POKER By Chip Masterson chipmasterson@yahoo.com THIS STORY CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE OR OFFENDED BY GAY MALE ADULT MATERIAL. I stood at the gate, the bare concrete stairway rising up into the wooded hillside. The ad had said simply "Slave Required. Details negotiable." When I called, the gruff voice responded to my fumbling with a date, time, address and dial tone. Here, now. I opened the gate and climbed the steep grade, feeling my quad workout from the day before. My parents had disowned me last winter when I told them there wouldn't be grandchildren. I came to Los Angeles to make a new start, but couldn't seem to make friends. If I disappeared into a master's dungeon for a year, no one would miss me. Plus, I'd save on the rent. The house was dusty the way hill houses are. There was no bell, just a big knocker the size of a cannonball. It took both hands but I knocked. After a few minutes, when I was about to knock again, he answered. He wasn't as tall as I expected, in a t-shirt and overalls which strained to contain his thighs. The thin cotton sleeves bunched between his shoulders and the hard iron of thick biceps. Without a word he turned his back and walked over to a wooden card table. His back spread out and moved like interlocking gears. It looked like he had midgets clinging to his sides. "Your ad said the details were negotiable, sir. I didn't know about time off. I don't need much—" He cut me off by turning back, coal black eyes making my stomach fall. He plunked down a round chip caddy filled with red, blue and white chips. Long fingers deftly pulled out a selection of chips. "I start with two hundred. Bank is yours." His voice was scratchier in person, irritating, like something you can't quite get to. "You win my chips, you get two hundred dollars cash and leave. You lose, you work it off a dollar a day. Jacks or better. Stud." Bang! He slammed a deck of cards down in front of me to cut. I sat on a low, wobbly camp stool, which made me feel like my first time eating at the grown-ups' table. Under his hard eyes I simply gulped and tapped the deck. He grunted contemptuously and dealt with one hand, anteing ten with the other. I had a pair of jacks. I ended up with a pair of jacks. He had three of a kind. Next hand, I lucked out with three of a kind to his pair of aces. I was no slouch at poker. In fact, it practically paid for all the dope I smoked in high school. He did all the dealing. I was feeling high with four twos and bet a hundred. But damn if he didn't lay down a royal flush. His face never betrayed any emotion. His eyes looked at only the cards, while I watched the intricate play of muscles in his forearm as he dealt. I bet conservatively on three queens. He held a full house. I managed a flush and barely bet at all. He raised me fifty, and I read a straight flush fanned in his fingers. I had nothing and folded. Nothing again. Still nothing. Finally I had four aces to his four kings. But my huge smile faltered as I raked in the chips. His right hand formed into a fist and suddenly his right biceps twitched. Like some wild beast jerking at its chain it jumped, so quickly I blinked and drew back. A slight ripping sound drew my eyes to the sleeve, where the seam had given way to the power of the muscle. He looked up from his cards and met my eyes. I wanted to cry and didn't know why. The relentless cards ate away at my chips like storm waves eroding a cliff. He was silent, stony, ruthless, efficient. As the game wore on, I found myself compulsively watching his arms. Now, I've never been much of a body queen, though a nicely filled-out frame always sparks my interest. But cocks were king, always had been, always would be. I mean, that's what makes a man a man, isn't it? But something about his biceps disturbed me. It seemed as if I weren't playing cards but tug-of-war, and they were dragging me down. It's as if his biceps had the power to draw the good cards out of the deck, and simply by flexing frighten them into obeisance. From the moment of that shocking flexion when he burst his sleeve there was something new in the room, something occult and terrifying. Blue veins were pushed almost through the skin of his arms. My head began to buzz. He took a moment to stretch, displaying cords of sinew in his armpits, swelled lats you could eat a turkey dinner off of. I looked at his big hands as they swiftly manipulated the cards, stacked the chips, scratched his craggy face. I felt hot, clumsy, the punk he knew me to be. And he knew I knew this about myself, deep down inside where I don't like to look. In the corner of the room I saw a long, thick piece of 1 1/4" rebar bent into a coil. Not crudely, but not machine-made. Patiently, meticulously, the hardened steel had been twisted against its will into a corkscrew, bent to a stronger will. I imagined that steel, its proud iron rigidity mocking any man. Slowly a force would bear down upon it but it remained stiff. But microscopic tension cracks would be forced open deep inside and the steel would feel itself giving beneath this compelling force. It would squeal with outrage, screech with terror as it's thickness was stretched on one side and impossibly compressed on the other. Its strength dominated, its pride humiliated by a man who doesn't take no for an answer. I could almost hear the steel crying out even now in disbelief and helpless rage as the metal found all its furnace-forged strength beaten by the irresistible, conquering muscle of man. Bang! He slammed the deck down on the table. My head jumped and I shook it, as if in a cloud. With a quick glance at his chips he turned his gaze to me. "Thirteen hundred sixty- five dollars." He squinted. "That's three years, two hundred seventy days, or..." he looked at the ceiling "...Sunday, March 10, 2002. With the leap year." My heart skipped a beat in wonder. A man like this... All strength drained out through my feet. He smiled coldly and I began to shake involuntarily. He nodded to the cards. "Double or nothing?" Into his eyes came the first thread of desire. I bolted for the door, upsetting the card table as I did. Chips clattered across the floor, my camp stool collapsed. But when I pulled the knob the door wouldn't budge. Frantically I checked the locks; all open. I look up to see the great man's limb above my head, holding the door. I forced a scream from my breathless lungs. "Windows are triple-paned. ‘Sides, neighbors have learned not to bother with me. " A hand that covered my entire head forced me down to my knees and I began to cry. Sobbing with fear, my body shaking, I put my hands in front of my face. "Puh- Puh- Puhlease!" Drool and snot fell out of my face. He grabbed my wrists and forced my hands behind my back. His fingers made mine interlace. Then one hand chucked my chin so hard I heard my neck crack. My wide, wet eyes met his. I stopped shaking. I was afraid to move a muscle. I felt hard steel ram my face, and my mouth found his rigid meat behind the frayed stiff denim. The muscle pulsed, getting even longer, harder, bigger as I hesitantly tongued it through the cotton. A hand palmed the back of my head and push me hard against him, grinding my face into his crotch and down against his thighs. The size and density of those huge legs let me know I could never outrun him. He could probably kick my four-cylinder Hyundai into a ditch at full speed. "Thirsty?" he asked. I didn't dare reply, and he didn't wait for an answer. But instead of what I thought he would do, he disappeared into the kitchen. My own dick throbbed, caught against my underwear, but I couldn't touch it. My hands were trapped behind my back by the power of his will as if chained. My arms may as well have had no bones in them at all. Right now, I had only one bone in my entire body, one that ached and was drawn to the strong man like an insect to a raging wildfire. After untold minutes he came back with a coconut. As I watched, he held it out in front of me, palm down. The veins began to stand out on his forearm. A dozen thick ropes in his arm swelled and began almost vibrating, faster and faster. His knuckles went white as his fingers gripped into the husk. I began breathing harder, in anticipation, though he wore no expression and barely breathed at all. He took a deep breath, I saw his great chest rise, pecs stretching out almost as wide as he was tall. I heard a small pop. A drop of white liquid appeared at the bottom of the coconut, and he held it out for me with a tender smile. I though I would cream my jeans as I crawled over on my knees and held out my tongue. He squeezed. The sweet milk ran out, into my mouth and down over my chin. He continued to squeeze, the crack creeping farther up the dense shell. Strands of husk brushed against my lips and nose. I gulped the milk like a baby, sucking at the hairy ball for more. When the last of it was gone he pulled it away from him. I watched his forearm swell to the size of a softball as he cracked the coconut fully in half. His concrete thighs pushed his rod of steel back against my mouth. As I worked the buttons open with my teeth, he scooped out the fruit and calmly ate it with his fingers. His cock was too long now to fall out through the fly. It was so hard I didn't know if I could release it without using my teeth. I reached down and sucked at his hairy balls. Slowly, with an expertise I barely knew I had, I drew the heavy, cum-fulled globes up, higher and higher. His hips moved with every torque of my lips. Then I reached out with my tongue and carefully scooped one blue-veined gonad into my hot, wet mouth. I swirling the huge, tender gland in the thick syrup of my spit, then dropped it neatly outside the coverall. I took the other ball into my mouth, he pressed his dick against my face. I brushed my eyelashes against the underside of the shaft without missing a beat. His dick shuddered. But he didn't come. He reached down and grabbed my by my armpits, pulling me into the air as if I were a child. My legs were still bent at the knee. With a look that made me go absolutely limp in his arms he pulled me to his mouth. I resisted, knowing he wouldn't respect me if I didn't. But slowly the strong line of his jaw forced his lips tighter against mine and I gave way. Moist, hot coconut flowed into my mouth, and I drank it. When he set me down I fell onto my back, unable to remain upright. He pulled his dick from his overalls and it longer than I imagined, thick as a can of Colt 45. He got down into a push-up position, the steel toes of his workboots wide on the floor. With one arm balancing him, he grabbed my shirt with the other and yanked it. Buttons flew like ricochets. Then he grabbed my jeans and in one move had them open and down to my knees, trapping my legs together. One more tug and he ripped my underwear right off. My meat flopped back on my flat belly, quivering. He then began rubbing his manhood against mine, rhythmically while doing one- armed push-ups. Each time he came down he squeezed his cock against mine. Crushed my chest with his cinder-block pecs. Covered my nose and mouth with his so that I couldn't breath. Like a mouth-to-mouth exercise I had as a boy scout at camp, hoping my hard-on wouldn't show through my skimpy khaki shorts, I felt his breath fill my mouth. My body resisted, my lungs struggled, then yielded. I felt my lungs fill with the air he gave me. Then the striations would stand out on his triceps and he rose above me. His tris didn't have the horseshoe shape but bulged out like two thick pincers down to his elbow. All the while tugging almost painfully at my hair gently with this other hand. I exhaled and waited for him to descend, to give me the air I needed to breath. I couldn't dare cum though my body wanted to arch and drain itself dry. I was so overwhelmed it was his will alone that held me, forced the cum back down into my screaming balls. When I thought I would die, and die ecstatic, he reached down and pulled my jeans off over my shoes. Immediately I wrapped my legs around his armored, narrow waist. And waited. He switched arms. The free arm, engorged with blood, trembled with effort. His battering ram felt its way to the weakness in my fortress. His giant head pushed against my tightened hole, lubricating the wet muscle, toying with it. Suddenly he slammed himself past my crumbling defenses, like Hercules breaking down the gate to the city with his fists. A full third of his mammoth cock rammed into me. Pain flashed though my head like heat lightening, and I gulped for air. Before I had time to react he pushed himself further in, then further. The great boring tool hit my prostate; and pushed past it. By now I was openly trembling. Nausea gripped my stomach, my cock completely weak and limp at my groin. Sweat poured off my face, from my armpits. My eyes were squeezed tight against the relentless assault. His free hand, gritty from the floor, covered my face as I struggled to relax, give in to his explosive brawn. My mouth found a rough, calloused thumb and began sucking it. He rubbed my gums and stuck it so far in I thought I would gag. He yanked his thumb away and put it against the small of my back. He lifted me up and then, with each hydraulic thrust slammed be against the floor. Pain spun out from my shoulders and a small "ugh" sound escaped my throat each time we hit. My asshole squeezed vainly as he pounded away like a jackhammer. His staying power amazed me, conquered me. Finally, inevitably, my shithole opened to his invading force, accepting all punishment as deserved, just. My cock began to thicken. A weak, humble creature worshipping a superior being. When he pulled out, my butthole reached after him, hungry for him. My whole body craved him and I dared to reach out my hands. One look from his stern brow and I dropped my hands against the floor. He brought me back onto my knees and I cleaned his hugeness, happily licking my own shit from under his head and around his balls. I got my lips around the head and tried to retract my teeth into my head, like a cat its claws. Breathing deeply I willed my throat to open. Suddenly his long biceps was in my face, salty, burning. I sucked at the muscle as he slowly bent his arm and it grew fuller, higher, rounder, harder. Fully flexed it was like a rock he ground into my face, my nose, my mouth. I tried to get my lips around the huge double peak. I stretched as wide as i could and still I couldn't completely contain it. The sleeve shredded open and hung in defeat around that monster muscle. Flexing the biceps slowly, then stretching it out, he kept making it peak higher. Still it stayed full and round where pressed into his unforgiving forearm. His other hand grabbed the back of my head and moved it up and down his arm. I learned every dense sinew with my tongue, spread my spit around each thick black hair. He brought me back to the unbelievably swollen biceps. He crushed my lips against my teeth, forced my tongue back into my mouth. He cupped my head between his two calloused hands. He brought my gaze to his own. While one hand caressed my cheek, he put a finger in front of my eyes and guided my attention to his bulging right biceps. "This is your God. You have no others before Him. When He comes into a room at my side, your eyes look to Him and never waver. You speak to no one but Him, and only when spoken to. All questions must be begged to Him. I alone am His mouth and deliver His judgments, which are always just. From Him is your life and all forgiveness. Try any deceit or pride and His strength will gobble you up, and His strength shall increase and you shall be no more. Now praise your God." Helplessly I shot my load so high it hit the bottom of my jaw and splashed his legs. I fell forward and wept. My cock was spewing jism and I ground it against the floor, creeping back toward him. Suddenly he placed his heavy boot on my back and bellowed hugely, like some ancient warrior. The glass rattled in the windows. I could feel the tension of all the muscles of his body shake with the effort. Then I felt his sizzling cum rain down on my back, into my hair, against my flaming ass. Again and again he roared and ground me down. Great gobs of manjuice pelted me, soaked me. He lifted his boot off my back and offered it to me. I wriggled to it and lapped up the thick strings of cum that covered it, pulled at the grit lodged in its sole with my tongue. I wept with joy. Then a door opened. Three large men came into the room. Like him, they had bodies built from hard work under the hot sun. One was so tall he had to duck through the door, and so wide he turned at an angle. The floor shook beneath them; the walls creaked. Still on my belly I looked up. My eyes went straight to his right biceps. And waited for orders. END ChipMasterson@yahoo.com