Poker Night

You said you enjoyed humiliation, forgetting – just for a moment – that you were pouring your heart out to a gleeful sadist. You saw the ideas flicker across his face, quirking the corner of his lips, dilating his pupils.

And then you thought no more about it.

Now, kneeling on your haunches in the corner of the living room, you almost regret telling him your kinky little secret. Almost. Because despite the embarrassment of being paraded naked but for collar and lead before his poker buddies, the vulnerability of being exposed to their greedy eyes; you can’t help being desperately, helplessly turned on.

“Let’s take a break” he says, and for the first time since they sat down, he looks over at you. “Time for the cabaret”. Your heart sinks, leaps, flutters. Is it fear or excitement? “Over here” he commands. “Crawl to me.” His friends; Gerry, Tom, Stefan, watch in fascination as you shuffle on hands and knees, heavy breasts swinging against the chain dangling from your collar. You arrive at his feet, turn your face upwards to his. He grabs a handful of your hair, pulls your head down into his lap, rubbing himself against you, the rough denim of his jeans smearing your lipstick over your cheeks and chin. When he releases you and you come up gasping for air, he reaches out and smudges your eye makeup with the heel of his hand. Laughs. “You look a right state. Doesn’t she?” His friends nod, chuckle in agreement but you can see the hunger in their eyes, the swellings in their trousers as they contemplate your body, your slut-paint, the half-eager, half-embarrassed tension in your limbs.

He fastens your lead to the table leg. “Hold your hands out, palms up, flat.” Upon them he places his tumbler of whisky. “Don’t move” Turns back to address the lads. “Cigarette break?”

You can hear their low voices and laughter from outside the back door. Your pulse is beating hard and deep in your cunt, the scent of your arousal mingles with the whisky fumes and the cigarette smoke drifting in through the kitchen. Part of you wants them to come back inside and abandon their card game, pin you down, grip you tight and fuck you in every hole. At the same time you want desperately to rush upstairs, fix your hair and your face, cover yourself.

You wait. Patiently and in silence as they traipse back to the card table. Lower your arching arms with relief when he takes the glass from you and drains it. Watch the rest of their game from your place at his knee. When he reaches down to stroke your hair, you smile up at him with genuine joy.

When the card game is over and the front door closes behind them, he opens the curtains and wraps your chain around his fist, fucks your drooling mouth until you gag and choke on his hot spunk.

“Well done baby” he says, his voice full of love and pride, as he wraps you in his arms and carries you upstairs.

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