A Cut of the Cards

I didn't answer immediately. I'd just kept watching the way she swam; her neat, meticulous laps.

"Hey, if we're out of line," Mike said softly.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "...Lets teach her how to play. See where it goes."

Twice more that week I hosted a card game, too frequent for our tastes, but we weren't really the purists we'd been before.

At that first game, Martha had made her appearance a little earlier than usual. We'd just buried one hand and she was out there, neat in a bright flowery sundress, the flush to her cheeks the same as that first day.

"Come on, honey. Let us teach you how to play," Mike spoke up. "Then we can play in pairs instead of this cut throat stuff."

"Or you can play your father-in-law here two-hand and take all his money," Tommy laughed.

"Come on, Martha," I said with a smile, again drawing a chair over for her, patting the seat to encourage her.

She sat down and for the next two hours we took her through the rudiments. She picked up on some of it surprisingly well, though her mind was clearly wandering. Again I looped a thumb along the inside of her wrists and found her pulse drumming hard, a thin sheen of perspiration along her throat despite the AC being cranked.

We played through with her taking a few hands solo, more and more distracted until she finally disengaged, thanking us, nodding when Mike asked her to join in the game we were having the day after next. That afternoon I walked Mike down the hallway, shuffling our feet as we came up to the bedroom door. Nothing, and then Mike smiled broadly. The sound was different, a humming edge to it, focused, the moans climbing into a husked crescendo.

I tugged his sleeve, did it a second time as he clearly wanted to listen in. He winked at Tommy as we came back to the table.

"Two more of these games and we'll have her dancin' on our laps," he chuckled, then a nervous glance towards me to see if I was struck wrong by the phrasing of it.

I held up two fingers, waggled 'em. "...Two more, tops."

The next day's game was the same as before, though Anthony was acting up and Martha had to get up to settle him back into his nap twice while we played. She was doing her own hand now, with me watching over her shoulder.

Again, nickel and dime stuff as always, a small vein along the side of her neck quivered noticeably as she'd counter their bids.

Tommy was winning hand after hand, not really giving slack on any of it, sliding the meager pot to him with aplomb each time.

"Well, at least I'm not playing for my clothes," Martha joked as the game winded down, my heart taking a leap, knowing that she'd bit.

"Hey, we could arrange that," Mike teased, his voice shakier than he'd have liked.

"Yeah, but we'd have to bring our wagers up accordingly though," Tommy said with a casualness that was amazing, as if this banter was the most innocent of musings.

Then he smiled warmly at Martha, pulling out the heavy wad of cash he always carried and held it up for emphasis. "Honey you look so beautiful in that dress that this wouldn't be enough for even one hand...just jokin' and all, but it's true."

We all laughed, Martha blushing brightly, averting her eyes, clearly taking it as a compliment, an embarrassed sidelong look at me as if just realizing that I was there.

"True, true," Mike added, raising his empty highball glass in a mock salute.

And thus ended our second game—Mike and Tommy both eliciting a promise from her to join us once again, one more lesson and she'd better believe they'd have her playing like a champ.

_____________________

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you the other day," Martha said late the next day, busying herself with the coffee pot.

"Embarrassed me how?"

She stiffened her shoulders, her head sagging, back still to me.

"What I joked about with your friends ...playing for my dress. I'm sorry that I did that like that, I was just teasing with..."

"I've been reading your stories," I blurted—it wasn't what I'd wanted to say, the words shaky and weak.

"What stor..."

I let the silence hang there for a long moment, seeing the tension creep up her spine. "The stories that crashed out my computer—the one about Abby and the poker game."

Martha froze there; beyond mortified as she finally turned to face me, her delicate features flushed deep to a dark crimson, a hand sealed over her mouth.

"I'm..." Tears sprang at the corners of her eyes. She edged back, Anthony fussing noisily in his basinet.

"It's okay."

"...I'm sorry," came her voice, trembling with humiliation, sick with fear. "I'm... ...please don't tell Jack. I never did anything like..."

"It's okay, I said its okay."

"Oh, God, I'm..."

"I'm not telling anybody, okay. It's forgotten. Forgotten!"

"I'm so sorry, Dad. I just started playing with the internet one day and I was bored and..."

"You don't have to explain yourself, it's a non-issue."

"I'll never do it again. I swear..."

"You read what you want, whenever you want. My house is yours...and so is the computer."

Martha sniffled, wiped the wetness from her cheeks. Her relief was evident; she was utterly oblivious to what was coming.

"So do you want to maybe lose your dress for real?"

"I..."

The realization of what I'd just proposed seemed to hit her like a cold slap in the face, a moment of choking revulsion. Panic in those bright eyes.

"Look, just if you want to, okay?" I spoke up soothingly. "Nothing bad'll happen, I can promise you of that. Just if you're reading this stuff over and over, I thought you'd maybe be best to..."

"I'm sorry I used your computer..."

Anthony gave a loud shriek, probably somehow reading his mother's welter of emotions; she reached down into the basinet and clutched him to her tightly, the tears breaking over her cheeks again.

"...I sorry, I shouldn't have done that...and I shouldn't be looking at this...I don't know how I..."

I shushed her into silence, a finger pressed to my lips.

"Just said if you were playing with it in your mind like that, you could do it right here. No consequences...where it would be safe and... you know, just tease 'em a bit. You're beautiful enough, I'll tell you that. No stories'll come out of here. ...Just if you want to play with it, that's all."

Martha had backed away several more steps, she was biting down on her lip, the kid squirming and fussing in her arms. "...I'm married to your son for Christ's sake!"

I held out my hands. "That's why I'm saying it like this. I don't want you fixing on something reckless or dangerous. ...I love you like my own daughter, kid.

"Do you tell Kim or Anne to strip in front of your stupid friends?"

"No, no I don't."

"But you tell me..."

"I'm not telling you to do anything. Just that if you wanted to...if you wanted to tease 'em with it, there would be no consequences. Jack wouldn't know. Nobody would know."

She sniffled, her tone still harsh: "Oh, God, do they know about the stories?"

"No, absolutely not," I lied with a straight-face.

"Please tell me the truth?"

"I just did. I didn't tell them anything."

She shook her head and left the room, I heard her bedroom door slam shut. This time I didn't go to check on the sound effects.

___________________________

"There she is," Mike hailed as Martha entered the room the next afternoon, after we'd been playing for almost a half hour. "The next Cincinnati Kid."

"Are you playing with us or going out on the town?" Tommy intoned, eyeing her as she came up to the table. I hadn't known if she'd do it, if she'd even sit in for the game or anything. In point of fact she hadn't said three words to me since our last conversation. But here she was, her long hair bunched up elegantly atop her head, a classy black cocktail dress hemmed just above the knees, the neckline swept down to reveal a bit of lightly freckled cleavage. A string of pearls choked to her throat, a thin diamond tennis bracelet that I knew Jackie had given her for their fifth anniversary.

"Martha," I whispered in a mild fugue.

"Just thought that since I was learning to play, I might as well pretend I'm in Monte Carlo."

"Honey, I've been to Monte Carlo, and there ain't many ladies more gorgeous than you," Tommy said with sincere admiration, waving her towards the chair we had waiting.

"Thank you."

Martha looked down at me for the first time, a tight smile as she'd curtsied to the compliment. She slid up to the table—I glanced down expecting three inch black stilettos but saw that she was just wearing plain black flats.

"Sit," I offered, half in awe of her.

"So stakes are the same?" Tommy said as he picked up the deck.

"I don't know," Martha spoke up, an almost indiscernible quaver in her voice. "...I didn't bring any money with me."

"Well, we can let it..."

"I recall you offering to let me play for my clothes."

That deadened the room completely, despite the fact that the three of us had been steering to this exact end for over a week.

"Well?"

"But your wagers'll have to come up a bit, right?"

"The same three hand?" Tommy answered, taking his cash roll out and setting it atop the green felt.

Martha sighed knowingly and looked straight down at me, shaking her head with an air of sadness. "Liar," she said quietly.

"I..."

"Oh, no, they didn't see the stories," she mocked dully, locking her stare on me until I squirmed. "No, absolutely not...you are such a liar." She squared herself then and looked back at the other guys, panning from one addled face to the other and then back.

"So, gentlemen, did you enjoy the stories?"

For all his toughness, Mike looked down at the floor. Tommy though leaned back and met her gaze: "I thought they were badly written swill, but I liked reading 'em anyways."

"So you still want to gamble for my clothes?"

Tommy leaned forward and pressed his index finger to the center of the table. "I want them piled up right here, honey."

"And then?" Martha asked, blinking at her own words, her voice warbling badly.

"Let's just get you stripped, and then we'll worry about then?" Tommy winked. "...Same three-hand as we taught you, okay?"

Martha looked back down at me with a waiting expression, no words really needed, maybe an accusation for my not having protected her. She looked severely pretty in her black dress, her hair knotted up, thin black framed glasses perched high atop the bridge of her nose.

"If I had another week to learn, I'd play you all under the table at any game you had," she came back to Tommy.

"Yeah, but too bad we're playing today, honey."

"So let's just cut the deck, me and you and Mike." She dredged up a shaky grin, pointedly cutting me from the game. "Let it up to sheer luck."

"C-note a pop, you can..."

"One hundred," Martha cut in, fingering her pearls. "...One hundred," a slight touch to the sparkling bracelet at her wrist. "...And another hundred," she whispered brushing the dress where it curved to her shoulder.

"And what's underneath?" Mike spoke up slyly, finally finding his voice.

"...Oh, I think that's included with the price of the dress."

"Ante up, girl." Tommy said, laying Ben Franklin face up on the felt, Mike peeling two fifties to keep them company.

"...Will you?" Martha asked, looking to me, her hands at the clasp of her necklace. My knees almost buckled, I slid behind her so she wouldn't see my bulging trousers, shaking as I undid the delicate hook.

Martha leaned in and placed it on the center of the table and watched as Tommy cut into the cards, then Mike, then her. Three of spades for her, low man—Mike greedily pulling in the cash and the pearls.

"Ante," Tommy said sharply, teeth raking his lower lip, another hundred, Mike feeding back the two fifties. Martha stretched her arm in front of me, her hand was trembling—I unfastened it, my own case of the shakes making it awkward.

She laid it out. She cut, then Mike, then Tommy. Hold 'em up.

Mike smirked and reeled in the money and the bracelet. "Ante up," he said with a bright leer.

"Only if I lose?" Martha said quietly, again brushing the black cloth.

"Are you sure?" I heard myself ask, not having even thought of what I was saying, catching the hard looks Mike and Tommy flashed my way.

"Does it matter if I'm sure or not, Dad?" she went on in that same quiet vein, a hint of accusation in her tone. "...Mr. Garnett's cut!"

Mike never took his eyes off Martha's face as he picked into the deck, never looked at his face card, never looked at Tommy's, or even at hers as she lifted the bottom deuce she now owned. He just watched for the reaction she had, a flash of physical weakness as if her legs might betray her.

"All accounts are to be squared immediately," Tommy chuckled.

"...Martha?" I whispered.

"Dad..."

"You don't have to..."

"All accounts are to be settled immediately," Mike laughed, aping Tommy as he banged his palm against the table top. "Always wanna be square with the damned house."

Martha fiddled her hands together; I realized instantly that she was twisting her wedding band. She turned and showed them the back of her hand, thumb bent across to put motion to it. "How about double or nothing?" she asked, averting her eyes from their hungry stares.

"Well, technically it ain't double or nothing, kid" Mike mused.

"...I win and I get my things back. ...The game ends. We walk away."

"...What exactly comes with the ring, sister?" Tommy asked, pitched forward now, leaning his weight against the table until it creaked.

"What do you think, Mr. DiChenza?" she answered coldly, the voice crackling again.

"I'm asking..."

"If I lose...if I lose, you won't have to ask. You can just...just tell me what to do."

"That implies a whole lot of interesting possibilities, little girl."

"Yes or no?"

Tommy made a low chortle as he carefully slid his pile of loot back to the center, nodding as Mike followed his lead. Martha met my eyes as she struggled to pull the gold band free: "...I never had it off before," she commented flatly, pausing to study it before gently placing it next to the jumble of cash and jewelry.

"Ladies' cut," Mike said.

Martha pulled from low in the deck, a palpable sigh of relief as she held the King of Diamonds aloft, Mike and Tommy's expressions drooping accordingly. Tommy cut almost to the bottom, a grin widening as he eyed the card and then deliberately slipped it—the black Ace— beneath her ring.

"Fuck yes," he muttered, pushing back from the table and getting to his feet. "Ace of fucking spades, you just read it, girl. Just fucking read it!"

"That dress comes off now," Mike said, clicking his fingers sharply as if summoning a slacking waitress.

I watched Martha grip the edge of the table, another moment when it seemed as if she might feint.

"...Come on, baby," Mike hectored sharply, another officious snap of his fingers.

"Martha, you don't..."

"The clothes go right here!" Tommy cut in, absolutely ignoring me as he jabbed his thick forefinger at the table.

"...Okay," she answered finally, nodding as if coming to a decision. "Okay."

"Right here," Tommy repeated, reaching down now to pluck up the ring.

Martha stepped back and reached for the hasp at the back of her dress, undoing it, looking at each one of us in turn as she shrugged the fabric loose from around her shoulders. Her cheeks aflame, she shook it free, drawing it down the length of her torso, her skin smooth and creamy beneath, the brassiere and panties black with a minimum of frill, the dress down the length of her toned legs, around her feet—

She put it on the table, looking at me as she reached behind her again and deftly undid the bra, slipping the straps from along her shoulders, the weight of her breasts pulling it down until she slid the lacy cups free of her flesh.

Martha's breasts were perfectly proportioned, not overly large, but grown markedly heavier with her pregnancy, the right one seeming slightly bigger than the left. Each was weighted deeply in their bottom curve. Her nipples were dark and peaked, thick around as my pinkie.

"Nice fuckin' charlies there, girl," Mike mused appreciatively as he slid back from the table now too. "...You don't see a pair of 'em that nice too often, especially after a kid."

"Uh, uh," Tommy put in, wagging his head now at the sight of her nearly bared young body.

Martha placed the bra atop the dress and delicately slipped her fingers inside her panties—stopping as Tommy loudly cleared his throat.

"Let's let your father-in-law do the final unwrapping," he said, pointing down at me in my chair, teeth again raking his lips.

"Only fair," Mike put in. "None of us would be playing here if it weren't for him."

"Hey..."

"No, it's okay," Martha said, hesitant as she turned to face me and in three strides came stood before me, a shocking sensation as she gently feathered her fingers along the top of my head, down my temples so lightly that I wasn't even sure it was a real touch. "...And they're right about it being all thanks to you."

I felt their eyes on me, the three of them staring, her simple touch unleashing a deep surge of sexual excitement through my brain. I noticed the raised scar from her recent c-section; shaking as I slipped my fingertips under the elastic band of her panties and slowly drew them down until she daintily stepped out of them, one leg at a time. I let my palm run the length of her thigh as I straightened back up, seeing the dewy droplets clinging within the dark tangle of pubic hair.

"Go on, suck on those tits, you know you wanna," Tommy intoned. And I did want to, a feral lust was boiling up within me, the qualms and vacillation I'd been experiencing had evaporated completely as I'd stripped off the last of her clothing. The thoughts that this girl was my son's bride were still with me, only now they inflamed me, my vision actually blurring with the surge of adrenalin coursing through my blood.

I leaned in and cupped her breasts, feeling her quiver as I took a nipple in my mouth and sucked, the flow of milk so warm and shocking that I actually backed away for a second, Martha's eyes were clamped, her breath shallow and jagged.

I suckled again, softly tugging the nipple with my teeth, the palpable spray of milk against the roof of my mouth, I sucked harder, feeling her flinch as I took more of her breast into my mouth...then she was pulling back, being pulled back, Mike and Tommy on opposite sides, hands on her shoulders, just rough enough to make her eyes open and dart.

"You get the first round, pal," Tommy wheezed, a hand curving about Martha's waist, pulling her across the several feet that separated us from the couch, shoving her down onto it with more force than he had to use. "...Get her warmed up real good for myself and Michael."

I walked in front of the couch and undressed without a word, Martha's eyes wide and glazed as she watched, drifting shut as she saw my erect cock bounce free.

"Suck it, sweetie," Tommy ordered, one knee on the couch as he leaned in to stroke her breast, up to the back of her head with a sudden pressure: "...I told you to get sucking!"

I edged closer, towering over her, and Tommy shoved her to me, straining against his grip and then, her hands coming to my hips, she took me into her mouth with a quick dip of her head, actually doing it, working down the length of my shaft, her tongue swirling along the heavily veined underside, a low murmur as she edged herself to the edge of the cushion, cupping my balls, saliva glistening as she began to draw herself back and forth along it, eyes lifted to me now, never breaking the gaze...

"Make her call him Dad," Mike laughed, his face bent so he was right up front with the action.

"She'll be calling us all 'Dad' in a while," Tommy answered, pushing her forward onto me until she retched.