by C. A. Bell
“Good day?” he questioned.
I took a sip from the cocktail. It was heaven—strong enough to burn a hole in your stockings, but heaven.
“Mhm. And you?”
“Always.” He leant across the table. “Listen, if we can forget earlier, that would be good.”
I frowned, not certain I was aware of what he meant.
“You know, the whole ex shagging story thing. I was drunk.”
“Oh. Oh, no, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. And I’m off duty. Look.” I quickly opened my clutch and showed him the contents. “No pen or paper.”
“Glad to hear it. Don’t want you running off and printing this as a story. Although, I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mhm. I know you would be nothing but flattering if you did.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Mr. Grant.”
His brow quirked.
“I might have to write up what God awful taste you have in decor.” I glanced over at the ugly, chubby cherub statue I’d noticed when I was there earlier.
He chuckled. “I didn’t choose that.”
“Well, whoever did needs to go.”
“She has.”
Oh fuck.
“Ah, sorry.”
“No need to be. I agree. It’s hideous.”
I rested back in the chair and crossed my legs, showing off my gorgeous pins and expensive shoes. “So, what gives you the impression that I’d be so flattering about you, Mr. Grant?”
“Lennox, please. And I know because you’ll have nothing bad to say about me, bar the chubby baby who isn’t mine. In fact, there’ll probably only be one word on those beautiful lips when you leave here.”
I giggled. “And what’s that?”
“Ouch.”
Big Hairy Testicles
Max Harper
“I didn’t know we were playing tonight,” I said before lifting the Rocky Patel back to my lips for another taste.
“I didn’t plan on it, but since we are all in high spirits, why not?” Milton said, closing the desk drawer.
“Why not indeed. But I’ve got no cash on me.”
“That’s fine. Anyone who wants in can write me an IOU,” he said, retrieving his case of chips from the shelf.
“What’s the limit?” I asked.
“Hmm. Shall we say ten grand, with a one-hundred-pound high blind and fifty small to start?”
I nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
The rest of the blokes agreed, so we set up on Milton’s table in the far corner of his impressive study/library.
I took a swig of my whiskey and counted my chips. I didn’t trust anyone, especially when it came to poker.
Milton looked over. “All good?”
I placed the last counter on top of the stack. They were all there. “Perfect.”
“High card for dealer position,” Milton said, splaying the cards across the table.
We all picked one and turned it over. Fred was highest. Milton pushed the button towards him to indicate that he was acting dealer for the first round. Personally, although dealer was a good position to be in, I never much liked it. Much preferred to sit back and observe my opponents and cards.
I watched Johnathan push his small blind into the middle of the table, then Milton pushed the equivalent chips to the high blind in.
“Let the games begin.” Milton smiled.
I mirrored his expression. “Let the games begin.”
It was obvious Milton was still sore after losing thousands to me in a casino game a few months ago. The guy was a risky poker player. And he’d taken one too many risks that night with me. He’d bluffed all the way to the last round, hoping I would fold or that I, too, was blagging. But I wasn’t. I walked out of there that night eighteen grand richer.
Fred dealt the first round of cards and I waited, watching the other players look at theirs before I picked mine up. People watching was a technique that helped in this game. A twitch of the mouth, a brush of the hair or a shift in the seat could give their game away. Poker wasn’t just about playing with the cards. It was about playing with each other, too. Making out that you knew you had bigger balls than them. And I did, which was probably why I was so good at the game.
I lifted my cards. The ten of spades and the jack of hearts showed themselves to me. I’d stay in for this round.
The mysterious man sat to Milton’s left said, “Call,” and pushed his chips in.
Marcus looked at his cards. “I’ll match you.”
Then came my turn. “I’m in,” I said, matching the bet.
We were back at Fred. He turned over three cards—a nine of hearts, a queen of clubs, and a two of spades.
I calculated my hand. The best I was probably going to make out of this was a run. But what were the odds that one of the remaining two cards was going to be an eight or a king? I decided to stay in, unless the bets got silly.
Picking up my cigar from the ashtray I took a long drag. Smoke oozed from my mouth as I watched the other men’s eyes darting from their cards to the ones laid out on the table.
“Fold,” Fred said, placing his cards face down on the table.
“Call.” Johnathan pushed his chips into the middle.
“I’ll have some of that.” Milton smiled.
The man to his left agreed, and Marcus folded before it was my turn again.
“Mhm. I’ll have some of that, too.” I flicked the ash that had accumulated on the end of my cigar into the glass tray.
Johnathan took a swig from his glass then said, “I’ll match you.”
After a few seconds of silence, Fred flipped over the turn card.
Fucker. Another two sat grinning at me. Not what I wanted.
“Call.” John pushed more counters into the pot.
“Fold.” Milton chucked his cards down.
“Call,” mystery man announced.
I leant back in my chair. I had nothing. It all laid on that fucker of a last card. But were the other guys bluffing? Did they have anything decent sitting in their hands?
I narrowed my eyes at my ten and jack. It wasn’t worth it. “Fold.”
The river card went down, and fuck me sideways, it was a king. I cursed myself then watched the remaining players intently. John had a good hand; it was obvious. Whenever he did, he constantly licked his lips. That was his unconscious tell, a genuine reaction as opposed to a forced one in order to trick your opponents into believing differently. That was one thing that made me a great poker player. I had no tells. I gave nothing away. I was as cool as a cucumber in a leather jacket and shades.
I glanced over to John’s opponent. He looked nervous, but was that an unconscious or conscious tell? Was he luring him into a false sense of security? This was interesting. I continued to observe.
Johnathan called again before raising the bet by a hundred pound and the remaining player pondered for a couple of minutes before matching him.
I leant closer to the table.
John laid down a two of diamonds and a queen of spades. “Full house.”
I calculated his hand, trying to figure out what could beat him. The only way to beat that hand was with four of a kind, another full house with higher cards, a straight flush, or a royal flush.
The remaining player turned his cards over—the queen of hearts and the ace of diamonds.
I grinned. We had a bluffer at the table. This game had just become interesting.
Dealer position moved to John and the blinds went in before he dealt the round.
Again, I inspected the other men around the table as I puffed on my cigar. Milton looked relaxed, but then again he always did. Even when I’d taken that small fortune off of him back in the casino he’d remained calm and collected. That didn’t usually happen. Most poker players were bad losers, but Milton always remained courteous. And that was what I didn’t like. He probably spent his days plotting revenge on me, leaving his poor wife to g
rab the rabbit, lay back, close her eyes, and think of the Harper.
I skimmed the circle, checking everyone else out. They weren’t giving anything away. Picking up my cards, I made note of them then placed them back down on the table. I had the ace and five of hearts.
Marcus called, and so did everyone else after him, including me.
The flop went down and produced the ten of clubs, the six of hearts, and the ace of spades.
“So, Max, tell us more about your encounters,” Johnathan said, looking my way with an over exaggerated wink.
I downed the rest of my drink. “I wouldn’t want to put you off your game.”
“Oh, come on. Kiss and tell. You know we love it.”
Eyes burnt into my skin. I glanced towards the heavy feeling to find the un-introduced man looking at me.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Ah, this is Joe. New money on the block,” Milton jumped in. “Joe, meet Max Harper. Rich fucker with a ravenous appetite for all the finer things in life.”
I held my hand out across the table and he took it firmly. Too firmly for my liking. Did this guy have a problem with me?
“I trust you don’t mind me telling my tales, Joe?”
“A bit late for that.” Fred chuckled.
“This is true.” I pointed at Fred.
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Well then, who I am to deny you the juicy goss?”
We continued to play, talk about women, smoke expensive cigars, and drink fine whiskey into the early hours of the morning. I won the majority of the games, taking in about five or six grand before realising the time.
“Well, gents, I guess I should call it a night,” I said, scooping the winnings from the last game towards me.
“One more for luck,” Milton said.
“You never know when to quit. Okay, one more. Then I’m outta here. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Alright,” Milton said, already dealing the cards like he knew I couldn’t resist.
The pre flop saw everyone in, so Milton dealt the flop—the queen of hearts, the seven of clubs and the ace of spades.
I looked at my hole cards. I was in a good position with two high ones.
Joe called, and the rest of us matched.
The turn card went down to present the seven of diamonds. Not what I wanted, but I stayed in while Milton, Marcus, and Johnathan folded.
It was just me, Fred, and Joe left.
I watched Milton take the top card and flip it. There it was. The ace of clubs. Now there were a pair of aces on the table and I held one in my hands. I looked between the other two. Did they have the ace of diamonds sat in their hands? If they did, they’d have to have a queen sitting there, too, to draw with me. There was nothing that could beat this hand with the cards that were on the table.
“Call. And I’ll raise you a grand.”
The bluffer was going in to win some spondoolies back. I liked it.
It was my turn. “I’ll match that.”
Fred rubbed his chin. “I’m in.” He pushed his counters to the middle, slowly, still debating. But it was too late, he’d already said the words.
Joe began to fidget but I wasn’t falling for it. He’d been doing it all night, trying to deceive us, trick us in to thinking he was bluffing. Well, I had his number.
“Okay.” Joe hesitated. “I’ll re-raise you…” He paused as he counted his chips. “Two grand.”
Inside I was frowning, but on the outside I remained straight faced. I calculated my cards again. What was making him bet big? Had I missed something? Surely not? I never missed a trick. He was bluffing.
I pushed two grand’s worth of coloured counters in. “I’ll pay to see your cards.”
Fred placed his hand down. “Fold.”
After he’d lost pretty much everything tonight, I was surprised. If it’d been me—not that I’d ever been in that situation, but if I had been—I’d have gone all in and gone down in flames.
The tension in the room suddenly became very apparent. All that could be heard was the clicking of counters as Joe played with his remaining stack. I felt eyes on me, burning through my cards. They were begging to see.
I watched Joe’s eyes dart from the table to his cards before he picked up his scotch and downed it. The ice cubes rattled against the crystal as he placed the glass back down.
“Full house.” He smiled, laying his ace of diamonds and seven of hearts down.
I nodded. “Good cards.” I got ready to flop my big hairy testicles onto the table. “But not good enough, my friend. Full house. Aces and queens.”
His face dropped. I leant forward and scooped the chips towards me, my balls filling to bursting point with testosterone as every bloke in the room wished he were me.
Fuck, I needed to release my balls before they exploded. I needed to get laid.
A Shower or a Grower?
Brooke Knight
I finished my sixth French Kiss, placed the empty glass on the table then stood and sauntered over to the side of the pool. I smiled down at him as he stayed in the same spot, moving his arms and legs about in the water. After a gazillion chat up lines, I’d decided to give him the green light and asked if we could go for a dip, reminding him of my absent swim wear. Instantly, he jumped at the chance, stripped off down to absolutely nothing and dived right in. Apparently donkey willy Mr. Grant was a grower, not a shower.
“Take it off.”
“But what about my undies? They’re Dolce and Gabbana?” I teased, slipping off my shoes.
“Take them off, too.” He stuck his tongue out then swam to the shallower end of the pool.
I watched his fine muscles power him through the water like a speed boat. He was hot as hell. Cheesy as a croque-monsieur but fuck that, I’d just shove my expensive panties in his mouth to shut him up while I enjoyed him.
I pulled my Gucci dress up over my head then laid it on the lounger, giving him the perfect view of my arse and thong strap.
“Holy shit, woman.”
“What’s that?” I twisted to face him.
“You are one fine specimen.”
I walked to the edge of the pool and stopped, pulling my long hair over one shoulder and looking down at my trim body. “You think?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve got a touch on just looking at you.”
I laughed to myself. Well, duh, of course you do.
“So, what would happen,” I placed my hands behind my back and took hold of my bra clasp, “if I removed my very pretty brassiere? Do you think you’d move from a touch to a semi?”
“Oh, most fucking definitely.”
I pulled the bra open at the back and slipped it off before throwing it in the direction of my dress. I then slid my fingers underneath the string of my thong. “And what about if I were to slip these off? Do you think we’d move from a semi to a raging hard-on?”
“Oh baby, I’m already there.”
I glanced down and tried to catch a glimpse but the lanterns that surrounded the pool were reflecting on the top of the water and obscuring my view.
I let go of my underwear. “No point in taking them off then.”
Before he had a chance to object, I jumped in the pool and swum to him underwater, still unable to catch preview.
Coming up, I pushed my hair back from my face and laughed.
“What are you giggling at?”
“You.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close, his erection hot against my thigh. I tried to gauge its measurement, but couldn’t.
“Why?”
“You should have seen your face when I said they were staying on.”
“Hmm.” He grinned. “You’re a tease, Brooke Knight. And do you know what teases get?”
“A smacked bottom?”
“Aye, they do. But they also get no warning.”
I frowned. “No warning?”
Within seconds, he’d spun me round, ripped down
my thong, and placed the head of his cock against my arse.
“I’d fuck you right here and now if I had a rubber. But I don’t. So, I guess you’ll have to just suck me off instead,” he said, lips against my ear.
My pussy clenched. I loved it when men were forceful. I loved it when women were forceful, too, but I usually took the more dominant position when it came to girl-on-girl action.
I pushed back against him, using the edge of the pool for support. “I could, but I’d rather you went down and sucked on my pussy,” I said, turning quickly, placing my hand on his head, and pushing him under the water.
Instantly, he found my clit and sucked it into his mouth. I leant back and looked up at the sky. This was the life. Stately surroundings, great drinks, and a hunky as fuck man between my legs. The only thing missing was a cigar to puff on while I enjoyed his tongue.
He came back up, gasped for a breath, then sunk back down to resume his position.
His tongue danced over the tip, flicking back and forth, forcing my inner walls to spasm, looking for a cock to grip hold of. His hand ran up the inside of my leg as he came back up again. Emerging from the water, he stuck his finger inside my pussy and his tongue inside my mouth. I attacked his tongue with mine while he reached up inside me, searching for my G-spot. Once he found it, he began rubbing against it, creating a warm need that began to fill me. I moaned in his mouth.
He withdrew. “Let me take you upstairs.”
I didn’t need telling twice. “Lead the way.”
I followed him to the steps and then out of the pool. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the house. I tried to catch a peek at the full length to confirm if the rumours were true or not as we made our way hastily up the grand staircase. As we hit the top step, my eyes widened. Lennox Grant truly was hung like a horse. I licked my lips and contemplated if my mouth was big enough to accommodate such a beast without dislocating my jaw. I wasn’t sure, but I was sure as hell going to give it a go.
He guided me along the corridor to a room on the right and pushed the door open before holding his arm out for me to enter.
As I stepped over the threshold, I checked out the cliché four-poster with its lace curtains and gold silky bed linen. Jeez, the guy had no class. But who cared? I’d only have to put up with the gaud for one night.