I Want to Play a Game the Game ContinuesChapter 8 Endgame
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Carrie's Game Part 1 free porn video
My wife Carrie was beautiful. With a ripe apple on her head she still wouldn’t have been too many inches over five feet tall. She was lithe, slender and wiry. She had long golden-brown hair that came to her waist and smallish teardrop breasts ending in half-dollar sized areolae and pert little nipples. They would swell when she was aroused and those areolae would get puffy and sensitive, so much so that you had to be gentle with them. She’d let you know quickly-and none too sweetly- if you got too rough with them. She could be snippy and petulant. Her legs looked long even at her diminutive size. It was the seventies and so she wore minidresses and hot pants everywhere, which gave her a chance to show off those gorgeous gams and give a glimpse of her perfect little ass... We didn’t call shorts Daisy Dukes back then. It was hot pants or short-shorts. The travesty known as “Dukes of Hazzard” had not yet polluted the airwaves.
Carrie had a temper, the little firecracker. Which is why I often imagined her with an apple on her head and me with a bow and arrow. I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with an arrow even if I threw it overhand. . At the drop of a hat she’d blow her cool, almost none of it worth an argument let alone a fistfight. But she’d often come out swinging at the least difference of opinion, so often that I began to have serious doubts about our marriage. She was only nineteen when the story I’m writing about happened. I was twenty-six and it was the first marriage for both of us. It may have been rocky, tempestuous even, but it sure as hell wasn’t dull.
One Christmas Eve Carrie jacked my jaw about a half-inch out of plumb when I refused to traipse all over creation visiting folks we hadn’t seen or talked about all year. I worked long hard hours laying bricks and blocks and it was a holiday for me. I wanted a quiet dinner with family, where I could park it in an easy chair and nurse a beer. She volubly demurred. I didn’t budge and finally told her that as much as I wanted to spend the holiday with her, she’d have to put the miles on her own car and catch up with me later. Apparently this was a sticking point in her platform of negotiations because right about the time I told her to go fuck herself she landed a wild haymaker with her right fist to my jaw. I instantly saw red and pushed her back onto the bed. I pounced on top of her, sitting on her comely chest and holding her arms under my knees with my hand over her mouth to muffle her spitting and cussing, while I made her promise to keep her hands in her pockets for the duration of the bargaining session. A woman will sometimes give you a good reason to haul off and sock her and she had just offered me one, but you just don’t hit a woman no matter what the provocation.
She complied but we nevertheless did not part amicably. She stormed out and I went to my folks’ house as we had planned on doing for weeks before she sprung all this on me. I figured I’d show up at her parents’ place Christmas day and by then she’d probably have cooled down. Usually, after her tantrums, she needed some time to think it over and she’d be ashamed of herself. She’d surely be embarrassed at showing up without her new husband when she paid her courtesy calls that evening. We’d only been married a year. As it turned out she showed up at my Mom and Dad’s house about an hour after I got there. She made a whispered and sincere apology and I accepted it… but I was a bit cool in my acceptance. I was still pissed that my young marriage was turning into a brawl, and I was losing faith in my bride.
Carrie went further in her reparations later that night when we went home to bed, trying to persuade me that she was genuinely contrite. She gave me a twenty-seven-speed Osterizer of a blow job, draining what felt like a half cup of baby butter from my poor balls. I was appreciative but still put on a slightly cool and injured attitude. I now had the upper hand and was gonna milk it for a while. In the interest of full disclosure, I was probably also hoping she’d be milking me too, as long as I didn’t overplay my cards. That had been an above-average effort at sucking my dick. I don’t think she left a single spermatozoa circling the pool in reserve.
Like I said, I was having my doubts about my pretty blonde bride. Carrie was a tiger in the sack, and not many young men can stay mad for long given the charm offensive that her supple young body and enthusiasm for making the beast with two backs went on. She fucked me stupid for at least a month. Your average twenty-six-year-old male can get a hard-on from a slight breeze that had picked up the scent of a woman a furlong away. I was perpetually hard and I punished her tender young pussy with it. The first night we had hooked up a buddy loaned me the shack he sometimes lived in and told me to knock myself out and fuck her till she couldn’t walk. I tried hard- he was a good friend and I’d have hated to give him a bad report.
The festivities commenced at around ten that evening and we were still locked in a tight embrace and humping by the dawn’s early light. Then we rested a while, kissing and making out, before I fucked her in the ass. It was glorious. Lord, she loved that. She told me it had hurt some, but I was gentle and having given her plenty of tender loving care and patience, she consented to have me pile drive her perky little butthole for a solid fifteen minutes. (There wasn’t any clock in that shack, or even any electricity, but the sun was appreciably higher and the birds were warbling and serenading the rectum wrangling going on in the love shack. Birds are horny fuckers.) Some women never have their come-to-Jesus moment regarding ploughing the old dirt road but this night, or morning, I had made a new convert. It was an epiphany for both of us. It was her baptism of butt darts. She never did like it much doggy style but she’d pull her legs back nearly far enough to lock her ankles behind her head and mutter encouragement at me like a jockey to a promising thoroughbred. She said it felt better that way, and I liked the looks of adoration she gave me when I was busily plugging her bunghole. After I’d exploded in her bowels and began to go soft I swear I saw tears in her eyes when my dick popped out. She’d whimper “Oh no…leave it in! You feel so good in me.”
This is what I was up against when trying to retain the high moral ground with Carrie. Sigh. We all have our cross to bear. I could fuck her six or seven times a day. Not more than a couple of days in a row, mind you- I wasn’t Superman- before I needed a respite- and she’d still have liked more. Hell, even in my mid-twenties I needed to sleep once in a while. And we’d fuck so much we’d both get sore and have no choice but to take some R&R. So eventually she screwed the hurt, anger and self-righteousness out of me and we settled into making love, fucking and arguing about what to have for dinner and what movie to see. No more fisticuffs. I wasn’t sure she’d learned her lesson but life was reasonably placid on the surface.
Over the last few months, Carrie had taken to having a girls’ night out with her single friends. Lately, it was turning into once a week, on a Friday or a Saturday night. She liked to dance, drink and raise hell. I liked to go to the quiet corner bar and watch the Ali-Frazier fight with a friend or two. I never did really get into dancing. Sure, I liked rubbing bellies and massaging her delicious little tush in a slow dance, her fresh and supple body pressed against mine, but I never really caught on to the efficacy of performing the Funky Chicken. I wasn’t really entirely happy with the situation, but hell, it was the seventies, you know? I was sensitive to a woman’s needs and I didn’t own her. I wasn’t exactly sure what all went on during girls’ night out but I didn’t press her too hard on it.
A few of my friends would get together for poker once in a while. It wasn’t a regular game that rotated venues, but they met at least once a month, wherever was available, sometimes more and often less. It was kind of erratic, and mostly it was an excuse to drink free beer and smoke somebody else’s dope. I was never much of a poker player. Pinochle was my game. I had a hard time remembering which poker hand beat which and I knew I didn’t know the odds very well. I just hadn’t played enough. But there weren’t any Pinochle players among my friends- my kin were rabid for pinochle but I didn’t know anybody else who played. I did like drinking beer and smoking dope, so a couple of times when a buddy invited me I’d tag along. They took it easy on me. None of the games were high stakes. I’d have declined to play for sure had they been high dollar games. I worked too hard for my bread to gamble it away.
At one game Ray, an ironworker and a casual friend, suggested I host a game.
“Hell, your place is vacant every weekend anyway. Your old lady’s out cuttin’ a rug and tyin’ one on at the Keg Korral. You could host a game sometime.” He smirked at me and I didn’t much like the smirk.
It pissed me off. I thought it was pushy of him, since I only attended the games on invitation once in a while and I wasn’t into poker anyhow. I didn’t want this crowd trashing my place on a Friday night, grinding potato chips into the rug and pissing on the toilet seat. We weren’t exactly friends. I didn’t like the implication of his remarks about my wife either. That was my business and mine alone. He was just a guy I knew and sometimes I worked on a job site with him. That didn’t make us pals and didn’t give him an opening to invite himself to a party at my house. I had a wife and a clean comfortable home. Most of these other guys were single, and the ones who were married weren’t exactly exemplars of husbandry in general. I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of spending a Saturday cleaning up after drunk construction workers. I blew it off, never answering. I just shrugged and passed on it.
A month later Ray’s sidekick Gene brought it up again. He and Ray were exchanging looks and smirking. That irritated the shit out of me. I well recalled the last smirk and it rankled. I was just about to get up and walk out rather than argue the point when my best friend Sean said he’d help me host a game. He’d bring the beer and help me clean it all up when the game was finished. This really annoyed me and put me on the spot. I didn’t want to turn down my best friend’s offer. It was one thing to blow off the other guys. I didn't give a fuck about them. But Sean and I went way back, best friends since we were knee-high. As soon as I said it I regretted it, but I agreed to host a game, just to try it out and see how it went. So the poker game was set for Friday night at 7:30 two weeks from then. Fuck! I really didn’t want to do this, but to hell with it. It was only one night. I silently swore I’d never do it again.
I didn’t say anything to Carrie about hosting the poker game at our house until the night of the game. And it figured- she got her nose out of joint about it.
I had come home from work and wandered into the bedroom where she was about done changing for going dancing with her girlfriends again. She looked hot. She was wearing a clingy print mini dress with three-quarter sleeves and a low cut square neckline that showed off a suggestion of the emerging swell of her breasts. She rarely wore a bra and didn’t really need one. The dress was a colorful print of red and gold splotches that resembled autumn leaves on a dark brown background and it barely came to mid-thigh. It flared from her waistline so when she danced that flimsy material was going to billow and rise and show off plenty of Carrie to anyone who was looking. There’d be a lot of guys looking. She looked gorgeous in a short dress and I loved it- when she was with me.
“Got plans for tonight?” I asked.
“I’m going to dinner and dancing with Jill and Mary,” she said.
“I see,” was my answer. “Again? Well, have fun. I’m gonna have a few guys over for poker tonight.”
“You’re hosting a poker game?” She was surprised, and didn’t appear pleased. She glared at me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had plans before tonight?” she demanded.
“What difference does it make? You were planning a night out with your friends and you didn’t tell me until tonight either. You sure as hell weren’t planning on doing anything with me. What do you care how I spend the evening?”
“I just don’t like being left in the dark” was her incisive retort.
“We seem to be rowing in a circle here, Carrie. Put both your oars in the water. Once again, I’ll remind you that you didn’t share your own plans with me, and you never do til the last minute. And you still haven’t answered my own question. Why do you suddenly care what I do while you’re out getting drunk and felt up by anyone with the price of a Budweiser?”
She didn’t reply but she did start throwing things- an ashtray, a book, my work boots. She was stomping around grabbing whatever came readily to hand and launching it into the air, and fuming mightily while she did it. I laughed at her. My Carrie did a lot of childish things but I was truly surprised at her tantrum over this. It suddenly dawned on me that she expected me to be sitting alone at home wondering about what she was doing at the Keg, and more specifically, WHO she might be doing. That was what this was all about and I had ruined her plan with my indifference. My laughter might have been a good philosophical commentary but it proved to be a short term tactical error, unless I was jockeying to make her madder. She really went at it in earnest now, raging and ranging all over hell’s half acre and generally disturbing the peace. I confronted her then, I mean I actually got right in front of her.
“Jesus Christ, Carrie, calm the fuck down. What the hell is this all about?” I didn’t really expect her temperature to come down too quickly given the snit she was in, but I at least wanted to plant the seed that she was behaving like a child again. She was being manipulative and was having a tantrum when it didn’t play out like she’d planned. If I got that wedge of an idea in her head I might be able to get her to own up to it later. It had happened before.
Carrie did calm down and stop the Godzilla impersonation but clearly she was in no mood to capitulate and admit she was way out of line. I reckon the thing to have done was to lay down the law and forbid any more girls’ nights out, and fight it out with her on that front. It wasn’t how I wanted my marriage to work and I didn’t want to have to issue ultimatums to my wife, but I knew then I had to get a handle on this, and soon. But tonight was bad timing. I wasn’t about to order her to stay home and enforce that command on this night of all nights. I had a bunch of guys coming over to play cards and get loaded and I didn’t need my sexy wife there, and pissed off at me to boot. It was too late to cancel the poker game and the last thing I wanted was her present in any mood, but especially on a tear like she was. As I was mulling over my dilemma, she solved that problem by storming out the door. I heard her jerk her car door open- and into the side of my new F250, the little brat- and quickly slam it shut. She tore out of the driveway, slammed the car in drive and highballed it down the street.
“Fuck me runnin’" was all I could think. This was gonna suck later, but for now, an immediate disaster had been averted, and not a minute too soon, because right then Sean pulled into my driveway. I went out to help him haul in the beer.
“I just passed Carrie headed east like a bat out of hell,” he said to me, sort of half-smiling, tentatively, as it were.
“Yeah, we had another knock down drag out fight. She’s pissed off that I’m gonna be having a poker playing beer swilling reefer toking party instead of sitting here pining away for her sweet ass.”
Sean’s smile disappeared. Of all my friends he was the only one with absolute and complete control of his mouth. “Want to talk about it?” he ventured.
“Naw, not now. Maybe later. Right now I just want to get through this evening and try to figure out some way to get it ended early. I was never nuts about the idea and now I’m really sorry I buckled and agreed to it. That part isn’t about Carrie or even our fight tonight. I just really wasn’t into it from the get-go.”
“Shit,” he said. “I guess I’m to blame for that. I kind of cornered you…”
“No, stop that Sean. I agreed to it- you didn’t push me. You just offered to help out. I’m the one who caved in. Don’t sweat it. I’m not mad at you. Let’s just try to have a good time tonight, hope for an early night, and maybe I’ll get my mind off the way it began.”
We were inside by now and I got him a cooler and bag of ice from the freezer for the beer. As he was loading up the beer there was a knock on the door, and I went to find Ray and Gene on my front stoop.
“C’mon in guys” I said, and they tromped in each clutching a bottle. Ray had a fifth of Jack and Gene was holding a Bacardi. “I’ve got Coke for that rum, Gene. It’s in the fridge and the glasses are above the sink.” I knew Ray drank his Jack straight up, neat. He never missed a chance to tell about it, whether you had asked or not. Neither Ray nor Gene were particularly big guys- about average, but Ray had huge hands. He could hold a basketball in each hand, held straight out to his sides at arm’s length. They were ironworkers though so they were tough and had that ironworker attitude. All ironworkers thought they had to be the toughest son-of-a-bitch on the planet. There was always a rivalry on jobsites between the trades, and it was by general consensus that the steel walkers won on the basis of overall orneriness. The bastards stuck together, too. Sean and I were brickies and while not at the top of the pecking order, it was a respected and tough job. We could hold our own.
“Who else is coming?” I asked Ray.
“Three guys I met last week from a Chicago local,” he answered. “They seem like good guys and they were looking for a poker game.”
“Well, I hope they aren’t planning to clean up on this game. I’ll still host the game but if they insist on high stakes I’ll bow out and won’t play.”
“It’s cool,” Ray said. “I filled ‘em in. Just a friendly game. The ante is just to make it interesting. You worry too much, brickie.”
“It ain’t worry, Ray. It’s just a sense of responsibility” and I smiled when I said it to show no hard feelings…not quite true, but he hadn’t really said anything wrong. He just had something about him that I didn’t quite trust. He was too smug, too sure of himself. He didn’t quite swagger, but he came close. “I don’t have money to lose,” I finished.
Just then I heard a loud truck pull up in front of the house. I went to the door to wait for them and three guys piled out of a beat-up old Ford pickup and waved. The driver looked Hispanic. They walked up and introduced themselves- Mike, Tom and Javier. Mike and Tom were ordinary-looking enough, but Javier was a real good looking guy, and over six feet tall, about Sean’s height. Javier was also the most friendly of the group, giving me a warm handshake without testing my grip. There was no accent when he spoke, so I ventured “You a Chicago native?”
“Yep,” he laughed. “Born in Chicago, raised over my grandpa’s bodega in South Chighetto.”
“Cool!” I told him, and I laughed. “I know a bartender with big tits from Cal Park.”
He grinned and grabbed his chest and said “Sorry to disappoint you, man. Even my sisters have small tits. They’re pretty though. We’re a family of fine asses.”
“I bet they are pretty,” I answered, giving him a sidelong look. Latina girls are hot. Javier was not quite pretty himself. He was good looking but had a chiseled face and a lean trim build.
“Yep- I’m a lifelong Sox fan,” Javier added.
“Louis, I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” I said, then, “I hope you don’t mind me calling you Louis.”
He and Sean laughed so I knew he’d got it. The other guys stared at me like I was drooling onto my shirt. I didn’t explain.
I passed out beers and we got down to business. I had picked up two new decks of cards and had thrown a blanket over the massively built dining room table. It was oak and was practically a piece of timber framing. It had been a wedding gift from my grandmother, not quite an heirloom but she had got it from her mother. You coulda parked a forklift on that table and not stressed it much. We cut for the deal and Ray won. We played a couple of hands, shooting the shit about jobs and general contractors, when Sean produced a lid of Sinsie and rolled a joint. I lost both hands, and grumbled about the deal like a seasoned player. Then the phone rang. I jumped up and went into the kitchen to answer it. It was Sean’s sister Mary.
“I thought you were going out to dinner and then to the Keg with Carrie,” I said.
“Yeah, I started out but I’m at the hospital now.”
“Shit!” I exclaimed. “What happened? Is Carrie all right?’ Then, feeling guilty, “Are YOU all right?”
“Yeah Bill, we’re all fine. It’s my mom. Barney (One of the local deputies. He was a skinny officious little dweeb and we all called him Barney Fife.) saw my car at Papa’s restaurant and came in to tell me Mom had been in a car crash and was at the hospital. I’m calling to tell Sean.”
I hollered for Sean and waited. Sean and Mary’s mom was a sweetheart. She was real pretty once too but her old man had dumped her for the bottle and a slut from a small town nearby, and she was kind of hitting the skids lately, letting herself go.
When Sean finished and had hung up he just said, “I gotta go.” And, of course, I said, “Sure man”. I asked if he wanted me to come along, and he said no, it was better for now if just he and Mary went to see her, but he’d keep me posted.
“Well, tell your mom I love her, and I hope she’s all right,” I told him and watched his back as he nodded, grabbed his fringed leather jacket and hurried out the door. My night, already in serious freefall, was not getting any better. A fight with my wife, a poker game I didn’t really want and was losing at, my best friend’s mom in the hospital and now the only good friend I had at the game had to bail and leave. I went back to the table and gave the guys the news. They agreed among themselves immediately to give Sean’s ante back and handed it to me. We continued playing and I continued losing. Much more of this and I’d be out of the game. I had set myself a limit on how much I could lose, and at this rate, it didn’t look like that would be long in coming. I never expected to clean up, but I also didn’t expect to never take a hand.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I heard Carrie’s car come boiling into the driveway and screech to a halt. She had a lead foot and I also recognized the signature lifter clatter on her Pinto. Directly she came sauntering into the dining room, carrying her jacket and looking eminently fuckable. Instead of coming to my side, she walked around behind Ray, whose back was to the wall. The absolute last thing I wanted this night was to have my wife in a sexy and revealing minidress hanging out in the same house with these guys. Especially given her volatility tonight!
Safiya
- 20.08.2020
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