I Dropped a Queen of Spades on Her Butt

I slapped a Queen of Spades card on your wife’s butt, then demanded that she drop her panties. She folded her cards, knowing she was out of luck—she had lost this round of the game, and I wasn't going to show her mercy. It was time to pay up. She turned around and did exactly as I wanted. You sat across the room, watching, knowing you had no right to intervene on this matter. It’s good that you already know your place, white boy!

Your wife has a juicy pair of ass cheeks, white boy. Woohhh-weee!—look at how well-rounded she is, and observe how they bounced once they got free of her tight pants. You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for an opportunity such as this, how long I've been waiting for your wife to fall into my trap whenever we have our weekend card games so I can show her what a real man would do to her when she loses. It’s a good thing she doesn’t know the game was rigged before we’d even begun to play. She doesn’t know that you have a hand in rigging things to fall in my favour; this plan of ours is about to work out fine. 

But wait a minute . . . wait one damn minute! It looks as if your wife is in on the act as well. Look . . . she isn’t offering any form of resistance, none at all! Tell me, white boy, did you clue her in on what’s going to happen if she lost this game? You say no, but your eyes tell me different. Either you didn’t tell her, or you’re a bad liar . . . or maybe she’d somehow figured things out from jump. 

Oh well, we might as well carry on like nothing’s amiss. Let’s not spoil the evening before the night gets here.