Winner Takes All: Round 03

None of that seemed to do him much good. For all his experience, Frank quickly got the impression that his opponent had the better of him, in mind games and card games alike, and in heads-up, his usual "avoid the shark" strategy was useless.

Even so, Frank was hardly helpless, and he played well enough over the course of the first hour to avoid an outright slaughter. Even if she was the better player, Monroe had to battle variance like anyone else, and Frank won almost as many hands and chips as he lost.

It was the "almost" that concerned Frank. Even if he played her almost evenly, a professional gambler could make or break an entire career on slimmer margins than Monroe was working with. One too many calls here; one too many folds there; a couple of extra chips in one of her pots, and a few too few in one of his, and as the minutes ticked off, the doctor developed a stack advantage to go with her superior skill.

The problem, Frank lamented, was that none of his counter strategies were working. He might play a strong opponent once in a while, but once he figured out their style, even if he couldn't beat them, he could adjust his own habits, within his personal range, and at least stay out of trouble. Every time he thought he had a read on the doctor, however, she just... changed tactics. He noticed her semi-bluff once or twice, but when he slow-played his next winner, she played it tight, leaving him little in winnings to bolster his reserves. When he semi-bluffed back into her new, more conservative attitude, she called, and after missing on the river, he found himself set back more than he'd won.

Her range is wider than mine, Frank realized. She can play with more variety at her level than I can play with at mine. Not good. Unless I get really lucky, this is not going to go my way. I could loosen up, take some more long shots, but playing poorly isn't exactly a great plan for beating a better player.

"Not bad," Monroe commented, injecting the beginnings of banter into their thus-far technical communication at the table. "Another decade or so of seasoning, and you might pose a real challenge. That's good. The smart ones are the most fun to break."

"Glad you approve," Frank replied, his voice tight with traces of intense concentration, "though I must regretfully decline your advances. The only suitable openings in my organization right now are for fresh pets, but don't worry; I'm sure you look great in a collar."

"Ooh, feisty," she remarked calmly, even as she tossed another five grand that Frank was not prepared to call into the potl. "You can talk the talk, but I don't think you've got the goods to back it up. Not yet. Don't worry; I'm quite talented at teaching cocky men to keep their mouths otherwise occupied."

She nodded slightly towards the two leather-bound figures in the corner, smirking as she waited for Frank to fold. He tossed his cards back to the dealer, mind working furiously as Monroe collected her latest winnings and the host dealt a fresh hand.

I can't outplay her, Frank concluded. At least, not consistently enough to beat her fairly. The only person in this room skilled enough to defeat this woman is probably already sitting in her chair.

Alright then, Frank thought, as a plan took shape in his head. If that's how it is, then I'll have to hope she can outsmart herself, and that I get lucky enough to punish her for it. It's a long shot, but maybe I can help it along a little bit. As the pros say, "play to your outs."

With some effort, Frank forced himself to change priorities. Usually when he played, he aimed to maximize his expected winnings over the long term. Anything else was foolish. You couldn't win a poker game by playing to lose as little or as slowly as possible.

But that's exactly how Frank played. He ground the game to a halt, folding early and often, only calling often enough to keep Monroe from automatically forcing him out of every pot. He still raised occasionally, forcing her to fold when she didn't have the cards to call and replenishing his stacks in small doses, but he didn't make any of the aggressive bets he needed in order to create pots that could build some real wealth.

Slowly, painfully slowly, but surely, his stacks dwindled further. Over the next hour, the blinds rose, then rose again, increasing Frank's rate of attrition. Frank let the higher blinds force him to loosen up and call more of Monroe's raises, most of which she ended up pocketing. Though he mostly remained silent, the doctor prodded him with verbal barbs at odd intervals, caught his eye before glancing at her gimps, and eyed Charlotte and Colleen possessively. The whole time, Frank waited for the right combination of cards and bets for Monroe to hang herself. He sometimes found the former, sometimes the latter, but never both. His stack dwindled to seventy grand, then sixty.

Then it happened.

The dealer tossed him a pocket pair of fives to start the hand.Then he flopped an Ace, a Queen, and another five. Frank made a modest bet. If he was lucky, Monroe would put him on queens and think he was semi-bluffing to test the waters, and if she had an ace, she'd try to squeeze.

She bit. Call and decent re-raise, enough from her perspective to make him seriously consider whether to fold queens or toss in more chips to chase.

Frank paused, as if he hadn't spent the last hour waiting for this exact situation, then called and gave a similar re-raise. It was a reasonable play with the queens he wanted to represent, but it might also come across as doubling down on his semi-bluff, which would show subtle weakness. Exactly what he wanted to show while hiding a hopefully winning hand.

She called and re-raised again, still smirking slightly, but with her eyes fixed seriously on his face as she tried to read him.

Frank waited again, then called.

The fourth card, the Turn, was a Jack. Not bad, since it gave him no less excuse to bet his nonexistent queens. Frank bet, and Monroe raised him again, particularly firm this time. Frank tried not to get too excited, nor to act so reluctant that the doctor would suspect he was faking. In truth, he was plenty nervous; this was his best and probably his last chance, but if he'd misread her hand, or if she had a pair of aces or queens herself, or if she caught a straight on the river, he was finished.

Frank let himself feel that anxiety, though he accepted it and filtered it through his poker face to mask it. He was pretty sure Monroe would sense his nerves anyways. Hopefully it sold the act, and hopefully he had the best hand.

Frank called the first raise this time without re-raising, as if he'd learned his lesson the first three times. Still one more round of betting to go.

The fifth card, the River, was a 10. Not great. If Monroe was sitting on a King, with or without an ace of her own, she'd just caught a straight to beat his trip 5's.

No backing out now. Frank checked.

Monroe chuckled, then raised, tossing a large stack of chips into the center with an arrogant flick of the wrist. It was a significant stack, enough that the pair of queens he'd represented would fold against her aces/straight range and cut their losses.

Frank re-raised all in. The entire sixty thousand that remained of his original hundred.

Monroe's smile vanished. She glared at him, then scoffed.

"Bullshit," she declared. "Bold, but bullshit. A respectable last ditch effort, but I'm not so easily intimidated."

She called.

Frank turned his cards face up.

Monroe stared. Then, with a long sigh, she tossed her cards back to the dealer.

Whether on purpose or in careless frustration, she threw the cards harder and higher than usual, and they flipped face up on the table.

Ace/Jack.

Lucky, and on multiple counts. Frank couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, for which he immediately kicked himself. Monroe would certainly notice, and he couldn't afford to give away those kinds of reads.

The game wasn't over.

With his double-up, Frank now held about 120,000 chips to Monroe's remaining 80,000. A sizable stack advantage, but nowhere near enough to guarantee victory.

Still, it was nice playing from the front for the first time tonight. With his heavier stacks, Frank could play more aggressively, and Monroe was forced into a more conservative role than she clearly preferred.

Monroe was visibly unhappy with the situation. Unfortunately, that happiness didn't seem to translate to frustration, much less sloppy play. For the most part, she tightened up, playing as carefully as required by her short stack position. She still pushed Frank out of the pot when appropriate, perhaps even more often than strictly optimal, sensing Frank's reluctance to give her the chance to recoup her losses.

If that was a weakness, however, Frank couldn't see a way to capitalize on it. He still found himself outmatched in skill, and only leveraging his superior weight at the table let him hang onto his lead for the time being.

Still, if this continued indefinitely, Frank knew he'd lose. If he gave the superior player enough time, the odds would pan out in her favor eventually. But if he rushed, he'd just give her the game even earlier. He had to wait for the right moment again, but now that he'd struck a solid blow, maybe he could help it along.

"I'll admit, you had me worried for a little while," Frank ventured, trying for a casual attitude as he tossed a few more chips into the current pot. "Seriously, leather is not a good look for me. But we lucked out. I won't be wearing anything too tight, and you won't be wearing anything at all for the next few days."

"By all means, boast," Monroe replied, unperturbed, as she matched his bet. "You and I both know I still have the better of you. If you're in denial, even better. Your punishment will be that much more satisfying."

"Ooh, scary," Frank mocked. "Got anything other than the ice queen act? Because I'm bored with that bitch."

"Keep digging," the doctor answered. "I have no qualms making you regret every individual act of insolence you lodge against your betters."

Frank brushed her comment away with a wave of his hand, but he slid his cards back to the dealer. She had him beat on this hand, he was pretty sure, and she gained another inch on her journey out of the hole.

Besides, he needed her to stay confident. If she wasn't, she wouldn't give him a window.

As Monroe edged her way back to parity with Frank, he slowly lost his ability to bully her with his wealth. She started calling more of his pushes, and she pushed back more often herself. Still, Frank just needed one more big win to put this away. When he saw his chance, he took it.

The dealer gave Frank the Ace of Spades and the Queen of Hearts. Good start. He paid the other half of his small blind, which by now was a substantial ten thousand in total, and Monroe checked her option. One way or another, this game would end soon; neither player could afford to lose for long with blinds that size.

The flop showed Frank the King of Hearts, the Queen of Spades, and the Three of Hearts. Mixed bag. Pairing up his queen was nice, but if Monroe had a King, that gave her the high pair on the board, and catching an ace or another queen was the only likely way to beat it.

Frank made a small bet to test the waters, and Monroe quickly called. Not great. She was probably still hoping for another card to make her hand, and he'd sold it to her cheap. The price of bad position and betting first.

Next card: the nine of hearts. Shit. If Monroe was chasing, she could have just hit a straight or a flush. Unfortunately, if Frank showed weakness, she'd just push him out. He hazarded another small bet, and Monroe immediately raised.

Shit, Frank thought. I have no fucking clue if that's a bluff, or if she just made her hand. And she knows exactly what I can see, so she has to know I don't have a read. The pot's big enough that I probably have to call, but she knows that too, which means she's probably not bluffing. But she's smart enough to figure that out, and to figure out that I'd figure it out, so she could be bluffing after all.

Shit.

I don't really have a choice. I probably won't get another chance like this before she's the big stack again, and then I'll need two shots again. This is my best bet.

"Call."

Monroe smiled.

Shit.

The dealer burned one more card, then flipped the River. The Seven of Hearts.

Frank stared.

That's a flush. Unless she's got the Ace of Hearts, which she hasn't represented at all, I've got her beat.

Frank looked at his opponent across the table. Unreadable. The same confidence, the same subtle smile she'd been wearing for most of the game.

"Check," he said.

"Raise, twenty thousand," she replied, pushing the chips.

"Re-raise, another thirty," Frank answered. He tried to match her poise as his stomach attempted a spontaneous contortion act.

Monroe stared. Frank stared back.

"Re-raise." She intoned. "All in."

The crowd gasped, then fell silent, even the usual mutterings between neighbors dying out as the audience smelled blood.

"Call," Frank managed, struggling not to vomit.

"Show 'em," the dealer ordered.

Monroe turned her cards up. Jack and Ten of Hearts. A straight, and a flush, but separate, and lower than the flush Frank caught on the last card.

Monroe saw it on his face before he even showed the Queen of Hearts.

"Shit," she cursed.

"Winner!" the dealer announced. "Frank Jones!"

The crowd roared. The approving shouts, mostly from the men, drowned out the occasional disappointed groan.

Frank felt soft hands on his shoulders and Charlotte's warm breath in his ear.

"You did it, baby," she murmured. "You get to keep me, and you can claim your new prize."

Frank looked across the table, where Monroe was glaring daggers at him. He beckoned, and after staring him down a moment longer, she rose from her chair and strode around the table to meet him. Frank stood to face her, Charlotte now draped comfortably on his left arm.

"Congratulations," she said mockingly. "You managed to luck-"

Frank slapped her.

Not hard enough to injure her, but hard enough to startle her and shut her up. Another hush fell over the crowd.

"I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth." Frank announced.

"Oh, so tough, now that-"

Frank slapped her again.

"I don't want to hear another word," Frank repeated, slowly, "out of your mouth."

"Ugh, so crude once you-"

Slap.

"Did I fucking stutter?" Frank asked, stern anger leaking into his voice.

Monroe got the message. She glared at him with enough cold anger to wilt a tree, but said nothing.

"Good. Strip." Frank ordered.

"Here?" she asked incredulously.

Slap.

"Are you that fucking stupid?" Frank replied. "Shut up, and strip."

Dr. Allison Monroe, M.D. and professional psychiatrist, did as she was told.

She stepped out of her sensible heels, then shrugged out of her jet black blazer, no hurry but no obvious delay. She eyed him with a level gaze. Frank returned it.

She draped the blazer delicately on the table, then removed her ring and her Rolex and set them on top. She left the black pendant necklace around her neck, though Frank couldn't tell if she'd forgotten or done it on purpose.

Still without hesitation or fanfare, the blouse went next. Dr. Monroe methodically pulled the hem from her skirt, peeled the garment over her head, and dropped it on the growing pile. Her bra was white lace, stylish, but substantial enough that it clearly played a big role keeping her sizable breasts in check. Frank revised his earlier D-cup estimates into double-D territory.

Eyes still locked with Frank's, Monroe popped a button at the side of her skirt, then let it fall unceremoniously around her bare feet. She stepped out, then bent her knees slightly to pluck it from the ground and toss it on the pile. As she did, Frank noticed several male members of the crowd behind her craning to get a better look at her backside. Even the women looked on in rapt fascination. Monroe's hips stood out prominently below the waistband, and if the panties weren't a thong, they weren't far from it.

The doctor straightened, then twisted her arm to reach behind her back. She unfastened her bra with a quick flick of the fingers, and as she slid it off her shoulders and onto the pile, Frank got his first good look at her tits.

Double D's indeed, and they were well shaped, if starting to sag ever so slightly with the first signs of age. From the tone of her now visible flesh, Monroe clearly exercised for health and appearance, though not for pure strength, but also hadn't denied herself the finer things in life, like good food and wine. The result was a healthy young professional who still had enough meat on her bones to give her some inviting curves in all the right places. She'd maintained herself so well, Frank didn't think she could even be considered a MILF yet. Her nipples were small and auburn brown, visibly erect from their exposure to the air-conditioned atmosphere.

Monroe hooked her fingers into the waistband, but Frank broke the silence first.

"Stop." He commanded. "Turn around and bend over. Do it slowly, and stay down."

Frank might have caught a flicker of displeasure on Monroe's face before she covered it up. Then she turned to face away and bent perfectly at the waist, breasts dangling. She was indeed wearing a thong, with white lace accents to match her bra, and it did nothing to hide her full, round bottom from Frank's gaze, or from the gazes of the rest of the audience on Frank's side of the room.

As instructed, she slowly peeled the thong down her hips. As Monroe lost the last of her modesty, her tiny clenched butthole came into view first, looking tight enough to match her personality. Finally, she revealed her labia: tight, hairless, and perfectly manicured. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Frank thought he saw a brief reflection betray some moisture between her legs.

Monroe remained bent at the waist, panties around her ankles. Frank let the moment drag out while he considered his next move.

Frank walked up to Monroe, paused, then laid his hand on her ass. For all her self control, Monroe tensed at his touch, inhaling softly but sharply in surprise.

Frank grasped her ass firmly, his fingers digging in and peeling the cheek in his hand away from the other, giving a full and unimpeded rear view of Monroe to half the room in the process.

Then Frank spanked her.

The sound echoed around the room, mostly muffling Monroe's stifled grunt of pain and surprise. Her flesh rippled, then settled.

He spanked her again, adjusting from the first strike to give off an even more satisfying slapping sound. Monroe avoided giving any audible feedback this time, but Frank felt buttcheeks clench in his palm.

Frank spanked her every few seconds. He varied the timing, intensity, and position of the blows to keep the doctor worried and uncertain about his next strike. He grabbed her by the ass and rotated her 180 degrees, treating the other half of the audience to the same full view of her exposed backside as her punishment continued.

"I could lecture you," Frank commented between strikes. He landed another on the meatiest part of her right cheek, dangerously close to her exposed slit. "Then again, you and I both know I lucked out at the end there. Just think: almost any other card in the deck, and it would probably be me bare-assed and bent over in the middle of this crowd, humiliated and suffering for their entertainment, and with four more days of similar activities to look forward to.

"It could just as easily be me standing there," he continued, spanking her in an increasingly steady rhythm, "considering my choices, probably regretting them, wondering what horribly embarrassing things will happen to me for the rest of the week. Ironic, right?"