Poker Night
"He loses big at poker. The winner isn't another player—it's his friend's mother, who owns the house, bankrolled the game, and now collects her winnings from every man at the table."
The game was supposed to be friendly.
Five guys, fifty-dollar buy-in, beers and chips at Derek's mom's house. We'd been playing every other Friday since college. Nothing serious.
But tonight, the stakes escalated.
And by midnight, I owed twenty thousand dollars to Marlene Chen.
Marlene is Derek's mom.
Fifty-eight years old, widowed for ten years, and the secret reason half our friend group showed up to poker night. She was massive—three hundred pounds of confidence and curves—and she sat in the corner during every game, drinking wine, watching us play.
Tonight, she'd done more than watch.
"I'll back anyone who needs it," she'd announced around 10 PM. "Better odds than the bank."
One by one, we'd taken her up on it. Marcus needed three thousand. Tyler needed five. Derek—her own son—borrowed eight.
I borrowed twenty.
And I lost it all.
"Time to settle up, boys."
Marlene stood when the final hand was dealt. The winner—Tyler, who'd been on a heater all night—had nearly forty thousand in front of him. The rest of us had nothing but IOUs.
"I can write you a check," I said. "It'll take a few days to clear, but—"
"I don't want a check." Marlene walked toward the table. "I want payment."
"Payment?"
"My house. My money. My rules." She stopped behind me. Her hand found my shoulder. "And my rules say there's another way to settle a debt."
She explained it simply.
Each of us owed her. Each of us could pay. But cash wasn't the currency she was interested in.
"One by one," she said, "you'll come upstairs. You'll give me an hour. And your debt will be cleared."
"An hour of what?" Tyler asked.
"Whatever I want." She smiled. "Is that a problem?"
No one objected.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the way she looked at us—hungry, certain, like she'd been planning this all night. Maybe we were all just broke enough and horny enough to agree to anything.
Derek went first.
His own mother. The rest of us sat in awkward silence, listening to the ceiling creak, trying not to think about what was happening upstairs.
When Derek came back down, he looked shell-shocked.
"Marcus," Marlene called from the stairs. "You're next."
They went one by one.
Marcus. Tyler. James. Each one disappearing upstairs for exactly one hour. Each one returning with the same dazed expression. None of them spoke about what happened.
At 3 AM, it was my turn.
"Nathan." Marlene's voice drifted down. "Come collect your receipt."
She was in the master bedroom.
Naked, spread across a king-size bed, the lights dimmed low. Her body was a landscape—hills and valleys of soft, pale flesh. Breasts that pooled toward her armpits. Belly that cascaded in rolls. Thighs thick enough to crush.
"Close the door," she said. "Your hour starts now."
She didn't ease into it.
"On your knees," she commanded. "Between my legs. Show me you're worth twenty thousand."
I knelt. Buried my face in her cunt. She was already wet—from the others, from anticipation, from something deeper.
"God." She grabbed my hair. "They were all so nervous. So hesitant. Show me you're different."
I licked harder. Faster. Found her clit and sucked until she screamed.
"Yes—fuck—that's it—"
She came in under ten minutes.
"Good start." She was panting. "Now fuck me. Hard. I want my money's worth."
I fucked her like I was paying off a mortgage.
Which, in a way, I was.
She took me in every position she demanded—on top, from behind, against the wall. Her massive body absorbed my thrusts like waves breaking on shore. She came twice more before she let me finish.
"Inside me," she gasped when I got close. "I want all of you. Every drop."
I gave her everything.
Afterward, she made notes.
An actual checklist, like she was grading performance.
"Oral: excellent. Stamina: above average. Willingness to follow instructions: very good." She set down her pen. "Debt cleared."
"That's it?"
"That's the transaction." She stretched, her massive body shifting. "But if you'd like to... revisit... I'm open to additional arrangements."
"What kind of arrangements?"
"Regular visits. No gambling required." She looked at me. "You were the best of the bunch tonight. I'd like to keep you on retainer."
I should have walked away.
Gone downstairs, collected my car keys, never thought about Marlene Chen again.
Instead, I said: "How often?"
One month later
Poker night continues.
But now it's different. Marlene doesn't just bankroll—she hosts. And every man at the table knows what the real stakes are.
"Whoever loses the most tonight," she announces, "comes upstairs first. The rest wait your turn."
We all lose deliberately.
None of us win.
But somehow, we all come out ahead.