Friendly Game of 7 Card Stud

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New player shakes up a friendly poker game.
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JimBob44
JimBob44
5,056 Followers

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: Yes, I need an Editor and no, I do not want an Editor.

Yes, there's too many people to keep track of, yes it jumps around too much, yes it's too long, yes it's too short, yes it's in the wrong category, yes this is stupid shit and yes, I suck.

For those of you that have not hit the backspace key, I hope you enjoy this little tale.

*.*.*

"When is your cousin supposed to get here?" Darryl Richards yelled at his wife. "Everyone's here but him."

Carla Richards stuck her head out of the kitchen, smiled in greeting to Darryl's four buddies, and shrugged her shoulders.

"Told him you guys started at seven; is it seven yet?" the twenty three year old beauty said. "Now, interrupt me one more time and you guys can kiss my Swedish meatballs goodbye, hear?"

"Shut up, Richards," Fred said.

"Yeah, shut your pie hole," Ronald said, smiling at Carla.

She giggled as Darryl's buddies chided her fifty four year old husband and returned to the kitchen.

Just as Darryl was about to yell again, the doorbell gave an anemic 'ding' and Carla bustled out of the kitchen to answer the door.

"'Bout time," Darryl grumbled.

"Thought you were going to fix that sad ass doorbell," Brian said.

Carla smiled at Reynold Reynolds and ushered him into the living room of the large home.

The five men regarded the short fat man. Four of them nodded politely as he took the sixth chair and set his briefcase down.

"Gentlemen, and you too Wayne," Carla said, which brought on raucous laughter from the four friends of Darryl's, and a scowl from Darryl. "This is my cousin, Reynold Reynolds. You guys, he's from Louisiana, and so if you need me to translate what he's saying, just let me know, all right?"

"I'm from Louisiana," Darryl reminded his wife.

"Remember that; you and me had a good long talk about that at the wedding reception," Reynold said.

"Yeah?" Darryl asked, not remembering the man.

"Of course, you probably don't recognize me," Reynold said. "I was about fifty pounds heavier then."

"You?" Fred asked, eyeing the rotund man.

"Oh yeah, was three forty; I'm down to two eighty six now," the man agreed.

"Damn, how'd you do it?" Brian asked, rubbing his protruding belly. "Been trying get rid of this for what?"

"A lifetime?" Fred suggested.

"Reynold, I'd like you to meet my rectum," Brian said, pointing to Fred.

"Good to meet you," Reynold smiled.

"So, what you do, Reynold?" Wayne asked.

"Private investigator," Reynold said and smiled as Carla brought out some snacks.

"No kidding?" Wayne asked, eyes wide.

"Hey, uh, we going talk, or we going play?" Darryl asked.

"Start dealing, Richards," Brian said.

"Seven card stud," Darryl said to the new man.

"Excellent," Reynold agreed. "Hope y'all don't take this ass whipping personal."

"Jacks or better to open," Darryl continued as he rapidly dealt out the cards.

"So how long you been a private investigator?" Wayne pressed.

"Was in collections," Reynold said, looking at his cards and pursing his lips in disgust. "Then, home boy put two slugs into me and I was actually crippled for almost a whole year. Went from two ten to almost four hundred pounds."

"No kidding? What happened to the guy shot you?" Fred asked as he threw a five dollar bill into the pot.

"Him? Doing twenty in Mumphrey," Reynold shrugged. "But, figured out, I was real good at tracking down those sneaky little bastards, why not get paid for that? Let someone else get shot."

"Richards, you deal for shit, you hear?" Brian said, throwing a five into the pot.

"I'm out; got a nothing hand," Reynold said.

"Anyone need anything?" Carla asked.

"Yeah, less talking and more action," Darryl snapped.

"Ooh, someone's grumpy," Carla said easily. "Must have a crap hand."

"So, what's the most interesting case you ever worked on?" Fred asked Reynold.

"Don't know about most interesting, but most rewarding was this guy thought for sure his wife was cheating on him," Reynold smiled at the memory. "I mean, he'd walk into the room and she'd stop talking to whoever it was on the phone. Found out ten dollars here, twenty dollars there was beginning to disappear from his wallet, a couple of thousand from their household account."

They could hear Carla walking around overhead.

"So, what was it?" Ronald asked as he raised the pot ten dollars.

"Guy had always wanted a Gibson E. S. one seventy five," Reynold said. "It's some kind of guitar or something. Costs a butt load of money. Anyway, his fiftieth birthday was coming up and his wife had actually found a vintage one in near mint condition and was saving up to buy it for him. Then, she had to keep it hidden at her brother's house. He just about had a heart attack when he comes down for breakfast and there it is, sitting in his chair, big red bow around the neck of it."

Fred dealt the next hand and Reynold was able to throw a five, then three more fives into the pot. He shrugged in good nature when he lost that hand to Darryl.

He told them about a few other cases he'd worked on.

"Cheating? God, I hate, that's hate with a capital H cheaters. Love bringing them down," Reynold admitted. "See, my wife? Thought forsaking all others was a crock of shit."

A tear came to his eye as he remembered Cheryl, his wife. It had been nearly seventeen years, but the forty year old private investigator still felt the pain of finding out his loving wife wasn't that loving.

He had seen her a few months ago. Now, at thirty six, Cheryl still looked good, despite the few extra pounds the booze and the three children had put on her short frame. She'd cut her long blonde hair to just above her shoulders and the hairstyle flattered her sweet round face.

Then she'd seen Reynold and her pretty face twisted into a hateful mask.

"Jasmine keeps asking about you," she screamed at him.

"D.N.A. don't lie, Cheryl," Reynold said, sunglasses hiding his watery eyes. "Don't matter how many times you say it; kid ain't mine."

Reynold nibbled on one of the pimento stuffed celery sticks Carla had brought out for the poker players.

"So, what brings you all the way up here from Louisiana?" Ronald asked as Fred shuffled the deck. "I mean, our poker night's not that great, huh?"

"Huh? Oh, well, I can't give too much detail; it's still an on-going investigation," Reynold said as he put a five dollar bill into the pot. "How about I call them X, Y, and Z, huh?"

"Okay," Brian agreed.

"Anyway, Miss X has got this friend, Miss Y," Reynold said and saw Wayne's bid of ten dollars.

"Ten and I raise you ten," Darryl said.

Overhead, Carla's feet could be heard as she marched back and forth with purpose.

"And Miss Y says to Miss X, 'your husband Mr. Z just asked me for a fuck,'" Reynold said and saw Darryl's raise but did not raise his own ante.

"I'm out," Wayne said.

Fred and Brian agreed; they were out too. Ronald matched the current ante.

"Anyway, I'm up here on a court case, little college student from Louisiana? She's going to Harvester's? Anyway, Got caught up with some professor or teacher or something, studies go out the window, she's failing big time fucking around with this married man and..."

"Hey, hey, enough with the language, huh?" Wayne asked, face twisted in disdain.

"Huh? Oh, damn, I'm sorry," Reynold said and nodded as he won that hand. "It's just, man! I really hate cheaters, know? Anyway, little girl's sleeping with this married man and I'm trying keep her from losing her scholarship and then I get a call from Miss X about Mr. Z not keeping his pencil in his pants and I'm already up here, so..."

Wayne dealt the next hand.

"Anyway, not only is Mr. Z fu... Trying to have sex with Miss Y, he's also doing the wives of uh, Mr. A, B, and C," Reynold said and threw his five into the pot.

"I'm out," Fred said.

A's Wife.

"Only thing make that fucking ugly face cute is to shove a big fat cock in it," Corrine's father said.

Grabbing a handful of the girl's drab brown hair, the man dragged the girl over to his recliner and forced her face down into his lap.

Corrine nearly gagged; the smell of her father's sweat and urine was overwhelming. But she opened her mouth and took his three and a half inches into her mouth.

"See? Looking better already," the man chuckled.

Corrine's mother did nothing to stop her father.

"Just be grateful he's not planting his seed into your womb," was all her mother would say whenever Corrine complained about the abuse.

"God damn, ain't even got fucking tits," Corrine's father complained as he roughly grabbed the eighteen year old girl's small breasts.

Because of all the beer he'd already consumed, Hank soon lost his erection and slapped Corrine for not being able to suck cock right. Two more beers, he punched Corrine's mother in her face, grabbed some money out of the woman's already quite slim purse and left the house.

At school the next day, A walked over to where Corrine sat

"Hey uh, hi Corinne, A stammered.

"Hey," Corinne agreed, looking up at the pimple faced young man.

Despite his mass of pimples, A had a sweet smile and warm brown eyes

He wasn't particularly athletic, but he was the manager of the football and basketball team, so A routinely hung out with the jocks and cheerleaders and had even dated a few of the cheerleaders. Corrine had heard the talk; A was a true gentleman.

So, she regarded him, wondering what he was doing, talking with her. She wasn't pretty, or popular, or smart. She was a nobody.

A asked Corrine if she'd like to go to Benny's Burger Bar and to a movie that Friday night.

"See, there's a thousand ways you can fix your burger," he nervously said.

"Yeah, sure," the girl shrugged.

Corrine was genuinely surprised when A walked up to the door, instead of sitting in his car and blowing the horn. Corrine was also surprised when A talked politely to her parents, talked about his plans to go to Harvester's College.

"I'm, I want to be a teacher," he admitted. "I mean, no one remembers who won the World Series five years ago, right?"

"The Yankees," Hank snapped, wanting A to just leave so he could turn the television on.

"Uh, yeah, but you always remember that teacher took the time explain stuff, right?" A mumbled.

He let Corrine order what food she wanted. He let her fix her burger the way she wanted. Then he let her decide what movie they'd see.

And at the end of the date, he told her he had a really great time and hoped they'd do it again. And he kissed her. A soft kiss.

That night, Corrine's father came into her bedroom and shoved his cock into her dry pussy for the first time.

"God, that boy's a faggot," Hank sneered. "Ugly piece of shit like you and he doesn't even bust your cherry?"

But instead of drifting off to sleep thinking about the soreness of her crotch, Corrine thought of the soft, sweet kiss A had given her.

The next time A took Corrine out, she crawled into the backseat of his car and took his virginity.

They married a week after their graduation. The parentage of their first, a sweet, handsome baby boy was a mystery to Corrine.

The parentage of their second and third was no mystery; Corrine never went to her parents' home unless her husband was with her.

Marriage must agree with A; he lost the pimples and the scrawny physique. But as handsome as A was, he assured Corrine that she was beautiful. That he was lucky to be with her, that he was head over heels in love with her, and with their three children.

Nine years after their marriage, A introduced Corrine to Mr. Z, a co-worker at the college.

And Mr. Z reduced Corrine with a withering, scornful look. He was also quite rude to their three children.

"Really don't like rug rats; why I had a whack job," Mr. Z admitted.

A was at work and the children were at school when Corrine heard a knock at their door. She opened it and Mr. Z just walked in, nearly knocking her onto the ground as he brushed into the house.

"A's at work," she stammered.

"Know that," Mr. Z said.

He gripped one of her small breasts in his meaty paw.

"What?" Stop!" Corrine ordered.

Then he kissed her. Not a loving or seductive kiss, but a crude forceful kiss.

He pulled her by her hair into her bedroom, into the bedroom she shared with her beloved husband. Then he ordered her to strip.

"I cannot believe I did this," Corrine sobbed as Mr. Z pulled his pants back on.

"Got to say, you do suck a mean cock," Mr. Z complimented.

"Go, just fucking go!" Corrine sobbed.

"Uh huh, listen, next time, see about shaving that jungle huh?" Mr. Z demanded and left the house.

That night, A was surprised when his wife was the one that took the initiative, dragged him into their bedroom. But he didn't complain as she aggressively mounted him and rode him to a grunting orgasm.

7 Card Stud

Darryl watched as Reynold quickly shuffled the cards. Then the guest frowned and shuffled the cards more slowly.

"Uh, guys, we're about..." Reynold said and shuffled again. "We're about two or three cards short."

"You sure?" Darryl asked.

"I mean, this is a standard deck, right?" Reynold asked and rapidly counted the cards. "Yeah, I've only got forty nine here."

The men looked around the table.

"Oh, here they are," Fred said, picking up two aces and a queen that had fallen to the floor.

Reynold Reynolds held Darryl's eyes in a steady gaze as he shuffled the three new cards into the deck.

"Need anything?" Carla asked as she marched through the living room.

"Uh, you did say something about Swedish meatballs, right?" Wayne asked.

B's Wife.

Sister Beatrice proudly announced to the class that B was planning on going to the Seminary, planning to study to become a priest.

Most of the students of St. Richard's clapped politely. B was a pear shaped nerd, was extremely unpopular with all his peers, and walked around with his head in the clouds, when it wasn't in a schoolbook.

Only one student laughed; Dianne Browning.

"Watch this," she hissed to her closest friend, April Munson.

"Wow, B, that is just so great you going be a priest and all," Dianne praised.

"Thank you, Dianne," B smiled proudly.

"Oh, hey, what'd you make on the last Algebra test?" Dianne asked, already knowing the answer.

"I uh, a hundred," B said.

"Really? I got a fifty nine!" Dianne said, thrusting her 36DD breasts as close to B as she could without touching him.

She then leaned close, actually dragging her breasts down his chest as she put a small hand on his arm.

"Could you, do you think you could oh, I don't know, tutor me on this stuff?" she asked sweetly.

"Uh, yeah, sure; it's not that hard," B said.

They made plans for him to stop by her house that afternoon. Dianne gave April a wicked grin and sauntered away from B, plaid skirt swishing over her rounded buttocks as she walked.

B showed up and Dianne pulled him up the stairs to her bedroom.

"You know, B, I really think oh, I don't know, I mean, it's so great , you know, that you're going to be a priest and stuff, but I can't help but feel a little cheated," Dianne simpered.

She sat in just a pair of shorts and tank top. B had a hard time concentrating on teaching her the concepts behind factoring.

"What, what do you mean?" B asked.

"Well, if you become a priest, then I feel like I missed out," Dianne said, pushing her breasts into his arm.

"Missed out? On what?" B asked.

"I mean, I've always had such a big crush on you; I guess you never noticed," Dianne simpered.

"You, really?" B squeaked.

Dianne kissed him. When he pushed her away, she burst into tears. He tried to hug her, to comfort her and again she kissed him.

The naive, innocent boy was no match for the conniving seductress. Before he knew it, B was between her legs, thrusting his short, fat cock in and out of her blonde pussy.

"Oh no, you ruined me!" Dianne sobbed after B had ejaculated into her.

He did go to college, did study Theology, and did become a deacon of the church. He then went on to obtain his Master's degree in Education and a Doctorate in Divinity.

But a part of B always felt that he'd missed his true calling, to become a priest. He would never blame Dianne, his loving and devoted wife; it was he, after all, that had ruined the innocent girl. He had allowed his base urges to take advantage of her crush on him.

Mr. Z smiled when he met B's wife, eyes never going above her 38E breasts. Dianne had been the one who called Mr. Z, let him know that B was leading a spiritual retreat for his Theology 105 class that weekend.

"I uh, you're married," Mr. Z had stammered. "To uh, to B."

"Uh huh, you want to fuck or not?" Dianne asked.

"I do want to fuck," Mr. Z agreed.

Dianne met Mr. Z at the door, wearing nothing but high heels. Her breasts were magnificent, with a little natural sag to them; she was forty one years old, after all. Her nipples were large brown dots on her chest, and they were crinkled and hard. Her crotch had just a thin racing stripe of blonde, letting Mr. Z see that she was indeed a natural blonde.

They used the couch in B's study, because Dianne loved the feel of leather on her naked ass. And Mr. Z was thrilled to find out that her breasts were real.

"Wow," Mr. Z gasped after the second round of fucking.

"Wow indeed; you like anal?" Dianne asked.

Mr. Z found out that Dianne used B's Spiritual Retreat weekends as her times to fuck around on her husband.

"You're not worried he'll find out?" Mr. Z asked.

"Fuck; he hasn't found out yet," Dianne cackled. "I mean, shit! I'd go over to the clueless fuck's house right after taking on three or four guys and he'd never even notice how sloppy my pussy was."

She cackled at that memory.

"Mr. Missionary position, lights off," she sneered. "Whenever he'd bitch and whine about all my guy friends? I'd just start a fight with him, what? I'm not supposed to have any friends? Ten minutes later, dumb shit'd be all apologizing and shit."

Dianne stroked Mr. Z's cock, then handed him a jar of lubricant.

"He could walk in right now and I'd just tell him you're going through some trouble in your marriage and I'm counseling you and he'd say Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting you guys, and leave the room," Dianne snorted.

"Charlie and Danielle? I seriously doubt that they're his," Dianne admitted as she knelt on the couch, ass up.

"You're not worried I'll tell him?" Mr. Z asked as he delved his greasy finger into her tight pucker.

"Go ahead," Dianne shrugged. "Last guy that did? I just told B he'd made a pass at me and when I refused, he swore he'd get even with me."

At B's next Spiritual Retreat weekend, Mr. Z did find out that he'd been replaced.

"Oh, Honey, I never do the same guy twice," Dianne cackled into the phone. "Avoids complications that way."

"Ever do two of us at the same time?" Mr. Z asked.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Come on over," Dianne said. "Don't bother knocking; we're in his study."

7 Card Stud.

Darryl swore as he raised the pot to the limit, one hundred dollars, and Reynold flipped over his three hand cards to show that he had four queens, two in his hand and two showing.

"See, we set the limit at a hundred; keeps any of us losing our house," Brian chuckled as Reynold pulled the wad of five dollar bills and arranged the bills neatly.

"Makes sense," Reynold smiled and slid the deck of cards to him.

"Really? He beat your three sixes?" Carla asked Darryl. "Anyone need anything before I go back upstairs?"

"And what are you doing up there anyway?" Darryl demanded.

"Cleaning out some crap I don't need anymore," Carla smiled, playfully messing up his perfect hair.

JimBob44
JimBob44
5,056 Followers
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