Betting On The Match



“You’ve got no chance!!” Angelika nearly shouted at me across the table. The three men beside us, who had given us some space to put our drinks down, stopped and stared.

“Rubbish!” I told her, “We’ve got the best team in the tournament.

“But you got beaten by Ireland!” she teased, “Italy just aren’t the team they used to be.”

“We only lost because we didn’t need to win!” I replied, which was true. Although she had a point that perhaps our best times were behind us.

“Yeah, well,” she continued, “Germany always wins.”

She had a point there: Germany, Angelika’s home team, did seem to always win at football tournaments, no matter what their track record was going into it.

“I bet they don’t this time,” I said with false confidence.

“Oh?” she questioned, “How about we make this more interesting? Five euros per goal, perhaps?”

I snorted in derision. “I’m not sure you can afford that,” I said, “How about, you down a shot each time we score a goal?”

Angelika adopted a sneering expression. “That’s just because you want to drink five shots when we beat you five nil,” she taunted. She paused and looked me up and down from across the table.

“How about,” she continued, “Every goal we score, you have to take something off?”

“I will if you will,” I said with even more false confidence. How much was she wearing beneath that black dress? Could Italy beat Germany by four or five goals? That would be fun to watch. Although I was glad I was wearing a bra beneath my sundress so I could at least survive a two-nil defeat; my sense of national pride would be harmed more than my personal pride.

“Deal,” she said, and held out her hand. We shook on it. The three men beside us smirked.

It didn’t take long before Italy got the first goal. Angelika shook her head.

“Do shoes count?” she asked, and then didn’t wait for an answer, “Of course shoes count.”

Angelika stepped out of her heeled sandals and kicked them to one side. It had the added benefit that I could look down on her.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for Germany to equalise, so I did the same. She gave me a satisfied look as I kicked off my own shoes and sank back to her eye level.

“It’s the first of many,” she said with a wink. I took a sip of my beer and Angelika did the same, but I could sense that both of us were nervous: there were only twenty minutes played and it was already one goal each.

Ten minutes of tension passed as Germany and Italy tightened up their defences. I was starting to feel some relief that the game was becoming more predictable. What would have happened if it had ended with four goals each? We’d both be in trouble, that’s what would have happened. I daren’t think about it.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, a stumble from a defender let a German striker through on goal. He ran at the keeper and my heart stopped. Angelika’s arms were above her head anticipating the goal, but the ball went straight at the goalkeeper’s body and I let out a sigh of relief. It was short-lived as the loose ball was picked up by the same striker and slotted into the open net.

Angelika jumped and cheered, and a couple of others in the bar did too, but most of us were supporting Italy and were feeling gutted at this turn of events. And it was rare that Germany let a lead go.

“There’s still time,” I said to her before I took another gulp of beer.

“Plenty of time for more Germany goals,” she teased, “And aren’t you forgetting something?” She stared pointedly at my dress.

“In your dreams,” I said, and I put my hands behind my back and unfastened my bra through the cotton sundress. I tugged at the shoulder straps, looped them out over my hands and then pulled the rest of my bra out of my top. The men beside us stared as I straightened my dress, and I wished I hadn’t worn something that was quite so low cut.

I was feeling a little turned on by this wager of ours and I could feel my nipples standing on end. I glanced down and I could see them outlined clearly beneath the soft cotton. I crossed my arms over my chest, partly as an act of defiance towards Angelika, but mainly to stop the three men staring.

The next twenty minutes were tense as Germany came close to scoring multiple times. I was starting to regret this bet now, fun though it might have been for a while. But at least, while it was still two goals to one, Italy still had a chance.

Half time came with the score unchanged and we exchanged insults about the other team’s players and bought another beer during the ten minute break.

The players came out without any substitutions and began the second half and, with almost the first kick of the ball, a German midfielder hit the ball long into the penalty box. Before I could even register what was happening a header had taken it into the back of the net. It was three-one to Germany, and a difficult way back for Italy now.

Angelika was jumping on the spot. “We can cruise it from here now,” she said with a grin on her face. I drowned my sorrows with a long drink from my beer glass.

“And, erm, what now?” she asked. I knew exactly what she meant.

I glanced around the room and with a quick bend at the knee I reached up beneath the short sundress and pulled at my knickers. They slipped down my thigh and, once they were down to the knee, I let go and they dropped to the floor. I stepped out of them and flicked them towards my bag with my toe.

Angelika peered around the table between us and looked across at my legs.

“How does the air feel up there?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

“Quite pleasant, actually,” I said, but I knew I was blushing. There was no way anyone could see anything, but standing in the bar with only the little sundress covering me just felt so exposed.

“There’s plenty of time for Italy to score two,” I said looking at the clock. Only a few minutes of the second half had passed.

“Or for Germany to score again,” Angelika said with a wink. I had a feeling this was going beyond a national rivalry now: she was enjoying the prospect of seeing me humiliated personally.

The sense of personal danger made the football even more engrossing and I couldn’t talk to Angelika for the next twenty minutes. But Germany’s defence was resolute and time was running out for Italy: twenty minutes to score two more goals just to equalise was asking a lot. On the other hand, Italy didn’t look like they were going to let another goal in either. That would be a disaster for many reasons.

Then the Italian midfield broke through. A twisting run split the German defence and a reverse pass was slotted through and cleanly converted. The bar went wild with people jumping, including me, until I realised that I should really not be letting this short dress bounce up and down when I’m wearing nothing underneath.

Angelika looked sick, despite the fact that Germany were still winning by three goals to two.

“Ten more minutes for another goal,” I teased, “And, erm, aren’t you forgetting something?” I stared at her dress with a raised eyebrow.

Angelika crouched down and, after a few seconds, she stood clutching her knickers in her hands. She tossed them at me from across the table and the three men laughed and made a comment about being distracted from the game. I wondered if, just perhaps, she wasn’t wearing a bra, and then one more goal from Italy… I could dare but dream.

The German defence returned to being rock solid again, with almost everyone in their own half chasing down the ball. Wave after wave of attack was fought back. There were only five more minutes left for my country to take the match into extra time.

Another Italian attack broke down and the German defence kicked it far up the field towards their lone striker near the halfway line. It looked a simple clean-up operation for our defence, but as the centre back went to kick the back-pass he slipped.

The goalkeeper rushed out as the striker closed on the ball and slid to reach it… taking the German player out along the way. The linesman waved his flag and the referee pointed to the spot: it was a penalty. My heart was in my mouth and the bar fell silent.

The Italian players and manager protested, but we all knew it was useless: it was an obvious penalty, and referees never changed their minds. If this went in it was all over. To make matters worse, the goalkeeper had been sent off and the reserve had to be brought on to save the penalty. He was a good keeper, but we weren’t likely to score one goal, let alone two, with only ten men on the pitch.

The same striker that had been brought down put the ball on the spot. He walked back to the edge of the penalty area where the players from both teams were lined up waiting to pounce on any rebound. The goalkeeper bounced from side to side to try and put him off as he started his run and then… with a powerful strike the ball flew into the bottom left corner of the goal. Angelika shouted “yes!” and I took another sip of my beer: it was all over now except to watch the last five minutes play out. We’d never score two goals from here.

I was gutted; most of the people in the bar were gutted.

“Thank you Germany,” Angelika said as she drank her beer. I didn’t know what to say.

“You played well,” I had to admit. I thought we played well too, but Germany just seemed to have the edge.

“They’re a better side than people thought,” she said and looked over her glass at me. The intensity of her stare told me all that I needed to know about what was coming next. “And, erm, I think we had a bet?” She held her hand out.

I was glad I’d had multiple beers by now. I put down my glass on the table and pushed the thin straps of my sundress off of my shoulders. The three men were transfixed, ignoring the television screen completely. I pushed the straps down my arms and tugged at the fabric. I felt it slide over my breasts. My nipples were suddenly erect as the air hit them. The men stared, seemingly unable to speak.

Quickly, I slipped my hand into my waist and pushed the stretchy cotton over my hips. The dress dropped to the floor and I stepped out of it and, bending at the knee, picked it up and bundled it up to hand across to Angelika.

“Thank you,” she said with a grin.

My shoulders shivered as I stood there, as naked as can be. The men stared at me and I picked up my drink to take another swig.

“There are still five minutes to go,” I said, looking at the television to try and distract attention from my nudity, which was never going to work.

“Plenty of time for another Germany goal,” Angelika said, her eyes sparkling, “And then I’d have to think of a forfeit.” I dreaded to think what that might be.

“But you seem a bit flushed,” she continued, looking at my face, “I better get us another beer each.”

She turned towards the barman but struggled to get his attention as he stared at my naked body. The next five minutes were going to last an age and I hoped more than anything I’d ever hoped for before that if anybody was going to score then it would be Italy. And I hoped that, in five minutes time, this would all be over and Angelika would give my dress back, because standing naked in a crowded bar was not how I planned to spend the rest of the day.

3 thoughts on “Betting On The Match

    • ifonle

      Me. I’d been confident with England out of subs and Italy defending their lead stoutly. Then England broke through and with the convert was within two points. Then they slotted a penalty and I knew, I just knew, with less then 10 minutes to play, there was no way back for the now fading Italy. She leaned over and whispered into my ear: “Lose, and I’ll take everthing from the waist down. Lose by more than the current one point and I won’t stop til you’re stark naked.” At which comment the bulge in my jeans moved about…prompting her to chuckle and casually drop a hand on my thigh. “After all. what girl wouldn’t exploit such an opportunity?!”

      So yeah, in answer to your question…me. I was in the end the one naked, fully exposed, and ‘owned’ by this bewitching, way too creative female.

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