Strip Poker, Spank Poker (a Cowboy Bebop story)

So a guy on FA was kind enough to commission this AMAZING artwork (drawn by the fantastic Sphinx~) based on one of my old stories, but gave me the condition that if I wanted to post it anywhere I had to put the story up as well. So here it is! *cringes and hides from old work*

Hope you enjoy it, Space Cowboys, and maybe it'll give you a pleasant shot of nostalgia for anime's good old days, too. And thanks again, Guyspanksmen! ;P

Strip Poker, Spank Poker

Jet Black--bounty hunter, pilot, and captain of his own ship, not to mention a halfway decent chef--sat in only his underwear inside the Bebop's common room, staring intently at his poker cards. Two of a kind, again. But, this time he'd win. He could tell by Spike's expression that the other guy's hand wasn't too hot either. If Jet could just bluff the right way . . .

"All right," he rumbled in his deep voice, placing the cards face-down on the table and looking Spike in the eye. "I'm putting my last shred of dignity at stake with this hand. I raise you my shorts."

His partner merely raised an eyebrow and smiled sardonically. "Okay. Then I raise you my jacket."

Both men nodded, and reviewed their hands again. It was anyone's guess why two grown men were playing strip poker alone with each other on an empty spaceship, but, well, things could get pretty boring in deep space. Especially when they were both broke with no jobs posted. The empty beer cans scattered around the room might help in explaining the reason too.

After carefully swapping and re-arranging cards to their satisfaction, it was time to show their hands. Jet smiled large as it turned out his was the better one this time. Spike sighed, but dutifully removed his jacket, folding it and putting it on the table alongside his shoes and socks. The only disappointment was that Spike wore a button-down shirt underneath it. Jet had been hoping for some more skin.

"Hey . . . you should take off your shirt, too."

"What?" Spike said. "I don't think so. One article of clothing per loss. Those are the rules."

"But we treated the socks and shoes as one article each, even though they come in pairs," Jet pointed out.

Spike smiled. "You're just jealous because you're losing."

Jet snorted and went to deal out a new hand.

It was true though. One more bad hand, and Jet would be buck-naked on his own ship. Both men knew it, and both men were expecting it. The only thing that alarmed Jet was how eager Spike seemed to be for it to happen.

"It's not fair though. You're wearing more layers than I was. Since we treated my flight suit as one piece . . . "

"You should've worn more clothes underneath. Padded up for the game."

"That would've really been cheating."

Spike shrugged, and held out fingers for two cards. Jet dealt them out.

"Just saying, thinking ahead isn't necessarily cheating. Also, you're putting too much effort into the cards. You should just let the game flow around you, let it lead you where it wants. Don't overthink things and try to force the deck."

The ex-cop growled and picked some cards out. "Now you're just trying to ruin my concentration with nonsense. But it won't work."

Holding his palms open in surrender, Spike merely settled back against the Bebop's ratty couch and watched Jet focus. He'd had a lot of time to observe Jet's concentrating, slowly undressing body that afternoon.

Their games had all went in the same pattern that afternoon. Spike always finished choosing his hand long before his partner. He would discard and draw cards in a flash, while Jet labored and agonized over each and every selection. It was a speed that only served to piss the older man off--same as how Spike's seemingly uncaring attitude kept netting him wins. For his part, the powerfully built, bearded man was peering intently at his cards, as if mentally commanding them to turn into a winning combination. After a bit Spike found his attention returning to the seams where Jet's robotic arm joined with his shoulder, melded to the side of his muscular left pec. It never stopped fascinating Spike, the fusion of flesh with robotics.

At length, the card game was decided. To Jet’s dismay, Spike's hand was clearly stronger than his own. The man gulped as he realized what was coming.

"Should've known better than to try and bluff me again," Spike said with an easy grin.

Jet stood up, a faint blush appearing on his face. He cut a powerful figure, standing there over the coffee table, with the fan whirring overhead. Powerful chest, a flat and hard stomach, muscular thighs and calves. His good arm was nearly as big as his mechanical one. But now it was time to show the whole package.

He dug his fingers into the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down slightly. Then, he hesitated, as if unsure if he'd really go the final step. But then--with a powerful yank--Jet clenched his eyes shut and pulled his underwear down his legs in one fell swoop. He stepped out of them, balled the garment up, and threw it onto the table to join the rest of the pile. He stood in front of Spike scowling, wearing just his cybernetics.

The ship's dog, Ein, looked up from where he'd been waiting by his empty food dish and caught a glimpse of naked Jet. He whined and put his head back down.

Spike chuckled as he took in his fellow bounty hunter. It was odd seeing Jet in all his nude glory, like catching your dad coming out of the shower. A few scars criss-crossed his powerful frame. While Jet's body was smooth otherwise, he had a good-sized bush at his groin. The man's penis looked pretty impressive too. Maybe that's why they'd nicknamed him "Black Dog" in the ISSN? He noted that Jet's blush only got worse the longer Spike stared at his dick. He chuckled and twirled his finger around, beckoning Jet to turn around. The big man grimaced, but did so, giving Spike an eyeful of his broad back and muscular ass.

That's when Spike got the idea.

"Alright, you've won and you've had your laughs," Jet said, huffing and turning back around. Letting Spike check him out was extremely embarrassing, though Jet wasn't sure exactly why. Two guys on one ship, living in close quarters--they'd seen each other naked plenty of times before, and it'd been no big deal. But this was somehow different. "If you're finished, I've got a ship to run. The deal was for the loser to stay naked all day, right? At least Faye is gone for the week. I just hope nobody calls on the vidscreen . . . "

"Hey, hold up Jet." Spike placed his bare feet up on the coffee-table. "Maybe we can keep playing our game."

"Keep playing?" Jet blinked and looked down at himself. "In case you hadn't noticed, I've got no more clothes left to bet."

"Yeah, but we can bet other things."

"Other things? Like what?"

"Well, how about . . . " Spike crossed his feet. "Whacks?"

Jet scratched his head slowly. "Whacks?"

"Yeah. Like . . . a spanking. Old Earth punishment, from before the Gate Accident."

"I know what a spanking is!" Jet grumbled, but then shook his head in confusion. "I just don't get why you'd want to do it. This because of that old documentary you were watching before?"

"Let's just say it's something I've been wanting to try. Does it matter? Those are the stakes I want. Take 'em or leave 'em."

"Well, what do I get out of it if I win?"

"If you win . . . " Spike rubbed his chin, before smiling. "If you win, I'll go naked all day too. How about that? You won't be alone."

"Hmph! Like I'd want to see that . . . " Jet said, although it was obvious from the glint in his eye that, yes, he did. Not to see Spike undressed, but as an equalizer. It somehow didn't occur to Jet that if one naked man on the ship was awkward, two would only be worse. "I don't know about this spanking thing though. How about if, uh, I cook you your favorite meal instead . . . ? I'll put in lots of real meat this time."

Spike shook his head. "Those are the stakes. You in or out?"

The big naked man looked dour. "In."

Jet sat his rump back down and shuffled the deck. Moments later the game was on, and he was holding his cards up close to his face in his usual posture. With the way he was sitting though, thighs spread wide and his arms up, Spike had an unobstructed view of the man's big privates. He grinned and cocked his head as he checked them out. When Jet noticed what his partner was looking at, he blushed harder and covered himself as best he could with the cards. That was impossible as the game kept going however, since Jet was forced to keep bringing the hand back to his face to look at them. He finally gave up and let it all hang out there, hoping it might at least distract Spike.

He was concentrating on the cards like he'd never concentrated before. His dignity had been at stake with the other games, but this time his ass was literally on the line.

"So . . . " Jet shifted around on the chair. The rough fibers were digging into his rear. It felt odd to sit without pants. "If you win--not that you will--but if you do--how will you do it?"

"Do what?" Spike asked casually.

Jet grimaced. "You know . . . "

"Heh. Oh, you mean spank you?" Spike smirked. "Over my lap would be best. I figure for about, oh, five minutes."

"Three minutes," Jet countered.

"Four." They both agreed.

"And just the palm of your hand. Nothing else," Jet went on. It wasn't that he was skittish, but he knew how well Spike could fight with a weapon and how good he was at improvising tools. Jet wanted as little pain as possible. Not that he was going to lose.

"Fine."

Spike settled and let the game go on, picking and discarding cards. He noticed how all the talk of punishment had awakened Jet's cock slightly, but he didn't point it out. One rule when two guys live together is that both pretend they don't notice a lot of things.

But it didn't stop him from talking more about the subject, hoping for further reactions. "So Jet . . . you ever been spanked before?"

"What?" Jet asked, looking up from his cards. He scratched a grizzled cheek. "Well, my old man used to haul me over his knee when I'd been bad . . . and there was one time, back when I was a rookie officer . . . I was tailing a suspect but lost him, so my superior took his belt to me right in front of the whole squad . . . " He seemed lost in memories for a second, before suddenly snapping out of it with another flush of his bearded cheeks. "Oh! But why am I telling you all this!"

The green-haired man shrugged. From the beginning of their partnership, neither man had liked to talk about their pasts much. "Just making conversation."

Jet suddenly noticed the erection he'd sprung up had become even stiffer, and crossed his legs with a bigger blush than ever before. Spike just laughed. Even if he hadn't noticed beforehand, he would've had no difficulty discerning what Jet's "problem" was by the man's actions.

"It's because of this stupid couch. It’s rubbing into my damn balls . . . " Jet said, avoiding eye-contact. "The friction. And, I'm not, you know, used to being undressed in the open like this. It's . . . weird. A perfectly natural reaction."

"Oh, of course," Spike said with exaggerated innocence. "But will you still be able to focus on the game? That thing looks pretty distracting."

"Dammit, Spike!" Jet bellowed, hitting the coffee table. "We'll see if you're so smug after I win, and you have to walk around in the buff too!"

"We'll just see who wins." Spike grinned. "Are you ready to show your hand?"

"You bet I am!" the big naked man said. With an angry "Hmph!" he laid his cards on the table. Spike did the same.

"DAMMIT!" Jet swore when he saw who the obvious winner was.

* * * * *

"That's it. Right over daddy's knee," Spike joked.

"Oh shut up already. This is humiliating enough without your . . . banter," Jet grumbled as he bent over Spike's lap. He cupped his balls as he went, preventing them from getting damaged in all the necessary shifting around and arranging of his body into a comfortable position. He ended up draped over Spike's right knee, his well-muscled ass perched high and his still hard erection stuffed under his stomach. The dimples on his buttocks clenched as Spike placed his hand across the two mounds.

"You ready?" Spike asked.

"Yes," Jet replied grumpily. "Just hurry up before I change my--YOW!" The big man yelled out as Spike's palm ricocheted across his ass. He'd known it would start quickly, but he'd thought Spike would at least let him finish his sentence first. Without warning, several more blows swatted down, causing his muscled buns to bounce from the force. "Ouch! Hey!" Jet twisted and threw an arm back.

But Spike caught the man's wrist before it could get in the way, and continued to soundly swat his partner's backside. He didn't bother with any kind of warm-up, as he was determined to use his four minutes to maximum effect. Jet's buttocks, pale from lack of planet-side solar exposure, quickly colored to a warm pink under Spike's palm.

"Gah! Nngh! Ooh!" Jet grunted out, embarrassed at how quickly the spanking was affecting him. He'd expected Spike to stick to his usual lackadaisical style. Give him a few half-hearted slaps and then laugh it off, tell him to put his clothes back on--but there was nothing laughable about these swats. They stung like hell, and Jet was soon gritting his teeth from the burn. After another minute he was squirming under them, too, unable to stay still as Spike's hard hand collided with his beefy rump over and over.

But, unknown to Jet, he was actually directing how the spanking was going himself. As per his usual methods, Spike was just following the flow of events, choosing to act only when it was most suitable. At each smack, Jet would tense up, arc his muscles, twist his back, shift his position slightly. But, that would only result in another area of his powerful buttocks opening up perfectly for another whack, which Spike would then take. The pattern continued that way, with Jet squirming mightily but only making himself vulnerable to more attacks.

Eventually the big man began actually yelping from the pain in his butt. He writhed and twisted over his partner's lap. "Ouch! C'mon, Spike. Take it easy!"

Spike chuckled. "I am taking it easy," he said, and continued to assault his partner's backside.

"Oooh!" Jet groaned and performed an energetic “naughty boy dance” over Spike’s lap, which only looked more ridiculous when done by a grizzled man like him. The worst part was though, Jet knew how ridiculous he looked. A full-grown man like himself--butt-naked and squirming over his partner's knee with a red face, and approaching an even redder ass. Spank after spank nailed his full, wiggling cheeks. The only thing he counted himself lucky on was that at least Faye wasn't around to witness the humiliation.

Spike was reminded of one of his old martial arts exercises, where he'd had to practice slapping water for hours. This wasn't water however, but firm, masculine flesh. Still bounced and rippled much the same, though. Jet started to kick his legs from the burn, so Spike nonchalantly hooked his right leg over top of them, keeping the man's struggles to a minimum.

A small jagged scar stood out on the apex of Jet's right ass-cheek--a souvenir from his ISSN career, undoubtedly. Under other conditions Spike might have been tempted to ask the man about it, but here he instead simply used it as a target for spanks. He nailed it over and over, creating a red stinging welt on top of it. At that Jet really started to thrash, and it was difficult for Spike to hold him down.

"Ohhh! Geez, Spike! That really does HURT!" Jet bellowed, clenching all the muscles in his ass.

"That’s the point, isn’t it? Anyway, you lost the game, Jet. So just shut up and--nngh!--take it!" Spike yelled back. He spanked the area three more times, inciting a yowl from his big partner. Before he could continue further however, the timer they'd set up on the ship’s computers began to sound to inform them the specified four minutes were up. A disappointed Spike let Jet go with a dejected sigh, wishing it could've gone on longer. The man quickly hopped to his feet and grasped a swollen buttock in each hand, rubbing and groaning. His boner, though having softened somewhat during the ordeal, returned in force and swung between his legs fully hard. Both men coughed and pretended it wasn't there.

The bearded man glared down at Spike, infuriated that the lanky guy had just beat his ass so thoroughly. Instead of reacting in anger, however, Jet immediately went and instead gathered up the cards. He sat down with a pained wince and began dealing out a new hand.

"Uhh, Jet? What're you doing?" asked Spike.

"Playing you again. Double or nothing," answered Jet gruffly.

"Double or nothing? What'd you mean?"

"I mean that if I lose again, I go over your lap for another four minutes. However, if I win, you get naked AND I beat your ass just as bad as you just beat mine."

"Uh . . . That's not really how 'double or nothing' works."

"Shut up and cut the deck," Jet growled. He suddenly smirked, and gripped his metal arm. "I want to hear you squeal once I show you just what a spanking from THIS feels like."

For the first time that afternoon, Spike gulped.