Over My Limit Ch. 05: Poker Night

Over the next few weeks I got used to the rhythms of the household. She showed me how they liked breakfast and dinner, how she expected laundry done, and other such chores. She had me dress in the sweatpants and hoodie that were in my closet, and showed me which grocery stores and malls my collar was programmed to allow me to visit. They had a small car that I could use for these errands.

After breakfast each morning, while she started dealing with emails in the study, he would take me to their bedroom and use me. It was usually from behind, bent over the bed, but when he was in a more leisurely mood he would take me in the shower with him and have me wash him. I delighted in washing his thick black hair, and soaping up his muscles. Then I sank to my knees in front of him and sucked him off. He liked it when I slipped a soapy finger into his ass and massaged his prostate. The first time he warned me that semen shouldn't be allowed to go down a shower drain, so I always made sure to swallow and relish every drop.

She used me less frequently, maybe twice a week having me lick her to orgasm, but she sometimes took me into the huge bathtub with her, where I carefully washed her hair and body, then reached around her and rubbed her clit until she sighed back against my tits and rested her head on my shoulder, gently whispering "good slut...". It would shock the old, free me to see how much I hung on every positive word from her.

Since then, I'd been punished twice, once for something I genuinely did wrong, and once when I deliberately spilled a drink because I was craving the paddle. Each punishment ended with them letting me come, so not exactly discouraging bad behaviour...

Other than those two times I'd only been allowed to come between 11 and 12 on thursday evenings. Any other time I got close to coming, the collar started to apply increasingly menacing tingles to my neck until I forced my arousal to retreat. Servicing my master every day without being granted release was a nightmare, but it made the orgasms I did have explosive.

One Saturday afternoon, the mistress called me to her.

"It's my husband's turn to host poker night tonight. I always make myself scarce, so it'll be up to you to be the hostess. Go take a shower and shave especially carefully."

I guess I knew what my role would be, then. I followed her instructions and took extra care shaving in the shower, then joined her in the master bedroom. She examined my body thoroughly, stroking my armpits and legs, and carefully fingering my labia and asshole for stray hairs. When she was satisfied, she directed me to the bed, where there was some underwear folded. "You'll be clothed tonight, so put that on."

It was a pretty black lace bra and panty set, but the panties were special - instead of a cloth gusset, there was a row of pearls in the front! I wriggled into them, and let the pearls rest between my pussy lips.. They slid up and down and rubbed my clit when I walked around, and it felt amazing. She then had me put on hold-up stockings and black high-heeled shoes.

She looked me up and down and nodded. "Yes," she said, "I think this will show everyone that we have the best slave." I glowed with pride.

She had me sit at her makeup table and did my hair - carefully piled on top, with a sexy whisp dangling over my face. She let me do my own makeup, then handed me a pair of long black teardrop earrings.

Finally, she brought out a little black dress. It was utterly beautiful, and I could tell from the fabric that it was very expensive.

"I had this specially made for you, so it should fit perfectly."

"Thank you, mistress," I said, "it's gorgeous!"

As she helped me into it, she said, "just be sure not to get cum on it."

"Yes, mistress," I replied, "is there any particular way you'd like me to behave tonight?"

"Be as classy as you can, while giving them everything they want. For this one night, you may also make eye contact with the guests, but not your master."

She had me walk up and down the room, while she watched. In the mirror I could see that the dress just about came below the stocking-tops when I was standing still, but showed them when I walked - very sexy!

She examined me closely once again, stroking the fabric so it lay perfectly, then took hold of my face with one hand and lifted it up to meet hers - usually a punishable offence.

"Now listen carefully - your collar will remain switched on until I get home, and under no circumstances are you to wash yourself in any way until then, understand?"

"Yes, mistress," I stammered. So no orgasm for me, no matter what the guests did to me.

Next, she had me help her dress. She put on much more elaborate underwear - a full bustier top that I had to lace up for her, and matching panties, garter belt and stockings. On top of that, I helped her into a glorious gold lamé ball gown that was delivered that afternoon. She looked incredible - I wondered where she was going, but it was not my place to ask.

She left shortly thereafter. The master was working in his study and didn't need me, so I prepared for the evening. I took the extra leaves out of the dining table so that it was round, and set out the poker chips and cards, then prepared all the appetizers, chicken wings and drinks.

At seven-thirty he took a shower (without me) and comes out dressed office-casual - slacks, collared shirt with no tie.

"You look very nice," he said. I blushed. "Thank you, master." It was rare he complimented my appearance - he usually showed appreciation of my body in much more physical ways.

The phone rang, and I answered it. It was the concierge downstairs announcing that the master's guests had arrived. I told him to send them up.

By the time they reached the apartment, I was standing by the open door ready to greet them.

There were four of them, all handsome men in their late thirties, maybe early forties. Two had dark hair, one was very nordic looking, and the last one in was african with that sexy 'educated in England' West African accent. One of the dark haired guys was wearing ridiculous red trousers that I bet he thought made him look cool, the other one was dressed more formally than the others, sporting a blue tie.

They glanced at me curiously as I took their coats, trying to be subtle about checking me out.

My master came out and greeted them, "Hey, guys, welcome to my humble abode!"

He began to lead them through to the dining room, when the african man asked, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Master looked momentarily confused, then realized he meant me.

"Oh," he said dismissively, "that's just our new slave."

Their demeanour towards me changed in a heartbeat. No more sly glances - they all openly stared at me, looking me up and down, appraising me.

"Holy shit," exclaimed red-pants, "Sarah let you buy that?"

"Actually, it was Sarah that bought her." replied my master.

"And she lets you use her?" Asked the blonde.

"Of course, why pay for a top-of-the-line pleasure model if you're just going to have her do housework? I enjoy her on a daily basis." There was a tingle in my cunt at being described like that.

"Damn, Martha made me buy a fat middle-aged one for our house," said the other brown-haired guy.

"But you still fuck her, don't you," asked the african.

"Well, sure, but Martha doesn't know."

The african laughed, "of course she knows, she just doesn't care as long as you enjoy her more than the slave."

There were knowing chuckles and the guy with the fat slave looked sheepish.

"There are two kinds of guys," said red-pants, "those that admit fucking their slave-girls, and liars!".

There was general laughter, and fat slave guys seemed relieved it was no longer at his expense.

I decided to take up the hostess role again.

"Gentlemen, if you'll please follow me, I'll get you set up with drinks."

I led them through to the dining room, making sure to wiggle the ass I knew they were all watching.

They took their seats around the table, and I took their drinks orders. I stood right by the african gentleman as I did it, sensing that he was the most confident, and I was correct - I immediately felt his hand stroking my calf, then quickly sliding up past my knee. He paused briefly to feel the lacy stocking tops, then was up caressing my bare inner thigh. He inched higher, and it was a struggle now to speak and remember the orders, I was so turned on. I clenched my thighs when he was just millimeters from my pussy - I didn't want him discovering the pearls too soon - and he withdrew his hand without a fuss. No-one else at the table noticed.

When I returned with the drinks and bowls of snacks, the guys were chatting casually, laughing about something that happened at work - some silly slave girl that kept dropping paperwork until she had to be spanked. Surely they weren't dumb enough to think she did that by accident?

Master dealt the first hand, and soon the evening was comfortably under way.

I mostly hung back, waiting patiently and listening, regularly stepping forward to refresh drinks and snack bowls. Whenever I was next to a guy, there was a hand on my ass, but only the african was confident enough to go under my dress. Whenever I leaned over a guy to reach for his glass, I made sure to brush my tit against him. Seduction 101.

They played about five hands, and my master was winning almost everything, and there was grumbling around the table.

"Ok," he laughed, "I can see you guys are bad losers tonight, so how about we change the stakes?"

They were interested.

"Like what?" asked red-pants.

"Let's play strip poker," said master.

The african gave a loud laugh. "I know I'm a very handsome man, but you really want to see my cock?"

Master laughed, "No, dummy, her!" He tossed a peanut at me.

"Slut, how many items of clothing are you wearing?"

"If you count each shoe and stocking, then seven, master."

Fat-slave guy interjected, "You slave is called Slut? Wow, mine is just called Agnes."

"No stupid," chuckled the african, "she's called whatever you call her. How often does she let you fuck her?"

"Usually about once a," he began, but the african interrupted. "No, she lets you fuck her whenever you want to fuck her. She's a slave, and you are her master. You need to take charge!" He turned to me, "Slut, when does your master fuck you?"

"Whenever he wishes, sir."

"That's right, a slave is available to her master whenever he likes. When you wake up tomorrow, I want you to take your Agnes right away, no matter if she's in the middle of her chores - you dominate her, ok? And call her whatever you like." He obviously had strong feelings about the matter.

Fat-slave guy nodded unhappily, and there was an awkward pause.

I stepped in, "So gentlemen, are we agreed that the winner of each hand gets to remove an item of my clothing?"

Thankful for the change of topic, they all agreed, and the blonde guy dealt.

Red-pants won the first hand. I placed my left foot in his lap, and he slowly removed my shoe whilst caressing my ankle.

Fat-slave guy got my other shoe.

Master got one stocking, then the african the other. He made quite a show of it, getting on his knees in front of me, and sliding both hands up under my dress with his face close to my crotch. He must surely have been able to smell how turned on I was. Slowly, he rolled the stocking down and off my foot, then lifted my foot and took the big toe between his full lips. I had to reach out and steady myself on his chair as the leg I was standing on was trembling.

He let me go with a smile, and the game continued.

The dress was next, and blue-tie got that. He stood behind me as he unzipped it, then let it fall to the floor, revealing me to the company in just my skimpy underwear. I raised my arms and gave them a twirl, and it was then that they noticed the string of pearls nestling between my pussy lips.

"Damn, that's sexy!" Exclaimed blondie.

Red-pants reached forward to touch, but I covered my crotch.

"Master, I am of course a slave, free for anyone to touch, but don't you think this particular touch should first go to the one who wins the hand?"

"Yes, of course," he agreed, "hands off her panties until you win the right to peel them off."

Red-pants backed off and sat down again. The next hand was dealt, and I refreshed the drinks, once again resting a scantily-clad tit on each shoulder as I worked my way around the table.

The african won, and I turned my back to him as he stood. He caressed my shoulders as he pulled my bra straps off them, then leaned in and kissed my neck. I gasped, and my knees nearly collapsed.

He moved his hands down to the clasp between my shoulder blades, and undid it, leaving the bra hanging loose over my tits. He slid his hands around my torso, onto my belly, then up under the bra to cup my large, firm breasts. I wriggled my shoulders and the bra fell to the ground. He kept my breasts covered, squeezing and massaging them firmly, then took my nipples between finger and thumb and teased them to hardness. My eyes were closed now, my breaths coming hard and fast.

"Very nice," he said quietly, "firm, full and one hundred percent natural. I wasn't so sure..."

"Well, let the rest of us see!" Said red-pants.

Slowly, he slid his hands off my tits and down to my hips, and turned me first one way, then the other to present my chest to the table.

"Nice," said fat-slave-girl guy, appreciatively, "lets see them move."

I complied, bouncing on my knees slightly, and twisting my hips so my tits bounced and jiggled. It reminded me of how I used to show them off at college parties when I got drunk enough. I used to love that feeling of all eyes on me, wanting me, lusting after me, and I had that same feeling now. Despite being a lowly slave girl, I felt like I was the most powerful person in the room. Even my master was entranced, even though he fucked me every day. I bet he'd get me to dance for him in future.

"Ok," he said finally, breaking the spell and dealing the cards, "the next hand is the big one."

This one was long and hard-fought - they all wanted to be first to touch my pussy, and while they played I walked around the table and let them all feel my breasts.

Halfway through, the african spoke up, "are we agreed that the winner must remove the panties without using his hands?" They were.

Blondie won. He knelt down in front me, took hold of my ankles, and pressed his face into my crotch. He inhaled deeply, and let out a soft moan, but quickly realized he couldn't get his teeth around the fabric or the pearls, so moved to my hips. There, he was able to get his teeth under the silk and behind to tug downward. He had to switch sides a couple of times, but soon had the panties hanging loosely around my thighs, held only in place between my legs.

"May I suggest behind next, sir?" I asked politely.

He turned me, and I felt his face pressed between my cheeks, struggling to get hold of the fabric. I bent slightly and parted my cheeks for him until I felt him get it and pull down.

They were now held only by the pearls clutched between my pussy lips, and I made him work for it. His tongue probed and pressed, pressing forcefully against my lips to get behind the pearls. I spread my legs wider to give him access, and soon there was a triumphant grunt as he got them between his teeth. He crouched low as he pulled the panties all the way down and I stepped out of them, then stood and tossed them into the middle of the table.

"How does she taste?" asked master, amused.

"Damn fine!"

There was so much slobber between my legs that I felt I should go wipe, but I remembered the mistress' instructions, and left it to dry.

Master patted the table. "Get up, slut, and give everyone a good look."

I climbed up onto the table on all fours, trying not to knock over the stack of chips with my swinging tits, and slowly shuffled around in a circle, presenting my ass and pussy to each man in turn.

"What next, now she's nude?" asked blue-tie.

"How about we ramp up sexual favours," suggested my master, "starting with a hand job?"

They all agreed, and dealt again.

Now that I was naked, they were all over me whenever I was near the table. Hands fondled my tits and ass constantly and my body was tingling all over. I was handing fat-slave guy a fresh drink when he slid his hand up my inner thigh so forcefully that his thumb went right into my vagina, and I started spilling a little liquor on him.

"I'm so sorry, sir!" I exclaimed, "I'll fetch a towel."

But he grabbed me by the arm. "I think that kind of clumsiness needs to be punished, don't you?" he said, laughing.

"Yes, put her over your knee," said blondie.

Fat-slave slid back his chair and patted his lap, and I obediently lay myself across it, pushing my ass invitingly into the air, and bracing my hands against the floor. He laid three medium slaps across each buttock, and I felt his cock harden under me.

"That's pathetic," laughed blondie, "give her here."

I stood and then lay myself across his lap. He gave me six slightly harder spanks, then I was passed to master, then blue-tie. My bottom was only mildly warm when I turned to the african. "Would sir like a turn?"

"You guys have no idea how to discipline a slave," he said, "I'll show you!"

He pulled me across his lap, but instead of just letting me lie there, he wrapped a strong arm around my waist, completely immobilizing me, and began to lay brutally hard smacks to my bare bottom.

I squealed and yelled in pain, and squirmed to get away, but he had me. I thrashed my legs up and down, showing every inch of myself, but I couldn't get away, and he covered every part of my bottom and upper thighs with hard, stinging slaps. I was soon sobbing uncontrollably, but as I felt my collar begin to tingle, I realized I was also close to coming. He finally stopped.

"Now, little slut, tell me what you want."

"I want you not to hit me any more!" I sobbed.

"No, look into your soul, and tell me what you really want."

I paused, then, from deep within me, in my heart, my gut, my womb, the truth blurted out, "I want your cock!"

"Good," he said, gently, "now open your legs."

I did, and he slipped two fingers inside me, and held them up. "Look at this, I bet she's never been this wet in her entire life. The trick now, of course, is to deny her the release she craves. On your feet, and show your bottom around the table, then clean your face."

I struggled to my feet, clutching my throbbing bottom, and showed myself to each guest in turn, then I scurried off to the master bedroom and cleaned my face, then re-did my makeup quickly. I had to do it standing, of course, not only because of the pain, but also the fear of staining the furniture with my dripping cunt. All I could think about is having his cock inside me.

Once I'd pulled myself together, I re-entered the dining room just in time for the next hand to finish. Blue-tie had won.

"Am I to give the hand-job in here, or would sir prefer it in private?"

"It has to be in here," said red-pants, "we need to be sure he's not getting more than he won!"

Blue-tie turned his chair to the side, and I knelt in front of him. As my still-burning bottom touched my heels, I winced, and lifted myself up slightly, then leaned forward and unbuckled his belt. He lifted up so I could pull his trousers and underpants down to his ankles, then I stroked my hands up his spread thighs until I was holding his balls in one hand and his uncut cock in the other. I began to massage, and it grew to full hardness. It was a nice enough cock, average size. I stroked and squeezed it, and a drop of precum oozed out of the tip. I resisted the urge to lick it, and instead smeared it around the head with my thumb. He moaned softly.