Cracker Jack
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
588
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
588
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Cracker Jack
Cracker Jack
He always knows what he wants. He never pretends to want anything and I never assume he could want for anything else. But then again, how can you tell with a poker player? It's always so easy for him to waltz right up to me, demanding and taking everything just to get his fix for the day. And all I can say is that I'm agreeable.
I'm a pool player. I know spin. I know traction, and friction. I know momentum, speed, and I know angles. But more than anything, I know how to crack a poker player. The way they air poker on ESPN, you'd think you would need truth serum and a pair of bolt cutters. But not with Raine. I've been with Raine for 6 years, since high school. So far, I've learned that to crack a poker player, you need time and one hell of a hand.
Primarily, it takes both observation and aggression. Learn his habits, his give-aways and you've almost already won the hand. Every morning, when Raine wakes up, he rolls over and kisses the back of my neck before going to the restroom. I usually whimper , and grind my ass into him to have him half hard before he even gets out of bed. How much time he spends in the bathroom tells me exactly what kind of good morning he wants: five minutes for a quickie and ten for the whole cake and ice cream.
On a five-minute kind of morning, I'm usually on him the moment he steps through the door. I slam him up against the door and pull at his shorts while kissing him as deep and as angrily as I can. By the time I have his cock in my hands, he's usually mint flavored mush. And you have to love a man who brushes his teeth. I suck him deep with steady, moderately paced strokes. The sloppier it looks and sounds, the better. Eventually, he will pull on my hair fairly hard to try and get me to stop but I know exactly what he wants and why he fights it this way. He's losing his game face, and he's beautiful.
When he's close, he closes his eyes, moans with his mouth closed, and slumps against the door, as if to hide how on edge he is. And that's when I start to finger him. The surprise on his face is worth his impulsive sex quirks, no matter how risky or how painful they can get. It's almost like he just realizes that for all his posing, his body responds as all male bodies responds to this treatment: with shivers, moans, screams, and in his case, a few tears. His balance is thrown once I start massaging his prostate, and he usually has to place his hands and his weight on my shoulders to keep from falling. Once I start jabbing at the gland, he starts to twitch and moan with every prod until he's consistently trembling. It's only a matter of minutes until he's jerking and bucking into my mouth as I take him deep until he's limp. Finally, I pull him to bed to lie with me as I hold him tight. You know how vulnerable those poker players can be without a decent bluff.
On those ten-minute mornings, he's taken time to gather himself. So, when I get up to greet him at the door, he's rock hard with two fingers well lubed to make sure I'm completely ready for him. I go to kiss him but I find myself shoved face first against the door. All the while, he's stretching me and soon, Raine's balls deep inside me. He doesn't wait for me to give him the okay signal. He doesn't even wait for me to get hard. He just starts pounding as my body naturally clenches against his invasion. But it's not like any of that matters. Soon, I'm digging my hips into his while trying to listen to his half-uttered moans and curses.
This is where it gets foggy. Eventually, he will want to make me scream, literally. Therefore, he pulls me flush against him by my hair and fucks me until my legs give out, following me to the ground. He then pushes my head into the carpet and thrusts directly at my prostate like it's a jousting target. This is where I start to lose my breath, start to see spots behind my eyelids, start to scream, and where he starts to chuckle. When I finally come, never having touched my cock, he crows, "Yes!" in triumph before groaning and coming into me as if I needed it. He then slaps me on the ass and goes to take his shower.
He's an idiot. But I love him more than anything. Even more than the game. And you know with those poker players, once they win the pot, once they get what they truly want, the game face comes off and you come away with more than what was ever on the table. Raine's a wild card; a game of nine ball, but he's mine, and us pool players always play for keeps. He's mine, and that's enough.
He always knows what he wants. He never pretends to want anything and I never assume he could want for anything else. But then again, how can you tell with a poker player? It's always so easy for him to waltz right up to me, demanding and taking everything just to get his fix for the day. And all I can say is that I'm agreeable.
I'm a pool player. I know spin. I know traction, and friction. I know momentum, speed, and I know angles. But more than anything, I know how to crack a poker player. The way they air poker on ESPN, you'd think you would need truth serum and a pair of bolt cutters. But not with Raine. I've been with Raine for 6 years, since high school. So far, I've learned that to crack a poker player, you need time and one hell of a hand.
Primarily, it takes both observation and aggression. Learn his habits, his give-aways and you've almost already won the hand. Every morning, when Raine wakes up, he rolls over and kisses the back of my neck before going to the restroom. I usually whimper , and grind my ass into him to have him half hard before he even gets out of bed. How much time he spends in the bathroom tells me exactly what kind of good morning he wants: five minutes for a quickie and ten for the whole cake and ice cream.
On a five-minute kind of morning, I'm usually on him the moment he steps through the door. I slam him up against the door and pull at his shorts while kissing him as deep and as angrily as I can. By the time I have his cock in my hands, he's usually mint flavored mush. And you have to love a man who brushes his teeth. I suck him deep with steady, moderately paced strokes. The sloppier it looks and sounds, the better. Eventually, he will pull on my hair fairly hard to try and get me to stop but I know exactly what he wants and why he fights it this way. He's losing his game face, and he's beautiful.
When he's close, he closes his eyes, moans with his mouth closed, and slumps against the door, as if to hide how on edge he is. And that's when I start to finger him. The surprise on his face is worth his impulsive sex quirks, no matter how risky or how painful they can get. It's almost like he just realizes that for all his posing, his body responds as all male bodies responds to this treatment: with shivers, moans, screams, and in his case, a few tears. His balance is thrown once I start massaging his prostate, and he usually has to place his hands and his weight on my shoulders to keep from falling. Once I start jabbing at the gland, he starts to twitch and moan with every prod until he's consistently trembling. It's only a matter of minutes until he's jerking and bucking into my mouth as I take him deep until he's limp. Finally, I pull him to bed to lie with me as I hold him tight. You know how vulnerable those poker players can be without a decent bluff.
On those ten-minute mornings, he's taken time to gather himself. So, when I get up to greet him at the door, he's rock hard with two fingers well lubed to make sure I'm completely ready for him. I go to kiss him but I find myself shoved face first against the door. All the while, he's stretching me and soon, Raine's balls deep inside me. He doesn't wait for me to give him the okay signal. He doesn't even wait for me to get hard. He just starts pounding as my body naturally clenches against his invasion. But it's not like any of that matters. Soon, I'm digging my hips into his while trying to listen to his half-uttered moans and curses.
This is where it gets foggy. Eventually, he will want to make me scream, literally. Therefore, he pulls me flush against him by my hair and fucks me until my legs give out, following me to the ground. He then pushes my head into the carpet and thrusts directly at my prostate like it's a jousting target. This is where I start to lose my breath, start to see spots behind my eyelids, start to scream, and where he starts to chuckle. When I finally come, never having touched my cock, he crows, "Yes!" in triumph before groaning and coming into me as if I needed it. He then slaps me on the ass and goes to take his shower.
He's an idiot. But I love him more than anything. Even more than the game. And you know with those poker players, once they win the pot, once they get what they truly want, the game face comes off and you come away with more than what was ever on the table. Raine's a wild card; a game of nine ball, but he's mine, and us pool players always play for keeps. He's mine, and that's enough.