I awoke to find a well-endowed brunette sitting across the room from me. She cradled a .357 Magnum in her lap and a Tootsie Pop stick dangled from the corner of her mouth. While I worried about the revolver, I envied the Tootsie Pop.
“You must have some wild dreams,” she said. Her voice had the low, husky timbre of a woman who spent too much time in smoke-filled rooms. “You had that sheet standing up like a circus tent.”
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and realized I’d seen her at Muskrat’s the previous evening, sitting at the end of the bar with her full lips wrapped around a longneck. I was naked beneath the sheet, and it pooled around my lap when I pushed myself into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet,” the brunette said, “but you will. One way or the other.”
She took a deep breath that strained her tight-fitting white blouse, stretching the buttonholes wide and providing me with a brief glimpse of the tiny pink rose decorating the juncture of her bra cups. Then she lifted the revolver from her lap and smoothed her knee-length skirt.
“How much did you take home this morning?” she asked.
I’d spent most of the night playing No Limit Texas Hold’Em in a back room at Muskrat’s with five men I’d never met, and had walked away with a tidy sum. I hadn’t been the big winner, though. That had been Carson Grover, a used car salesman who had mastered the poker face while selling lemons with rolled back odometers as low-mileage fleet cars. He had walked out at sunrise with $45,000 more than he’d had when we’d dealt the first card at nine p.m. I said, “Pocket change.”
The brunette bit her Tootsie Pop and I heard the crunch clear across the room. I flinched.
“Not what I heard,” she said.
“I heard you pocketed twenty grand,” she said. “Where is it?”
I’d stashed most of the money in a fireproof compartment hidden in the trunk of my car, and no one else knew the lock’s combination. “Look around,” I said, running my first bluff on a woman with a handgun. “If you find it, it’s yours.”
She crunched her Tootsie Pop again, and I no longer envied it. “Carson said he would have taken everything if you hadn’t been there.”
“What’s Carson to you?”
“Meal ticket,” she said, “but I’m beginning to think maybe I need to change my diet.”
“You’re starting to look tasty.” She crunched the Tootsie Pop again and then pulled the denuded stick from her mouth. She flicked it towards the wastebasket and it landed on the carpet. “Carson deals from the bottom of the deck,” she said. “That’s going to get him killed.”
“And you think your odds are better if you join up with me?”
She took another deep breath, and I thought the buttons would pop off her blouse. “I think your odds would improve.”
The brunette unbuttoned her blouse, and I watched as she slowly revealed deep cleavage created by the compressing effect of an industrial-strength white bra. She shook the blouse off her shoulders and the sleeves slid down her arms. Then she reached behind her back to unfasten her bra. She shook the straps free of her shoulders, but caught the cups in the palms of her hands before her breasts could be revealed.
“Of course,” she said, “if you’re not interested ...”
I was interested, all right. I already knew that she had a big pair, and I was ready to gamble.
She peeled off her bra and dropped it to the floor, revealing her heavy breasts. Each massive melon was capped with a tightly constricted areola the size of a poker chip and a nipple thick as my little finger. My cock began to rearrange the sheet pooled at my waist, and I knew I wouldn’t be short-stacked much longer.
The brunette lifted the .357 Magnum from her lap and used it to point at my crotch. “Looks like I have your attention.”
She stood and unfastened her skirt. It slid off her hips and down her long, lean legs to the floor, pooling around her three-inch heels. She stepped out of her skirt and out of her heels. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her white bikini panties and pushed them down until they, too, slid to her ankles.
After she crossed the motel room to my bed, the brunette placed the revolver on the nightstand and threw back the sheet to reveal my tumescent cock. I was still sitting up, leaning back against the headboard. She climbed on the bed and straddled me. She reached between us and guided the head of my cock toward the cleft between her pussy lips. Then she pressed down. She was tight, but a moment later I was all-in.
“I still don’t know your name,” I said.
“Big Chick,” she said, slang for an Ace-Queen, just before she tried to smother me with her breasts.
I grabbed her massive melons, feeling the soft skin against the palms of my hands, and pushed them away from my face so I could breathe. Then I sucked one of her thick nipples into my mouth and held it between my teeth as I spanked it with my tongue. I did the same to her other nipple.
She lifted herself until just the head of my cock remained in her pussy, and then she drove back down. She did it again and then again. Before long, her pussy was slick with desire and pussy juice trickled down the length of my shaft to tickle my balls.
The brunette fucked hard and fast and soon I released my grip on her tits. I grabbed her hips as I tried to thrust upward to meet each of her downward thrusts. As soon as I did that, her heavy melons started slapping me in the face.
Suddenly, she arched her back and slammed down hard, screaming with orgasm. I came, too, firing a thick wad of hot spunk up into her.
She collapsed against me, resting her heavy breasts on my shoulders and nearly smothering me in her cleavage again. I just held her tight as her throbbing pussy tried to milk my cock dry, and neither of us moved until my cock finally softened enough to slip free of her pussy.
The brunette climbed off of my lap and lay on the bed beside me. Her heavy tits slid to each side, still firm but unable to deny the force of gravity.
I grabbed the .357 Magnum from the nightstand and pressed the revolver’s muzzle against her temple. “Why are you really here?”
“Go ahead and squeeze the trigger,” she said with a smile. “It isn’t loaded.”
I broke the revolver open and saw the empty chambers. She’d out-bluffed me.
I threw the handgun across the room, and it crashed into the waste can, spilling fast-food wrappers from the breakfast I’d eaten earlier in the day.
Poker players on television make it seem easy. Put up your $10,000 entry free and walk away a few days later with a million dollars. Pay attention to the final tables on most of those tournaments and you’ll see any number of lucky yokels closing in on the biggest paydays of their lives. Most of them you never hear from again.
What you don’t usually see are the guys like me, guys who travel from backroom to backroom playing in high stakes cash games in places where poker is just one more illegal gambling activity. We don’t want to be recognized by poker groupies or have our betting styles broadcast to the universe. We’re far more interested in the itinerant lifestyle, the tax-free income, and heart-stopping thrill of playing poker with real money.
And the sex.
Banging a groupie might be a cheap thrill, but it doesn’t compare to bedding a beautiful woman who understands the life.
Big Chick still hadn’t told me her true name, but I didn’t care. I’d gone all-in a couple of dozen times since that first afternoon in my motel room, and she’d never given a bad beat.
She did for me exactly what she’d done for Carson Grover, arriving early and nursing a single beer at the bar out front until the card game broke up in the wee hours of the morning. Then she’d follow me outside and see that I left the parking lot without incident.
One morning I walked out of a bar in some dusty little west Texas town, a place barely big enough to register on a map, and found two hulking cowboys standing next to my car. I had $47,000 and change in my pocket after cleaning out two cattle ranchers, a high school principal, and an investment banker. I had another quarter of a million in the fireproof compartment in my trunk.
I pulled my keys from my pocket and walked directly to my car as if the two men weren’t standing there.
“You come to the wrong town, mister,” said the older cowboy. He smelled of Lonestar, hand-rolled cigarettes, and cow shit. “Don’t no fancy boy take our money.”
The younger cowboy grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back as he slammed me against the side of my car. I stomped down on the younger man’s foot, the heel of my boot crushing the toe of his boot. He didn’t even flinch.
The older man reached into my front pocket, and I felt his fingers tickle my balls as he wrapped his fist around the money roll.
That’s when I heard the click of a revolver’s hammer being cocked into position. The older man’s hand relaxed its hold on the money wad and slowly eased out of my pocket.
“Tell your friend to step back,” Big Chick said. Her voice had never sounded smokier or sexier than it did at that moment.
The younger cowboy, who obviously wasn’t the longest horn in the herd, released his grip on my arm and stepped back. When he saw my brunette accomplice, he said, “It’s a woman.”
“Don’t try anything Little Red,” instructed the older cowboy. “The lady might have an itchy trigger finger.”
I unlocked my car door and opened it. By then, a dozen men had filed out of the bar, including the men I’d just cleaned out.
Big Chick pulled open the back door as I keyed the ignition and brought the big engine to life.
“You got a decision to make,” Big Chick told the older cowboy. “I can blow your shit for brains all over this parking lot right now, or you can convince your friends to hang back and let us drive away real quiet like.”
The smell of shit was suddenly overpowering, and I knew the cowboy had dropped a load in his Levi’s.
Big Chick shoved the cowboy to the ground and dove into the back seat. I stomped on the accelerator and the car’s sudden forward motion slammed the door shut. Moments later the car bucked up onto the two-lane highway, and we were burning rubber out of town.
We had a room rented in a motel the next town over, but we decided to keep driving east and didn’t stop except to piss, buy a bag of Tootsie Pops, and stick my winnings in the fireproof compartment in the trunk. We reached Odessa around mid-day. Then we checked into a motor court I’d used a few times before, one of those old-time places where each room was a cabin unto itself. We parked the car behind our room, carried a couple of overnight bags inside, kicked up the air conditioning, and drew down all the shades.
Then Big Chick was in my arms, her massive melons flattened against my chest and her crotch pressed hard against mine. We kissed long and deep and hard and stripped each other naked. Neither of us had slept in nearly 24 hours, but it didn’t matter.
We tumbled onto the bed and a moment later I lay flat on my back with Big Chick straddling my face. She lay on top of me, her massive melons resting on my stomach as her turgid twin nipples drilled into me. She grabbed my cock in one hand and held the stiff shaft as she took my cock head into her mouth.
As she did that, I buried my face in her damp muff. I tongued her swollen pussy lips and then parted them with my fingers so that I could suck her swollen clit between my teeth.
She took about half of my cock into her mouth and then began pumping her fist up and down the rest of my cock shaft. She grabbed my balls with her free hand and squeezed them together.
I was so surprised by that move I almost bit her clit. I licked it hard and fast and soon she began bucking her muff up and down, her pubic bone smashing into my chin repeatedly.
The faster she bucked, the faster her fist pumped, and soon my own hips were thrusting upward.
I don’t know who came first, but I suddenly fired a thick wad of hot spunk against the back of her throat just as her entire body tensed and her pussy began spasming around my tongue.
A moment later, Big Chick rolled off of me and turned around to lay beside me on the bed. My cock was still hard and I rolled on top of her. She spread her thighs apart and a moment later I was all-in, my saliva-covered cock deep inside her still-throbbing pussy, my heavy balls slapping against her ass.
As she hooked her ankles together behind my back, I drew back and pushed forward, fucking her hard and fast and slamming the headboard against the wall so hard one of the cheap lithographs fell to the floor.
Big Chick screamed when she came and she arched her back, nearly throwing me off of her as I came, and then I rolled to the side and lay beside her.
She fell asleep first, but try as I might, I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes. I knew what hand I was playing, but I couldn’t figure out hers, so I sat on the side of the bed and watched her breasts rise and fall with each breath. Then I pulled on my jeans and left the room for a few minutes.
When I returned, I used the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, dropped onto the bed next to Big Chick, and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
I awoke to find her sitting across the room, fully dressed. She cradled the .357 Magnum in her lap and a Tootsie Pop stick dangled from the corner of her mouth.
“It’s loaded this time,” she said.
Carson Grover stepped into the room and stood behind her.
“I don’t have to ask where the money is this time,” she said. She bit the Tootsie Pop and I heard the crunch clear across the room. “Do I?”
I shook my head.
“If I asked for the combination, would you tell me?”
“We’ll figure it out,” she said. Then she told Carson, “His keys are in his pants.”
Carson found them and Big Chick stood. She crushed the Tootsie Pop again and pulled the denuded stick out of her mouth. She flicked it at me and it landed on the end of the bed.
“You play a good game,” she said, “but you’ll never be as good as me.”
Then she grabbed my clothes and backed out of the room, leaving me naked and alone, exactly the way she’d found me a few months earlier.
I reached for the television remote and flipped channels until I found a show featuring a couple of yokels sitting at a tournament final table with a real poker pro as he schooled them.
When the program finally ended, I climbed out of bed, showered, and stood on the toilet seat to move a ceiling tile aside and retrieve a satchel containing my money and a fresh set of clothes.
Then I phoned for a taxi and had the driver take me to a used car lot.
When Carson Grover and Big Chick finally opened the fireproof compartment in the trunk of my car and found it empty, they would realize they’d been schooled by a real poker pro.
Copyright © 2006 by Patrick Myers. All rights reserved.
Under his own name and a variety of pseudonyms, Patrick Myers is the author of eleven books and more than 1,000 shorter pieces. His work has appeared in the anthologies Best New Erotica 4 and Ultimate Gay Erotica 2006, and in Bust Out!, Chic, Gent, Juggs, Hustler Fantasies, Max, Naughty Neighbors, Penthouse Letters, Playgirl, Score, Screw, Voluptuous, and many other publications.
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