Bart’s visit to an underground poker game ends in exactly the way he was hoping — with him on his knees servicing the fat bouncer! His name is Fatty, he’s huge, he’s mean and he’s got meat to spare! Can Bart satisfy Fatty?!
Read the whole thing here!
“I’m looking for a poker game. The dragon sips tea at dawn,” Bart said.
The liquor store was cheesy and rundown. The Chinese family running the shop glared at Bart. They nodded noncommittally when he said he was here for the poker game.
“No poker game here!” one of them said, gesturing around the shop, which had nothing but liquor, displays of cigarettes and signs advertising the lottery. Empty boxes were stacked in the back.
But they didn’t respond poorly to his question. Bart furrowed his brow. If he had walked into some random liquor store and asked for the underground poker game, he would have expected them to kick him out, to ask what he was talking about, to express confusion and dismay.
But these two men just said “no poker game here”, pointing to the floor right in front of the counter — as though Bart had asked if there was a poker game in that exact spot.
Bart was suspicious. “Is it… Is there a poker game… somewhere?”
The clerk scowled. “Presumably. Go there, wherever it is. Round in the rear of some place, I expect.” He sniffled and glanced over his shoulder.
“Aaaaaah… I see, okay,” Bart said. He bought a lotto ticket just so he wouldn’t look like a dickhead. He tucked it in his pocket as he went out into the parking lot. Nobody was around, so he grabbed an empty box by the door. He broke it down into a flat piece of cardboard, that way he wouldn’t look too suspicious to anyone driving by.
He went around to the back of the liquor store, where he saw a recycling dumpster, in which he put the cardboard. A few yards away sat a fat white man with a huge belly, a backwards baseball cap and a tattoo of Barack Obama’s smiling face extending up his neck. He nodded at Bart.
“Yo, hey, ‘sup.” He nodded. He sat near the back-door to the liquor store as though that was a normal spot to sit in. A minuscule stool was there, that’s what he sat on. It would be too tiny for a normal-sized man, but the fat man with the oversized jaw and the stoned squint upon his roundness was a thousand times too big for the stool he sat upon.
He sat near the door in the manner of a bouncer, Bart thought. He headed right for the door as though he knew what he was doing and where he was going. “Is this the door?”
“That’s a door.” The fat white thug stood. He spat on the ground, needing to lean forward to avoid spitting on his belly. He stood in front of the door. “Whatchoo need, li’l thang?”
Bart had to resist his urge to say what he really wanted — to get plowed into by this magnificent whale of a man — but he figured his best bet was to play it cool for now. “I heard there was a poker game in there. I’m Dan’s friend,” he said. “Dan Lickster”. Then, feeling like a child playing a spy-game, he leaned closer to the big man, clutched his belly and said, “The dragon sips tea at dawn.”
The fat thug nodded. “A’ight. Go’n in, sir,” he said. He opened the door for him. Bart skedaddled past, his hand lingering on the man’s massive belly.
Inside was a dimly lit basement, in the center of which was a round table with nine chairs surroundant. A bar sat in one corner of the room, and in the very middle, near the table, was a door that presumably led to the stairs going up, to the main floor where the liquor store and the surly clerk and the sale on discount gin all were.
A small handful of people milled around the table, while a single waitress brought them drinks from the bar. One person at table was a motionless, emotionless woman in a plain suit. She was the dealer, presumably. The others were players.
This was Bart’s first underground poker game. He had brought four thousand dollars, and he didn’t mind losing all of it. But he transferred two hundred bucks to a different pocket so he could keep it hidden — he might want that later.
He hoped to get in that fat thug’s pants, and he was willing to pay for it. That was the real reason he had finagled an invite to the poker game.
“Bart! Glad you could make it!” Bart’s friend Dan called for him when he came into the room. “Fatty ain’t grill you up and eat you with butter, did he?”
“I tried, but he said no,” Bart said, making the room laugh. He turned and blushed when he saw that fat thug — who apparently went by Fatty — had followed him in. He hadn’t meant to say that in front of him. Fatty blushed even redder than Bart.
Fatty had a deep booming voice. “Man… Shhh-” He cut himself off as he grabbed his dick through his jeans. It sounded like he was about to say shut your fucking face or something along those lines but stopped before he got in trouble. This was an upper-class event. He had been told not to “lower the tone”.
Fatty just waddled away, as the other players laughed at him. Bart felt a little bad for him, but then, he got the feeling Fatty was not exactly a nice guy, so he didn’t feel too bad. Besides, Bart fully intended to make it up to him later.
He was so distracted he didn’t do very well in the poker game. That was fine with Bart, it was fun just to be there. He didn’t need to do a really good job, and he didn’t mind losing the money. It was only his fifth time ever playing poker in his life, and he would have done a lot better but he forgot which hands outrank each other and bet wrong.
When the game was over, Bart hung around as the other guys said their goodbyes. He helped the dealer clean up, and then headed out into the back by the dumpsters. There was Fatty, sitting there, playing on his phone and smoking a Black’n’Mild by himself. He looked up and nodded, disinterested.
“How you doin’?” Bart asked.
Fatty frowned. “What?”
“My name is Bart.”
“Fatty.”
“Nice to meet you, Fatty,” Bart said. “So, I-“
“Look, I ain’t gonna reimburse ya losings, man,” he said. He sneered like he was being forced to be here and resented it.
“That’s fine. I was looking to give you some money,” Bart said. He affectionately patted Fatty on the shoulder. That made his arm flesh jiggle.
“What?”
“I’ve got two hundred dollars in my pocket,” Bart said. “I held it back so I wouldn’t lose it. I wanted to spend it on you.”
“What?” He stood up like he thought he was going to get in a fight. He eyed Bart suspiciously. His thick belly was right in front of Bart’s face. Bart poked it with one finger, searching for his bellybutton through the football jersey Fatty wore. Fatty frowned. “You wanna gimme money?”
“I want to pay you money for services to be rendered,” Bart said. He smiled.
Fatty furrowed his brow and said the only thing he could think of. “What?”
Bart giggled. “I want you to stick it in me, Fatty.”
“What?”
“Your dick. In here.” Bart pointed to his mouth. “Maybe elsewhere too, if you-“
“What?” His chin-fat jiggled.
“Can you stop saying that?”
“Look, man…” Fatty tottered back and forth on his squat legs. He looked around. No one was here. Everyone else had gone. Even the liquor store was closed now.
“Two hundred dollars. That’s a lotta money-“
“Ain’t nothin’ stopping me from just takin’ it,” Fatty said. He reached into Bart’s pockets. He frowned. There was no money there. Bart had hidden it in his sock.
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get to blow your nut-“
“I ain’t… you know… I was in prison, but I ain’t a booty bandit, dawg.”
“I know, dawg,” Bart said. “C’mon-“
“I don’t see no two hundred dollars. You foolin’. You straight-up foolin’.”
“If I take it out, you’ll steal it and you won’t stick me,” Bart said. “Come on… I’ll let you do it however you want. You can plow down on my face, you can ram into my ass as hard as you want.”
“Shit… If you don’t pay me, motherfucker… I hunt down bitches and get payment outta ‘em as a career, so don’t try it, man. I swear to Christ, I’ll steal ya mama’s heart pills if I got to. I get what I is owed,” Fatty said.
“I promise. I’ll pay.”
Fatty frowned. He leaned against the dumpster, looked away and nodded. “Go’n then.”
He apparently wasn’t going to be any more involved in this than he absolutely had to be, Bart thought, but that was okay with him. He undid the belt around Fatty’s jeans and let them flop to the ground. Then he pulled that ratty old jersey off his head. Fatty fought against it at first — he rarely took his shirt off even when plowing because he knew girls wouldn’t want to look at his manboobs — but then he let Bart do it. He was much too tall for Bart to actually lift the jersey himself, so he just got started and tried to climb Fatty’s belly. That too was plainly unrealistic, but he enjoyed the challenge and the feel of it, and he liked the way Fatty’s belly and indeed his whole body shook as Bart scaled him like a sturdy mountain.
And Fatty made a funny face, which Bart found amusing. He tolerated it at first, but then he grew annoyed and took the jersey off himself. The motion of it made his upper body flex and ripple, and it bared the furry bush of his armpits for a moment.
Then he stood there, belly protruding, as Bart licked it clean. He was hairy and heavyset by nature but fat by habit, his belly a stack of rolls and jiggles. He smelled intensely of foot sweat from head to toe, and Bart inhaled the scent while his hands and his nose explored all the crevices between his folds.
He tugged down his boxer sorts, at last baring his magnificent cock. Bart’s tongue works it way down to his belly fat, down to the underside of it, where the treasure trail of body hair grew thicker and coarser and the sweat grew funkier.
A gasp escaped from Fatty’s lips, followed by a suck on his teeth. Bart’s delicate hands reached under his belly to his cock and gave it a stroke. Fatty groaned again. He couldn’t decide if it felt good or not. He didn’t mind getting jerked off, but it was hard to focus with Bart’s tiny tongue snaking all over his folds of fat.
By chance Bart glanced up, and the intense look on Fatty’s face, a penetrating stare like he had spied something greatly displeased him, made Bart chortle. When that only magnified the look on Fatty’s mien, Bart’s chortle choked into a chuckle, and he turned that into a cough. He quaked before Fatty’s bigness.
“You makin’ fun of me?” Fatty asked. Bart shook his head. “You gettin’d dared by ya buddies? Is it like… a scavenger hunt?”
Bart shook his head again and again. He sucked on Fatty’s fleshy manboobs, playing with his nipples and stroking his dick to full erection. “I like big boys. I like men, and I appreciate the bigness of… well, big ones. That’s all. I think you’re a magnificent specimen.” He licked a trail down Fatty’s belly, which had more tattoos on it — gang tats, it appeared. He slurped the sweat that clung to each tattoo. There was Gothic lettering that read MONTANA over his belly, and an American flag over his heart. A gun was tattooed on the side of his belly, pointed down towards his cock.
“Man…” Fatty grunted. He still felt maybe he was being made fun of. Maybe there was a hidden-camera? Was this some sort of Making-Fun-of-Fat-Men reality show? Surely that would be illegal, he thought. He didn’t want to look self-conscious, so he didn’t stop Bart, but he kept looking around for hidden cameras.
Then he grunted and threw his head back so fast it slammed painfully against the dumpster behind him. His whole body jiggled. Bart clutched those big round asscheeks as he plowed down on Fatty’s cock. It was limp and not especially big at first, like a lot of fat guys, but it quickly firmed up and turned into a nearly foot-long monster, all knobbly and veiny. Bart gurgled on it merrily. He looked up and tried to make eye contact with Fatty, but he looked everywhere except down.
That felt better than expected. He didn’t get sucked off a lot these days. Most women wouldn’t give him the time of day, and he had sort of forgotten how hot and moist and inviting it was to feel a throat swallow his meat down to the root. It sent a shiver of bliss up his spine, and Fatty’s whole body shook, or really his spine shimmied and the shimmy was magnified by his layers of fat until his whole body wobbled like underset jello.
His dick was moist to begin with, soaked with sweat from his underbelly and from being cooped up on a humid night in his jeans. Bart sucked all the sweat down, slurping it, gurgling and giggling as he moaned — he loved how it made Fatty’s whole body shake and jiggle.
Fatty snorted and huffed like a surprised donkey. His eyes alternating between wide open and excited and the dull-eyed stoner squint he had throughout the poker game, though he’d been standing there throughout, he clearly hadn’t been smoking any weed, so Bart didn’t get how he could look stoned. Maybe that was just the way he looked, or maybe he smoked so much weed it stayed with him.
He tried to reach up to play with Fatty’s manboobs, but Fatty began plowing into his face, and it was difficult to control his hands. Bart flailed, going back to holding onto those enormous asscheeks for support. Fatty’s balls slapped against his chin, and Fatty had to hold his belly up to give Bart easy access to it.
“Hmmmm….” Bart murmured as he gagged on the hard dick jamming into his throat. He had to signal to Fatty a couple times before he pulled away, slapping his fat dick over Bart’s face. When Fatty let go of his belly, it flopped onto Bart’s head, nearly knocking him over. “You taste so good…”
“You serious?”
“I’m deadly serious. I wanna lick your ass. Can I lick your ass? I wanna taste it!” Bart giggled, blushing at the shocked look on Fatty’s face — who hadn’t looked at him since this started, not until now. He checked out Bart as though to see if he was joking.
But Fatty smirked and turned around. He’d never gotten a rimjob. He never even thought it was an option — who would want to lick his fat ass? Not a girl, he knew that.
He gripped the side of the dumpster like he was being searched by a cop. He spread his legs wide, frowning a little when he felt Bart’s delicate tongue plant on his left asscheek. It was cold, not particularly arousing and a little ticklish. Fatty just grunted. He spread his asscheeks, and they parted like a massive yellow cock being splattered in slow motion.
Bart licked up and down that enormous left cheek, which rippled flabbily as he massaged it with both hands. Bart could have fit his entire body in Fatty’s asscheeks, he thought with an aroused giggle. The smell was so potent it made Bart let out a moan of desire.
He had to use both hands to spread Fatty’s cheeks and bare his crack. The smell of sour sweat was intense here. There was plenty of funky hair lining the crack and around his tight hole. Bart didn’t need to ask if it was a virginal asshole — it was as tight as could be. He rubbed one finger over it, but then Fatty swore and said, “No fingers! Nah! You said lick! You can lick it!”
“Okay, sorry,” Bart said. It was impossible to finger it anyway — Bart needed to use both hands to keep Fatty’s cheeks separate. It was like trying to pull apart a mass of jello that hadn’t fully set yet. Bart sucked on each bit of flesh that seeped through his fingers as he dove in between those cheeks.
Finally he got his tongue in Fatty’s tight hole, and Fatty let out a howl that sounded overconfident — like he wanted Bart to think he’d done this before and wasn’t impressed. But Bart could tell from the way his asshole clenched around Bart’s tongue that he was turned on, and that he wanted more.
Bart plowed into him with his tongue. Soon he couldn’t hold back the sea on those asscheeks, and he let go, allowing all that flabby hefty to envelop him so Bart’s entire head was buried in his ass.
Fatty glanced behind himself and couldn’t help but guffaw in shock — and a little disgust — at the sight. Bart looked like he had been beheaded by Fatty’s ass, or like his head was actually climbing into his backside. Fatty couldn’t believe how good it felt either. It was a little uncomfortable, but Bart’s tongue invaded his ass and went right for his juicy prostate, slurping up all the sweat and assfluids that seeped out of him and onto his tongue.
The taste was sour and salty, like cum but solid and fleshy. Bart slurped noisily. He reached between Fatty’s legs to try to jack him off, but that proved impossible — Fatty was just too wide and too thick. Instead his hands roamed over the bigness, the endless folds of Fatty’s mountainous asscheeks.
Finally Bart pulled out and raced to bend over. He was dizzy from lack of oxygen. He got his face down on the asphalt, his ass as high as he could manage. Fatty’s corpulent body kept undulating as he rubbed his ass over the spot where Bart’s face had been moments ago.
Fatty turned around to see why the rimjob had stopped. He saw Bart bent over and grimaced. Bart’s ass was smooth and tight, round as could be, pretty much the exact opposite of Bart’s ass.
He’d never plowed into a girl with a nice tight ass like that. He’d plowed into some big females, some of them very sexy, and he’d gotten in a few asses. But none of them had a plump bubble-butt like Bart.
Fatty kept a sour grimace on his face because he didn’t want Bart to think he really enjoyed this — it would make it seem like Fatty couldn’t land a real woman. He spread Bart’s cheeks with his greasy fingers, and slid his cock in. He again had to lift his belly up to keep it out of the way.
His belly then flopped onto Bart’s ass, while Bart backed up onto Fatty’s cock. There was a burst of pressure and pain, which Bart accepted with a grimace. There was always this difficulty in getting plowed into by fat guys, whose bellies weighed Bart down and added power to their penetrations.
Fatty was oblivious though. He just gripped Bart’s cheeks, plowing into him on autopilot, his cock ramming into Bart’s ass as hard as he could. He’d never been able to fuck a girl like this, so lots of pent-up horniness came out at once. He moaned loud and slammed into Bart’s ass. He was surprised at how easy it was, his cock just slid right in and instantly his whole body quaked as a jolt of pleasure rocked his corpulent frame.
“Shit!” Bart shouted. “Goddamn, get it deep in me! Big boy, do me hard!” He was rocked back and forth by the power of Fatty’s gyrations, his heavy body grinding him into the asphalt.
Bart found it difficult to remain on all fours with Fatty plowing into him with all his mind. He lowered himself first to his elbows and knees, and then finally, gradually, he was crushed onto the cold asphalt. Fatty laid atop him, scrunching him up underneath that hairy belly.
A long, low orgasm erupted in Bart, extended by the fact that he was crushed on the ground, so he was unable to touch his own cock. He could barely even breathe. All he did was flail as the most intense orgasm of his life ran through him.
Hot breath condensed on the back of his neck as Fatty gasped and snorted like a horse. Fatty’s whole body rippled, and he groaned right into Bart’s ears. “Damn, bitch, shit, you fuckin’ slut, don’t move, don’t move, just take it, okay, bitch, damn…” He exhaled breathily on Bart’s head.
At last he was done. He lifted his head — letting Bart breathe a bit — as he poured his cumload into Bart’s ass. Fatty had never felt anything like this. He shot the biggest load of his life, wad after wad of creamy, sticky juices flowing into Bart’s asshole.
Bart accepted every drop and would have begged for more if he could recover his breath. He soon rolled over, and Fatty went with him, wrapping Bart up in his arms so he could keep plowing in. Bart squirmed and writhed in his grasp.
As soon as Bart touched his own cock, he finally shot his own wad as well, spraying it over the asphalt and even onto his own face. Bart cried out. “Goddamn, Fatty!”
Fatty chuckled, his own orgasm ending though he didn’t remove his cock yet. He just watched Bart squirm and climax as well, his lithe back tensing up. Fatty let Bart slide right off his slick belly. Every inch of his body riding on Fatty’s dick sent new spasms of ecstasy to course through Bart’s veins. Fatty too found sparks of sensation to arise from his sensitive shaft as Bart dismounted it, and both men let out cavernous moans of relief when Bart finally popped off Fatty’s knob.
Bart sighed, exhausted, red-faced and sweaty — covered in Fatty’s sweat as well as his own. He sprawled out on the asphalt. Jizz dribbled out and flowed down his thighs in tiny rivulets.
After a minute or two of heavy breathing, Bart rested his head on Fatty’s belly. His tongue snaked into his bellybutton. Fatty chuckled. Bart stroked his limp dick with one hand. It was hot and tender, soft as warm butter, and Bart’s squeezing of it made Fatty shudder with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
“Your dick is great,” Bart said. He reached into his sock and pulled out the money. “Here you go.”
Fatty nodded, his eyes glazed over. He yawned. “Shit, man…” He had forgotten he couldn’t find the money, so he didn’t pay attention to where Bart pulled the cash from.
“Is it okay if I lay here on your belly for awhile?”
Fatty nodded again. “Whatever floats your boat, man,” he said. He took the backwards baseball cap off because it got in the way of resting his head on the asphalt. “Shit… You wanna pay me again later? I’ll come see you some more next week.”
“Hmmm… Maybe. I’ll give you my phone number,” Bart said. “But I travel a lot.” He licked the valley between Fatty’s manboobs. Then he kissed Fatty on the neck. Fatty stiffened up — that felt too pervy for him, but he allowed it for a few seconds before gently pushing Bart way.
Then Fatty sat up. “Shit, okay, I’ll call you. Don’t tell no one though. If anyone asks… tell ‘em I sell you meth.” He paused. “Not the police, I mean.”
“Sure, okay,” Bart said with a satisfied sigh. “Whatever you want.”
