Trading Cards m/m, hm
"I'll trade you," I told him. I held up the card.
Mark looked at it longingly. He was eighteen and such a geek he didn't even know how sexy I found his baby face and shock of dark golden curls. His presence at Saturday Night Sorcery had tantalized me for weeks.
He shook his head, green eyes downcast. "I can't afford it," he admitted.
I knew he couldn't. A hundred-dollar rare card from Gamma was beyond any froshling's means, even if it was just what he needed to complete his deck. I only had it because following a successful career in tech, I had retired at thirty to run my own game store and indulge the hobby I'd been pursuing since I was his age. But, increasingly, it was the players now and not the cards that tempted me the most.
They stayed young, and I got older.
"It doesn't have to be for money," I said.
The hope lit up in his eyes and also the fear. Mark cast a glance across the empty game room.
We'd been at it after all the other players had gone home. Midnight darkness filled the front windows.
There were only unoccupied chairs, and tables scattered with game mats, discarded drink cups and crumpled, empty Sorcery wrappers. Mark's lovingly-constructed deck lay spread in a fan where we'd been playing, long into the night.
Truth be told, it wasn't a bad deck: good enough for Mark to swagger after defeating his friends.
He just couldn't beat me. Good cards or poor ones, he always crumpled in the face of my aggression, with a look of bemused frustration on his brows. He couldn't see how he always defeated himself, and he didn't know how to stop trying.
"What do you mean?" Mark ran a hand through his sticky blond hair. He looked me up and down: my body had definition from the gym, even if I'd lost some of the luster of youth. Mark's eyes fixated on my bicep. Did he understand now why I stared when he leaned forward during games, licking his plump lips as he contemplated a move? His fingers hovered over his chest. They traced the curve of the white on black Sorcery logo of his tee-shirt.
"Nothing too terrible," I assured him. "I give you the Nox Orchid, and you let me jack you off."
Mark looked up at me, and I inhaled. He smelled of sweaty teen male, sweet but unwashed. What was it with gamers? "You're an attractive young man. All I want is to make you a little happy. Is that so bad?" I laid my hand on his shoulder. Beneath the soft cotton, his shoulder was hard with muscle and very little fat.
Mark flinched but didn't pull away. Desire warred with trepidation in his eyes. He looked away.
"It's no different than when you touch yourself. You can close your eyes. Pretend I'm someone else."
He hesitated: sweat beaded on his forehead. "I dunno, man."
I thumped the Nox Orchid onto the table. "Lie down."
For a long moment, I thought maybe I'd misread Mark: the brittle Alpha male pose, the hypercompetitive aggression, the eagerness to please. Then, just as in our matches, he folded.
With a wordless look, Mark climbed onto the plastic surface. He knelt on his hands and knees, doggy-style, and my dick flexed in my pants at the sight. His thin upraised ass was a conquest I fervently desired. As if sensing my intent, Mark rolled over, pressed his buttocks protectively against the rubber game mat, and stretched out his long legs. His big, sneaker-shod feet hung off the edge of the table, and he folded his thin arms under his head. His ass scattered the cards, and a discarded D20 rolled onto the floor. He closed his eyes, and exhaled a long, nervous breath.
"I'm not a homo, and you don't tell anyone," he said.
"Agreed," I said, stepping up to him. His body lay level with my thighs on the grey plastic card table.
I laid a hand on Mark's chest and traced the line of his thin pectorals. My palm glided over his nipple. His heart thumped against his toast-rack ribs.
"Relax," I told him. I waited for his hamming breath to slow. When he was calm, my hands drifted towards the main prize. My fingers traced his fly, feeling the bulge beneath. His brass belt buckle shone against his pale jeans. He shuddered as I undid the tongue slowly, drew the leather taut, and dragged it free of the first loop.
I smiled. "There we go. Nice and loose." I probed my finger under the waistband, and was rewarded by the touch of cotton and flesh.
Mark moaned.
"Let's see what we have here." I tugged the hem of Mark's shirt, exposing his belly. He stared up at me, fascinated and frozen as I worked. He gripped the table sides. I probed his waist with my fingers. A dusting of blond hair ran south of his navel, covering an utterly learn abdomen - not lean with muscle, of which Mark boasted little: no, here was a body so young, its growth had outrun sub-cutaneous fat. The thought of what I was about to defile drove me on.
A steel button held Mark's jeans shut. My fumbling fingers popped it loose. I unzipped slowly, and his cotton-covered cock swelled upward. His belt buckle hit the table with click. Mark lifted his hips as I tugged his jeans to his knees. Between his white-tighties and the denim, his pale thighs gleamed with soft golden hair. His shaft strained against the pouch, the outline visible beneath the cotton. I ran my palm over him. His crotch under my hands radiated heat, his briefs wet with leaking precum.
Mark's plump lips parted over his perfect teeth, and his eyes lidded as he moaned and shook his curls. I savored the feel of him through the cloth, and his cock jumped under my palm. I popped his elastic down. His pubes were a pure blonde, lighter than his head hair. They covered the base of his cock in a thick thatch and curled across the surface of his balls. The sight of them excited me. His pungent smell hit my nostrils, and I shuddered with perverse desire for his body.
Mark's long cock uncurled like a serpent. The flaring purple head, disproportionately thick, smeared a string of cum across his belly. Just looking at Mark and the dick expanding on his flat abs, I felt I was going to split my pants.
My fingers encircled his curving, swollen flesh. As I pulled, his cock stiffened and pulsed.
He moaned through clenched teeth. "Just get it over with." he begged. "Jerk me."
"Really, Mark?" I said. "Pretending you don't enjoy this?"
I pumped my fist around his shaft. A drop of cum welled in the slit of his cockhead. I wanted to lean and lick it, but I feared I'd frighten him. I moved to his balls instead. The fingertips of my left hand probed the soft skin of his scrotum, as I rubbed his eggs in their tightening sack.
Mark moaned. Knuckles whitened against the table edge, his arms cabled, and he thrashed his neck in extremity. His curls shook. A sheen of sweat covered his lips as he panted frantically. I reveled in my power over him. As I increased speed and pressure, he strained his thighs and lifted his buttocks. I knew he was close as his balls pulled tight.
I wanted more and always had. I knew I'd never intended to stop with just jerking him, not when there were so many other pleasures. Abruptly, I switched my left hand to Mark's dick. I kept him just on the edge as my right hand found the back of his head. Mark's hair was as greasy as it looked, but my dick still twitched as I closed my grip on his nape.
I seized his hair, hard. "Blow me," I said.
A look of terror crossed Mark's face. He tried to pull free, but I slammed him down. Cards scattered onto the floor. "That's not what we said!" he shouted.
I squeezed my fist around his cock. "You're splayed out on a table like a gutted fish, your dick's in my hand, and you're covered in pre-cum. I think you can't complain much."
Mark thrashed in my grip, but he stayed on the table.
"You know you want the cards. And you know you want to taste my dick. Suck me right now, and I'll give you two Nox Orchids."
Mark's face flushed with pleasure, with humiliation, with desire. His gaze flicked to the Nox Orchid, not six inches from nose. His eyes crossed.
He opened his mouth, parting his vulnerable lips. "Do it now. Please."
I almost came just from the words: my fantasy come true: a chance to face-fuck one of the young things who'd tempted me as we played. My hands flew to my pants, I opened my fly, and pulled out my dick. My familiar meat swelled hotter than it had been in years. It expanded beyond its normal six inches, thick and beet red. Mark blinked when he saw it, then he closed his green eyes, and extended his neck. I shoved my cock in, over his pink, supine tongue, and began to pump.
Mark's lips locked on my shaft. I went hands free, ramming his sweet face. His tongue and teeth rasped my shaft. I pulled my shirt over my head, revealing my muscled chest. I closed my fist around Mark's curls, guiding him as I thrust. He sucked and gagged, with his eyes screwed tight in concentration and humiliation.
"Look at me," I commanded. "Let me see your eyes."
Mark's green eyes flickered opened. They swam with embarrassment and desire. A tear trailed his cheek. His tongue swirled, but the true turn-on lay in seeing my cock vanish into his mouth.
My left hand pumped Mark's dick unmercifully. He writhed beneath my grip. His balls slapped against his thighs. His already huge cockhead swelled to Rabelaisian proportions, and he shot across his belly. White cum splattered his navel and plastered the folds of his abdomen. Even against his pale skin, it splashed thick as milk. The fresh, organic smell of it blasted forth in a wave.
He recoiled then, overcome with the extremity of what he'd done and how fully he'd submitted. I gripped his head tighter as he tried to pull away. I thrust my dick forcefully against his throat. He stared up at me, and his resistance folded, just as it always did in our games. He smiled.
I quickened my pace. My dick slammed his tongue, and my balls slapped his chin. Mark's lips pulled tight in an orgasmic vacuum seal around my final thrusts. My cockhead swelled and erupted against his throat. He swallowed eagerly as I released blast after shaking blast into his mouth. He was choking before I finished, but I held him tight until I was done. When I pulled loose, a line of cum drooled from Mark's lips.
He lay silently smiling as I pulled out. I ran my cooling cock over his face. Barely-visible stubble rasped it clean. My final drops coated his cheeks and curls.
As I zipped up and retrieved my shirt, Mark managed to rise to one shoulder. Semen coated his lips, and his softening dick leaked onto the table.
"That was intense," he said. "Would you like ... would you like to do that again sometime?" I don't know if he noticed, but he was fingering himself as he said it. He seemed to like losing.
I picked up the Nox Orchid from the table. Cum from somewhere coated its plastic sleeve.
I pulled the card out and flicked it at him. It bounced off his belly, going at least from Near Mint to Very Good as it landed on the sticky surface. "You're a whore, Mark. A cute whore, maybe, but Sorcery Cards or cash, it's all the same."
Mark's face fell like a collapsing castle defense: hurt flashed there, breaking pride, suppressed desire, wilting self-worth, ardent desire. His eyes flicked from my face to my crotch and back.
I pulled the second Nox from my trade box, stripped it, pushed it against his sticky forehead.
"That said, yeah, if you're selling, I'll buy again. Next time I want your ass."
Mark took the Nox Orchid in both hands, and licked it, slowly. Our combined cum vanished, along with at least another grade of value. His waggled his hindquarters.
"Okay. I need four to make a real deck," he said.