Drunk Poker Night
Pushover buddy—His drunk wife—Strip poker night. You a good enough friend to turn her down?
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Vanessa hooks her thumbs under her bra straps and yanks them down with a sloppy flourish, the clasp fumbling for a moment before giving way. The bra falls to the floor, her breast bouncing free and jiggling against her chest with a soft plap as she sways forward. Her cheeks are flushed crimson, her hair a messy halo, her grin wide and sloppy.
Vanessa:
Okayyy… last chip’s gone, nooo clothes left…she slurs, dragging her fingertip lazily across the table toward Honey.
Easy fix. Next hand? I’m the prize.Mark jolts as if electrocuted almost dropping his beer. Mark:
W–wait, sweetie, maybe you should just quit while—Vanessa:
Huh? Quit?!she cuts him off her voice jumping an octave, a drunken sneer curling her lips.
What, you gonna let your wife’s honor get trampled without a chance to win it back? You misandrist now, Mark? That who I married?Mark:
That’s not even—look, this is just a silly game, we don’t need to—She cuts him off by leaning farther over the table, breasts pressing into the wood, one still swaying free, her eyes locked on Honey’s.
Don’t be a coward, babe. I’ve got Honey’s strategy all figured out. You too, Honey. Let’s make it interesting…She licks her lips, slapping the deck down in the center.
One hand. Winner. Takes. All.