Date: Sat, 16 Jun 2012 14:31:35 -0400
From: Somewhat Perverse <somewhat.perverse@gmail.com>
Subject: Side Bets: Chapter Two

Side Bets: Chapter Two

mm, ds, bd, hm

Friday: The Second Round

Bryce was already announcing the next round by the time I reached the
tournament floor.  He called out, "Ben Marner and Dave Larson, table 42."
With my loss, I'd slipped all the way to one of the far tables.  Larson was
one those players who had more enthusiasm than skill.  I sought him around
the room, and found him -- a fat man in a grimy Vercingetorix tee-shirt and
shorts that displayed his pale, zitty legs to worst effect.  He wasn't a
Praetorian.  Whatever happened, win or lose, I wouldn't have to have sex
with him.  Thank all the gods.  He wasn't the least bit attractive.

	Not like Paul, anyway.

	I caught myself.  What the fuck?  Paul wasn't attractive either.  I
so was not gay.

	Dave said, "I think you have something on your face."

	I hastily wiped away some of Paul's cum.  Just like that movie, I
thought.

	This was so not a good tourney.

	Dave at least, was an easy opponent.  He ran the Dark Gladiators, a
Space Crusader House that always seemed to have a sucky army book.  My
Crusaders had him beaten by turn four.  They performed just like I'd
planned, pummeling his army with fire before closing in for kill.

	Go me!  If I kept up more wins, I would surely break the top ten.
I just needed to claw my way back into the winner's bracket.

	We finished a bit early, around 2:30.  Paul had face-fucked me all
the way through the lunch break, so I went to a vendor and bought an
expensive, over-cooked meal.  The woman working the booth asked, "Gyro or
Hot-Dog?"  The hot dog just added insult to injury, but I really hated
Gyros.  I bought one anyway and washed it down with a diet Pepsi.

	As I was eating, some kid sat down at my table.  He looked to be
somewhere between seventeen and nineteen, rail thin, with lanky hair he had
died completely black.  It fell longer over one side of his face than the
other.  He had a stud in one nostril and wore a black tee-shirt and black
jeans.  His belt sported shiny studs like a dog-collar.

	I was not in the mood.

	"Who the fuck are you?" I asked.

	The kid said, "I'm Andrew."

	Then I knew him.  "Oh, yeah.  Larry's kid.  I thought you were at
college or something."

	"Break," he said.

	I said nothing.  I don't like kids.

	He waited till I was about to bite down on the dog before he said,
"I see you like sausage.  That's good."

	I stared at him.  "What do you know?" I asked.

	"I know you have a side bet with my Dad.  You're a faggot hole."

	I said, "Whatever, kid.  You're wrong."

	"I know you're going to suck my cock," he persisted.  "You're my
next match.  Bryce already said.  We have even points."

	"Not a chance," I bluffed.  I needed to find out if he knew enough
to blackmail me, too.  "You aren't even a Praetorian.  Your Dad had sense
enough not let you join."

	"A side bet, then.  If I win, you suck me, like you did Paul.  Or
maybe I fuck your hole.  Dad said you like that."

	"What if I win?"

	"You won't," he said.

	"Well, what if I do?"

	"Maybe I give you the choice?"

	"How about this?" I asked.  "If I win, I get to fuck you instead."

	He paused for a long while.

	"Not so sure, now, are you, little man?"  I asked.

	"Okay," he said.  "You're on."  I knew then, that he didn't have
any leverage over me.  I looked him over.  Well, he wasn't real exciting.
After all, he wasn't a chick.  But I could look at that face and hair and
pretend.  Any I knew it would totally mess with Larry's head if I fucked
his son.  Oh, yes!  I liked revenge.

	"Are you even legal?" I goaded him. "I'm not going to let you bet
if you're not old enough."

	"I am fucking nineteen!" he said.  "Nineteen and a half!  I am not
a kid!"

	"Suits me," I said.  "I don't want any jail bait."  I swigged my
Pepsi.  "Shake in it?"  We shook.  His hand was bony and limp, and he left
thereafter.  I think I scared him.  Damn good.  I wanted to teach his
father a lesson for messing with me.



The next game began at 3:30.  I finished my meal and wandered back to the
arena.  Sure enough, Bryce announced, "Andrew Fleming and Ben Marner.
Table 13."  We were moving back up.  Once I smacked the shit out of Larry's
annoying kid, I'd be back in the running for the tournament.

	He met me at the table.  Unlike his dad, Andrew preferred the
Imperial Legion -- normal human soldiers with more quantity than quality.
They were a shooty army, like mine.  Maybe more shooty.  But unlike my
Space Crusaders, they absolutely sucked in close combat.  If I could close
with them, while engaging his tanks at long range, I would win.

	We took turns deploying.  The whole time, Andrew was leering at me.
I knew he was imagining me on my knees.  The thought was more amusing than
intimidating.  His army sucked, and he was a damn kid.

	I deployed my infantry in their transports.  It was a bit of a
gamble.  If Andrew got lucky, he might destroy them all.  If he didn't, I'd
reach his lines that much faster.  I put my Punishers behind cover on a
hill.  His armor outnumbered me and would kill them eventually, but I
wanted to distract from my infantry assault.

	Andrew deployed in a long line, seemingly paying little attention
to cover or terrain.

	We rolled off to begin.

	"Ready?" he asked, as we hefted our dice.

	I rolled a "6".  He rolled a "4."

	"Looks like I'm going first," I said.

	I advanced my mounted infantry 12 inches into the ice fields and
other cover.

	Andrew started his turn, teenaged and self-assured.  His
Legionnaires opened fire on my transports.  He destroyed one.  "How do you
like that?" he asked.

	"Not bad," I said.  I didn't mention that I still had four squads
untouched and in cover.

	He pulled on his crotch.  "You'll be chewing on this soon enough,"
he said.

	I resisted the urge to shoot him the finger.

	The next turn was much the same.  I advanced through cover with the
bulk of my force, and Andrew exulted in a few minor victories.

	The third turn, I was in range.  I dismounted all my Crusaders.
Their opening barrage vaporized his right and left flanks.

	From that point on, Andrew's face was a study in disappointment,
desperation, and -- finally -- despair.  He tried to mow down my advancing
troops, but they'd gotten too close.  In the process he utterly neglected
my Punishers.  The fourth turn, I charged.  His defensive shooting became
more and more fragmented.  By the end, he only had one depleted squad left,
and a few useless tanks.

	I took his objective.

	"I win," I said.

	He looked at me, big eyes pleading.  He was taller than me, but
somehow he seemed to be staring up at me.  He said, "We were just kidding,
right, man?"

	I said, "Fill out the forms.  Take them to Bryce, and then I'll
decide."

	I watched him write in the humiliating numbers.  Then he shuffled
off towards Bryce with his had bowed.  I watched him all the way.  I didn't
want him to suddenly get smart and hand Bryce a set of fake numbers.  Then
he came back, dragging his sneakered feet.

	He said, "Just kidding, right?"

	I looked at him.  I knew that I nothing, really, on him but guilt.
So I said, "I thought you were man enough for a real bet.  I bet my ass and
mouth.  I thought you bet yours."

	He looked away ashamed.  "Yeah," he said.

	"So, are you going to honor your bets like a man, or not?" I
demanded.  I tried to sound as paternal as possible.  I imagined Larry
talked to him like this -- about manhood and honor and all that military
shit.

	"Yeah," he said.  "Yeah, Mister Marner.  I made a bet.  Where do
you want to go?"

	"This way," I said, leading him to the same conference room Paul
and I had used.



It was still empty.  Someone had tuned out the light, emptied the water
jug, and put the chair back into place.

	Andrew shuffled hopelessly to the table.  I followed, feeling more
excited than I thought I would.  Boys weren't my thing, but as I followed
Andrew's lanky backside into the room, I admitted to myself that there was
something about the situation I enjoyed.

	I pulled one of the folding chairs up in front of the conference
table.  "Sit," I told him.

	He did.  I bet he was used to obeying.

	He looked at me.  A tear ran from one eye, and over his soft cheek,
before it disappeared under his stupid emo haircut.  I bet he'd really had
to rebel to get that past his father.  I should have had some sympathy.

	Instead, his obvious distress just drove me on.

	"Do you know what I want?" I asked.

	"Yes," he sniffled.

	"Open your mouth," I said.

	He stuck out his tongue too.

	I undid my pants and pulled out my cock.  My jeans fell around my
ankles.  I shook my myself a bit.  It had gone flaccid since my encounter
with Paul, but I flapped it back into life quickly enough, looking at
Andrew's predicament.

	I stepped forward and shoved it in over his tongue.  He made some
gagging noises, but I persisted in pressing.  His hot mouth and soft tongue
finished bringing me back to full hardness.  I looked down at him.  He
hadn't closed his eyes or looked away.  Good.  I began to fuck his mouth.
Soon he stretched his neck and moaned slightly.  The vibration excited me,
but not as much as the thought of how Larry would learn about this sooner
or later.

	Andrew reached up and touch his chest through his black tee-shirt.
I looked at the rest of his body: his chest, his arms, his hips, in a new
light.

	Besides, I knew Larry would hate me forever for what I was about to
do.

	I pulled out with a pop.  A line of spit and pre-cum stretched
between my lips and Andrew's face, then snapped back against his chin.  I
thrilled when I saw him lick it up.  He was ready.

	"Yes, Mr. Marner?"

	"Sir," I prompted.

	"Mr. Marner, sir," he said.

	I said, "Stand up and take your clothes off, Andrew.  Then bend
over the table."

	He made a soft noise, somewhere between a sob and a moan.  "Yes,
Mr. Marner," he said.  He drew his black tee over his head.  The flesh
beneath wasn't as pale as the contrast with clothes and hair had implied.
He was so thin, his ribs stood out like a cleaning brush.  His belly was
flat, taut, almost concave.  I remembered when I had looked like that in a
mirror.  I'd been sixteen, maybe.

	Andrew's hands went to his belt.  I nodded for him to continue.
Still shuddering slightly, he undid his belt and let his pants fall.  He
wore plain white briefs. Whitey-tighties, we'd called them in high school.
Why any male would wear them once he could pick out his own clothes, I was
sure I didn't know.  Maybe his mother still bought them.

	Perversely, that thought made my cock jump even more.

	Andrew undid his shoes and socks so he could pull his black jeans
over his feet.

	He stood up straight before me.  His hands went to his briefs.  I
could see he had a huge package -- bigger than any skinny kid had a right.
His hands hovered over the waistband.

	He looked at me.

	I nodded, and he slid his briefs down over his legs.

	His cock was a monster snake, both thick and long.  As it sprang
free, it achieved a huge hardness.  His balls dangled low and pale and big.
The hair on them was barely visible.  Little Andrew had had a number of
hair colors over the years, but I realized his natural color was blonde.

	"Bend over the table," I told him.

	He did.  His cock was so long that it bounced against his legs.
His ass thrust up into the air.  The bubble of his cheeks contrasted
sharply with his bony hips and back.  His ass and flanks were thin, lanky,
revealing fat and muscle groups like an anatomical drawing.

	I stepped up to him.  I gripped his cock, and let it slide in my
fist.  It was seriously huge.  In some other circumstance, I might have
been intimidated.  Not now.  I had tamed it.  It was hard for me and what
he must know I was about to do.  I leaned over his back.  I felt his
labored breathing as I whispered into his ear.

	"I bet you think this makes a man, don't you?" I said.  I gave his
cock a hard jerk.

	"Yes, sir, Mr Marner."  I jerked it again.  "I mean, no sir, Mr
Marner."

	"That's right," I said.  "You're just my bitch."

	As I spoke, I ran my hand over my cock-head, collecting some precum
and the remnants of Andrew's spit.  Then, having slicked it enough, I
pressed my cock-head against his hole, and pushed.

	His ass spasmed as I entered.  I think he may have been in pain.  I
didn't care.  Certainly, after a few strokes, whatever he was feeling
wasn't pain.  I fucked him like I would a woman, with different rhythms.
The last game of the day had ended.  I didn't have anything else to do.

	As my lust grew, I thrust into him harder and harder.  I worked my
cock from side to side at full extension, feeling the softness of his ass.

	I said, "You're going to tell Larry about this, aren't you?  He's
going to know what kind of slut his son is, but he won't be able to do
anything about it."  My statement made Andrew cry out.  His face had
flushed so red that the color went down to the fourth or fifth vertebrae on
his back, and even onto his shoulders

	I felt my cock swell as Andrew moaned.  I spasmed and came,
shooting cum into his guts.  I pulled out, slapping his sweet ass.

	As I did, his hands sank from the desk to his engorged cock.  They
gave it only a slight stroke, but I knew he wanted to touch himself.

	"Turn over," I commanded.

	"Sir?" he asked.

	"Over," I said.  "Flip.  Lie back on the table."

	He did.  His ribs stretched out.  God, he was so thin.  But his
cock was huge.

	"Stroke off," I said.  "I want to see you touch yourself as my cum
runs out your ass.  I want you to show me how much you like it."

	His hands, bigger seeming because of his bony wrists, flew to his
crotch.  He stroked, pulling upward.  His smooth face contorted in lust.
Sweat plastered his stupid, long, black hair over his face.  I could indeed
see my cum drooling from his ass and dripping on the table.  I sat down on
the table to get a better look at his eyes.  Lust warred with humiliation
as he stared back at me.  His fist flew up and down his huge shaft.

	He moaned.  Great wads of cum came flying out and pooled on his
thin belly.

	I grabbed myself, and with three strokes I came again, splattering
his face.

	"Let that be a lesson," I said.  "Never bet and lose."

	I staggered away, leaving Andrew covered in his cum and mine.

	Fuck you, Larry, I thought.  I knew what I'd just done to his son
would haunt him forever.  Probably Andrew, too.

	But who cared?  Not me, except as far as the thought was vaguely
exciting.

	After all, I wasn't gay.


Tournament Games 		17