Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Joker’s Mistress
by Jo-Anne Wiley
ISBN: 978-1-945648-30-4
A Pink Flamingo Media Ebook
Copyright ©2017 Jo-Anne Wiley
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.
For information contact:
Pink Flamingo Media
www.pinkflamingo.com
P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI
Visit Jo-Anne Wiley at joannewrites.org for information about the author and her upcoming books.
Part One: The Malibu Shuffle
Chapter One
“Is it hot in here?”
“You’re asking me?” Ava shot back, “I’m naked under this thing.”
The sheath of black satin complimented Ava’s body perfectly. The shimmering fabric even clinging in the sexy curve of her navel. And there certainly weren’t any panty-lines, or any other lines for that matter, unless you wanted to include the outline of a nipple where the silky material clung to a breast. Even the curly puff of pubic hair was perfectly defined, looking like a small Brillo pad where her thighs came together under a crowning pubis.
Ava was hot... And it had nothing to do with the damned temperature in the room.
But it had always been Ava; the one who attracted the attention of both the pit-boss and the customers; the one asked to deal the cards at the private parties hosted by the Casino: The parties where the girls were required to work semi-nude.
Ava, married now to a successful landscape architect, avoided that kind of work. Her husband held contracts with most of the major casinos so money was rarely a problem but there had been occasions, early on, when the one-thousand dollar a night pay-packet to bare her flesh, plus the tips, had come very handy. But Ava had always lived in fear that word might get back to her husband. She was always very careful.
Kathrine, still single at forty, didn’t have that problem.
During the fifteen years she had worked the gaming floor at the Adobe, Kathrine had never been asked to work nude. Maybe her sultry dark looks were perceived as a remote kind of beauty, cool and uninviting. She wasn’t sure; not that it mattered anymore. Kathrine would never be taken for a party-girl, not now. She was too old for it.
Though Kathrine had successfully made her way up through the ranks, from server, then the gaming tables, and finally working as one of the highest paid hostesses on the floor, dealing with customers and staff alike, she had reached the top of her game. At forty-two years of age, a walk to the Personnel Department loomed in her very near future. There would be a polite, but uninspired discussion regarding her options. Or lack thereof.
“I think it’s too hot in here,” Kathrine said to Ava. “It’s putting the old darlings to sleep. There must be a thermostat around somewhere. Or we can open a window.”
Ava humped her lips and sipped soda water from a crystal champagne flute. “Never mind the damned heat. You’re losing the game here, Kathrine. Your first one. Damn. I’ve seen more excitement at a funeral home. I started twisting open buttons an hour ago; three down. I almost lost one of the girls on that last shuffle; almost slid right out. Thought for a moment I was going to have to shovel it back into place. And the only one that noticed was flippin’ Martin.”
That was hard to imagine: Ava had been blessed with a magnificent pair of full natural breasts, ones that bobbled seductively when she dealt the cards; breasts that always seemed to be pushing for attention at the front of her signature, black satin dress.
“It’s my fault,” Kathrine said. “I brought too many financial types to the table; brokers and bankers. Party animals!” she said sarcastically. “If we had more hotshots like young Martin, we’d have ourselves a poker game.”
Kathrine studied the men as they picked over the sandwiches that Mitz had arranged on the buffet table. Martin, with a glass full of scotch in one hand and a sandwich in the other, was in an earnest discussion with one of the financial nerds. Probably after free investment tips, Kathrine thought to herself. Despite Martin’s starring role in two television sitcoms, movie roles, and national guest appearances, Kathrine was sure the financial nerd had no idea he was talking with a major Hollywood celebrity. She shrugged.
Mitz, tending bar, poured Martin another drink. Young Mitz had pussy-cat features; wide crystalline eyes with high cheekbones, narrow chin and a button nose. Her skin was clear and pale like milky-white porcelain. Her blonde hair was parted on the side and combed over, trimmed fashionably short, just below the ears.
Small breasted and narrow hipped, Mitz had a passion for dark, Brook’s Brothers suits, men’s suits; jacket and trousers that she bought and then paid to have tailored to hug her slim frame. A yard of pump water, Kathrine’s mother would have said to describe the girl’s figure. Mitz wore a man’s crisp white Hathaway shirt with a thin dark tie.
She looked like a sixteen year old British school boy. But Kathrine knew Mitz had a half-dozen more years on her clock and, while still young, Mitz possessed the professional stature of a more experienced woman; chatting freely, but not to excess. Mitz knew instinctively when to move on, sharing her attentions equally among the men.
Kathrine was hosting her first private game and learning fast. But unfortunately it was a case of too little, too late. What had seemed like an easy way to earn some extra cash and maybe kick-off a new career, was quickly spiraling down into a yawn-fest. The buy-in was only one-thousand dollars. And that was way too low. The way things were going, the game would soon break up, leaving her to pay for the caterer, the bar expenses, plus the nightly rental on the hotel room. And there were her two friends; two-hundred and fifty each and not much in the way of tips coming their way. She felt a small surge of panic.
“How did all this get started in the first place?” Ava asked.
“Christ, it was fuckin’ Martin,” Kathrine replied, fighting the despondency.
“Our Martin?” Ava looked toward the buffet table.
“Yeah. Our Martin! He caught me at work a few weeks back; wanted to talk in private. Well I figured he’d had a problem with one of my dealers so I got him a drink and took him back to the customer service lounge. He asked me for a couple of five-hundred dollar poker chips; said he wanted to glue them to my nipples.”
Ava’s eyebrows came up. “He said that to you? He was going to pay you one-thousand dollars to drop the front of your dress?”
“Yeah. That’s about the size of it. I guess I remind him of his mother.”
Ava snorted. “So what happened? You didn’t do it, for god’s-sake.”
“No. I told him I was all outta five-hundred dollar chips. That all I had were a couple of one-thousand dollar chips and he could stick those on my nipples if he wanted, but only after I stuck a couple of poker chips onto his eyeballs; with Crazy Glue.”
“You said that? Right to his face?”
“Well I wasn’t about to pull my top down; there are security cameras all over the damned place. I like my job, what’s left of it. Anyway, he looked me up again, a few days later, with this idea for a private game. He wanted to know if I would put it together for him using my customer-contacts at the Casino. And asked if I would host it. So that’s how this fuckin’ fiasco started, and here we are: I’m about to lose my shirt. And that’s what he wanted all along.”
“You think he set you up?”
“Hell, I don’t know. But if by the end of the evening I can’t afford to pay my bills, Martin will be first-up to offer financial assistance. And lowering my top will seem like child’s play compared to what he’ll have in mind.”
Ava reached out and placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “Christ, Kathrine. We can’t let that happen to you.”
“Sure. But what’s the alternative?”
“You damned well know what the alternative is. We have to jazz up the game. Increase the stakes. Get these guys excited about putting some real money on the table.”
“But there’s only one way for us to do that.”
“Yes. And one of us has to ante up. We’re in a tailspin here, we have to turn things around.”
Kathrine touched her fingers to her forehead. “God. It has to be me. It’s my party, my responsibility.”
Ava studied Kathrine’s face a moment. “Are you sure? I’m younger, would stand a better chance of making it work.”
Kathrine ignored the inference to her age. “You know I can’t let you do that. Not only isn’t it fair, but you have a husband to think about.”
“I know. I know... I’m just trying to work things through. Be rational about it. And none of these guys know me anyway, so forget about my husband. Logically, I would be the better choice.”
Kathrine knew Ava was right but she wasn’t about to let her friend take the hit for her mistakes. “Forget it Ava. I’m not going there with you.”
The men were returning to the gaming table, leaving behind a ravaged buffet. They left partially eaten sandwiches and slices of buttered bread that had been pulled apart so that the insides could be picked over. Being wealthy didn’t exclude poor table manners, or so it seemed.
Ava gave Kathrine a rueful look.
“Okay,” Kathrine said, “let them play another couple of hands. And we’ll see how it goes; see if I need to sweeten the pot.”
Ava shrugged a shoulder and took her place at the head of the table and began to shuffle the cards.
The men played two more uninspired hands. They lethargically pushed poker chips into the center of the table, checked their cards and quickly folded. There was no gamesmanship, no strategy, no camaraderie. At the end of the second hand, the financial banker from Austin, Texas, yawned.
It was a big yawn.
He threw back his arms and stretched and yawned again. He’d had a snoot-full of Crown Royal, a dozen sandwiches and he had just lost two-thousand dollars. He was all done in and thinking of his hotel bed. Once he abandoned the table, the others would follow his lead and the game would be over; sure to go down in the annals of poker as the dullest game ever!
Ava looked over with raised eyebrows to where Kathrine stood at the opposite end of the table. The question was plain on her face. Kathrine looked away, didn’t have the courage and buried her eyes in the palms of her hands. Kathrine wasn’t at all sure if she heard Ava sigh, but she did hear the sound of Ava’s chair on the carpet.
“Gentlemen,” Ava said, standing at the end of the gaming table. Kathrine whirled around to face her friend. No... no... no! Kathrine screamed at the inside of her skull.
“If there’s no objection, I am going to raise the buy-in to four-thousand dollars for the last five games,” Ava announced. One of the men grumbled. “This will be a winner-take-all tournament; stakes to remain on the table for the event.” Kathrine saw Ava reach for the buttons on her dress, heard the rustle of satin. Ava, don’t! But Ava had already slipped the buttons open, down to her navel and her breasts were bobbing free like twin moonscapes, pale and full; the trumpet-shaped nipples, peaked.
“This sweetens the pot. Once again, winner takes all,” Ava continued. “Do I hear any objections?” The room went still; a cloying silence.
The men gaped at the sight-of-sway of Ava’s chest. There was uncertainty. What was being offered them? The men weren’t sure they understood. The eyes of the investment banker from Austin were bugged out and his hands were trembling with anticipation as he judged Ava’s weighty chest.
“Okay. The rules...” Ava said, “The game is five card draw, aces high, four-thousand dollar buy-in, five-game tourney. First man to win three games takes it. And winner takes all.
“Regarding my participation? I will avail myself to the winner, following the game, in the bedroom. No spectators, no oral, no anal. I am safe and clean, and I don’t carry condoms. Any questions?”
Ava looked around the table. Nothing.
“Okay, gentlemen. Let’s play some serious poker. A fresh deck of cards.”
Ava tore the cellophane from a new deck and, with her breasts still protruding from between the folds of satin, she regained her seat and rattled through a preliminary shuffle. She then shot cards across the table in the rapid, machine-gun fire maneuver that was her trademark; a conjurer’s slight-of-hand that was impossible for the eye to follow. Five cards per man, each card sliding neatly beneath the previous: The stack of cards positioned before each player, so tightly packed, that it could easily be collected up with one hand.
Kathrine snapped her focus across the room to where young Mitz stood behind the upholstered bar; a whiskey bottle poised over an empty glass. In turn, Mitz was focused on Ava’s outrageous twins.
Mitz wasn’t naive. She was aware of the Sidewinder Room, on the lower level of the Adobe where the Casino hosted its by-invitation-only parties: The private parties where the girls who flipped the cards and spun the wheels were required to leave the bottom half of their uniform in the change room locker before striding out onto the gaming floor.
The girls would come in waves, three or four at a time, like lines of catholic school girls; some with arms linked, laughing gleefully. Others, the younger ones, the first-timers, stayed focused on the money. They smiled nervously into the upturned faces of the men; sweaty faces that glimmered with surprise and hope at the sight of their favorite dealers from upstairs; jovial pubic parcels now exposed and rollicking, presented up for their enjoyment. The men would marvel, shamelessly, at all those rolling hips, punctuated with the dark swaths of pubic hair; accentuating each and every languid step.
Like Kathrine, Mitz had never been asked to work those kinds of parties. Coltish was supposed to be sexy, but maybe the casino boss thought Mitz took coltish to the extreme. When Mitz thought of her body, she didn’t think of a little horse, she thought more of a goofy giraffe. Long everything: Arms, torso, neck. But the legs especially... her elongated thighs, knees a little pronounced and her calf muscles, while pleasing enough, lacked the sexy curves and definition: Nice straight legs. At least she had cute feet. She gave a little shudder and pulled her attention back to the job at hand: Martin’s shot of bourbon. As she added ice, Mitz gave Ava a last, wistful look. Maybe it was better to be flat-chested.
Chapter Two
“Gentlemen. Opening bids please.” With a buy-in of four-thousand dollars, there was twenty-grand on the table, and the men had yet to sort their cards. Martin threw in an extra yellow chip, one-thousand dollars, without looking at his hand. It was a display of out and out arrogance, and his way of alerting the others to the fact that he intended to control the game. The other men followed his lead, upping the ante to five-thousand dollars each before settling in with their cards.
Martin, sitting on Ava’s left, was first up and drew only one card. It was another clear indication that he had a strong hand and he bet three-thousand. It was up to the others to decide: Either play or fold. They all drew three cards each, and matched his bet; all except the investment banker from Austin. He took a wistful look at Ava’s stout nipples and folded. Maybe his luck would be better next time around.
Martin checked his hand again and discarded a card; Ava tossed him one. He took a moment to consider before sliding two stacks of chips into the center of the table. It would now cost an additional five-thousand dollars to stay in the game. Two of the remaining players balked; folded their cards face down onto the green felt. Martin looked at his last opponent with renewed interest. He didn’t know the man and the guy’s face revealed little, but Martin sensed a bright intensity about the man’s eyes; a competitor. Kathrine felt her cell phone vibrate and pulled it from her jacket pocket. She read Martin’s text message: “Who’s the dude?”
Kathrine turned away from the game and texted: “Pitcher for the Oakland A’s.”
When Kathrine looked back, she noted that Martin had shrunk a little in stature; dropped lower into his chair. He had recognized a real opponent. The ballplayer slid chips into the center of the table. “I’ll see you and raise you another two-thousand.”
Martin took a breath and tossed more chips onto the pile. “Call,” he said and spread out his cards: Two pair, eights and jacks.
“Sorry, bud.” The ballplayer smiled, “I’m one up.” He had a straight: four, five, six, seven, eight.
“Shit,” Martin uttered under his breath. Another couple of wins and the ballplayer took it all home. Ava retrieved the cards, did a rapid snuffle to keep things rolling and shot cards around the table.
The second round and the financial banker from Austin was back in the game. He astounded them all. Martin, once again had upped the ante before looking at his cards, but now regretted it. Ava had dealt him a loser and even with the option of drawing three cards, he realized it would take a small miracle to put together a winning hand. And the financial guy from Austin was jumping around like he was sitting on an ant’s nest. When he only accepted one card, Martin realized it was time to fold. He knew when to cut his losses. And so did everyone else.
Martin handily won the third game with three of a kind, all jacks. But surprisingly, the fourth and the fifth, deciding game, both went to the Manhattan stockbroker. Martin was stunned. He hadn’t even considered the broker to be much of a player. But the Manhattan stockbroker smugly lay down four tens, and in the last game, he proudly produced a straight; queen high. The guy laughed and pulled a mountain of poker chips to his chest. The game, and the evening, was over. The stockbroker had a celebrator drink while he watched Kathrine cash him out. She counted his winnings first. He did, after all, have an exclusive date with the dealer. In the bedroom.
He took Ava by the elbow. She cocked her head back as she was marched towards the bedroom door and gave Kathrine a tight remorseful look, one that tore at Kathrine’s emotional fabric. Never before had the two friends been this close. There was just the glimmer of a sad smile on Ava’s lips and then she stepped through the doorway and was lost to view.
As soon as the Manhattan stockbroker had her behind the privacy of a closed door, Ava twisted around on a high-heel. “Including my tips, I’ll make over a thousand dollars tonight. It’s all yours if you promise not to touch me. I’ll perform for you, play your games, do anything, make all the right noises. They’ll think you’re screwing me to death, in here. One thousand dollars... it’s yours. Just please, don’t touch me!”
He looked down at her breasts, still saucily protruding from between the folds of her dress and grinned. “Lady, I just won over one hundred and eighty-thousand dollars and you want me to let you off the hook for a grand?” He felt unusually expansive. “I hope you’re better at fucking than you are at math!”
Ava’s heart sank with the hopelessness of the situation.
“You know how many times in a man’s lifetime he hits on an opportunity like this?” he continued. “For most men... never! And an old fart like me, with a woman like you? I still can’t believe it. You’re prime, Grade ‘A’ male fantasy, baby, and I’m not about to pass up the opportunity of banging you. Not for a measly grand.” His talk was tough, not in character. He felt like an actor playing a part in a movie. The feeling was intoxicating.
“Okay... okay, I get it,” Ava conceded the point. She had made the deal; thrown her body onto the table alongside the money. And he was here to cash in. No big deal, she tried to convince herself. She thought of the private casino parties where she had walked out onto the gaming floor, wearing nothing more than her trim little vest and her string-tie dangling about the long column of her bare neck.
It had been okay back then, when she was young and just married. Her husband needed the cash and she had made the sacrifice. It was humiliating but she had stepped up to the plate without her husband’s knowledge. And now, here she was again. Not so different, she tried to convince herself; Kathrine just being a different kind of partner, that was all. And the fact this stranger was going to push his penis up between her legs and...”
Oh my goodness!
Ava took a moment to gather herself. This was different! She drew a hand across her eyes and tried not to contemplate what she had promised. “What do you like?” she finally asked. “How do you want to do it?”
He chuckled deeply and reaching out, ran his fingertips down along the outside curve of her left breast. It pricked the goose-flesh. “From behind, sweetie,” he said. “I want to watch that lovely ass of yours jiggle as I pound you.”
Ava nodded dully and rolled her shoulders free of the dress. It fell, caught on her hips and she did a snaky wiggle to shake herself loose from the satin. It parachuted down bare legs and pooled about her ankles. Ava heard his breath catch. If he hadn’t realized she wasn’t wearing underwear, he knew it now. Ava stepped from the confines of her dress, reached down, gathered it loosely, and placed it over the back of a chair. She went to the side of the bed and crawled up. She bent at the waist and widened her knees. Then Ava lowered her face into the bedspread. With her bum propped in the air, it was the pose of absolute, and unconditional, surrender.
Her’s was a bum that could make a man weep. He marveled at the split curve of her taunt buttocks, elevated and slightly opened. And the spiral of her anus brought the water to his mouth and his tongue felt thick. A shudder crimped the muscles along his lower back, but it wasn’t sexual anticipation that stole his breath and clouded his thinking. It was the feeling of power; he suddenly felt it coursing through his limbs.
This woman was naked... for him... belonged to him. He had won her fair and square and now she was his to take. Power! God how he craved it. And somehow, it had always eluded him. Having three bullying older sisters hadn’t helped any. And the women at work treated him like an old fuddy-duddy, swirling in and out of his god-damned office like it had a revolving door. It wasn’t befitting of a man who had reached his lofty station in life. But his office women were lovely, all of them; almost embarrassingly so. It was so obvious to everyone that the Personnel Department had culled out the most attractive ones for the executive office. His office.
But the clients loved it. And, what the hell; so did he: Amy, always see-sawing across his carpet on those stilt-like legs, her short skirt tight about her thighs and her blouse open. He was sure she wore those spiky heels just so she would appear taller than his diminutive five-foot eight.
She thought him a harmless old bag of wind. He knew that. Amy was always making kissy-noises in his ear and pushing a small titty into his arm when she wanted an afternoon off; a sale at Sears or Macy’s or some such place. And he had played his part. Always the generous teddy-bear; the amiable grandfather, easily manipulated. He let himself be twisted around her little finger again and again. Oh how he would love to surprise her one day. Threaten her with the loss of her cushy, high-paying job. Bend her over his desk and tear her pantyhose down.
And the rest of them; they were all the same.
He had dreamed of the day when he would line them up along the front of his desk. Five pale bottoms; five cringing anuses, there for his pleasure. He would walk along behind them and sample each in turn.
And Amy would be first, of course. He figured her to be the experienced one, to have been sexually resourceful since her early teens. She had probably been fucked in the ass more times than her meager brain could comprehend. But she would still be shocked and revolted by the thought of some old geezer using her privates for his own personal gratification.
And beside her would be Betty; the poor slow cow who wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouth full of it. Betty would be virgin territory and he would have to stretch her a bit, even though she did have a generous bottom. She would bounce around and make a fuss. Delightful! And next would be little Tracy, so young, so cute with her Shirley Temple curls and sensual over-bit. She was so small, but still so perfect at less than five feet tall. Tracy would be so tight it would hurt. But what delirious pain.
Then dark, mysterious Carmen. Italian. Olive complexion with long black silky hair. He would wrap his hands tightly in that wild tangle as he forced his way in. And last in line would be Stella, his executive assistant. Older, more mature, but none the less lovely than the rest. The woman virtually crackled with efficiency; to the point he couldn’t understand why the woman’s hair didn’t stand out on end from the aura of static electricity that seemed to follow her around. The woman thought she ran the office! Oh, who was he kidding; the woman did run the office. But he was still the boss, for christ’s-sake, and coring out her behind would drive the point home! She would cup a hand to her lips and cry repeatedly... Oh my! Oh my! Oh my! ...in time to his thrusting.
He reveled at the thought of his own personal asshole smorgasbord.
He would move back and forth along the line, maybe a couple of times, sampling each woman’s individual virtue before making up his mind. Maybe even hop around a bit, towards the end, between the last two or three, before coming to a decision. It would be child-like Tracy, he thought. Her tight little hole would be the recipient of his gratitude. And when he had relived himself, he would take out the stiff wooden yardstick and give each of them a dozen strokes; smack them hard enough to leave them whimpering and squirming on his desk top.
And after, he’d line them up and march them to his office door, flushed with humiliation and tears, their torn undergarments still hanging about their ankles. He would herd them out, like some bazaar circus act, flicking the ruler at their bare bottoms as they passed. Oh yes! He would return to his desk, then, to run his empire like a man. Like the man he thought he was. Or thought he should be. Or something... Oh dear! He felt his penis sag!
He narrowed in on the present, contemplated the fine firm ass that was being offered him. As he watched, Ava’s anus contracted, as if in anticipation of his thoughts. But had she said no anal? Yes. Of course she had. But that couldn’t preclude a little taste, he reasoned. He cupped her buttocks like he cupped the face of his granddaughter and leaned in for a kiss. Ava felt his tongue make a pass over the tender cone of muscle. He felt her flinch but noted she didn’t pull away. He hazarded another taste, lingered longer this time, teasing the orifice, gingerly applying pressure. She endured him for a moment longer, but then he heard her whisper, “Please. Not there.” Her desperate whimper was like a child’s breath.
“No, of course not,” he conceded. “It’s just a fantasy, dear,” he heard himself say and was aware of the sense of possession slipping away. He was doing it again. Next thing you know, she would be asking for the rest of the evening off. A sale at Sears or Macy’s...
His penis was half-cocked now, and he found himself struggling with the disbelief: This gorgeous young woman, spreading herself... And he was having trouble... Couldn’t get it up...
He stepped in between the high-heels that dangled doggedly off the side of the mattress and fed his limp member into the folds of the vulva, hoping for stimulation. Salvation. Her hand came back between her legs to guide him in but faltered when she felt his lack of enthusiasm. He pulled back against her fingers and pushed forward again. She understood; sized up the situation immediately. She held him to the soft moist furrow and rotated her hips.
Why is she helping me?
He couldn’t comprehend why, but the thought was quickly pushed to the back of his skull as he felt the tingling sensations deep in his scrotum and his penis began to lift. Oh thank you, Lord! And he thrust deeper between her legs, the spongy head worrying at the brink of her clitoris.
But far from feeling pleasurable, Ava found the irritation nagging, even painful, and doubled her efforts to hurry him along. The sooner he unburdened himself, the sooner she could get out from under his sweaty belly. Ava took him firmly into her hand and easing him forward, she got him aligned with the vaginal opening and then settled back against him.
He felt the softness parting and, emptying his lungs, he gripped her by the hips and met her push. Ava gasped, ground down on her molars to help fight the burn, held for a moment to let things settle. She was surprised at the binding pain, the tightness, but then thought about the last time she’d had sex. It had been a while, a long while... marriage can be like that.
He held, waiting her out, anxious for her to control him. He wanted her to fuck him; not the other way around. And Ava obliged. Not to please him but to finish him. She wriggled her hips back. And then she was moving.
She engulfed the length of him, in one deep solicitous slide. He strained against the sudden pleasure; his penis felt wired and sent a jolt of sensation back into his loins. His anus puckered. The synaptic impulses were raging. Ava kept up the rhythm: Rocking back, rolling her hips, and pulling forward. Milking the life out of him. He wallowed like a pig, content to let Ava do all the work. Secretions oozed, turning everything buttery smooth.
This is the fuck of my lifetime, he thought, succumbing to wave after wave of her vaginal rhythms; the tightness sucking at the head of his penis. Rock... roll... pull...
And then the sight of all those bare, silky-skinned bottoms, lined up along his desk top barged into his brain. If only! He envisioned the different shapes: Amy’s, pear-shaped. Carmen’s, high and round. Little Tracy’s, child-like, boyish even. He thought of the five anuses, waiting with trepidation for his masterful advance; waiting to be painfully stretched and distorted as he worked his way along the line. The thought triggered something low down. He was on the verge of losing control. Oh no! He had wanted it to last.
Why hadn’t he married a woman who could shamelessly fuck like this? He faltered. No! Oh no! He wanted it to last forever! But the emotions came at him like a wall and he struggled under the weight, trying to avoid being crushed. Ava sensed his weakness and bore down hard once, twice, three times. He reached around her waist to control the bucking hips. He had never experienced a woman with this much fortitude. He marveled at her energy. But then she was young; perhaps his daughter’s age, maybe less. The thought of his daughter make his penis ache. Oh no! his mind screamed, but it was too late. He tumbled hard. He felt his penis lift and the first of the raging contractions.
Ava felt the release.
All the pent up emotional garbage: His wife, his job, the crazy broads who nagged him at the office, the payments, his brain-dead children, the responsibilities... it all poured out, along with the pulsating stream of semen that flooded the cavity between Ava’s legs. It was over. It was done, finished. There was only the chill left, the chill of those empty eyes on the back of his neck. The women from the office, standing in a semi-circle, smirking at his flabby ass. And behind them, his heavyset wife, the pitying look curling her lips. His penis withered. My god; if I only had my wooden yardstick... I’d show them!
Chapter Three
Ava slummed forward in a sweaty heap, overcome with the excursion of her love-making. He staggered to prevent himself from tumbling forward on top of her. “Oh god! I never...” he started but she had no time for him or his inane conversation.
“Winner takes all,” she repeated. “I’m paid up in full. Now, please leave.”
The chill in her words grounded him. Then saddened him. He selfishly wanted to be liked. How stupid is that? But even so...
Ava felt the limp, snaky feel of the withdrawal and the revolting after-drool. She heard him take the hankie from his breast pocket and clean himself before tucking his penis away. There was the sound of the final zip.
Come on, hurry up! Ava screamed inside, but was startled by the touch of his fingers, high up between her legs. “Oh for christ’s-sake. We’re finished here,” she cried out, then bit down hard at the rasping pain. The guy really needed to cut his fingernails. “Get out!” she finally managed between sucking air and absorbing the burn.
His fingers receded. He mumbled something and she heard his footfall on the carpet; the rattle of the door knob. The sounds of conversation became more distinct as the door opened. Someone hooted and there was a whistle. Hardy fellow, well met. Welcome the conquering hero. He was received back into their midst; everyone eager for the details.
Ava, overcome with humiliation, rolled to one side and pulled her knees up. There was a sharp pinch between her legs, raw and hard. The bastard had left a calling card. She slipped a finger inside; felt the hard obstruction. Then got her thumb in as well.
She got a hold of the edge and extracted it. Her heart faltered. At first she thought it was white: A buck; the ultimate insult after what she had done for him. But she looked once again. No, it was gray! Definitely, very gray! Five-thousand dollars worth of gray! Ava stared in disbelief at the gooey plastic disc laying in the palm of her hand. He had pushed a five-thousand dollar poker chip up into her vagina. She wiped the semen and ooze on the bedspread and with a grim smile she dropped the chip into her bag. Pushing herself up, she made her way into the bathroom and, reaching into the stall, she turned on the hot water. Let it run until the room was filled with steam.
When Ava stepped from the bedroom twenty minutes later, she was wearing one of the hotel’s complimentary dressing gowns and her hair was trussed up in a towel. Kathrine turned to her immediately and, placing arms around Ava’s shoulders, drew her in. “My god. I don’t know what to say,” Kathrine said, and held her friend close.
“Oh shut up. You sound like my college basketball coach. I twisted my knee making an impossible shot!”
“And you made it; the shot I mean.”
“Of course I made the shot! You think I’d twist my knee for nothing?”
The party had broken-up, the men gone, and Mitz shortly after them. Two workers from the party rental were breaking down the gaming table and casting side-ward glances at the woman embracing. By the smirk on their lips it was easy to guess what they were thinking. Kathrine turned on them and shooed them from the room; the men grunting under the weight of the solid oak table.
“Let me buy you a drink,” Kathrine offered.
“Sure,” Ava replied, slipping onto the sofa cushions and tucking her bare feet up under her thighs. Kathrine poured two generous shots of bourbon into whiskey glasses and added ice. Ava handed her drink and took a long sip.
“Here, this is for you.” Kathrine placed a stack of poker chips on the coffee table. “Nine hundred and fifty in total. Martin tipped all of us five hundred. It doesn’t seem like much, considering what you went through.”
“How about the house-take? You do okay on the game?”
It was so like Ava; being concerned for Kathrine and placing her own needs second. “After I pay for the hotel suite, the bar bill and the food, there should be a couple of grand leftover,” Kathrine replied, “but I want you to have it.”
“Oh you’re quite the entrepreneur; run around all week trying to set up the game and then give away the profits. You’ll go far!”
“But you deserve it, Ava. I feel terrible about the way things turned out. It was my fault. I’ll never be able to make it up to you but at least I’ll feel a little better if you take the money.”
“Forget it. I’ve already been taken care of.” Ava held up the gray poker chip.
Kathrine’s eyes brightened. “That’s a five-thousand dollar chip!”
“Yeah. Our Manhattan stockbroker had a terrible attack of the guilts after he was finished with me. Guess he’s supposed to be happily married or something; above the temptation of boinking card-dealers half his age in seedy hotel bedrooms. Anyway, I’ve been compensated so keep your money. Buy something nice for yourself. Was Martin okay with the game?”
“Yeah. He came out ahead and he loved you, of course. He thinks we set the whole thing up ahead of time. The poor guy. His tongue was draggin’ when he saw that Manhattan stockbroker walk you into the bedroom. Martin really regretted losing that last hand. He wanted to be the one to enjoy the extra goodies.”
“Well I’m glad it worked out. Martin’s a bit creepy. It seemed kinda sick doing that old dork but better him than Martin.”
“Look Ava, before Martin left tonight, he mentioned he might like me to set up another game.”
“Was he serious?”
“Couldn’t tell. He just said it in passing. He was pushing a purple poker chip into the front of my dress at the time.”
Lucky you, Ava thought, the burn between her legs still fresh. “So you’re saying that now he has had a taste of extracurricular poker, he’ll want more?”
“What I’m saying is that he wants another shot at winning your ass, Ava. He wants you alone in that back bedroom.”
“Geez. Why do I suddenly feel like a slab of meat, over here.”
Kathrine looked grim. “You’re my dealer, Ava. The only one I want to work with. So I guess I need to know how you feel about all this?”
Ava slumped, her back pushed against the cushions. “This is all coming at me a little fast,” she finally said. “I’m supposed to be like that Manhattan stockbroker: Happily married. I need to spend some time with this, and Martin isn’t definite. Right?”
Kathrine shook her head. “No.”
“Okay then. Let’s not waste a bunch of energy on something that might not happen.”
Ava swallowed the last of her drink. “I gotta get on home. I’m drained.”
Kathrine reached for Ava’s poker chips. “I’ll cash you out.”
After she had walked Ava to the door, Kathrine returned to the bedroom to change out of her cocktail dress. She kicked off her shoes and slumped onto the bed to pull up her jeans. The lusty fragrance of Ava’s sex still filled the air. Kathrine breathed deeply and winced.
His travel clock chimed unobtrusively and his eyelids fluttered. Martin tried to focus. There was a shaft of pain that seemed to bisect his forehead, somewhere behind his eyes. The pain of self-inflicted over indulgence that, at his youthful thirty-four years, would soon dissipate. He tossed over on a shoulder and reached for the bedside clock. Two-thirty it informed him; in the afternoon.
He pulled himself from between the bed covers and walked naked into the bathroom. While the water in the shower heated, he pissed, then studied his features in the mirror. “Are you feeling lucky?” he taunted his image in the steamy glass. And then, striking the pose and in his best impersonation of Roy Scheider, he smirked. “It’s showtime!” He stepped back and smiled. It was the cocky smile that had endured him to millions upon millions of female fans across the United States.
He showered and carefully shaved, then splashed on the witch hazel. He combed his two hundred dollar hair cut. He did a line of coke; just enough to kick start his libido. Back in his bedroom he checked his e-mail. And there it was; a day late, but worth the wait. An e-mail from the Daniel’s Detective Agency. He copied the letter into a word document and, humming to himself, added his own comments. He hit print and the letter appeared in the tray of his laser printer. He plucked it up, folded it in quarters and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
In the Adobe Casino restaurant, he had a six ounce Delmonico steak, two fried eggs and a glass of white wine for breakfast. With his belly extended, he gave the gym a pass and walked out onto the gaming floor. The smells and sounds overtook his senses immediately; as they always did. He walked between the poker tables, thrilling to the dealers calling out the bids. And the sound of the chip runners, madly dashing from the tables to the booths where the tellers counted out poker chips. The smell of smoke, booze and the expensive women. There was the clatter of the spinning roulette wheels and the incessant clamor from the slots. His body was racked with sensations. He felt like a winner!
He caught the eye of the concierge and they exchanged smiles and drifted closer. Martin asked his question and the man in the dinner-jacket pointed toward the blackjack tables. Martin thanked him and slid a fifty-note into the man’s hand. It was excessive, but then again, so was Martin.
Blackjack. Martin thought of it as a mindless game of chance. Might as well flip a coin... heads, I win, tails, you lose. But even so, there was something stimulating about the exchange of money that quickened his heart rate. He looked about the floor and spotted Ava. She was dealing cards to three patrons who were standing at her table; they were slyly lifting the corners of their cards like they thought themselves in a fuckin’ James Bond flick.
Martin guffawed.
Ava responded with a noticeable start when their eyes locked. But she steadied herself as he stepped into place and stacked chips onto the felt. What the hell does he want?
He placed a bet and she flipped him a card. “Again,” he said when she had worked her way around the table. He checked the cards. Eighteen. “Hold,” he said. She beat him with two jacks, smiled and gathered his chips onto her side of the line.
“Gentlemen?” she called out, gathering in the cards.
“Is there anywhere around here, private? No security cameras?” Martin whispered.
Ava faltered, remembering his offer to stick poker chips on Kathrine’s nipples. “The ladies,” Ava smirked, thinking it off limits to him. But he just smiled.
“What time is your break?” he asked, pulling a folded letter from his shirt pocket and passing it across.
“Excuse me one moment,” Ava apologized to the other players and studied the letterhead:
The Daniel’s Detective Agency
Subject: Mrs. Ava Kimberly
Occupation: card dealer, Adobe Casino
Husband: Joseph Kimberly
Occupation: owner and proprietor, Kimberly Landscape Architecture
Address: 115 Mount Hespler Avenue
Telephone #: 702-731-7110
Across the bottom of the page, there was a note from Martin: “Does your husband know that your nipples roam around inside your dress as you deal the cards? That you share your tits and pussy with strange men in return for gratuities?”
“What do you want?” Ava asked politely, masking her fear.
“Couple of things,” Martin replied. “What time is your break? And I want you to bend your rules.”
“My rules?”
“Yeah, the other night? You said no oral and no anal,” Martin chuckled.
“I get a break at five,” Ava said, checking her watch. “In half an hour.”
“In half an hour,” Martin confirmed, “...the lady’s john.”
At five o’clock, Ava gathered up her bag and walked single-mindedly, to the rear of the Casino. She didn’t look around for Martin, just instinctively knew he was watching; like a hunter watches his prey through the rifle scope. She went into the tiny employee’s restroom and checked to be sure she was alone. Satisfied, she placed her handbag on the counter and returned to the door. She opened it halfway and Martin slipped through. Ava didn’t say a word. There was nothing she could say. She just pointed to the upholstered bench in front of the makeup mirror. Martin got comfortable as she locked and double checked the door. Then Ava slipped to her knees and reached for the front of his slacks.
Martin sighed. He loved to win. He hadn’t had sex in a week, not even with himself. He was cocked, loaded and ready, and when he came, he filled the poor girl. He was delighted when he heard her gag, swallowing repeatedly, trying to contain the flow. Are you feeling lucky? he thought. Oh yes!
Martin, being rather compulsive, called Kathrine on Friday morning. He was a-go for another game in a couple of weeks, he said. But then he outlined the stipulations...
“Mitz is from LA,” Kathrine said, “she will be thrilled, but I can’t guarantee Ava.”
“I don’t care about Ava anymore,” Martin sneered. Kathrine got a bad feeling in her chest; a raw tension that pained her lungs.
Kathrine re-dialed.
“Ava. Martin called me. I need to take you to lunch!”
Christ, Ava thought.
They met at La Circe. Kathrine had made a prior arrangement with the maitre d’ for a table in a private alcove along the rear wall. Kathrine arrived early and ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir. When Ava sat down Kathrine allowed her a moment to get settled and just two sips of wine before she started the interrogation: “What’s happened between you and Martin; after Tuesday’s game, I mean?” The question was blunt and to the point. Ava’s eyes registered shock which quickly dissolved to shame. Kathrine knew she was cutting deep, took a breath and eased off a little.
“Did Martin say anything?” Ava asked.
“No. But he didn’t have to. His attitude toward you just did a one-eighty, that’s all. Tuesday, it was all he could do to keep his dick in his pants. Now he’s acting like you’re yesterday’s cold fish. So don’t snow me. I’m from up north. We make the stuff up there.”
Ava gave her a grim, tight smile. “He threatened to tell my husband about Tuesday. He had me followed by some private detective. They did some digging: They know where I live, about my husband, all about the landscaping business. Everything.”
“And Martin said he would tell your husband...”
“Threatened to; yeah. Came up to me at work and wanted a favor. But it’s no big deal, Kathrine. I’m not sixteen years old, for christ’s-sake. I’ve been around. Know how things work. I never believed the dream. You know, the one about being honest and working hard and you get everything you want. I never believed in the fairy tale; that I could be an astronaut.”
“This favor. Did he ask you for money?”
Ave turned away, humped her lips. “Oh come off it, Kathrine. Martin doesn’t need my flippin’ money. To him, I’m chump change.”
Kathrine felt her insides drain. “C’mon. Give it to me straight up.”
Ava slumped. “It was oral. That’s what he wanted... I did him in the woman’s john. At work.”
“Oh christ!”
The waiter suddenly appeared at Kathrine’s elbow and pulled out his pad with a flourish.
Kathrine’s appetite had withered but she ordered the steamed mussels in wine sauce and Ava, the pesto salad with pine nuts. The man dropped a basket of assorted breads and a plate of butter between them before hurrying off. Kathrine studied the crusty morsels for a moment but fought down the temptation. She pushed them aside. “Martin wants me to arrange another game in a couple of weeks. But not here.”
“You mean a different hotel?”
“Uh-uh. He asked me to move the game to Malibu Beach; that’s where he lives for most of the year. He wants a couple of games each month, on a permanent basis.”