poker

“Twist,” I say.

The smirk doesn’t leave your face. “It wasn’t funny the first three times you did it either, dummy.”

“Raise, then. One.”

“Call.”

From our positions sprawled on the floor of your living room you burn a card and place the turn face up. A Nine of Hearts now sits among an Ace of Spades, a Jack of Diamonds, and a Three of Hearts. Your own belly is your pillow. It puddles around the sides of you, soft, warm and infinitely comfortable. I am treated to the heart-stopping sight of your generously sculpted arse and thighs, colored but not in any way masked by lacy black underwear.

“Oi. Eyes on the cards.”

“I can’t help it. Literally every win or loss makes it harder for me to conshentrade. Concentrate.”

“You designed the forfeits, pet. Now, what are you doing?”

I give you a sudden bright smile. This often happens when I’m tipsy. I’m in the “I can’t believe this is my life” happy headspace. My butt wiggles behind me, unconscious sign of joy as I look at you. “Go on, raise two.”

“Two? You got good cards there, huh?” You make a show of studying the cards between us. “Call.”

As you burn a card and turn the river, I speak. “Y’know, I should be better at this game. I studied probability theory. Part of my thesis was based on literal shuffling. I could maybe calculate the wossname, marginal probabilities of various hands, expected values, yada yada. But I’m nigh pish and you’re only a little bit naked.” The Ace of Hearts curls and seethes on the floor between us. We are, of course, using your deck. “Ooo. On for a flush?”

“You’re terrible at table talk,” you say, with a grin. Then you stretch, catlike, the motion drawing attention to each inch of your back, till you’re fully arched and your butt rises like twin Olympuses behind you. You keep the pose, swaying your backside in a taunting tease. “It was you who decided that every chip you lose means you take a shot and I take a shot of you. Being blathered won’t help, will it? Plus, I’ve been refining my strategy. You can’t win.”

“Plus you decided to strip only your bottom half first. Unfair. That’s one of my favourite halves.”

Your grin is wicked. “Shouldn’t make decisions while you’re horny. Now, what’s your bet?

“All i— fuck no, forget that. Um. Five.” I peer down at the cards. “I don’t suppose you are going to graciously fold?”

“Another five.”

I count on my fingers, in binary, according to that weird habit I have. “Ten plus two plus one plus one plus buy-in is fifteen? Fifteen shots? Really?”

“I’ll let you off the shots, but I still want you.”

I bite my bottom lip. It’s funny watching me try to gather my wits enough to avoid life-threatening bets.

“You’ve been taking huge swallows. Um.” I stare into space like the bookcase has the answer. “Y’know what? Fuck it. Another five.”

“Call,” you say instantly, and I know I’ve lost.

We place down our hole cards. I read yours. You just stare at me. I bite my bottom lip again.

“Flushes. Your Queen beats my Ten. So…”

“So we’re done. You won’t be up to much after this. You lost.” You roll onto your back, and wriggle out of your underwear, though you haven’t taken a forfeit. I watch you, part condemned man, part lottery winner. “But since you’ve been such a good sport I’m going to let you eat me while I drink you.”

Well. If I die I don’t think I will care. I crawl over and we kiss, upside-down and powerful, before you guide me down with impatient hands. I climb your body like a mountain range, stopping only when my bowed head falls within the valley of your parted legs and your lips fall soft and deadly over my femoral artery.

You are already wet. I drown myself in your perfume and you ride me, let me know what feels good, guide me with a hand on the back of my head. Then, when pleasure begins to build in your belly, you slice with twin daggers through my flesh and commence your first swallow. I shudder in pain above you but you only have to nudge my head and I dive back inside.

You let my body pour into your mouth. Almost till I bubble out from the corners of your lips. If you only won twenty mouthfuls, they will be the whole of your mouth. Hot sweet copper fills out your cheeks, swills behind your lips and beneath your tongue, till you’re forced to swallow. My blood flows eagerly down your throat even as your mouth begins to fill again. Pleasure shivers through your body as my blood gushes into your stomach and my tongue works your clit.

You crest your building wave of ecstacy only on the twentieth swallow. I suffocate in your lust as you squeeze your fat thighs around my head and grind your swollen pussy into my face. After that, three more swallows send me into a half-sleep. Those swallows you did not win. But you already owned them, like you do every beat of my heart.