Chapter 4

Things were quiet until Friday. The 'Mack's friends' part of 'The second month, you fuck Mack's friends until you can pay' got clarified then. Mack held poker parties on Friday nights -- coincidentally in another condo in my complex that wasn't where he lived -- and 'Mack's friends' were a rotating group of guys that appeared around that table. Sometimes, the attraction was just poker -- but others, there was more serious items of entertainment. This month there were three: Cindy, Charlene, and Irene. Cindy was in Month Two anyway -- and Charlene and Irene, being in Month Three, had Month Two requirements layered underneath.

Being Mack's partner granted an automatic invite. Mack's words to me were, "Take one home after if you want -- but who knows whether you'll want to bother." I pretty much figured he was talking about sloppy sixteenths or something.

I got there early, because Mack wanted it that way. I watched from the balcony as he pulled up in the Caddy and the women got out and he led then upstairs. Each was carrying a gym bag or a laundry bag, which I found interesting.

Each of them made a point of saying "Hi, Pete!" as they came in and Cindy vamped me; "You're too damned popular," Mack groused. I merely grunted. Charlene, who was apparently acting as straw boss, led them off to one of the bedrooms to drop their bags, then they headed back downstairs. I ambled back to the balcony with Mack to see them unloading food and booze from the car; the first thing Mack had done on arrival was pour a scotch and water. "Do you play?" he asked.

"Poker?" I clarified. "I understand the basics, I think."

"Good," Mack grunted. "We need someone who can lose."

"Gee, thanks!"

Mack just grinned.

The next half-hour or so was all about setting up the table and the snacks and the drinks -- and the smokes. We seemed to have every chip you could think of and pretzels and dips and a bunch of other crap -- no vegetable tray or anything that might be sort of healthy, though. The closest thing to that were the pickles and olives and onions and hot peppers in the nachos Irene set up -- complete with spicy ground beef. I knew what I was eating! I was pleased to see Irene sampling heavily from the pan -- and Mack, who was supervising, not complaining about it.

About seven-thirty, Mack grunted, "Awright, go get ready. You can fart around with the rest of this shit once you're dressed." I discovered at that point the the gym bags held nylons and garter belts and high heels -- and held their arrival and departure outfits, too, in the interim. Mack provided the rest of the wardrobe; the closets held a bunch of those starchy maid outfit skirts with the frilly under layers and the chests of drawers held red fishnet body stockings. Charlene apparently knew where everything was; I hung out indolently in the bedroom door, mimicking Mack, while the women changed clothes. When they were done, Mack lined them up for a look. There were no bras, of course -- and no panties. Nipples stuck through fishnet -- and Cindy's dripped. "Shit," Mack grumbled. "You've got pads, right?"

"Yes," Cindy nodded.

"Stick'em under there -- but if anybody gets thirsty, give 'em a drink."

"Yes, Mack. Are you going to wring me out again?"

"Nah. You enjoyed it too much." He swept them with his eyes. Irene was shifting from foot to foot; Charlene managed to appear bored. "Awright, back to the salt mines. Does anybody have any questions about what they'll be doing tonight?"

Charlene and Irene shook their heads, but Cindy raised a hand -- just to see what it would get her, I think. "I suppose I'll be serving..."

"Ya think?" Mack rasped. Irene let go a nervous giggle. "You do what I tell you. If I tell you to suck a dick, I don't wanna hear nothing but wet sloppy noises. Later on, things will probably open up; if I tell you it's open season, you do whatever ANYONE tells you. Understand?"

"Yes, Mack."

"Relax, you'll love it. We'll get somebody to cornhole you with a bottle brush or something." Mack grinned nastily.

The others started wandering in between seven-thirty and eight. Two of them were our sales guys -- which surprised me a bit -- but, hey, they were sales guys. Bill, in particular, was a sleaze -- but he got the job done. Bob -- well, I won't go into Bob. Let's just say that there were occasional indications that he had limits -- but this wasn't one. Joe was a mechanic or something (I later learned that he owned a junkyard) -- and looked it. Mack called him Joe Shit the Ragman -- or just Ragman. I don't think I ever learned his name. He was a classic for having a woman look at him and say 'We don't want any.' He was big and beefy and there was no way you were going the get the grime off of those hands. Add a beer belly and a two-day beard and shaggy hair and there you have it. I'm sure he probably bathed before coming over, and his coverall was clean, if frayed -- and the women were lucky that he made the effort, I figured. From a male perspective there really wasn't anything wrong with him -- he was more authentically male than some. But that included the parts that tended to repulse females.

Marty was a bookkeeper -- or maybe just a bookie. He was over forty and fat and balding -- and what hair he had was slicked back with some kind of goo. He was the loud sport coat type -- which I'd assumed was just a stereotype up to that point. Well, surprise, surprise ... Okay, so, he was a little taller than Danny DeVito (not much), and he had a moustache -- but he was wider, too, and had the attitude the actor was famous for. His first comment was "Huh! Same as last month. Who's the fat bitch?"

Mike the bartender showed up and looked a little sheepish; I could sympathize.

The last of the eight was a guy named Hugo, who was one of our general contractors. He looked like a Black - Hispanic mix, but talked like a Caribbean islander from somewhere -- maybe Jamaica. He was built kind of like Buddha, and pretty genial.

I leaned aside to Mack and said, "These are friends?"

"Okay, business acquaintances," Mack grunted. "I couldn't fill the table with friends -- and if I could, some of them would be too broke to play." He looked around and grunted, "Awright, let's play some cards." I got a sketchy introduction and plopped down across the table from him between Bob and Hugo -- and proceeded to lose my shirt.

Well, it wasn't that bad -- nickel, dime, quarter stuff -- but I wasn't winning. Mack teased me and said I was too innocent and didn't have a poker face. Marty was all over me like a coat of paint; I spent a lot of time wondering why his nose wasn't broken in six places. I think he sensed that I would have liked to volunteer -- and it amused him. I got myself under control, and when the barbs weren't visibly effective any more, he backed off.

Three or four of them were smoking like chimneys -- and we were ALL drinking something or another. Early on, the women were just there to wait tables -- maybe getting an ass rub while they stood next to somebody after delivering a drink. Cards, booze, and food were serious -- in that order. I got smarter, but more reckless -- too much beer. Wins and losses started getting spectacular.

I think the first serious sex move was Ragman; he said, "So, how's your ass, Baby?" to Cindy and I looked up to see her standing there beside him, looking a little shaky and uncomfortable while Mack pinned her in place with his eyes. Ragman produced a finger that obviously had shit on it and grunted, "Messy," then picked up a napkin and wiped it off and handed it to her.

Mack said, "Charlene, fix it," without removing his eyes from Cindy and Charlene collected her and headed off somewhere. In a few seconds, I picked up a squawk of, "Jeezus! An enema?" -- but it was time to call and I had three queens...

Cindy came back a few minutes later, walking a little hunched-over. Mack gestured her over and made a production out of rubbing and patting her belly -- after very little of which Cindy went, "Ooooooohhhh!" and ran for the bathroom. Yeah, I laughed, too. Ragman gave the other two the bung test, but they were clearly ready for it.

Marty was the next one to push the envelope obviously -- I might have missed more subtle goings-on, due to my state. I'd backed off on the beer, but I hadn't recovered. He looked around and announced, "I'm up fifty, thanks to Pete, so I guess I'll sit this one out and get in a little fun!" He pushed a stack of chips at Mack and turned to Irene. "Come over here and see if you can get me in that big mouth of yours -- balls and all, Bitch." I gathered from that that he wasn't hung. Irene actually looked relieved while she went over and dragged his pants down and buried her face between his thick thighs. Marty rocked back so she could get under his pot. He was a major distraction, what with the moans and groans of pleasure and the crap he enjoyed himself talking, so we basically stopped playing to watch -- not that it was great porn, or anything. He called Irene a nigger bitch and a slut and a coon and anything else he could think of -- fortunately, Hugo was the closest we had to her race and he didn't seem to mind. She jerked him off while rolling his balls around in her mouth and licking his nasty ass, then sucked him; I was pretty sure it didn't count as deep throat, since he clearly wasn't hung.

Probably the good news was that he only lasted a couple of minutes -- the whole thing was kind of disgusting, mostly from his approach to it. He insisted that she take his load on her face -- because she didn't deserve to drink it, according to him. I'd never understood why that seemed to be such a great thing -- I assumed that they did it in porn so you knew the guy actually blew a nut, although creampies served the same purpose. Anyway, she sucked him to his peak then sat there on her heels and let him decorate her face, after which he was all happy -- clearly because he'd gotten even with the female half of the human race for years of neglect. I could see his point, actually, but it seemed to be he was being sorry-assed about it.

When he was done, Mack looked around and said, "Since we're takin' a break, is anybody else gonna want to get a load off?" I watched them; Bill and Bob seemed content to wait, while Ragman thoughtfully riffled his chips, counting them. Mike sat back, watching, like me, and Hugo scratched his belly reflectively. Looking at this bunch, I had to admit a street hooker would probably see dollar signs, but of the three we had only Charlene was really close to that mindset.

Ragman grunted, "You're gonna have to give me another twenty on my limit, or I'll be so short you sharks will be able to close me down." We were playing with a hundred dollar limit and Mack and Marty and Bill had most of the money. By eyeball, Ragman was sitting on about sixty, so if he punched in fifty, which seemed to be the going rate, he'd be down to ten bucks for cards.

Mack looked around. "Gents? Any issues?"

"More for me," Marty jibed. Nobody demurred.

Ragman fished a twenty out of his wallet and separated out the rest in chips. "You, Chunky. Bend over the couch arm and we'll see how clean you got."

"Wear her out," Mack advised. "She loves that shit. Don't feel guilty about making her ass red -- she loves THAT, too!" Meanwhile, Cindy minced over to the couch and bent over, watching Ragman as he got up and headed her way, unbuttoning his coverall.

"What's that shit over your nipples, anyway?" Ragman asked her.

"I'm breastfeeding," she told him. "They drip."

Ragman took a surprised suck on his cigar. "Milk?"

"Yes."

"No shit. Take off your top, then. I'm gonna get a drink."

Cindy looked at Mack, who just looked back. She got the hint and undid the snaps at the crotch of the body stocking and worked it out from under the skirt and over her head.

"I'm gonna lay on the couch," Ragman told her. "You climb on top and feed me tit and pull on my dick and I'm gonna see if I can't dry them things out for you." In the meantime, he got his big, hairy hulk out of his coverall and work boots.

Hugo broke up things by rumbling, "Mebbe I get some from Charlene." He sorted out some chips and got up to shamble over and tower over her. "How you want it?"

Charlene, unfazed, replied, "It's on you, Honey -- it's your quarter."

"Okay. I go on the rug. You suck a little then ride that motherfucker," Hugo directed.

"Fix me a drink, Irene," Mack directed. "Anyone else want watered?"

"Bring me a plate of those nachos," I interjected. I needed food, bad. "Come to think of it, I'll eat at the bar." I got up and ambled over while Irene made Mack's drink and watched her reheat the nacho fixings so they were fresh for me. The bar gave me a view of both proceedings, anyway, and they weren't the disgusting spectacle that Marty had been.

If I'd had any doubts about Cindy's masochism, watching her with Ragman put them to rest. He wasn't gentle with her jugs -- but then, he was watching her face the same as I was, and the pleasure mixed with the pain was obvious in her expression. Given her reactions, it didn't bother me. He had a cock that wasn't spectacularly long, but was as thick as a salami -- and we all knew where it was going. Cindy jacked it and grunted and groaned while he milked her harshly; I figured she would have serious finger marks for a few days, after.

Hugo had some fairly serious meat, it turned out. Charlene had no problem getting him up and running, then she sat on it and started posting, telling him how wonderful it was. It was a pure hooker's performance -- I didn't believe a word of it -- but that wasn't my problem, anyway. It's amazing to me that the little ones seem to be able to take the biggest dicks. Hugo played with her nipples and more or less silently enjoyed himself.

Irene put my plate out and I said "Thanks," to which she replied, "No problem, Baby," and presented her lips for a kiss -- which I gave her.

"You know where that mouth has been, right?" Marty jibed.

"I figure she wasn't challenged any," I shot back. There were several chuckles, including Mack's. Irene smiled but said nothing, coming around the bar to settle within reach. She wanted a little attention, so I gave it to her, wrapping an arm around her and cupping a tit. She ended up feeding me nachos while we watched the floor show.