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In a dimly lit backroom thick with smoke and tension, a dice roll would seal the night's fate. Both parties lean in, eyes fix on the tumbling cube as it soars through the air. With a clatter, it lands, revealing a number that sent one mafia member into rapturous cheers, his delight contrasting sharply with the stunned silence from the others, who exchanged a glance of disbelief and frustration.
"Won't you look at that? Looks like I won this time; fair and square." Mafioso says, his tone secreted in a thick, mocking film. Chance stood frozen, his mind racing as he tried to comprehend the situation unfolding before him. How could a man who thrives on risk and fortune be bested by a mafia boss? He has always prided himself on reading people, calculating odds, and defying the risks, but this was different. The stakes have never felt so high, and he could almost hear the mocking laughter of fate as he faced the consequences of this ill-fated encounter.
"It seems the dice have landed in your favor this time. But, calling this a 'fair game' feels a bit of a stretch, don't you think?" Chance voices, his last desperate attempt to keep his pride intact; he can't realistically back out of their deal after all. A one-time match is based purely on luck: "Let's go best out of three, what do you say?"
His hopes for a rematch evaporated in an instant, replaced by a chilling, mocking laugh that echoes through the dimly lit room. The man saunters around the poker table with an air of confidence, his eyes glinting with malice as he approaches to claim his prize. "You lost," he sneers, "You're not backing out of our deal, now are you?" His voice is a dark velvet that sends a shiver racing down every vertebra of Chance's spine. The weight of the situation bore down on him like an anvil, and he knew all too well the consequences of defiance against this powerful figure. Still, fear grips him tightly. He hesitates, the words caught in his throat, reluctant to acknowledge their deal. Yet, with no other choice, he simply forces a response. "Of course not," Chance manages to choke out, his heart beating in sync with the tension that suffocated the air between them.
" And that wasn't part of our deal, now was it?" Chance, a master at scheming his way out of sticky situations, draws a blank.
"...no, it wasn't." A smug smirk tugs at the corners of Mafioso's curved lips, betraying the amusement he struggles to contain. His dark eyes glint with mischief as he leans forward slightly, clearly reveling in the discomfort of his opponent.
"Then what makes you think I'd allow any exceptions?" He asks, pressing the weight of his frame against the rail of the poker table. Chance opens his mouth as if to speak, and yet, no words come out. His thoughts tangle in a web of hesitation, leaving him unable to provide a satisfactory answer to the boss man.
"We don't have all night," Mafioso, his patience wearing thin at the other's hesitation to commit fully to their wager, taps his index finger against his wrist. "Quit stalling and strip."
Chance grits his teeth, frustration coursing through him as he reflects on the reckless gamble he's just taken. Chance never would have guessed he would be outmatched in his own game. The stakes had felt exhilarating at first, but now he regretted every decision that had led him to this moment. With a heavy sigh, he shrugs off his blazer, letting the fabric slip from his shoulder, and begins to unfasten the buttons of his crisp dress shirt, the tension in his chest making the simple task feel cumbersome.
Each button he released felt like a step in the wrong direction. Chance unfastens the belt from around his waist, letting the clasp drop to the floor with a soft thud. Mafioso watches intently, as if he might miss something by looking away. Their eyes lock with the same intensity that flooded the suspense-filled room.
"Nuh uh," Mafioso coos, an expectant grin speared across his features. "Underwear as well,"
Chance is hesitant, but obeys, sneaking one finger under the waistband and revealing his lower half for Mafioso's eyes, whose devilish grin grew threefold. The boxer's, once fastened around his waist, pool to his feet; this humiliation ritual makes his face burn.
Mafioso can't tear his eyes off his winnings, as the useless stack of chips glints under the dim lights of the smoky room. He leans back, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face as he savors the thrill of his success. As if in slow motion, Chance stumbles toward him, his movements hesitant and deliberate. He finally collapses to his knees before the mafia boss, taking a deep, steadying breath as he positions himself between the spread legs. He clamps his own thighs shut, letting his limp dick rest uncomfortably as the coldness nips his sensitive skin.
Using his teeth, Chance began unzipping the fly of the man before him, who hardly had to lift a finger in the process. Knowing what's expected of him, Chance leans forward, sprawling a litter of soft kisses along the thin fabric. Trying to enjoy himself as much as physically possible, a pleasant hum echoes in his throat as he nuzzles his cheek against the half hard cock. His eyes lock with the towering figure. Chance looks almost innocent, with his doe eyes gazing above his glasses at the man giving the commands.
His damp tongue stimulates the buldge, licking, sucking, wetting the fabric with the opening of his mouth. Chance licks along the concealed length, his ruthless teasing causes a short-winded sigh to escape Mafioso's somewhat parted lips. He watches with growing interest as the carefully coordinated kisses sprang across his crotch with growing intensity.
Hands clap themselves to the inside of the boss's thighs, caressing small, deliberate circles against the clothed flesh.
Chance admits he may have gotten swept away in the moment, his teeth clamp down softly, producing a groan of displeasure to erupt in the surrounding air. Instantly and without warning, two fingers hook themselves inside of Chance's cheek, forcing his gaze upwards.
"I'd keep that mouth of yours in check, pretty boy," Mafioso sneers, a sly smile spreading across his lips. The intensity of his gaze seems to pierce right through, challenging and taunting all at once. "Now, why don’t you open wide and show me what you’re made of?" There was a predatory edge to his voice. His two fingers curl snugly in his mouth, grasping his tongue gently. The coolness of his skin contrasted with the warmth of his breath, creating a curious blend of sensations. Chance could feel the pulse of his heartbeat quickening as the man experimented with the salvia, dapening his touch.
Chance opens wide, showing off his pearly whites for all to see. Mafioso with a harsh snicker, slips a hand beneath the restrictive fabrics of his pants to retrieve the semi from its depths.
With a playful grin, Mafioso smacks the erection against the other's eager lips, provoking a light-hearted chase as Chance leans in, eyes ablaze with anticipation. Once he finally caught up, he licks a strip from beginning to end, a hum of satisfaction reverberated in the boss mans throat. Perhaps it's because he hasn't had any action lately, but the man kneeling before him is a major turn-on.
With a carefully placed hand resting on the crown of the other man's fedora, Mafioso leans slightly forward, his movements low and steady as he guides him through the correct motions. He presses down, leading his mushroom tip of his thick cock to the entrance of Chance's O-shaped mouth. His length slowly fills the space in his mouth, each inch drags on like the lingering discomfort of a pill that refuses to go down. He can feel the textured surface against his tongue, its bitterness like a saltier, mustier flavor taunting his taste buds as he struggles to maneuver it around, waiting for the moment when he can finally begin moving independently. Chance swallows, and his muscles in his throat contract, leading to a series of groans and grunts from the main man.
The base of Mafioso's length drags along his velvety tongue to hit the soft piece of flesh dangling from the back of his throat. Chance can't take it any longer, the corners of his mouth threaten to tear as he opens wider and wider. The thick girth reaches down your throat, causing the muscles from the outside to bulge out. Mafioso groans at the warm, dampness of the mouth encircling him, his hand leads the jaw to take whatever portion of his cock that stuck out like a sore thumb.
Mafioso almost shoots his load right there and then, catching a glimpse of the man whose mouth is sucking his cock. The corners of Chance's lids were pricked with tears, huffing in the musky scent every time he struggles for a breath of fresh air.
"Look at you, so full of my cock you can hardly take it," Mafioso flashes that sadified smirk, "Lets put that pretty little mouth of yours to good use."
Chance moans at the dirty words, his rumble sends shockwaves dancing across Mafioso's cock, adding to the honest pleasure. He sways a bit on his feet from how quickly the blood rushes south. Chance begins action on impulse, his tongue experimentally swirling around the head while the rest of his length is accompanied by his hand, pumping it from beginning to end.
Mafioso's abs flex, shoulders hunch forward, and his breathing becomes unstable. His hand moves to the back of the fedora, not pushing down but certainly not stopping him from pulling back. Encouraged by his reaction, Chance flattens his tongue against the underside and slides down the length as far as it can go, stopping only when he feels like he may gag. And then Chance pulls back and does it again. And again. And again. Each pass brings him further and further down Mafioso's heavy cock until his nose is nestling in the base. His lids prick with water as he fights the urge to gag, but that priceless look on the high-up's face is worth every second.
Mafioso's half-lidded eyes are practically lolled back in his skull, a deep, flushed expression burning from his cheeks to the very points of his ears. Chance hums around the mouthful, coughing when the boss man snaps his hips forward the slightest bit, greedily forcing more down his throat.
His short nails curl into the velvety fabric, as if any second he's going to deposit his batter directly into the other man's stomach. However, before that moment can fully materialize, Chance suddenly pulls away, his chest heaving as he gasps for air, his eyes wide with a mix of exhilaration and desperation for oxygen.
Chance stays on his knees, drool and precome stain his lips and fuck, he's never looked better.
Mafioso’s face is a canvas of amusement, his dark eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. As he leans casually against the poker table, a sense of power radiates from him, evident in the way his polished shoe presses firmly down on the groin of the unfortunate soul who was helplessly kneeling on the ground. Chance winces from the sudden pressure on his flushed length, as snickers dance on the boss man's lips while he revels in his dominance over the moment.
"And just what do we have here? You're getting a boner from sucking me off?" It's hard to turn down the blunt accusation with no clothes to conceal the truth. Chance presses his thighs uncomfortably together, the soft, red dust evident on his cheeks. As Mafioso tilts his head up, he locks eyes with his counterpart, a challenge and amusement intertwining in the intensity of their gaze. The air around them buzzes with unspoken tension, the kind that hints at a game only they seem to understand.
"You like being throat fucked, hm? Is that it?" A purr escapes his lips that reverberates in the stillness of the room.
The unexpected words made Chance snap his head upward, "No, that's not..! 𝘮𝘮𝘯𝘩!" His fingers curl tightly against the fabric of his dress pants, the smooth texture cool beneath his touch. He fights the urge to move, every muscle in his body tense as he tries to remain still. The sole of the Mafioso's shoe presses down harder against his leaking erection, causing him to wince.
Without any prior indication, Chance finds himself abruptly yanked to his feet by a powerful grip on his arm. The sudden movement catches him off guard, and his heart races as he struggles to regain his balance. "C'mere," Mafioso orders, the harsh pull sends a jolt through the stanken man's entire body, and his eyes widen in surprise as he meets the gaze of the person who has seized him. Chance opens his mouth to protest being used as a sex doll; however, before any words emerge, a tongue slips inside. Mafioso yank him forward till their bodies are flush against one another, the surprised gasps eaten alive by his mouth.
Chance's defences drop as he surrenders to the heat of the kiss, melting him. He mentally accepts that the kiss is so sneering that his lips will be swollen, if not bruised, by the end.
Chance's entire core flinches as a hand makes contact with his bare cheek, caressing the delicate skin before groping it hard enough to leave behind possessive marks. Chance lets a whine leak into the man's mouth, his eyes pressing tightly together. As Mafioso kisses him passionately, his hand came down swinging, smacking his ass with a forceful slap that reverberates off the walls. Chance winces, his voice acting as a potent drug that Mafioso can't seem to get enough of. Mafioso's lips curve against the other man's, feeling the eager erection twitch against the cloth of his pants.
Mafioso loosens the tie from around his neck, his fingers deftly working the knot as the fabric slips free. With a sly grin, he drapes the tie around Chace's neck, acting as a reward for a job well done. A smirk bubbles on the mafia member's lips, now breaking the kiss to get a clearer view of the already fucked-out face. The man standing before him appeared to be nearing the end of his endurance, as if each breath strained against an invisible weight. His lips, cracked at the corners and swollen to an alarming sheen, glistened in the dim light.
"Does it hurt to know I enjoy seeing you like this?" Mafioso leans in close, his whispers laced with an intensity that sends a shiver racing through Chance's body. The low, gravelly timbre of his voice was like a thunderclap in the stillness, igniting a jolt of adrenaline that surges through the unfolding man's veins.
"Shut up already and fuck me," Chance says between labored breaths, and Mafioso made certain he didn't have to ask twice.
In a sudden, fluid motion, their positions shifted dramatically; Chance found himself firmly pinned against the poker table, the weight of the other man pressing down on him, creating an intense and charged atmosphere in the room. The loose cards beneath him felt cool against his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of the moment as his breathing quickens.
Chance isn't patient like Mafioso previously thought; no, not in this state. His thighs are spread as he pushes his weight against the green woolen material. Right now, his hole looks more appetizing than before while he takes a second to admire the view. His cock, eager and leaking, wants nothing more than to sink right in. And judging by the way his ass is presenting, Chance agrees with that sentiment.
"Well?" Chance asks, lacking the patience needed to continue holding himself back. Although his eyes were concealed behind the dark glasses, a feature that could mask his expressions, Mafioso felt a familiar intensity emanating from beneath those lenses, like a prey silently sizing up its predator.
Mafioso, not wasting any time dilly-dallying, smacks his engored cock needily against the other man's ass cheek. A glob of saliva dribbles from his mouth, smearing the thick, clear liquid onto his cock. He strokes his hard, throbbing length slowly, guiding every inch between the plush thighs. Chance chokes on a moan when Mafioso's tip pushes against him, his hands balling to fists against the poker table, and another whine ripples through the silent room as his muscles are forced open. Deliberately slow, Mafioso keeps going, filling the man with his thickness, spurred by the pained whimpers.
Mafioso feels like his cock is going to be snapped in half, the fleshing ring clamps around him, keeping him from breaching further. They share a groan, their attempt to fuck is cut short. Chance clenches his jaw tightly, frustration coursing through him. he felt a surge of indigestion at the very thought of that thing penetrating inside him. His muscles tense with anticipation, each fiber coils tightly as if bracing for the main event. The moment's weight hung heavy in the air, not allowing him a second reprieve. Just then, a hand rested firmly on the center of his back, its warmth contrasting sharply with the room's chill, offering a surprising sense of reassurance.
"Easy does it now," Mafioso speaks, the words dripping off his tongue like honey, "Deep breaths, don't be so tense."
Chance does as he's told and forces a deep inhale before the rest of the length is rammed inside his stubborn walls. Hands firmly grip the other mans waist, backing his ass up to hilt. Mafioso gawks at the priceless view bent over the table, the twitching hole clutching around the mass, stretching his insides; the sight did nothing but turn him on even more.
The smell of sex wafting through the air is messing with his head. Without waiting for Chance to adjust, his hips began swaying by themselves, breeding into him like an animal in heat, holding his waist in such a way that made Chance physically melt into the touch. Moans erupt into the air, the sounds of pain, slowly, but surely, turning to notes of pleasure with each passing second.
Mafioso savors every last single reaction, down to the very last note.
"Such a sweet little thing," he coos, "Cant even keep a straight head while being fucked, hm?" The only response that follows is a string of persistent, harsh breaths and whiny noises. His brain quiet literally turning to mush with how well he's getting dicked down.
His mind is now a series of perverse thoughts as even his body betrayes him, backing his ass against each thrust. Mafioso's hand harshly grips his waist, his thumbs caressing against the bare skin. The lewd smacks of skin on skin can be heard from two doors down. The sound echoes sharply off the cold, bare walls, each reverberation intensifying the pulsating torch that surged within Mafioso's lower stomach, fueling his thrusts.
His hands feel up the toned figure of Chance's back, gliding between his shoulder blades as he's smushed like an insect against the table.
Despite his apparent success in getting what he wanted, Mafioso couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Like an unseen barrier preventing him from toppling over with pleasure.
There's a burning need to see the man's face. Typically, during a one-night stand, fucking from the back is for the very purpose of not seeing his partners face. And yet, that nudging sensation didn't stop his yearning. Mafioso's hips slow to a stop, causing a distressful look to flash on the man's face.
"Why… why'd you stop?" Chance gasps, his voice trembling as tears threaten to spill from the corners of his eyes. The overwhelming rush of emotion caught him off guard; it was as if a dam had burst within him. Before he fully realized what was happening, Chance found himself flipped onto his back, the soft, velvety surface of the poker table pressing against him.
There, Mafioso realizes what he's been missing out on; that priceless, disheveled figure flashed below him, for his eyes, and his eyes only. He wants, no, he needs to see that pathetic look as the man beneath as he's overtaken with pleasure. Fucking him till he cant handle it anymore and is begging, whining, pleading to come.
Mafioso wastes no time, trusting back inside like he'd die without it. Fucking his swollen hole raw until Chance's moans fill the entire room. Somehow, his knees were drawn up to his shoulders, creating a bewildering scene that he himself never knew his body could achieve; The surprising flexibility astonished him. The skin-on-skin slapping grew more repetitive, the once controlled thrusts became sloppy as Mafioso bit into his bottom lip. A look of pure, unbridled pleasure dilates his pupils.
"I'm gonna come..!" Chance warns, each thrust draws him closer to his peak. Mafioso's fingers wrap tightly around the necktie, the fabric constricting as Chance’s cheek lies firm against the table. "Hold it in, I'm almost there."
Mafioso continues rutting inside, his fingers clenching so hard it's impressive they haven't torn through the skin. With a few more sloppy thrusts inside, waves of orgasm topple over him, his hips slam inside, painting the insides of his hole with a pretty white color. Chance came shortly after, messing up the playing cards as strings of some shot onto his chest and stomach.
Chance arches his back, the tight muscles in his hole contract, milking every last drop of liquid from Mafioso's orgasm. Chance writhes with pleasure, the nails digging hard into his flesh help with that sentiment. His legs shudder under the weight of his climax, blissful breaths mingle in the surrounding air. An all too familiar musk looms over head, the smell of sex and desire.
Mafioso unlatches his fingers after being relieved of the boiling pit in his stomach. His now limp cock slips out with a lewd pop, he groans, tucking his dick away before zipping the fly. His calm demeanor stands out dramatically against the backdrop of the other man, who leans heavily against the poker table, his posture slouched and weary.
If not for the few beads of sweat on Mafoso's sheen skin, you wouldn't even guess he's partaken in the act of intimacy. On the other hand, Chance looks like any second his legs would give out beneath him, standing on stilts, he uses the ridge of the table for stable support. The seed dribbles from his abused hole; his skin, smooth and glossy like glass, resembles that of a plastic doll.
With a sly grin, Mafioso saunters over, his confident stride radiating authority. He wraps a reassuring arm around the other man's waist, steadying him against the possibility of stumbling. "Say," he says, his voice low and playful, "that was a fun time. How about you let me win again tomorrow? I could use the stress relief." His eyes twinkled with mischief, hinting at a bond forged through mutual respect and a shared love for the game.
Chance nods, "Sure... why the hell not?"