The Spa Game - Year Two Ch. 03

Those of you still waiting for the poker bits and wondering when Vicky's getting involved, it's coming soon; there are hints of it in this chapter, which also has a refresher on how the game works at the spa, with the chips and everything. I'll be including the standard glossary of chip names, denominations, and colors after this chapter.

As always, thank you to everyone for the ratings and comments, please keep them coming.

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Cyn relaxed into her domain at the spa house, trying to lose herself in the calculations and bookkeeping.

Trying to describe the spa to someone who hadn't experienced it often made it sound like nothing but an elaborate game of strip poker, which Cyn supposed it was, but only in the same way that algebra was more elaborate addition; it allowed for more than what people first assumed.

Syl had told her she got Vicky to agree to come to the spa, just not that weekend. Cyn wasn't sure how she felt about that. On the one hand she didn't think Vicky would enjoy the spa, particularly not with her outlook and the fact that she just recently broke up with her boyfriend. But then Syl had told her the spa was the only reason Vicky wasn't on her way back home for good, which shocked Cyn; she had no idea her friend was that distraught. She still didn't know if the spa would fix that, but she supposed it might give her another way to get in touch with her friend; she had been pulling away from her recently, almost without realizing it, and now she felt guilty.

She shook her head and focused as Charles led his nominee up to the cage, as they called it. His friend certainly wouldn't draw any complaints for looks; he looked like he'd come directly out of the "hot Arabian prince" mold. He had a thin, tanned face with a close cut beard and moustache with short hair, all of it jet black. His eyes were dark but had upturned corners that gave him a devious look without trying; Cyn bet he had a lot of women swooning when he smirked at them.

He wore a button-down shirt and loose pants with an eastern flavor to them; very flowy and loose at the cuffs. Despite the loose clothing Cyn could tell he had a well-kept body, certainly better than Charles, who Cyn had heard wasn't the most attractive physical specimen. He had opted for a maroon turtleneck highlighting that fact as it bulged in places that didn't necessarily indicate an impressive physique. His basic black slacks did nothing to help or hurt his look, but his brown hair was somewhat disheveled and the beard he'd started growing over the summer didn't help the round look of his face. Cyn was actually surprised now that she saw Charles up close for the first time this year; she hadn't remembered him being quite so disheveled.

"Allow me to introduce the Red Queen, otherwise known as Cyn," Charles said with mild sarcasm as he and his companion reached the cage.

Cyn had adopted a lot of red in her wardrobe since midway through her first semester as a freshman due to the manipulative plan she'd enacted a few months after her first experiences at the spa. A blood red pantsuit had featured heavily in that plan and she'd continued the theme, though tonight she'd opted for a red/black sleeveless shimmering evening gown; as the banker she spent a lot of time standing near the table and the dress, along with the three inch heels she had on, helped her keep an authoritative aura.

Charles had coined the "Red Queen" label some time after her performance and to Cyn's annoyance it had stuck. However, given the expressions and attitude she saw on Charles's companion, she thought it might be good to cultivate it a little.

"You must be Ammad Bashir," Cyn said, offering her hand palm down.

Ammad took and bowed over it, not breaking eye contact. "Enchanted," he replied, his Middle Eastern accent obvious.

"How much has Charles told you about the spa?" she asked.

"Very little," Bashir said, "Other than it involves playing cards and other...interesting diversions."

Cyn cast a glance at Charles. He looked a bit smug, but there was also a nervous edge to his expression. "Good," Cyn said after a beat, "because there are penalties if he told you more."

Cyn slid over a plastic container filled with multicolored poker chips. She quickly grabbed one of each color and fanned them out on the table. "The games are often some variety of poker. Texas hold'em is usually the default for a variety of reasons, but five card draw, stud, and some other more esoteric games make their way in as well. At any point if you are playing you may ask the dealer for instructions if you're unfamiliar with the game, and if you've never played it you can sit the hand out for no penalty."

"Other than missing out on whoever's chips are in the ante at the time," Charles opined.

Cyn continued without acknowledging Charles and she noticed Bashir hadn't paid attention either, his focus solely fixed on her. She wasn't sure if he was absorbing the details of the game or of her, but she'd already figured out she'd better not let her guard down around him.

"Seven denominations, that roughly follow traditional poker values," Cyn continued. "White, yellow, red, blue, green, orange, black, matching one, two, five, ten, twenty-five, fifty, and one hundred. You start with seventy-five hundred worth of chips, and you owe that many back to me at the end of the semester. They don't have to be yours."

"If you have a good run at the table you can change chips up with me. Going the other way is more complicated. You can't do it with anything less than a green chip, or grass as we call them, and when you do I take the original and I get to put a copy in a future ante for a game that's ringed in gold. You can't change gold ringed chips for anything up or down."

She pulled one of the red chips out of the tray. "Ammad Bashir" was printed in script on the edges of the chip, with the word "Oral" curving just below it on the groove outlining the center, in which was printed a large "5."

"The word below your name is the favor the chip represents. The number has three aspects to it. Most obviously, it's the amount it's worth betting at the table. It also tells you the number of chips of that type you need before you can cash in a favor."

"So once I acquire five of those chips?" Bashir asked, gesturing to the red one Cyn held.

"You find the person whose name is on them and hand them over. Then the person has to either perform the favor, or pay triple to me," Cyn said, "That's where the third part of the number comes in. It's the minimum amount of time the favor has to be happening. Now some people in the spa insist it's also the maximum. We call those people 'purists' because they're technically correct; no one can be forced to do anything beyond the time limit or we dig into your real money, among other things. Some people are more free with their interpretation of the time, but nobody breaks the rule of the favor; you get what's on the chip, no more."

"No less?" Bashir asked.

"Again, depends on the player," Cyn replied, "purists are going to nickel and dime the favors; if you don't give them any yellow chips, or canaries, no kissing with whatever you're doing. Others just figure it marks the upper limit; if you're going down on them, kissing and groping is fair game as well. Also, for the favors like the lipstick here where it could go either way, it's casher's choice whether to give or receive."

"It seems unusual that someone would demand to perform a favor on another."

And that cements everything I need to know about this guy. Cyn thought.

"Personal taste, like I said," Cyn replied, "Also, anyone cashing in chips with someone has the right to request an observer, but that's usually only done if there's a question of compliance or if there's some sort of kinky voyeur aspect going on. Breaking any of the rules is generally a chip fine, but I'll let Charles fill you in on the details. Also, sitting out of a game costs, depending on which game's going on. Free tip; don't play in the Saturday night game unless you're feeling really confident. First game starts in two hours and you have to play in that one; non-negotiable. Charles, I assume you're handling the introduction?"

"You know it," Charles said.

"And will you be playing in any of the games?" Bashir asked with a predatory look.

Cyn returned an icy smile, "Unfortunately you missed out this semester. As the banker I don't play in the games. I can cash in chips that are exchanged to me, however."

Not that I ever would Cyn thought as he gave her an arrogant smile and walked off. She neglected to tell him about the first week tradition, and hoped he wasn't a good enough player to find out about it.

Usually the seeder pots for the games were made up of chips that had been exchanged in or taken as fines from the players. The first games of the semester had the problem that usually there were hardly any chips; very few people sat out the very first game of the semester, so there weren't enough chips to make a seed pot.

Enter the banker. One each of Cyn's 10-value sky chips formed the ante for the first ten games. Ordinarily a single sky chip from anyone wouldn't be enough to draw excitement, but since it was the only set of favor chips anyone would see from the banker at the tables all semester, there was fierce competition.

It was also nerve-wracking for Cyn. She was good enough at poker that she rarely lost control of any substantial chips. In the second semester, a few of her white "sky" or yellow "canary" chips ended up floating around with people she hadn't been sure of, but she'd never let a lipstick or higher chip get out of her control, apart from one game that she considered a fluke. Watching a set of her sky chips going to the crowd without being able to do anything but watch had been torture. She knew who had won them, but she couldn't tell if they'd done anything with them since. Most people would hold onto them, but some people didn't care (such as Zach, who had somehow ended up winning a hand) and others who won would still rather sacrifice other people's chips before losing their own. She knew Steve had won one of her chips as well, but he had a few bad runs after so she was sure that chip was no longer in his possession.

"Do you think he can play?"

Cyn turned and resisted the urge to lean over the bar to talk to Noelle. The diminutive Asian woman had her hair done up in a braided crown, with each strand dyed a different color, alternating traditional red and electric blue. She wore slacks and a nice blouse that fit her very well. That was an achievement because Noelle had the dubious fortune of sporting double-D breasts. Topping out at five feet and weighing only a bit over a hundred if Cyn had to guess, it made her chest look comically massive and Cyn knew from experience most women's shirts didn't account for an extra six inches of space in front. On the occasions when Cyn bought a shirt that didn't feature a low neck or was designed to crop, it was a given she'd need it tailored. Given how much trouble she had, she wondered if Noelle had simply started getting custom tops made.

She looked at the pair of guys walking away and said, "He's confident enough that I'm guessing he won't have to ask how Texas Hold'em works. I don't know if he's ready for the level of play you bring, though."

"If I have to spend all semester trading chips with Vincent I'm going to be bored," Noelle whined playfully.

Noelle was one of the higher-tier players at the spa and given her exotic nature there was a lot of demand for her chips. A decent number of them made it into circulation because poker is still based on cards and because Noelle sat out a lot of games; many weekends she only bothered to play in the high-limit Saturday night game, but she often won back any chips she lost betting, and the fines were low enough it took time before her forfeited chips added up to real favors.

"You'll also have Syl to trade with," Cyn pointed out.

Noelle raised her eyebrows in surprise, "I thought she was out? I know she came to the preliminary meeting, but I thought that was just something to get a rise out of you. She hasn't been here the last two weeks."

"And I've got her chip fines already loaded up for antes," Cyn replied, "She's had legitimate things to do last couple of weekends and she had to go out of town, but she'll be here this weekend. And are you saying your protégé isn't going to play well?"

"Oh God no," Noelle said, "She has the poker face of a two year old on the body of a teen model. Charles is going to be fucking her whenever he wants to, as long as he can hold onto her chips long enough after winning. So how'd you get Syl to come back into the fold?"

Cyn's expression darkened, "I told her she's responsible for Vicky, and for keeping her away from any serious problems."

Noelle's face looked worried, "Syl can't protect her at the table."

"I'm not worried about poker playing, I'm worried about the fact that the King doesn't have a release valve anymore," Cyn said.

"You know Vincent wasn't just cashing in favors with Robin to avoid blue-balls," Noelle said.

"I don't actually," Cyn said.

"You mean you two have never talked about him?"

"Vincent's a topic we agree to avoid," Cyn confirmed.

"You should," Noelle said, "I'd kill to get the dirt on him from Robin. I've tried but she won't spill."

Noelle watched thoughtfully as Syl and Robin entered the room together, chatting. They waved to Cyn as they split off to get drinks, food, and mingle.

"I'm going to do you a favor," Noelle declared.

"Oh I'm so grateful," Cyn said.

"Don't be a bitch," Noelle said, "but I'd appreciate it if you remember what I did for you in the future."

"No promises," Cyn said.

*******

Six hours later, Cyn walked into one of the second floor bedrooms of the house. It was one she was quite fond of; her first dalliance with Syl and her fiancé Bill had been in the room, and she made use of it whenever she could. Most of the time it wasn't an issue; the spa didn't have a lot of members and the house was large enough to accommodate most of the members finding private corners to wile away their time. There wasn't a bedroom for everyone, even paired off, but some people didn't want to use beds anyway.

This room did feature a bed, however, and on it sat Robin, wearing a traditional little black dress, though this one was custom tailored to Robin's exquisite body. She'd inherited her mother's modeling genes and stood at five eleven with unique C-cup breasts that Cyn never tired of exploring; they didn't project out very far from her chest but they seemed to be "taller", as if they started at the girl's collarbone and went all the way down to curve at the bottom of her rib cage. She also had a mane of black hair that fell ramrod straight to her mid back. She lay on her stomach facing the headboard, burning time on her phone.

Cyn quietly entered the room and waited until she got a good look at Robin's neck, verifying that the gold choker was in place. The carpet in the room was thick enough to sleep on (and Cyn had on a few occasions) but she still slipped her heels off to ensure a stealthy approach. She walked up to Robin with the other girl not seeming to notice. Cyn wasn't sure if she was acting or if she actually couldn't hear her until she reached forward and grabbed Robin's hair, pulling her up and back. Robin shrieked in surprise and ended up with her feet barely touching the floor and her hips balanced on the edge of the bed.

Cyn's grip on her hair kept her face up. Cyn reached around with a stack of blue chips in her hand. "What are these, Robin?"

"Oh fuck," Robin said, "Mistress-"

"Exactly," Cyn said.

Cyn had rearranged her dress so her front was no longer covered, meaning there was nothing in the way of the strap-on she'd donned before entering the room. Pulling Robin back on the bed had forced her dress up above her waist and Robin had no panties on, so Cyn was able to line up her thrust. She'd liberally coated the gelatinous dildo in lube and she knew Robin must have been mildly excited, but even so a hard thrust right away wasn't the most comfortable start to sex for most women. Robin shrieked again and it sounded like more than a little pain was involved, but Cyn ignored it; after the first thrust there was hardly any resistance.

Cyn used her grip on Robin's hair as leverage and pounded her hard. The position caused some possibly unnatural arching in Robin's back, but it thrust her chest out. Cyn pulled a strap off of Robin's shoulders and reached around to grab one of the breasts, digging in with her fingernails on the pliant flesh.

"Is this why you come to the spa, Robin, to lose your chips to another woman so you don't have to fuck me?"

"No, Mistress, please-ahhhh!"

Cyn interrupted Robin by twisting her nipple and thrusting hard. Robin shuddered in response and tried to fall forward. Cyn recognized her lover having an orgasm, but she also knew it was a mild one, basically a warm-up. As Robin tried to recover, Cyn let go of her hair and swept her arms out. Robin flopped forward onto the bed and Cyn grabbed her hips, slamming harder and faster into the girl. Robin moaned loudly into the mattress, clawing at the bedspread as Cyn maintained her merciless pace. Robin started curling up, bringing her arms in toward her own breasts, and Cyn recognized she was working up to another orgasm. She knew if she kept going for another five minutes or so, Robin would cum violently. But she also knew a shortcut.

Cyn stuck her middle finger in her own mouth and slobbered over it, drenching it with as much saliva as she could. Then in the middle of a rapid series of thrusts, she pushed the finger deep into Robin's ass.

Robin lurched back, impaling herself on the strap-on and crushing her breasts against her own chest. Cyn could feel spasms and shuddering through her finger, which she kept in and moved carefully to avoid having it break. If that wasn't enough of a clue that Robin was in the middle of an intense orgasm, the wetness that now coated Cyn's thighs was a dead giveaway.

Cyn pushed Robin back up so she wouldn't slide off the bed and then quicky detached the strap-on harness. The hard fucking she'd just given Robin had done a lot to work out her frustrations, but the setup she'd used did little for the one wearing it and now she was keyed up. She knee-walked up Robin's body until she straddled her head, then reached down and pulled the woman's face up to her pussy. Cyn moaned as she felt Robin's tongue immediately go to work, lapping up the mix of Robin's juices and Cyn's own arousal before diving between her nether lips and exploring the treasures there.

At first Robin's attentions suggested she was planning a slow buildup, which made sense; when Cyn "punished" Robin, she sometimes had the woman licking her out for close to an hour. But right now she needed release.

"Your Mistress needs to cum. Make it happen," she snapped while pulling up on Robin's head.

Robin's tongue immediately moved and started lashing Cyn's clit. At the same time, Robin sucked on the entire area, pulling the clit out where her tongue could absolutely assault it. Cyn let out one long rising moan that ended in a shout when she finally came, clenching her thighs around Robin as she lightly licked to catch Cyn's juices and slightly prolong the orgasm.

Cyn crawled up to the top of the bed, pulling Robin with her. Before they slid under the covers, Cyn reached up and undid the catch on Robin's choker, setting it aside while she pulled Robin in for a deep, sensuous kiss. This time each woman's tongue moved more slowly, testing and exploring each other's mouths as though for the first time. They fell into bed like that, kissing intently and pressing themselves against each other. Cyn had thought the one orgasm would be enough, but soon she found herself grinding against Robin, shifting around trying to find some part of her lover that would make direct contact with her pussy. Robin saved her after only a moment, her fingers quickly finding Cyn's hairless mound and slipping themselves between the folds. Cyn let out a sigh of relief and started essentially fucking Robin's fingers.