Author: Reltajm
Description of sex story: porn stories about sex between men
Red.
I put on red, so I won.
Red.
I put on red, so I won.
Black.
I didn’t put it, so I didn’t lose.
A fat marsher is puffing nearby. Its thick fingers nervously squeeze the chips, as if trying to squeeze juice from them, or blood.
I’m smiling.
Red.
I didn’t put it, so I didn’t win.
Black.
I put it, then I lost.
Red or black, which will be more often? It doesn’t matter, it is important how many times I guess. I have seventeen thousand francs – yesterday’s luck. This is a lot, this is night alone.
Paul approaches me and easily touches the wrist of my left hand. It is like a bite of the toothless snake, it does not hurt, but terribly. I involuntarily shudder.
– Andre, there is a client, – the field has a pleasant quiet voice, bewitching.
I tilt my head slightly in his direction.
Red.
I put it, then I won.
Black.
I put it, then I lost.
I wrinkle with displeasure, but Paul is not to blame, this is a game and:. Love.
– How many? – The question is rather rhetorical. One and a half thousand francs per hour or twelve thousand per night. This is the highest rate, but I stand or not. So much ready to pay, and I do not refuse. Unless I win like yesterday.
Black.
I didn’t put it, so I didn’t lose.
Red.
I didn’t put it, so I didn’t win.
Paul touches my hand again, damn, I shudder again. I turn and look into his black sad eyes.
– For an hour?
– No, all night. He is also Russian.
I am not surprised. This has already happened. It was worth going to Paris to sleep with a Russian boy, but this is his business, and his money.
Red.
I put it, then I won.
Red.
I didn’t put it, so I didn’t win.
– Okay, an hour later, – for some reason I agreed, although I could do a couple of days. Paul leaves, but I don’t notice, I look at the table, chips, thick fingers of a neighbor again. And never on the wheel.
Black.
I put it, then I lost.
Black.
I put it, then I lost.
We go up to his room, the porter looks away. Serge, I call him in a French manner, about thirty, medium height, dense, but not chubby. Gray eyes shine slightly from drunk and expected. He is trying to speak French, but besides "La Moore" And "Mercy" It’s hard to understand anything. However, his hands are more experienced than his language, and more confident. Twelve thousand, eight of them are mine, plus almost eighteen, I am rich. But not free. I was lucky or not. But I can play and sleep, though not always alone. Choice, red or black, life or death, love or game. I had everything, or was not.
Morning.
I stand by the window, there is a foreign city and distant and unnecessary. All I wanted is there below. But it will be in the evening, and now: I do not want to sleep, Serge was not very tired of me, rather tired himself, pretty puffed on me. Another I will forget, just the next eight thousand. I’m going to the shower. Under warm streams you can not think, just feel how water rolls over the body, runs away, taking away the night, longing and fatigue.
Evening.
Black.
I put it, then I lost.
Red.
I put it, then I won.
Black.
I put it, then I lost
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