Slave Wager: Poker Party

This story is not really a sequel, although it features the same characters as my original Slave Wager story. If you have any comments about it, please send feedback -- and don't forget to vote! Thanks! --Z

Robin could tell he was tense, impassively slouching in his leather chair. Vivaldi was playing – one of his favorite pieces – yet he sat there, unmoving, his jaw a firm line. She was kneeling in the corner on her cushion, pretending to read. He hadn’t stirred in half an hour.

She set down the book and crawled across the floor, kneeling next to his chair. “Master? What is it?” she whispered. “This isn’t like you.”

Her touch seemed to snap him out of his reverie. “It’s the game tonight,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just thinking about DaVinci’s, some of the bad plays I made last week.” DaVinci’s was a nearby cardroom where Master often played poker.

“You can tell me about it, you know,” she said softly.

“It’s this guy Theo,” he said, sighing. “Got inside my head last week, I made some stupid bets. Bluffed when I shouldn’t have a couple of times. Took me for about four grand.”

“Will he be here tonight?”

He grunted. “Yes, he’ll be here. I’m going to get him at his own game, though.” He chuckled.

Much of Robin’s day had been spent preparing for the poker party Master was hosting that night. The heavy felt-lined oak table was set up in the basement, and the liquor cabinet had been fully stocked. As a slave, Robin would be expected to serve the drinks and food and, she assumed, generally stay out of the way.

“We’re playing seven stud tonight,” he continued. “Five grand buy in. One of the other guys may get lucky, but it’s that fucker Theo I want to beat.”

Robin knew how he loved to gamble, but it still seemed like an awful lot of money to her. Master was rich, she knew that, but she had no idea what five thousand dollars meant to him. It was a strange thought; money hardly had any significance to her anymore. Whatever he decided she needed, he bought. As his slave she could not own anything, of course; rather, it was she that was owned. He paid for everything. She knew that he had some sort of fund set up so that she would be provided for, in the event that he died or became incapacitated, but she had simply refused to hear the details. “I trust you,” she had told him. “You know what’s best.”

“I hope you win,” she whispered. “Whatever I can do to help.”

He looked down at her, taking in the sweet curves of her naked body. She knelt back on her heels, spreading her legs, displaying herself for him. God, she was hot and ready already! He had conditioned her so well that her responses were almost instantaneous anymore. She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes.

Standing, he reached down and grabbed her by the hair, pushing her rather roughly over the arm of the chair. A thrill coursed through her, another surge of wetness flooding between her legs as she heard him unbuckle his belt. She groaned as he lifted her hips slightly, entering her easily. His hand was on the back of her neck, holding her facedown against the leather seat cushion.

“Please, Master,” she gasped, trembling.

“Quiet, girl,” he said absently, thrusting into her. She bit her lip, trying to keep silent.

He often did this with her, using her body as a distraction, while he thought of something else. Clenching her fists, she could smell the seat cushion against her face. The aromatic leather was especially arousing to her, and she struggled to remain still. His tempo increased, making her toes curl involuntarily against the carpet.

Breathing heavily, he grabbed her hips with both hands, pounding into her. She whimpered, unable to remain quiet any longer, her need overtaking her. “All right, girl,” he grunted, giving her permission; she climaxed explosively as she felt him release inside of her. Her nails clawed against the slick leather as he pinned her down firmly. She was still shuddering and twitching as he pulled out, sprawled limply over the arm of the chair.

Shakily she stood up, then turned and melted into his arms, kissing him deeply. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She yelped as he smacked her on the ass, causing a good hard sting. “You’d better get a move on, wench,” he said, laughing. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

“Yes, Master,” she breathed, thrilled at the feeling of his arms around her. She laid her head against his chest. “You’ll all be smoking cigars and drinking all night,” she said with mock petulance. “You probably won’t have any time for me.”

A little smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I get the feeling you may well end up being the star attraction, my little slave.” There was a devilish glint in his green eyes.

Upstairs in the bath, she carefully shaved her legs and the tickling new growth on the mound between her legs. She smiled; of course, Master thought she’d be the center of attention. A little tingle danced through her, making her shiver. She loved it, no question: being his property, so unabashedly owned, gave her a freedom she never could have imagined.

Her fingers went to the collar around her neck, the smooth circular band of metal that proclaimed her as his. It had not been removed since that day, more than two years ago, when he had locked it on her. Now, she couldn’t imagine being without it; the collar had become such a natural part of her that she was hardly aware of it anymore. She would feel naked without her collar. Remembering that definitive little click of the lock as she knelt before him looking into his eyes, she felt a warm rush of sensation between her legs and her clit began to throb. Better get a move on, she told herself sharply. Can’t lounge around in the tub all day fantasizing!

Laying her new outfit on the bed, she shook her head. She had no idea where he found some of the things he gave to her so casually. The fishnet stockings came halfway up her thighs, with a thick elastic band at the top. The frilly, ruffled black skirt was tiny, barely covering her butt. The tank-style top was fashioned from a thin mesh, her breasts clearly visible through it. As she pulled the top over her head her nipples stiffened instantly as they brushed against the mesh fabric. Oh God, she thought. I’m sure they’ll be like that all night. That was undoubtedly what he had in mind when he picked it out.

After buckling small leather cuffs around her wrists she twirled in front of the mirror. She looked like some sort of whorish maid. The skirt was very short; she tugged it down, but it left no room for modesty. She knew how proud Master was of her, and how he enjoyed showing her off. The other men would have plenty to stare at, no question about it. She felt almost more than naked in the slutty getup, her ass peeking out from behind and her nipples protruding visibly.

She swept her auburn hair up and pinned it in place, accentuating her slender neck and the collar locked around it. Turning sideways, she admired her profile. She wished her breasts were bigger. With her lithe frame and large nipples, she always felt that her tiny breasts were her worst feature. Once, she had even dared to bring up the subject of getting them enlarged. Master would near nothing of it, of course. “I love you the way you are,” he had said, and the subject had never been broached again.

The new shoes had high four-inch heels, and she wobbled uncertainly as she walked tentatively around the room. She’d have to be careful, especially going up and down the stairs. After applying her makeup, overdoing it a bit, she went downstairs for Master’s inspection.

He was pleased; she could tell immediately by his expression. In the heels, they were nearly the same height. Her calves and thighs were taut, and she had to resist the urge to reach back and cover the exposed curve of her ass as she walked.

Enjoying the attention, she turned slowly in front of him. “You like?” she asked flirtatiously. She never would have been able to wear something like this before meeting him; now, it seemed as natural as an evening gown. Whatever he wanted, she would do -- if he had asked her to serve the party nude, she would have agreed without a second thought.

As she helped him dress, she selected a green silk shirt that he liked to wear on his Vegas trips. “The color of money,” he said with a smile. She trembled a little. He looked and smelled so good, masculine and powerful, with his strong features and wide shoulders. Dressed as she was, she could feel herself getting aroused already; she wanted him to throw her on the bed and take her again, ruthlessly, her high-heeled shoes in the air. What a slut he had turned her into!

He introduced each of the other players as they arrived, although Robin was sure she’d forget their names almost immediately. Peter was a tall, bespectacled man with a receding hairline: probably a banker or something, she guessed. Dan had short dark hair and a muscular build: stocky, like a bodybuilder. Raphael was well dressed, affecting an air of elegance; he kissed her hand graciously, as if she weren't the half-naked tart she appeared. Tony was a big man, balding, with a full beard and the odor of liquor on his breath.

They settled into the main room, tossing insults back and forth. Master had said that these were some of the best local players, but she wouldn’t have guessed it by looking at them. A baseball game was on the TV, and a couple of the men immediately began making bets on whether the next batter would strike out or not. Robin brought each man a drink – scotch, in most cases, beer for Master and club soda for the bodybuilder. They devoured the food laid out on the side table like a pack of hungry wolves, greedily inhaling the beef and ham sandwiches Robin had spent much of the afternoon preparing.

The hot gazes of the men were on her as she entered and left the room, and the tingling excitement grew inside her. Master would be pleased. Obviously, he meant for her presence to be a distraction.

Idly, she wondered how Master had explained their relationship to his friends. They had seemed more surprised by her getup than the metal collar locked around her neck. Men -- probably didn’t even realize I had a head, she thought ruefully. Her body’s responses were hard to deny, though – she enjoyed being forced to portray herself as a plaything, a mere sex toy.

She heard the heavy gait of the men heading down the stairs as she prepared another round of drinks. Robin felt Master’s presence behind her and he reached around her, pulling her close. “Bring down a box of cigars, too,” he murmured, biting and nibbling at her ear.

She leaned back against him, eyes closed. “I’ll never get anything done if you keep that up,” she breathed. He gave her a playful swat on her behind and she giggled, then turned and opened the liquor cabinet.

“These?” she asked, pulling a box out of the humidor.

“Christ, no,” he said. “Those are the Gurkha Cubans. Don’t waste those on this crowd. The Cohibas will be fine.”

Cursing the high heels, she balanced the tray carefully as she descended the stairs into the basement. It was a large, carpeted area with a pool table and several pinball machines. Low hanging lights gave the room a masculine aura. Master was handing out racks of chips, counting each player’s stack of hundred-dollar bills carefully before snapping a rubber band around it and dropping it into a heavy zippered bag. A couple of the men were already seated at the octagonal table.

The conversation had abruptly halted as soon as she entered the room; she was sure they had been talking about her. She set the tray of drinks and the cigars on a side table, trying not to bend over too much. God, she felt completely displayed in this ridiculous outfit!

“Turn on the game there, would you?” Master asked, not even looking up from the stack of cash he was counting.

Standing on tiptoe, stretching, she could barely reach the knob on the TV hanging from the ceiling rack. Her face flushed hotly as she felt the skirt rise up, exposing her ass completely. She struggled to press the button with the very tips of her fingers, knowing by the silence in the room that the men seated at the table were all ogling her. Finally the set clicked on and she hurried gratefully from the room, trying not to make eye contact.

The doorbell rang as she got to the top of the stairs. This must be Theo, she thought. Master’s mysterious nemesis.

She opened the door and he took half a step back, his eyes taking her in from head to toe. Without waiting for an invitation he moved past her into the hallway. “You must be Robin,” he said in a deep voice. His yellowed, feral teeth flashed in a quick grin. “Doug talks about you all the time down at the club. I can see why.”

Doug. The name seemed unfamiliar to her; she never called Master that. She shifted a little, uncomfortable under his heavy-lidded gaze.

He was a ponderous, stocky, oily man; his heavy brows, coarse features and thick lips made his head look like it had been chipped out of a block of stone. Thick curly hair sprouted everywhere except on his head, tufts spilling out under the collar and poking through the fabric of the expensive polo shirt stretched across his shoulders and down his back. One of his overstuffed little sausage fingers sported a pinky ring that twinkled with a diamond the size of a marble.

He reached out and fingered her collar. “Nice,” he murmured appreciatively. She tried not to cringe at the slight contact. The tip of his wet, fleshy tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth.

“They’re down there,” she said nervously, pointing. With a low chuckle he turned and moved down the stairs, surprisingly light on his feet for a man of his bulk. Putting a hand on her chest, she could feel her heart pound. She hated anyone touching her collar; he had clearly meant to intimidate her. “Bastard,” she whispered.

In the kitchen, she got out the Jamaican rum to make Theo’s drink. “Rum and coke, heavy on the rum,” he had instructed. She threw in a slice of lime, grimacing at the smell of the alcohol.

Downstairs, the room was already cloudy with cigar smoke. The men were seated at the table, stacking chips and shuffling decks of cards. As she placed the drink in front of Theo, his hand brushed against the back of her thigh and she flinched. She looked at Master, agonized, but he seemed not to have noticed.

“Draw for first deal,” said Master, thumping a deck of cards down in the center of the table. He noticed her hovering by the door and waved his hand. “You can go, girl. Just keep the drinks coming. We’ll have a break in a couple of hours, bring the rest of the sandwiches down then.”

“Good luck,” she whispered, even though he couldn’t hear her. Theo looked up and made eye contact with her; he pursed his thick lips together in an obscene parody of a kiss. Shuddering, she turned and left the room.

Upstairs she poured a glass of wine for herself and relaxed on her small cushion in the corner of the room. She was not allowed to sit on the chairs or sofa without permission. After unbuckling the high heels she slid the tight stockings down a bit, wincing as she rubbed the red marks on her thighs. It felt good to have the tight shoes off and she stretched out, wiggling her toes delightedly.

Already helplessly aroused when the evening started, being displayed in the revealing outfit had gotten her even more excited. She crawled across the room and retrieved a small vibrator from the drawer. Even though she was not allowed to climax without his permission, it still felt so good to touch it between her legs, the gentle buzzing sending delightful warm tendrils curling through her belly. She groaned at the exquisite torture, denying herself the release that she so desperately craved.

Every half-hour or so she would bring more drinks down, clearing away the glasses and emptying the ashtrays. Her eyes stung from the cigar smoke. The men seemed intent on their game, hardly noticing her; the clicking of the clay chips and the snap of the cards were the only sounds in the room other than the occasional curse or insult as a hand ended. Master seemed to be holding his own, from what she could tell by his pile of chips, although two of the other player’s stacks had been seriously depleted.

Theo seemed to be having the best luck, judging by the amount of chips in front of him. He continually harangued the other players, cackling gleefully as he raked in big pots. Robin could tell Master was upset; his jaw was clenched and he stared at his cards for a long time before betting.

Every time she set his rum drink down on the table Theo would paw at her, grabbing her leg or sliding his hand up the curve of her ass. Although she glared at him angrily, she couldn’t really do anything about it while holding the tray, and Master didn’t seem to notice. The men were getting buzzed, she could tell. Even the bodybuilder had switched to beer.

After two hours, she piled the remaining sandwiches on a tray and carefully made her way down the stairs. Grateful for the break, the men stood, stretching and groaning. Master come over to her and kissed her beerily; he was more than a little drunk.

“How’s it going?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Could be better. I’m down about a grand.” He glanced over. “Theo’s making a killing.”

“Just relax.” She reached up, running her hands through his thick hair. “You can beat him, I know you can.”

“I own you, you know,” he said, looking down into her eyes.

“Yes, I know, Master.” What was he talking about? Was it just the booze? “Body and soul, you own me.”

“Whose collar is on your neck?”

“Yours, Master” she whispered. She kissed him hard, inhaling his smoky, masculine aroma.

As she turned to go he grabbed her by the wrist. “Wait a minute,” he said with an evil grin. “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

Anxiously, she looked at him. This can’t be good, she thought. Her mind raced; she knew that look. Trepidation whirled inside her.

“Guys!” Master called out. “I know this is my first time hosting … I hope everyone’s having a good time.”

“Strong drinks,” Theo waved his glass, his mouth full. “Always a good sign. Plus, I’m winning.” He laughed.

Master tipped his head, conceding the point. “I wanted to do something a little special for my poker buddies,” he continued. “In fact, I’ve prepared us some halftime entertainment. You’ve all been appreciating my little slut Robin this evening, I can tell from the looks on your faces.”

The men all made appreciative comments, some cruder than others. Standing at Master’s side in the humiliating outfit, Robin looked at the floor, suddenly blushing.

“Have a seat, boys.” Master gestured expansively. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the show. Time to show you what a little slut she really is.” He pointed. “Crawl up on the table, wench, right in the center.”

Robin gasped, shaking her head. He couldn’t be serious! In the middle of everyone? She had an urge to flee the room but his grip was still tight around her wrist. Heart racing in her chest, she looked slowly around at the other men, then back at him.

He wasn’t joking, she could tell right away. Of course, she had no choice. He released her and she moved over to the table. Trembling from her nervousness, she awkwardly clambered up onto the green felt surface on her knees, careful not to knock over any of the stacks of chips. The other men crowded eagerly around on all sides of her. Frightened, Robin looked back over her shoulder.

Master snapped his fingers. “Knees and elbows, girl. And spread your legs more. Give everyone a good view.”

Robin did he had instructed, her face burning. He knew how she hated the extremely submissive position with her ass in the air. The tiny skirt offered no protection; she was completely exposed and vulnerable, like a living centerpiece. Not only could she sense the men on either side, she could almost feel their drunken lust, and she closed her eyes. She wanted to die.