Symon & Michelle - Poker Night

{{She's the pot. And the pot.}}

A few months into this hobby, I'd written a bunch of short, stand alone stories that wound up all being about the same couple. They are not in any particular order, and you don't need to know anything about the other stories to understand each one. Some stories are fairly tame, while others are more intense and explore fetishes, BDSM, and specifically S/m themes. I've carefully put each in the appropriate category so people know what they're reading.

I think of them as 'scenes from a kinky marriage.' I hope you enjoy them.

Thanks, Belle

*~~* *~~* *~~*

The evening before, Symon asked her again if she still wanted to follow through with the plan. She was working on her outfit, sitting naked on the couch, altering the cups of the tight black bustier that comprised half of what she'd be wearing the next night.

Michelle gave him that knowing half smile that managed to drive him to distraction every time.

"Actually, Symon, I'm surprised you want to go ahead with it." She looked at him and winked, "I know you don't like to share."

He snorted. "I'll get mine. You know that's true."

The plan was his gift to her, part of their annual celebration of a relationship milestone. Each year, one of them picked a fantasy, and they tried to make it happen. This year was her turn. Her laughter pealed out across the living room as she shook out the bustier and held it so he could see.

"I love how weird we are," she managed to say as her chuckles subsided.

Symon's eyebrows shot up. He didn't think of them as weird. Their kinky life was just a matter of fact for him, and he wanted to explore every part of it that he could. He knew she meant it as a compliment, and as true an embrace of their life as his. So he just enjoyed the sound of her laughter, and pondered the many ways he planned to enjoy the events in store the next day.

*~~*

Michelle got home from work and took a shower, carefully scrubbing her most intimate parts and shaving away any stray hairs. Symon came home while she was washing, bringing in the groceries, the beer and the other supplies.

Her outfit was a riff on a French maid's costume. She didn't have the little white cap, so she divided her hip length dark brown hair into halves, and made tight French braids, incorporating a long piece of white ribbon into the tails. Then she looped the tails up, so they crossed over each other on the top of her head. She secured them with hairpins and tied the ribbons into bows.

Then she put on the skirt, which was basically a couple of layers of chiffon sewn to an elastic waistband that sat at her hips. It was hemmed roughly an inch below her pussy lips, and didn't quite completely cover her ass. The material was so thin it was practically transparent anyway. Next she pulled on the white lace thigh high stockings. They would have added a demure air to the outfit, but for the expanse of bare leg between their tops and the bottom of the skirt. She slipped on the black platform high heels and checked herself in the mirror.

She was going to need Symon's help for the rest of it, so she gathered the remaining pieces and walked in to the living room. Symon glanced at her and stopped what he was doing, his mouth actually dropping open for a split second. She smiled, amused, because he'd seen her in so many outrageously sexy outfits that it his reaction surprised her, and endeared him to her anew.

She held up the bustier in one hand, and the other things in her other.

"Can I get some help?"

"Nope," Symon said, grinning and shaking his head. "You're perfect like that. I changed my mind. You're not allowed to wear that thing." He gestured to the bustier.

"You're funny," Michelle retorted. "Now give me a hand."

Symon started clapping, and Michelle stuck her tongue out. They met by the kitchen island, and he took the opportunity to spank her a few times before thoroughly exploring her mouth with his tongue. She leaned into him, wiggling her butt in his grip and lightly biting down on him.

When they broke the kiss, Symon held her head in his hands for a moment. "You're being very naughty. It's almost like you expect to be punished or something."

Her dark eyes sparkled as she tried to keep a straight face. "Oh, no, sir. I'd never..."

"Give me that thing." He said and she handed him the bustier. He reached behind her, and together they smoothed the fabric around her ribs. It was made out of two layers of satin with boning, almost like a corset. It zipped up the front, with a column of decorative buttons covering the zipper. The buttons had originally been black, but Michelle replaced them with white ones. She'd intentionally chosen a fitting that would be tight and that's why she needed Symon's help.

They hooked the zipper and Symon started tugging it up. Michelle kept smoothing the fabric, pushing the edges together, while Symon looked increasingly concerned.

"Are you sure about this?" he said. "This is tighter than any rope harness I've put you in. How can you breath?"

By that point they'd managed to close it the whole way, and it was restrictive. But Michelle was grinning almost maniacally.

"I can breath. Just not easily. I'll have to think about it some. Especially later."

"Listen, let's just get something else. You look great—"

"No," she interrupted. "Hang on." She adjusted the top on one side then the other. Then she bent over, letting her voluptuous breasts hang down, adjusting them again. When she stood back up she tugged on herself a few more times. Her tits overflowed the original cups of the bustier considerably. With the modification she'd made the night before, they were pressed together by the sides of the boning and the underwire. But the bulk of her flesh rested on top of the garment, pushed up and exposed.

With her breasts released from the confines of the top it was still tight, but she showed Symon that she could take a full breath. He directed her to breath deeply a few more times until he was satisfied that she didn't run any risk of passing out.

He reached out and traced a line across her chest, where her breasts were pressed together. He followed that with a caress of each breast individually, ending by circling her nipples.

She watched his face, drinking in his look of fascinated adoration.

He glanced at her. "I don't understand you masochists."

"Yeah, but without me, you'd probably wind up in jail."

"True," he said, before mashing her nipple between his thumb and the distal knuckle of his forefinger. He watched her face, drinking in her gasp turned squeal.

When he let go, he patted her ass again. "We're not quite done, though."

"No," she answered, pointing at the other items she'd put on the table.

She faced the table and bent over, not even bothering to lift up the short skirt. Symon got to work, slathering the butt plug with lube, then adding a generous amount to the crack of her ass. He prepared her by working his thumb in, then carefully pushed the plug into her. It was the biggest one they had, large enough to be slightly uncomfortable and definitely noticeable, even if Michelle were still. Finally, Symon lubed and inserted a set of vibrating ben wa balls; they were designed to be in place for a long time, and to encourage the muscles of her vagina to conform to them. Symon and Michelle didn't have to worry about that piece of stimulation slipping out at an inopportune time.

With all the pieces of her costume in place, Symon took the time to fondle her, spank her ass a little, and otherwise attempt to overstimulate her. She grinned, leaned into him and practically purred as he smacked her.

When he was satisfied for the moment, they went about finishing the set up for the house. The main action was designated for the large dining room that they hardly ever used. Michelle kicked off her heels and helped Symon reposition the dining table sideways on one short wall. They'd turn that into the buffet. Symon pulled in a round card table he'd borrowed from a friend, and they put the six dining chairs around it. In the far corner, they spread out a small tarpaulin, and Michelle laid down several large cheap towels they'd purchased for the occasion. While she was doing that, Symon got another smallish table, placing that near the tarp.

They looked around, approved of the set up, and started preparing the food. Symon asked her to put the heels back on. He watched, his own arousal beginning as she had to change her gait, taking small steps and her hips swaying more prominently. Her butt stuck out a little more, and her back arched slightly to counterbalance. Symon fondled himself, thinking that if he had ultimate control, she'd always have to wear ridiculous heels. And then remembering how much he also enjoyed her barefooted, either when naked or wearing only one of his t-shirts.

Symon chuckled at the vagaries of his own desires, and sent a quick thanks to the universe for sending Michelle to him.

Then she said, "You gonna help me here, or just gawk at me?"

He laughed, "Oh, I'm definitely planning to gawk for a while."

She sauntered past him, carrying a tray of potato chips surrounding some dip, and a token tray of cut up vegetables. She stuck her tongue out again and made a point of swinging her hips once her backside was to him.

They finished getting the food ready, filled a cooler with ice and stashed the beer and soda, and set out what cutlery and dishes he and the guys would need. Symon got the cards and the poker chips and put those out. Then they surveyed the set up, Michelle silently calculating whether there was really enough food, and then what the odds were that Symon's guests would eat it.

She turned to him. "We're all set, I think," she said

He looked around. "In here, yeah." He reached for her hand. "Come here."

She followed him back to the living room, and Symon bade her to sit on the couch. He sat next to her, picking up two small packages from the side table.

"I thought your outfit needed a couple of accessories."

He handed her the first package. She found in it a half mask made of quilted white satin and covered over all with black lace. On a molded frame, it would stretch across her cheekbones, over her eyes and part of her forehead. There were large eye holes lined in black. There was a fan of more black lace along the top edge, with a few small pearl beads sewn into the top edge. It would fasten behind her head with long white ribbons.

"Wow, Symon, this is beautiful."

"I thought a little bit of anonymity might, you know, enhance things."

She nodded enthusiastically and Symon helped affix the mask. They worked together to thread the ribbons under her braids and he tied it in the back. She adjusted it a little, and turned back to face him.

"So sexy, babe. Can you see ok?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm gonna go find a mirror."

"Hold on, you've got something else."

She opened the other package and just stared at it for a moment. She looked up at Symon with a question in her elaborately accentuated eyes.

He answered her, "Yeah, I know. We don't do that. It's not a collar. It's a choker. It's based on a Victorian fashion."

Michelle was holding a length of white velvet, edged with more black lace. There was a gold clasp, and all along the center of the white was a line of gray pearl beads in a looping repeating scroll.

Symon touched the pearls lightly. "Those aren't beads, they're real pearls. If you want, we can get them strung into a necklace. I measured your neck, it should fit exactly."

She stared at him, then back at the choker, then back at him. "I. Symon, I don't know what to say. It's gorgeous. It's beautiful. You want me to wear it tonight? I don't understand."

"I do want you to wear it. I guess you'll need to be careful. But if it gets dirty, we can figure out how to get it cleaned."

"But, honey, it's. I don't know. It's so sophisticated looking. You really think—"

"You're not actually questioning me, are you?" His tone was serious.

She started, looking in his eyes, then dropping her gaze. "No, sir."

"Good. Then listen. Listen well. You're a remarkable woman. On your knees, on your back, or on your feet. You're remarkable. Whatever you're doing with your mouth, you're beautiful and classy. No matter what other names I call you. You deserve to feel special. Even on nights like this. Maybe especially on nights like this. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, turn around."

She turned, and Symon slid the velvet and lace around her neck. He was right, it just fit, sitting across her Adam's apple snugly but without constricting. Symon's hands glided down her arms, and he leaned down to kiss the back of her neck.

"Besides, now I've marked you, even if you and I are the only people here who know it."

He stood, taking her hand and leading her back to their bedroom. They stood in front of the full length mirror so she could see how the accessories changed the outfit. She thought that from the shoulders up, she looked almost like a courtesan. But her exposed breasts and stomach, and see through skirt turned the look to tawdry street walker. Then she saw the look on Symon's face and smiled. He wrapped his arms around her stomach.

"I really want to bite you right now," he whispered. It was their euphemism for a protracted session of play.

She leaned back into him. "How soon until they're supposed to be here?"

He glanced a the clock. "They're supposed to get here at nine, so twenty minutes. You need some time?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. I'll see you in the dining room."

Symon squeezed her ass one more time, then went to wait for his guests in the living room. Michelle used the bathroom, cleaned herself and then took her position in the dining room. She settled her mind, imagining how the night would go. She found her path to the pliant persona she'd need for a while. The plan was hers, the fantasy hers, but she always had trepidation at the beginning of one of these extended sessions. And there were so many variables this time.

She squatted in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, drifting, clearing her mind, savoring the discomfort. Waiting.

*~~*

Michelle had lost track of time when the first knock on the front door came. She stood in her position, listening. Symon greeted his guest, laughing, and she heard the sound change as the two men went into the living room. There quickly followed another knock, a new pair of voices, and then a third knock. It seemed as though the guests had arrived on time. Her heart fluttered, and she shifted in her stance. Her breath quickened, and she clenched her vaginal muscles around the ben wa balls. She took a deep breath as she listened to the low rumble of Symon's voice introducing his guests to each other.

She had asked him to bring her several trustworthy strangers, and she knew where he'd found them. In earlier days they had been regular patrons of a certain club in the city. One that had a kind of edgy vibe, full of dark furnishings and sharp objects. That made most of its money selling danger in shot glasses to sorority sisters and frat boys. But, where, if you knew what to look for, and knew who to ask for, led to much more private areas and more intimate forms of peril.

Through a door in a back corner, past a particular barfly who was actually a gatekeeper, there were two flights of stairs. One went up, to playrooms that could be rented, by select, vetted customers, for private encounters. The other went down, to a public area for meeting and to cater to people who wanted an audience. Symon and Michelle met at that club, had used those areas until they were able to make their own space. In that time they'd developed a circle of likeminded friends, and gone to events at some of those friends' houses.

It was from this group, and friends of those friends, that Symon had selected his guests for this night. They wanted the participants to understand the culture, to understand the rules, and to respect them. But she'd asked that the guests tonight be unknown to her. That was part of the thrill and the trepidation.

She stood, feet shoulder width apart, perched practically on her toes, hands clasped behind her back. Her breasts exposed, her genitals effectively exposed, her face covered and her gaze on the floor. She listened as the sound of the voices came closer to the dining room.

Let the game begin.

Symon was holding forth, telling some story about an incident at work. He was a good storyteller, and the next part they had practiced. He walked in, leading the other men. They filed into the room, arranging themselves around the table, while Symon pointed out the refreshments, listing what varieties of beer were chilling, and what kinds of subs had been cut into chunks. He made a point of detailing all the options, standing less than two feet away from Michelle, and acting as though none of them could see her.

She tried to keep a straight face, but felt the smile creeping in as he set the scene so well. She stole a glance at the men at the table, all of whom had been told what would happen. But from the expressions on a few of the faces, they hadn't quite believed what they'd been told. She recognized one man instantly, and another looked familiar.

Symon droned on for another minute or two, playing his part perfectly. He sounded as though he was going to sit down to start dealing.

Then he said, "Oh, yes." He turned slightly toward Michelle, and gestured in her direction. "This is our play maid for the evening. She will serve us and service us throughout the night."

He stepped a little closer to her, then turned to point at the area with the tarp and towels. "So, she's our urinal for the night. Whenever you need a piss, just get up and present yourself to her. Do try to let her keep things neat, aiming in her mouth. She'll be waiting there, unless she's in the middle of something else.

"Additionally, every thirty minutes a timer will sound. Whoever has the most money in front of him at the end of the hand being played when the timer goes off gets to fuck her. Per her contract, her mouth and ass are available tonight. I've also been assured that she gives reasonably satisfactory hand jobs."

He turned to speak to Michelle. "Present yourself to them, please," he ordered.

She stepped forward, opening her mouth wide, then stretching her arms out and turning one revolution slowly. Then she turned her back, bent and spread her ass cheeks to reveal the butt plug.

"Yes," Symon continued. "I've been asked to tell you that if you choose to fuck her ass, just put the plug back in when you're done. There's lube on the table over there. Also, it's just fucking. No other kind of play, no hitting, spanking, etc. I doubt she'll care about the occasional dirty word, but, no pain or humiliation. That was extra. One last thing."

He spoke to Michelle again, "You can stand up. Go back to your spot, please.

"Anyway, one last thing. Everything happens in this room. The play maid may leave the room, alone, to get more drinks or food, or clean off if necessary. If she is gone from the room, we all stay in here. When she's not being used for something, she will get refills or additional food.

"Any questions?"

A blond man Michelle didn't know spoke up. "What if I want to fuck her tits?"

Symon looked at Michelle, who nodded. "Ok, then. But she's not allowed to take any of her clothes off. So you'll just have to work around what she's wearing."

The blond chuckled, and another man muttered something about that not being much of a problem.

Then a dark haired man spoke, and he had a lovely British sounding accent. "And what is her name?"

Symon shrugged. "She should be attentive enough that we won't need to call for her. But apparently she responds to 'C', if needed."