eruption of whoops and cheers that drowned out the announcer on the massive flat screen.
“Yes!” Kelly screamed, leaping from her chair. The motion was pure, unadulterated celebration. It was also catastrophic for the structural integrity of her snug blue tank top, which strained heroically against the sudden, powerful jolt of her body. The fabric seemed to hold its breath for a second before surrendering to the physics of the movement, the swell of her chest a mesmerizing, honeydew-shaped tidal wave barely contained.
She landed, fist-pumping, her bright red hair flying. She didn’t just stand there; she arched her back in an exaggerated, theatrical stretch, arms high, pushing her chest forward in a perfect, triumphant curve. The pose was fleeting, deliberate. Her smooth, muscular arm, slick with a sheen of excitement, brushed against Jason’s bicep as she lowered it.
“Holy shit, what a dig!” Jason yelled, his eyes wide, his focus not entirely on the replay now flashing on the screen. He felt the contact, the brief, electric slide of her skin against his, and his easygoing grin tightened into something more fixed.
From across the sticky wooden table, Isaiah’s low whistle cut through the general roar. “Captain’s playing out of her mind tonight,” he said, but his gaze, dark and appreciative, was anchored on Kelly as she finally sank back into her seat beside Christopher. The chair creaked under her weight.
“She’s a beast,” Ken said, his voice a little huskier than usual. He took a long pull from his beer, his eyes tracing the line from Kelly’s laughing smile, down the powerful column of her neck, to the shadowed valley just visible above her neckline. He’d seen her stretch a thousand times on the court, that familiar, torturous routine of leaning forward, palms flat, that perfect, quarter-bounceable ass presented to the world. But this was different. This was raw, unleashed energy, and it made his throat go dry.
Christopher, her Christopher, just laughed and slung a proprietary arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. “Told you they’d pull it out,” he said, his voice warm with pride and something else, a low thrum of heat. He felt the vibrant energy coursing through her, the damp heat of her skin through the thin cotton. He’d seen the looks, the brush against Jason. It didn’t anger him. It warmed him, made his nuts full and his dick tight with the thrill.
Kelly nestled into him, but her eyes were still sparkling with the game’s fire. “Did you see the set? It was like, ping!” She made a precise gesture with her hands, her breasts shifting with the motion. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“I saw,” Christopher murmured, his lips close to her ear. His hand slid from her shoulder down to the strong curve of her arm, giving it a squeeze.
Isaiah leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I've seen you set - you're right up there with them, Red. I won’t lie.”
Kelly tossed her hair, a gesture both dismissive and flirtatious. “My sets are decent but my hits are the weapons of mass destruction, Isaiah. But we all know that already!! And yes, Jay, I did say 'sets' and 'hits', not my 'set' and 'tits'...” she waggled one eyebrow seductively as she playfully picked up her tits and juggled them before letting them drop, bounce and laugh as she reached to another swig from her beer, playfully winking at him while squeezing Christopher's leg.
“Speaking of weapons,” Isaiah said, his eyes motioning towards her still bouncing breasts, making sure she saw his obvious stare, waggling his eyebrows before smirking and moving back to the screen as the U.S. served. The ball rocketed over the net. “Let’s get a little action going. Whaddya say we put down some wagers? Pick the winning score? Furthest one off gets the next round of beers.”
“I’m in,” Jason said immediately, shifting his weight. He was hyper-aware of Kelly’s presence now, the warmth of her beside him in the crowded space.
“Pfffft... get your cards out boys and Kel, I got this,” Ken chimed in, leaning forward, elbows on the worn wood. His whole posture screamed casual, but his smirk told volumes of the sordid thoughts in his head.
“Who has the IQ of 160?” Kelly said, after predicting her ability to read the play immediately correctly. Adding herself, brandishing her neck with a flick of her chin towards the screen as Team Canada positioned themselves to receive the next attack.
"I'm calling it: Canada has the next three in a row and wins by 4" her sideways glance rolling across everyone and landing on Christopher.
“Little risky, Red, but we know you like to play it fast and loose” he said, but the gleam in his eye matched hers.
The game tightened. Every dig, every kill, was met with groans or shouts from their little corner of the bar. Beers appeared and were emptied, condensation rings multiplying on the wood. Wagers flew fast, a chaotic mix of bravado and beer logic.
“Twenty bucks says the next service ace is Canadian,” Jason declared, slapping the table.
“You’re on, but only if it’s the blonde one,” Isaiah countered, his focus divided between the screen and the way Kelly’s tank top strap kept slipping off her tanned shoulder.
Kelly rolled her eyes. “Amateurs. You don’t bet on who, you bet on how. Next point wins on a tip-over the block. Ten bucks.”
Ken shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Always overcomplicating it. Fine. I’ll take that action.”
They watched, the noise of the bar fading into a tunnel of pure concentration. The Canadian setter floated a perfect ball to the outside. The hitter went up, met the double block, and with a deft flick of her wrist, sent the ball spinning softly over outstretched fingertips to land, untouched, on the floor.
“Yes!” Kelly crowed, bouncing in her seat. She held out an open palm to Ken. “Pay up, pretty boy. Told you I see the game.”
Ken laughed, pulling a bill from his wallet and slapping it into her hand. She leaned back, pushing her breasts together with her elbows as she shoved the bill into the front pocket of her jean shorts. “It's a pleasure doing business with you... I'm getting too good at this! But you'll probably get me next time - these beers are getting to my head. Thaaaank youuuu Kennnn! Let's go Canada!”
The first set raced towards its conclusion, the energy in the bar becoming a palpable, sweaty thing. More wagers were made, this time for rounds of shots. Kelly lost one, downing a whiskey sour with a wince and a shudder that made everything jiggle spectacularly. Christopher just watched, his hand resting on his own shot as he watcher the goosebumps rise on her skin. He loved this. Loved her like this, the center of gravity for all of them, brilliant and blinding.
The set ended, Canada clinching it by two points. A collective roar went up. As the teams switched sides, a lull settled over their table, filled only by the buzz of the crowd and the thump of bass from the bar’s speakers.
Christopher leaned forward, his voice dropping into a playful, conspiratorial register that cut through the celebratory haze. “Alright ladies... I think it's time we raise the stakes.”
Kelly tilted her head, her smile bright and red hair catching the neon glow of a beer sign. “What’d you have in mind, Coach?”
A slow grin spread across Christopher’s face. “Oh I dunno... let's make it worth everyone's while! How about next set. We all call the halfway point margin. Whoever’s furthest off loses. Loser puts something they need on the table. Let's use… foundation garments. Bra for you, Kel. Boxers for us fellas. End of set - same thing, but if you've lost twice, they'll do something public.”
Isaiah smiled over his beer. Jason’s eyebrows shot up and glanced over to Ken. Ken winked back, and then took a swig from the beer glass that had stopped to hover halfway to his mouth.
“So... the uh... garment... has to be put on the table? Man I hope mine are clean...” Jason joked as he took another swig from his beer.
“Oh, yeah buddy.” Christopher said, his eyes passing over everyone and landing on Kelly’s. “Winner gets to verify with their own eyeballs AND gets to decide what they want to do with their loot after.”
A beat of silence hung over the table, thick with the hum of the bar and the unspoken dare. Then Isaiah broke it with a sharp bark of laughter. “You’re a sick man, Coach. I’m in.”
“Hell, why not?” Jason shrugged, the casual gesture belying the quickened interest in his eyes.
Ken just nodded, a slow, calculated smile spreading. “Absolutely.”
Kelly turned her bright, challenging gaze on Christopher, her lips curving. “You’re gonna regret that when you’re sitting here in your tighty-whities, old man.” She gave his thigh a squeeze under the table, her fingers digging in just enough to promise something. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”
Estimates were scribbled on a napkin: the point differential at the halfway mark, first to fifteen. Kelly, confident, scrawled ‘Canada by 6’. Christopher went conservative with a 3. Isaiah guessed 4, Jason, overthinking, put down 1. Ken, eyes lingering on Kelly’s triumphant posture, wrote ‘Canada by 5’.
The second set began, but the game on the screen was now a backdrop to the one at the table. Every Canadian point was met with a cheer from Kelly, a groan from Jason as his margin evaporated. Every U.S. point drew a low curse from Ken. The tension was a live wire, buzzing with every whistle.
At fourteen to nine, Canada serving for the halfway mark, Kelly was practically vibrating. The serve was a bullet, an ace that clipped the back line. Fifteen to nine.
“Yes!” Kelly crowed, snatching the napkin. “Let’s see… six point spread for me, that’s perfect! Jason, buddy…” She flashed him a sympathetic pout. “You said a one-point spread. You’re off by five. That’s the widest margin. Sorry, not sorry.”
Jason’s ears went pink. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Rules are rules.” He pushed his chair back. “Don’t drink my beer.” He wound his way through the crowd toward the restrooms.
The game played on, but no one really watched. The air at the table was static. Jason returned a few minutes later, his walk a touch less casual. He sat down, reached into the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a pair of plain grey cotton boxer briefs. He tossed them onto the sticky table where they landed with a soft plop, right beside a bowl of peanuts.
Christopher grinned, leaning back. “Winner verifies. Kel, that’s you.”
“With pleasure,” she chirped, hoisting herself up. She was tipsier now, the whiskey sour and the beers lending a fluid sway to her steps as she rounded the table. She stopped beside Jason’s chair, looking down at the garment with an exaggerated, theatrical scrutiny, but then turned her attention to his lap. She leaned over, her red hair tumbling forward, her cleavage deepening dangerously inches from Jason’s face. She didn’t even bother looking at the boxers, she looked at his lap.
“Hmmm,” she hummed, tapping a finger against her lips before using the same finger to pop the button on his jeans and push the zipper down a notch. Pushing the waistband down slightly, Jason held his breath. “Hmmmm... not seeing much going on down here... at least from a boxer standpoint. Jason's got a healthy batch of pubes here though....” She flicked her eyes up to Jason’s, her smile all mischief. “Verification complete. He's not wearing anything under these jeans. Good sport, Jay.” She slid her hand down over his his thickening length under his fly, giving it a pat, her hand lingering for a second too long, then sashayed back to her seat, the eyes of the entire table tracking her.
“New wager,” Christopher announced, his voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. “End of the set. Final point differential.”
The napkin was smoothed out. Pencils scratched. The chirping started immediately. Jason adjusted his jeans.
“Don’t blow it this time, Jason,” Isaiah joked. “I don't want to see a public display of what you've got going on down there.”
“All I'm hearing is envy,” Jason shot back, his confidence returning, his gaze drifting back to Kelly. “Red’s the one who’s all talk. That bra’s looking like it should be on the table.”
“This old thing?” Kelly laughed, looking down at her tank top and pushing her tits together with her elbows, exposing the top of her red Victoria secret push-up bra. “It’s tight! Only makes my boobs look big for you fools. I might be doing myself a favor if I could get ride of it.” She scribbled her number with a flourish: ‘Canada by 8’. She was feeling invincible.
Ken watched her, the memory of that ten-dollar bill in her pocket sharp in his mind. He wrote down ‘Canada by 3’, a calculated, conservative guess.
The set resumed, and it was a battle. The U.S. found a rhythm, their blocks solidifying. The Canadian lead, once robust, began to shrink. Point by point, the cushion eroded.
Kelly’s cheers became more strained. “Come on, ladies! Side out!”
At twenty-two to nineteen, Canada was still ahead, but struggling. Kelly’s estimated eight-point victory was already impossible. She gripped Christopher’s arm, her nails leaving little half-moons. “They need to finish this.”
They didn’t. The U.S. scored two quick points, then a brutal kill brought it to deuce. The bar was in a frenzy. A missed Canadian serve, then a U.S. hitting error. Another long rally, bodies flying on the screen, ending with a U.S. tip that found the floor.
Set point, USA.
The final play was a blur—a quick set to the middle, a thunderous swing that caromed off a Canadian defender and into the stands.
The set was over. Canada had won, but only by two. 25-23.
The noise in the bar was deafening, but at their table, silence descended, broken only by the rustle of the napkin as Christopher tallied the results. He looked up, his eyes finding Kelly’s. A slow, wolfish smile spread across his face.
“Kel, sweetheart. You guessed eight.” He held up the napkin. “Actual margin: two. You’re off by six. That’s the widest.” His gaze shifted to Ken. “Kenny. You guessed three. Off by only one. You win.”
The words hung in the air, thick with implication. Kelly’s bright smile didn’t falter, but it changed, turning into something slower, more knowing. She held Christopher’s gaze for a long second, then turned her attention to Ken, who was watching her with an intensity that made the background noise of the bar seem to fade.
“Well,” Kelly said, her voice a playful purr that carried over the din. “A bet’s a bet.”
She pushed her chair back and stood, a deliberate, unhurried movement. All eyes at the table locked onto her. The chaotic celebration around them became a blur of color and sound, their booth an island of stark, focused anticipation.
“Don’t let my beer get warm,” she said to no one in particular, a flash of her trademark grin appearing and then gone.
She began the performance with a casual stretch, rolling her shoulders back. Her hands came up her sides as her fingers started walking their way to her back, seeking the clips of her bra beneath her the thin blue cotton of her tank top; the effect pushing her chest forward slightly and making her breasts wobble in their confines. She fumbled playfully, her brow furrowed in mock concentration. “Damn these tricky clips,” she laughed, a husky sound. “Always a struggle.”
Christopher leaned back, hands on this thighs, his thumb sliding down the edge of his cock as it laid on his leg , a look of pride and lust on his face. He watched the other men watch her. Isaiah’s smirk had solidified into a fixed, hungry stare. Jason leaned forward, his eyes wide and his smile thirsty. Ken watched, unblinking, one finger tracing the rim of his glass, the other on his lap.
With a final, audible snap that seemed to echo in their little space, she got it. She smiled, triumphant. Slowly, deliberately, she slid her hands out from under her shirt, bringing each arm across her front. With a shrug of her shoulders, the thin red straps slid down her tanned arms. She caught them with her thumbs, hooking them, and then, with a graceful, almost languid pull, she drew the entire garment out from under her tank top.
The red Victoria’s Secret push-up bra emerged, a limp, lacy trophy in her hand. She held it up, dangling it from a finger for a moment before letting it drop onto the table. It landed in a small heap beside Jason’s discarded boxers.
The difference was immediate and profound.
The soft blue cotton of her tank top, now the only layer, clung with a new honesty. The structured, rounded shape was gone, replaced by the natural, heavy slope of her breasts. They settled, full and unmistakable, the weight of them now visible in the gentle drag of the fabric. The peaks of her nipples, thick and pronounced, pressed against the material, creating two defined points that drew the eye like a magnetic pull. With the architecture of the bra removed, the sides of her breasts became visible—a smooth, enticing curve of side-boob pressed out from the armhole of her tank top, a mass that could not be concealed.
Kelly let out a long, genuine sigh of relief, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. Her hands came up, cupping herself through the fabric, giving a gentle, appreciative massage. “Oh, god, that’s better,” she murmured, her voice rich with pleasure. “The girls can finally breathe.”
She opened her eyes, her gaze laser-focused on Ken. The playful energy was still there, but it was underscored now with a direct, challenging heat. She leaned forward slightly, resting her palms on the chair. The position pushed her breasts forward and up, tightening the fabric across her chest, outlining everything with breathtaking clarity.
“So, Kenny,” she said, her voice dropping into a conversational tone that was somehow more intimate than a whisper. “You won, You’re the auditor. How do you want to run your inspection?”
Ken didn’t hesitate. A slow, confident smile spread across his face as he pushed his chair back. The scrape of wood on wood was sharp in the bubble of their booth. He moved around the table with an athlete’s easy grace, the crowd parting for him without him seeming to notice.
He stopped beside Kelly’s chair, his tall frame looming over her. He looked first at Christopher, a silent question in his raised brows.
Christopher met his gaze, his own expression unreadable for a beat. Then he gave a single, slow nod, his fingers still tracing idle circles on Kelly’s bare shoulder. Permission granted, alliance acknowledged.
Ken’s eyes dropped to Kelly. “You good with this, Red? Rules are rules, but only if you say.”
Kelly leaned back, tilting her face up to him, her smile all challenge and consent. “Thorough inspector only, Kenny. Don’t half-ass it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured.
He started with his hands. They were large, with the calluses of someone who spent time in the gym and on the court. He placed them firmly on her shoulders, the heat of his palms a warmth that rolled down through her core. He slid them down her back, over her shoulder blades, tracing the line of her spine through the fabric, his thumbs pressing into the muscular knots on either side. His touch was hungry and desireable - wanting to soak up her skin like lotion. “Nothing to note back here... except you obviously didn't skip back day,” he smirked, his voice a low rumble.
Then his hands came around, sliding over her hips, the curve of her waist. They moved up her sides, a firm, sweeping motion. When they neared the undercurve of her breasts, his fingers splayed, brushing the heavy, soft weight of her side-boob. The contact was deliberate, contacting and smoothing the skin that was no longer hidden. Kelly smirked, her eyes fluttering for a moment. She stared at his chin and leaned into the touch, pushing herself more fully into his hands.
“Sides are ... full... but not done here yet,” Ken said, his voice rumbling.
He didn’t stop. His hands came up and over the full, aching mounds of her breasts. He palmed them through the tank top, a slow, comprehensive squeeze that left nothing to the imagination. His thumbs purposefully rolling over the hard peaks of her nipples. “Front is… delightful,” he managed, his hands filled with her breasts, he squeezed them once more before withdrawing.
Part one, completd.
“Now I think we need a visual confirmation,” he said, pretending to use a businesslike tone. He hooked a finger into the neckline of her tank top, right at the center. “For the record.”
Kelly laughed, a bright, excited sound. “Always covering your bases.”
With a gentle but undeniable tug, he pulled the fabric forward and down, creating a wide, gaping valley. He leaned in, his gaze dropping. The table held its breath.
There they were. Fully exposed to his view and the humid, beer-scented air of the bar. Her breasts, freed from the bra, were full and heavy, the nipples a deep, flushed pink and rigidly erect. The sight was blatant, and breathtaking. He stared, his eyes wide and dick jumping as he drank it in—the smooth skin, the pronounced aureoles, the way they seemed to beg for attention. He was going to use that for the spank bank later
“Yep,” he breathed out, the word barely audible. “Definitely nothing under here.” He released the fabric, letting it snap back against her skin with a soft whisper. It settled, but now it was damp from his grip and clung even more desperately.
Kelly shivered, the teasing bravado returning instantly. “Satisfied with your audit, Mr. Inspector?”
“Thoroughly,” Ken said, taking a step back to put some dangerous space between them. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Kelly didn’t miss a beat. She gathered the loose hem of her tank top in her hands, pulling it taut. With a few swift, practiced motions, she twisted the fabric and tied it into a tight knot just beneath her breasts. The effect was instantaneous.
The already-strained blue cotton was now pulled drum-tight across her chest. The knot lifted and separated her breasts, pushing them up and out. The thin fabric strained over her nipples, outlining them in perfect, puckered detail. A wide band of her toned, flat stomach was now completely bare, the knot sitting just above her navel. The shirt, shortened dramatically, covered barely anything, baring the smooth skin of her midriff and the deep v of her cleavage.
She was a vision of casual, breathtaking exposure and utterly confident and gorgeous.
“There,” she sighed, running her hands over the new configuration, her fingers skimming the sides of her breasts now fully visible from the armholes down. “Much more comfortable for the third set, don’t you think?”
A collective clink of glasses went around the table as they cheered, cursed lightly and laughed disbelievingly at how awesome the day was becoming.
“Jesus, Red,” Isaiah muttered, dragging a hand over his mouth, his eyes glued to the two very pronounced points of her nipples seen clearly through her tank top.
Jason just shook his head, a slow grin spreading. “You’re amazing.”
Christopher watched it all, his hand still thumbing the now lengthened ridge of his cock lying on his leg. He didn’t look pissed. He looked proud, turned on, possessive. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “You’re so fucking hot, I love this,” he whispered, just for her.