Friday afternoon, Clay stepped into the casino if only to get away from the heat but really he had come there to gamble. A silver belt buckle, tight blue jeans, a tucked in button down shirt, 10 gallon hat, and boots, Clay was the icon of a cowboy as he sat down at the poker table.
He looked around at the other players, most of them were there to lose and drink complimentary drinks except for one, a short man with dark skin, black hair, and dark eyes. Clay guessed he was from the Middle East, maybe Pakistan or India, probably Saudi Arabia. The man noticed him in return, their eyes caught in an uncomfortable recognition of two men on a mission, to win.
They played a few hands, both of them won in turns, piled up their chips. Others came and went but they were at it for hours. Clay nursed two drinks but the man always waved away the cocktail girl. Probably doesn’t drink, he thought, keeps him sharp. When seats emptied between them the man moved closer but didn’t say anything until there was a change of dealers. They talked over their shoulders in not quite whispers.
“You play big,” the man said, “I like your style.”
He had a bit of an accent but Clay couldn’t place it, not that he had anything against foreigners, not really, it was more of a curiousness, a desire to know. He liked the way the man played as well, a kind of confidence that made him difficult to read.
“Thanks,” Clay replied.
“I’m going to dinner soon but maybe you’d like to meet up later. I’m hosting a private game up in my room. There are some big whales who can’t play, they just don’t like to lose big so their conservative players but I think they’d like you. Would you be interested?”
“How much do I have to have to get into the game?”
“Two thousand should do it,” the man answered.
The dealer eyed them suspiciously. The stranger waved away his interest and said that he was leaving. The dealer looked to Clay who began to count his chips. It would be a bit of a hustle but he could come up with two thousand. Why not?
“Okay, I’m in for tonight.”
“My name is Raj, let me give you my phone number. We start after eight o’clock, make sure you get something to eat. There will be drinks if you’re interested.”
“I like to keep an even head so I don’t indulge, too much.”
“Good, a worthy opponent,” the man replied.
He pulled a matchbook from his jacket and wrote down his number with his name, then handed it over. Clay took it and thanked him as he watched the man walk away.
Fleece some whales of their cash, he thought, easy money. He turned back to the dealer and indicated he was ready to continue playing. He played a few more hands, but found he had lost his interest in trying to hustle the money. He had a few hundred in the bank, a few favors he could call in, he thought.
Besides he didn’t want to wear himself out. He stopped playing after a winning hand and walked away with his chips. He cashed out and went back to his apartment after stopping at the bank, a simple dwelling, a studio apartment. He called his friends, took a shower, picked out his best shirt and jeans, then headed out to his friends. He drove all around town to bars, casinos, and homes to get the money but by the time he made it back to the casino he over two thousand dollars. He had two bulges in his pants as he walked into the place. He stopped at the reception to call up to the room.
“Hello, yes, come right up,” Raj said.
Clay walked with his shoulders high to the elevators, but noticed the regular elevators didn’t go to Raj’s room. He smirked as he turned to the other elevator bank, a special elevator to the largest rooms. He passed a few women headed to the pool, athletic women, and tipped his hat, watched their butts after they passed. He stepped onto the elevator, pressed the button for the floor and put his thumbs in pockets.
Moments later he was there. He stepped off with a renewed commitment to win. Everything made him feel like this was going to be his lucky night. He strutted down the hall to the room where he knocked as cordially as he could, soon after Raj opened the door and invited him inside.
There was a mix of men and women of different ethnicities around the room but he could tell easily that he was the poorest of them and for a moment his two thousand dollars didn’t feel like such a big bulge, but he steadied himself as Raj took him into the bedroom where he placed the wad of bills in a safe with piles of cash. Raj was quick to take him by the elbow and usher him back out to the bar to introduce him to a few of the guests.
They made small talk for a few minutes as people began to move to the poker table set up by the window. There were only six players, five men and one woman. Raj continued to guide him by the elbow over to the table.
“Listen, I’m sorry for telling you the wrong amount. The other players wanted to raise the entry limit. I’ll cover you for another three thousand,” he whispered.
“Thanks,” Clay replied. “But-”
Raj was quick to stop him by planting him in a chair. Clay looked around at these other players and felt he could take them easily, it would be too good. He’d make up the three thousand easily and maybe roll them for another couple of grand, he thought. He decided to play.
And it was easy, except for Raj, but nearly everyone had a tell except for the Japanese man but he liked to drink too much so he bet more as the night went on and lost it all. Like Raj had said the old men didn’t mind losing they just bet small so he had to slow roll them to get them betting more, feign weakness. By the end of the night he was up twelve thousand and the game ended, not because they were out of money, no, but because most of them were drunk. Raj walked them out in turn, thanked them for their time but really he was thanking them for their money.
Somehow, for some reason, maybe it was just to collect his winnings without anyone else around, Clay was the last as Raj made his way back to the table. Two men, they looked across the table at each other and smiled.
“You did very good tonight,” Raj said. “What will you spend your winnings on?”
“Steak, lots of steak, and maybe a woman.”
“No girlfriend?”
“No, couldn’t afford one, but now I can,” Clay said. “Thank you for inviting me up for this. You were right, they didn’t care about losing. Just how rich were they?”
“I don’t like to gossip,” Raj said. And for a moment Clay felt like he had asked the wrong question, but then the man grinned at him. “Filthy rich,” he replied and they laughed a little, “they can afford to lose it. I’d rather it be in your pocket then theirs.”
Clay groaned with relief as he sat back in his chair. He stretched out his arms. It was over. He had won. But Raj barely moved, in fact he stared at him. Did he want to play another game, one on one? He rubbed at his face, readied himself to quit.
“Would you be willing to play another hand?”
“I don’t know. I’m tired,” Clay said.
That’s good, he thought, be polite, just banter a little then get the money. He could imagine himself walking out the door with all of that cash. It probably wouldn’t fit in his pocket. He’d need a bag. Maybe Raj had one he could borrow, maybe even buy, he laughed at himself for the last thought.
“What if we don’t play for money?” Raj asked.
Oh no, Clay thought, the guy is queer and is making his move.
“Sorry, I don’t go in for strip poker or anything like that. That’s for kids, college kids who want to see each other naked.”
“I’m not talking about strip poker,” Raj replied.
“What are you talking about?”
“I win your money. You win my money. We break even. It doesn’t say much about us as men,” Raj said. “But we could play for something else, something that could tell us about who we are as men.”
“You’ve lost me partner. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Wait right there,” Raj said.
He didn’t have much choice, Clay thought as he watched the man walk away from the table. He went into the bedroom and moments later returned with a long, ornate box that looked like it could hold a pool cue. I’m not playing pool, he thought, besides it doesn’t prove much about being a man.
Raj opened the box carefully and revealed that inside on a red velvet lining was a long, thin almost plastic looking stick. Hell of a box for a stick, Clay thought.
“I don’t get it,” Clay said.
Raj returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table. He leaned on his elbows, looked deep into Clay’s eyes. It was an intense, unyielding look. Clay curled his toes.
“When was the last time you were spanked?”
Clay gave out a nervous laugh, uncurled his toes.
“Is that what this is for? Do you want to spank me?”
“I want to see how brave you are. How brave are you?”
“I’m brave. I’ve been spanked. Hell, I’ve even cut my own switch for my mother to whip my ass but that was decades ago. I was a bad kid. This barely looks like it will hurt.”
“We set aside our earnings. The money you won is all yours. We get new chips, a hundred each, but this time the loser collects. The number of chips equals the number of times we get whipped.”
“We?”
“I’ve played this game a few times and no one ever ends up with all of the chips. Eventually someone gives up when they start to lose. The person with the lowest number gets it first from the other player. It’s easier that way.”
“I don’t know man, this is some weird shit,” Clay said.
“Are you scared?”
Clay laughed him off with a push of his hands, then looked to the stick between them, not a stick, a cane, something like the British used to have before corporal punishment became illegal. A cane, on his bottom, he shrugged at the thought, but as he looked at Raj looking back at him so eager he couldn’t help but think of winning and taking it to the man, really laying into him with it, maybe he’d stop playing. He could teach this man a lesson, he thought.
“Okay, let’s play a few hands,” he said.
It started in jest, the chips were set aside and new ones put in their place, a hundred each. Raj started the blind low, made small bets. Clay tried to prod him into committing more, hand after hand they pulled the chips back and forth at nearly even amounts until Clay started to notice his pile was getting larger and Raj was winning more hands. He was difficult to read, especially now as he had a new, almost sadistic intent. The stick became more ominous as Clay found himself betting more trying to intimidate his opponent but Raj stuck with him and a few losing hands later Clay doubted his strategy and thought to change it up. But that stick was in his mind even when he closed his eyes, it was almost like he could feel it striking his bottom. Finally he lost his nerve as he collected a pile of chips and looked to Raj who had twenty-three piled neatly in front of him, and threw in his cards.
“Okay, you win, I lose. You beat me fair and square, but I’m still not sure about this whole thing. I mean I don’t think I’m going to let you hit me with that thing.”
“Are you going to welsh on a bet?”
“You know, I don’t ever, I mean, I ain’t ever, but this is just too much.”
“Don’t you want to give it to me?” Raj rippled his chips a few times, twenty three chips, he picked them up and dropped them one at a time a few times as Clay looked to his own collection. Maybe, just maybe he could hurt the guy enough to give up, maybe even if he wanted he could refuse when it came to his turn. He’d get his money and just leave, he thought. But a bet is a bet, he thought, hell he’d done foolish things before because of a bet: strip poker, run naked through the streets, and even dry hump a stuffed animal on his girlfriend’s bed.
He could strike Raj a few times, try to get an idea of how it felt, and make his decision later, he told himself. He bit at his lip as he leaned over the table and picked up the cane. He sat back and swiped through the air a few times. It had a distinct swish that raised the hair on the back of his neck. Twenty-three and this guy is toast, he thought, especially if it’s on the bare.
“Okay, let’s do it,” he said.
“Good,” Raj replied.
Good? Clay was starting to have doubts but Raj was quick to get up from his seat and move around the table. He looked to Clay with vulnerable eyes.
“Where?” Clay asked.
“Anywhere,” Raj replied. “The person wielding the cane gets to decide.”
“Okay, lean against the poker table,” Clay said.
Raj first undid his belt, opened his jeans to reveal silk briefs, then turned to the table. He lowered the back of his underwear to below his cheeks, leaned against the table and pulled up his shirt at the same time. Clay got up and moved behind the man. He looked at the man’s butt, firm cheeks with a few scars. Were they scars from this cane? Some of them had to be, but maybe some of the scars were from other canes, he reasoned. How much did this man play this game and how much did he win?
Clay practiced a few swings in the air and he noticed Raj tense with each swish. It was the man’s idea but even this cane made him nervous. Just how much did it hurt?
“Sorry, I’m not messing with you,” Clay said. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“Yes, do it,” Raj replied.
And like that Clay landed his first blow to the man’s buttocks. It was a soft one, partly held back by Clay’s own hesitation to cause the man pain. He struck him a few more times, tried to move up and down over his flesh, never hit the man’s spine or kidneys, he thought. Raj took each hit with a determined grunt until fourteen and then he began to whine a little as Clay saw the marks he was leaving were crossing over each other. He swallowed hard at the thought of being on the receiving end, but fifteen and he realized he was running out so he began to strike the man harder and harder trying to get him to break. Maybe he’ll give it up, Clay thought as he got to twenty, but the man had a renewed breath with the hit. He had been counting too, just three more, so Clay made them good ones but the man didn’t falter. The final blow and Clay set the cane on the table and stepped away as he watched Raj steady his breathing.
The man turned on him, smirked a little as he pulled up his underwear and his pants. He tucked in his shirt, fastened his belt buckle, and zipped up his fly. He looked to the cane then to Clay who stepped back again.
“There’s no way I can take one hundred and seventy-seven,” Clay said.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Raj said, “just seventy-seven and that’s it, all you have to take and then you’ll get your cash and you can be on your way.”
“That’s still, I don’t know...” Clay said.
“You made a bet. Are you going to honor it?”
The man was questioning his honor? No, no way, Clay thought. He stepped forward and undid his belt, set the buckle on the table as Raj picked up the cane and stepped behind him. Clay unbuttoned, unzipped, and pushed his pants down to his ankles. Why had he chosen white briefs? He shrugged off the thought as he pulled them down around his butt just like Raj had done. He leaned against the table, puled up his shirt, and readied himself.
“Just do it,” he said.
Raj was quick with the first strike. It hurt but Clay tried to shrug it off like a bug bite, just don’t think about it he told himself, but the second one was in the exact same spot. Raj wasn’t being as merciful as he had been by moving up and down, a few more and he’d break skin. The third and fourth were succinct and in a different place, but still close, two more and Clay balled his fists. Seven, eight, nine, and ten were all in different places but they bit into his flesh with a kind of sting that lingered.
Another three and he felt a pain that was building up in the middle of his cheeks. By the time Raj got to twenty the pain moved up his back to just above his butt, another five and the pain ran along his spine to his chest. He congratulated himself for taking more than Raj had and still not crying. Five more lines and his skin began to turn against him, his butt twitched, one cheek then the other, a pain in his lungs. He refused to cry out in true pain, refused to ask for mercy. Thirty-five and the pain was in his throat, a throbbing sensation that ran back and forth between his shoulders and his butt.
Forty and the pain that had stopped in his throat sunk down to his knees, his ankles and his feet, but he refused to let himself fall. Another five in quick succession. He tried to hold himself more steady but as he pushed himself up his elbows ran against felt and the sensation confused his nerves. The pain in his throat pushed up behind his eyes and that was all he it needed as he began to cry salty tears that ran down to his lips. He could taste himself. He grabbed at the table but the man struck him again, five more times, lines that crossed over lines. Was that blood? Did he break skin?
Just twenty-seven more, he told himself, but oh god even those first twenty-seven had hurt. It was only going to get worse. He felt his cheeks twitching uncontrollably. He had lost control of himself. His feet wouldn’t move, it felt like they were stuck in cement. He continued to cry as Raj seemed to have stopped. He cried until he felt as if he had run dry and his body felt like it had come under his control. Raj watched him carefully, one hand gripped the bottom of the cane as the other stroked it maliciously. It wasn’t over, Clay thought, but he had come this far.
“Are you ready?” Raj asked.
“Yes,” Clay croaked.
“How many are left?”
“Twenty-seven,” Clay said.
“What if I decide to call in all of my bet?”
“No, you said...”
“You made the bet, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll think it over if you strip off your clothing,” Raj said.
And there it was. The man had plans for him, further humiliation, and yet there was no stopping it. Clay pushed himself up and tried to unfasten a button, he tugged at it to pop it loose and Raj stopped him. He set the cane down on the table and with steady hands he undid the buttons of Clay’s shirt, even helped him get it off. Clay let it drop to the floor but Raj wouldn’t have it and picked it up, set it on the table. Clay felt like putty as he bent over to let the man pull off his undershirt. It fell from his fingers and he felt so much cooler as if he had shed his skin. He leaned back carefully and for the first time he realized just how much he had sweated, just how much his muscles had tensed. Raj pulled a chair in front of him and sat, then picked up each of Clay’s feet in turn to pull off his boots and jeans.
All that was left was his underwear, a pouch really, that covered his dick and balls. Raj stood and with a gentle hand pushed him backwards until he was staring up at the ceiling. Clay looked down to Raj as the man pushed his feet into the air. His bare butt stuck out. Was that all he wanted? No, Raj gripped his white briefs and pulled them down across his thighs, over his shins, ankles, and his feet and then they were gone. He was bare, on his back, in a stranger’s hotel room on a poker table and the man wasn’t done with him.
Fifty, Clay told himself, fifty and there’s twenty-seven left, less ahead than behind. Raj placed his arm along the back of Clay’s knees and pushed until his thighs were against his belly, his dick and balls trapped. Raj was careful to line up for the next swing as he appreciated just what he had done to the man. Caned and crying, naked and on his table in the most vulnerable of positions, his asshole on full display and exposed the man didn’t know just what he was letting be done to him.
Clay felt the shift of his skin, no longer protected by the meaty flesh his asshole seemed like an unlikely target. By the second strike of this new round he realized just how wrong he was as he felt a blow across his hole. It was a new kind of pain that went directly along his spine, through his lungs, and to his brain. He began to cry again, sobs really, through five more strikes, not all of them across his hole but when they landed it felt like the pain had doubled. Two more to his taught, vulnerable skin, the inside of his ass cheeks and he kicked out, his thighs fell against the end of the table and he reached for his butt as the man stepped away. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands but it was little help. He felt his bare chest rising up and down, the small of his back not quite making contact with the felt, his butt felt like it had spread out into impossible shapes, his nipples in the cool air, and his dick limp over his hairy balls.
“How many more?” he asked the man.
“Seventeen, or maybe a hundred and seventeen, I’m not sure,” Raj answered.
“Please, I can barely take one more, there’s no way I can take a hundred. I’ll do anything, anything, just please let this be over.”
“Stand up,” Raj said.
“What?”
“I said stand up,” Raj ordered.
Clay pushed himself up to his feet, his skin twisted and reformed in new ways made it feel like he was ripping apart his own butt cheeks as he did but he got to his feet but his eyes fell to the floor. He saw his own bare feet, felt his own bare dick hung down over his balls, the way his chest filled with air. And then he saw it, the cane, low in one of Raj’s hands but right there in sight. He cringed at it.
“I’m not done with you,” Raj said. “Down on your knees, hands and knees.”
Clay fell to his knees, his hands and knees, as ordered.
“Crawl forward,” Raj said, and he did. “Ten more like this.”
Raj struck him across the butt, his own body felt incredibly heavy, his knees burned and his hands felt like they would give but he held himself there for the rest of the blows despite the tears falling from his eyes. Then Raj walked away, across the room to a couch where he sat. Clay looked across the room to him.
“Crawl to me,” Raj said.
Clay did. He crawled across the floor to the man until he ended up in front of him, at his knees, at his feet. He looked up to the man’s eyes but when he looked back Clay broke away and looked to the man’s chest. His chest, his belly, his thighs, anywhere but the man’s crotch where he saw a bulge.
“Take down my pants and underwear,” Raj ordered.
Clay reached up quicker than he really knew what he was doing. He grabbed at the man’s belt, undid it, undid his pants, and with one tug had both his pants and underwear down around his ankles. He went back to all fours and looked to the man’s impressive dick that stuck out along his left thigh, ejaculate leaking from the tip.
“Suck my dick,” the man said.
Clay pushed himself to it. He grabbed at the man’s thighs and his dick, stuck it between his lips. He suckled at it, licked at it, and gagged as he tried to stick it all of the way into his throat. Raj pushed him away at the sound.
“Don’t be so greedy. A good blow job should take time and I know you’ve never done this before so I don’t want you to choke. Just suck on the tip of it, lick it up and down a little, tongue my balls, suck on my nuts, let that tongue get under them, really in there almost to my asshole but if you get that far you get more of the cane.”
Clay nodded with each thing the man said but as he actually considered it he felt repulsed a little until he shifted and felt his butt against the heels of his feet. He’d do anything for a little reprieve, anything not to feel a hundred more strikes. He went back at the man’s dick and did exactly as he had been told. He sucked at the tip, licked the shaft, tongued the balls, even sucked on them a little, and ran his tongue as far as he could stand along his taint. Did he reach the asshole? He hoped not.
But the man’s dick was easier to stroke and as he felt it swell he sucked at the head some more hoping to push him over the edge to true satisfaction. Raj grabbed hold of the back of his head, fingers in his hair, he pushed Clay down onto his dick as he felt his orgasm. Ejaculate hit the back of the his throat, ran down it, into his stomach. Clay pulled away and Raj let him go. He pushed away to the floor and looked up to the man who grinned back at him.
“Not very skilled but damn that was hot,” Raj said.
Clay felt his own nakedness, his own vulnerability. He looked up to the man as he pushed himself up on one elbow.
“Am I done?” Clay asked.
“Just seven more,” Raj answered.
