0 comments/ 380691 views/ 25 favorites Queen of Hearts By: BlueBard We had been driving for a couple of hours in a stifling hot car. The air conditioning had gone out about an hour and a half before we reached Port Falls. The road had been dusty, but the heat was worse, so we drove with the windows open. This was not how Caryn and I had envisioned our weekend escape from the city. However, we felt that once we reached our destination, the Port Falls Resort with it’s natural hot springs seemed like the ideal location, everything would get much better. “Hey, why don’t you go get a drink?” I suggested to Caryn as I pulled into the hotel parking lot. Across the street was Mac’s Bar and Grill, which based from the loud music spilling out into the street and filled parking lot, appeared to be a pretty popular place. “Are you sure?” Caryn asked. She handled the heat much worse than me and I knew she would be grateful to get out of the blistering heat and into some place cool. “Sure,” I said. “Order me a margarita and I’ll be over as soon as I get our stuff in our room.” Of course, when I tried to check in, our reservation had been misplaced and with a sales convention going on the only room they had available was the Panorama Suite, which I grudgingly accepted in place of a standard room. Wow, what a room! The western wall of the suite was almost entirely of glass, which looked out over a majestic view of the Cascade Mountains and the burning embers of the setting sun. To make up for their “mistake,” the hotel manager offered to pick up our in-room bar tab at the end of our stay. Taking the manager up on his offer, I fixed myself a cocktail and sat back on the bed to watch the last ray of the light dip past the mountain peaks before heading over to the bar to meet Caryn. When I got to the bar, it was so packed that I had a hard time finding Caryn. The place was wild, like spring break in Cancun. Luckily Caryn found me and waved me over to a table, which she had been sharing with three other guys. “Neal, Leon, and Ryan, this is my husband, Tim.” Caryn said as we shook hands all around. After a few minutes of small talk, we discovered that Neal and Leon had graduated from the same college as Caryn and I and that we all had season football tickets. Soon, as our table became littered with empty glasses, we became like old friends. “I hope you don’t mind us sharing a table.” Neal apologized after Caryn had excused herself to the ladies room. “We had been waiting for so long and nothing was opening up, we were just about ready to leave, when your wife offered to share her table with us.” “No, that’s not a problem at all.” I assured him. “There was a foul up at the front desk, so it took me longer than I expected to get over here.” “No kidding,” said Ryan with a tinge of disgust. “We’re here for a big sales training weekend and they have no where near the number of rooms available for what they need. We’re already doubled up with two other guys’ from the office and a quarter of our sales staff hasn’t even gotten into town yet. “Yeah,” picked up Neal. “I heard they double booked two groups in here this weekend.” As Mike talked, I couldn’t help but notice Leon looking admiringly at Caryn who had paused on her way back from the restroom and was standing at the outer edge of the dance floor watching the couples swaying sensuously to the music. Caryn was wearing a short spaghetti strap dress that showed off her long tan legs. Standing where she was, with the lights from the stage behind her, a perfect backlight effect was created. The fabric of her dress might as well have been transparent as the curves of her body were perfectly visible inside the dress. “Come on, dance with me,” Caryn said after returning to our table. “Not me,” I groaned. “Well, does anyone want to dance with me,” Caryn questioned in mock pout. “I will,” blurted Leon too eagerly for my taste. Caryn looked at me questioningly. “Sure, go ahead,” I said. “Have fun.” I watched in admiration as Leon, worked the dance floor with Caryn. Leon was a very confident dancer seeming naturally to meld with the music. I, on the other hand, always felt so mechanical any time I tried to dance. “Whew,” sighed Ryan. “I guess it’s true what they say about black guys and dancing.” “Yeah,” I agreed. Let’s just hope that Caryn doesn’t find out if anything else is true.” “I don’t know about that,” laughed Neal. “Leon always seems to get what he wants when it comes to the women.” When Caryn and Leon returned to the table, I suggested that instead of over paying for drinks at the bar, we could just return to our room and drink for free. “I’m always in favor of free drinks,” agreed Ryan. Once back in the room, I began mixing drinks while Caryn went into the bedroom to find some discs that she had packed away. I noticed immediately that Leon had followed Caryn into the bedroom to help with the selection of the music. Their laughter echoed down the hallway. Neal, who had found a pack of cards in a desk drawer flopped onto the floor and started shuffling through the cards. “How about playing some cards?” Neal suggested. “Fine by me,” I said. “What do you want to play?” “How about a friendly game of poker?” Suggested Neal. From the way he handled the cards, it was obvious that Neal was no stranger to poker – friendly or otherwise. “I don’t know how to play poker,” said Caryn as she entered the living room with Leon trailing behind. “Great. Then let’s play strip poker,” laughed Leon. “I should have known that was coming,” Caryn said with a roll of her eyes. She took a sip of the drink that I offered and winced immediately. “Wow honey,” she said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk.” “Who me?” I said innocently. “Now why would I want to do that?” “Well, if he isn’t, I sure would,” laughed Leon. His deep laughter rumbled like a barrel rolling down stairs. I thought I caught Neal and Ryan exchange glances, but dismissed it as being overly paranoid. “How about playing Hearts,” Caryn offered. “Everyone knows how to play Hearts.” I could tell that the guys were disappointed, but they agreed to play anyway. After a few rounds of both drinks and cards, Ryan suggested that we make the game more interesting. “What do you have in mind?” I asked. “Well,” explained Neal, “I’ve played the game in mixed groups and whoever gets stuck with the queen of spades at the end of the hand must do a favor for the person responsible for dumping the queen on them.” I looked at Caryn, “Are you alright with that?” “Sure,” she smiled. “It sounds like fun.” Caryn was right. It was much more fun as we laughed our way through a couple more rounds in which, as penalties, Leon had to mix drinks for everyone – blindfolded, and Ryan had to give Neal a foot massage with his face. However, in the third hand, Leon dropped the queen on Caryn with the last play. “Now,” Leon said. “I want to see more of those moves you were showing on the dance floor. Why don’t you dance for us?” Caryn hesitated for a second and looked at me. “Don’t look at me,” I laughed. “I didn’t get stuck with the queen.” “Ok,” Caryn said her cheeks reddening a little bit. “You asked for it.” We cleared the living room by moving the coffee table against a wall and created a makeshift dance floor while Caryn changed the music to something she could dance to. “Here goes nothing,” she laughed nervously and began moving in rhythm to the music. When she would swing around in a circle, her short skirt flared out giving us a momentary view of her white thong. We cheered loudly as she moved her hands seductively along her firm body; the loudest cheer coming when she paused momentarily to feel the round swell of her breasts. When the song ended, we groaned in disappointment. “C’mon, don’t stop now!” Complained Neal. “Sorry,” smiled Caryn. “That was the deal – one song.” We started a new round with one simple mission in mind - dump the queen of hearts on Caryn. This task was easier said than done as Caryn deftly avoided the queen for the next two rounds; until finally, I was able to stick her with it. “Ok, Sweetheart,” I smiled mischievously. “I’d like you to perform a strip tease for us.” Caryn looked me square in the eye, one eyebrow arched challengingly. “Really.” “C’mon,” I taunted. “No guts, no glory.” Caryn pursed her lips together. A look that I well knew meant that she was more than up to the challenge. “Hmmm,” she murmured. “We’ll see about that.” The other three guys quickly angled the one lone couch and two chairs into a U shape, while Caryn looked through our collection of cd’s. Neal and Ryan took the couch in the middle while Leon and I flopped down in a chair on either side of the couch. After choosing Van Halen’s, “Hot for Teacher,” Caryn walked into the middle of the room and it began. Closing her eyes, she started by running her hands seductively down the length of her body as she had done before. Reaching the bottom of her skirt, she pulled it up for the briefest second revealing the white triangle of thong front. We hooted and called for more, but that was just a tease as she let the skirt drop back down. Then turning her back to us, Caryn bent over at the waist and looked back at me to gauge my reaction as she pulled the skirt up again this time allowing us a quick view of her perfectly rounded ass. I smiled and applauded while she began rotating her hips in a slow sensuous rhythm as if she were squatting on a giant cock. Slipping onto all floors on the plush carpeting, Caryn worked her way back to the couch were Ryan and Neal sat transfixed. “Do you boy’s like my ass?” She asked while looking over her shoulder and smiling seductively. “Uh huh.” They both managed to stammer. Caryn now began rocking back and forth as if she were taking it from behind. Standing up, but still keeping her back to Ryan and Neal, she slowly slid the skirt off her hips and down her legs. Caryn explored the contours of her legs with her fingertips as she bent over to slip the skirt of her feet. “Would you like to fuck this ass?” She asked. While still bent over. To accentuate her comment, Caryn gave her ass a nice solid slap with her right hand. “Fuck yeah,” Ryan breathed. All Neal could do was nod in agreement. “Hmmmm,” groaned Caryn with a smile. “My ass feels so good right now.” I was amazed at the transformation that was taking place in my wife. The good girl I had married was becoming an exquisite little slut right before my very eyes. My dick was completely stiff inside my pants and as I looked around the room, it was easy to see that I was not alone. Ryan, in fact, had slipped his hand inside his waistband and was slowing rubbing himself in time with Caryn’s rocking motion. In a slow circle, Caryn pulled off her tank, leaving herself clad in only the matching white thong and bra set that I had bought her for our anniversary a few months back. She drank in the stares of the four of us with a slight smile creasing the corner of her mouth. Just by standing there, she controlled of each of us by the balls. Caryn moved over to Neal as she reached behind and unhooked her bra, and held it in place with her left arm crossed in front. Slipping each strap down her arm, yet still holding the bra in place, Caryn straddled Neal’s legs. “Would you like to see my tits?” Caryn asked innocently enough as if there was a possibility that no, someone might not want to see them. “Oh, baby. Do I!” Said Neal. Caryn slipped her hands underneath the bra cups, still keeping her breasts mostly covered, and allowed the bra to fall to the floor. While grinding herself on Neal’s thighs, Caryn massaged her boobs slowly and pinched her own nipples. I noticed Ryan unbuttoning his pants to give his hand more room to work. Climbing off of Neal’s lap, Caryn took a step toward Leon just as the song came to an end. The end of the music had the effect of breaking the enchanted spell we were all under. Caryn backed away, and picked up the clothes she had just discarded. Her face was flushed with a mixture of excitement and disbelief over what had just taken place. “Hey, now.” Leon grumbled and stood up. “What does a black man have to do to get some love around here?” Caryn backed up until she was against the wall, with Leon, Ryan, and Neal quickly encircling her. “You’ve come this far,” Leon said, “why don’t you show us what you’ve got hidden in there?” Leon reached for the skirt and tank top, which were clutched to Caryn’s chest. Caryn slapped his hand away, but was still smiling. All five of us just stood there briefly unsure of what we were doing or what we should be doing. Caryn looked to me for either help or permission. I gave her both. I broke in between the hulking black form of Leon and Caryn, and took her face in my hands. I kissed her roughly. My mouth forced open her lips and my tongue feverishly sought out hers. I felt all abandon drop away from her as she let her clothes shamelessly fall to the floor. She then embraced me feverishly. We were committed to what was going to happen and I could tell, as she pressed her body into mine, she was thanking me. The other men’s hands had already started groping Caryn’s tits and ass as I pulled away from her and stepped out of the circle of arms and legs. Caryn’s eyes remain closed and a slight smile fell across her lips as she gave herself up to these men to explore and use. Neal got down between Caryn’s legs. Forcing them apart, he began kissing her thighs; working his way toward her neatly trimmed pussy. Ryan was already fondling Caryn’s stiff nipples. Leon replaced me and tilted Caryn’s head back and began caressing her neck with thick kisses. Ryan was now in full command of Caryn’s breasts as he worked them over. Each hand cupping one round mound while his mouth alternated between nipples. I watched Caryn squirm as Ryan sucked a darkened nipple into his mouth holding it in place between his teeth. I knew jolts of pleasurable pain were shooting down to Caryn’s hot, tight pussy where Neal’s face was currently buried. Neal’s licked hungrily at her swollen slit. Caryn’s legs seemed on the verge of buckling as Neal plundered her with the deep probing of his tongue. With long strokes, his face all but disappeared between her thighs. I knew he was teasing her tender asshole with the tip of his tongue before he worked his back to her pussy. Neal’s face was glistening with Caryn’s wetness as he took the nub of her clit between his lips and tongue.. “Ohh,” Caryn moaned softly. Caryn’s eyes were still closed and her mouth opened slightly, her breathing came in shallow breaths. Caryn was the portrait of concentrated pleasure as each man’s touch intensified her excitement. Ryan pulled Caryn to the couch and bent her over the armrest so that her round ass was exposed. From where I stood, I could see how aroused she was. Both Leon and Ryan began fingering her, pulling her lips apart and exploring her pink opening, while Neal positioned himself near her head and unzipped his pants. Neal’s completely hard cock, once set free, bobbed impatiently. Caryn took Neal’s dick in her hand and ran her tongue across the tip, tasting his pre-cum. Turning her head just enough so that she could see me, Caryn took Neal deep into her mouth and began sucking on him intently Ryan, now completely undressed, took his cock in his hand and pressed its bulb shaped head into her soft folds. Leon, straddled her back and pulled her ass cheeks apart so that he could watch Ryan’s shaft sink deep into her cunt. Caryn gasped loudly. For the first time, another man’s cock besides my own had plunged deep inside of her. Leon, his fingers still wet from her pussy, slowly slid one long black finger into her tight anus. Having all three holes filled was almost more than Caryn could bear as she began bucking wildly at both ends. “Oh, God baby,” Neal moaned. “I’m close. You’d better let me pull out.” Normally, Caryn doesn’t like to swallow, but tonight was anything but normal. Instead of allowing Neal to withdraw from her mouth, She began pounding his throbbing cock deep into her throat with her fist. “Fuck my face,” she commanded. In reply, Neal grabbed the back of her head and pounded away for a few quick strokes before his body stiffened. It seemed as if every muscle in Neal’s body contracted at the same time before he erupted in Caryn’s mouth. Caryn continued jerking his spent cock until nothing was left. The sight of Caryn eagerly slurping up Neal’s creamy load proved too much for Ryan. His rhythm intensified to a fevered pitch. “That’s it man,” instructed Leon. “Cum all over this bitch’s white ass.” Leon spread Caryn’s ass cheeks apart leaving Ryan a clear shot at her dark, puckered hole. “Ughh,” cried out Ryan as he pulled out of Caryn and began pumping his cock all over crack. Leon immediately worked, Ryan’s cum into Caryn’s anus with deep penetrating strokes of his fingers. “Now it’s my turn,” said Leon who I realized now had yet to take off his pants. Lifting Caryn from the couch, Leon took her by the hand and led her back toward the bedroom. Caryn looked over her shoulder at me as she disappeared through the door. Ryan and Neal sat in a dazed stupor of post sex revelry. I got up and fixed myself another drink. I knew that Leon had designs on Caryn from the beginning. I was experiencing an odd mix of jealously and arousal as I listened to the sounds of bedsprings and carnal lust coming from down the hall. After finishing my drink, I couldn’t stand it any longer and went back to the bedroom. When I pushed open the partially closed door, Leon was laid out on the bed with Caryn on top. Neither of them heard me enter the room, so I just stood and watched for a moment. Leon’s dark chocolate cock was easily the most massive I’d ever seen. From my vantage point, it looked as if Caryn were straddling the black barrel of a baseball bat. “Oh fuck, your cock feels sooo good.” Caryn moaned softly. “You like that big dick, don’t you baby?” Laughed Leon. “Yesss,” Caryn shuddered. “Oh God, yessss!” My own penis was fully engorged at the sight of Leon’s thick black shaft splitting my wife. Silently, I slid my pants to the floor and stepped out of my underwear. I approached the bed and reached around from behind Caryn and began fondling her tits. “Oh God.” She leaned back against me. “His cock has filled my entire pussy.” I gently pushed Caryn back toward Leon and positioned my cock against her anus. Leon slowed his hips in anticipation of what was going to happen next. Once Caryn felt the pressure of the tip of my head against her ass she began to push against it. With her ass still slick from Ryan’s cum, Caryn worked my cock inside of her. “Oh Fuck!” She moaned loudly. “I can’t believe how good this feels!” The heat of Caryn’s ass was incredible as her anal cavity easily opened up to accept the entire length of my cock. Once I was fully inserted, Leon resumed his deep penetrating attacks on Caryn’s cunt. I could feel his monstrous manhood with each punishing stroke. By grabbing her hips for leverage, I began an assault of my own on her asshole. Caryn, pinned between the two of us, could only surrender herself over to our needs while Leon and I began fucking her unmercifully, each of us racing to our own climax. Caryn’s orgasm started first with a slow rumbling, like a distant wave, intensifying and increasing as it got closer. “That’s it!” Caryn cried out. Her head tossed from side to side. “Fuck me! Fuck meee!” I continued hammering away at her ass as both Leon’s and my balls beat a rhythm against her pussy. “Oh fuck yesss,” Caryn shuddered, her anal muscles clinching around my shaft, as one wave after another of a massive orgasm rolled through her. Leon and I soon followed as we emptied our load into my wife, one right after the other. At one point, the bed trembled so that I was certain it would collapse. Queen of Hearts Completely exhausted, we rolled to our sides. Caryn remained sandwiched between us. My cock soon shrank from Caryn’s ass, but Leon’s penis, amazingly, maintained quite a bit of rigidity. After a few minutes, I could feel Leon beginning to grind against Caryn. His cock slowly sliding in and out. “What’s this?” Caryn asked. I could tell she was surprised by his staying power. “C’mon baby,” Leon said. “Let me fuck you one, more time. I want this to be a night you’ll never forget.” “Oh, it’s already been that,” laughed Caryn. “But I’m pretty sore there. How about this.” Caryn crawled between Leon’s knees and began sucking on his cock. “Oh, I can’t believe how thick your cock is! I can barely get my mouth around it!.” With two hands she began stroking Leon’s dick in and out of her mouth. There was something about seeing that black cock in my wife’s white hands that started to stir the blood in my own withered penis. Within a couple of minutes, Leon’s cock had returned to its fully erect state of no less than ten inches. “Can you put all of that in my ass?,” Caryn questioned. Turning around, she took Leon’s meat in her hand, guided it into her ass. “Oh…” she inhaled, “I don’t know if I can take it all,” Slowly she lowered herself down, inch by inch, until Leon’s entire shaft disappeared in my wife’s ass. “Fuck,” she moaned. “My ass is completely stuffed by your dick.” I heard the door open and realized that Ryan and Neal must have been watching for some time as they entered with complete hard-ons. Leon, having risen to a seated position, was groping Caryn’s tits while she grinded her ass on his pole. I stood up and fed my cock into her mouth as Ryan and Neal filled in on each side. Caryn started to suck my cock off while taking Ryan and Neal in each hand. Once I was completely aroused, I took Caryn’s head in my hands and began fucking her face in earnest. The image of my wife taking on four separate guys was enough was enough to bring me to another quick orgasm. I pulled out of her mouth, just before firing a hot load all over sweetly bouncing tits. Seeing my hot cum decorating her chest caused a chain reaction. First Ryan and then Neal contributed their own cum to Caryn’s stained tits. The three of us then stood back and watched as Leon rolled Caryn into a doggy position, grabbed her hips, and punished her ass with his cock. After five or six deep strokes, he let out a might roar, and emptied himself completely inside of her. Unable to even hold herself upright any more, Caryn collapsed on the bed and pulled the covers over her naked body, now strangely modest. Leon, Ryan, and Neal left soon after. It was almost five in the morning. Rather than go to bed, I sat and watched the sun come up and wondered about what would come next. Queen of Hearts "Card," I said to the dealer after tossing in my hundred-dollar ante. I took up the fresh card, adding the eight of hearts to the ten and Jack in the same suit in my hand. With the deuce, I had a straight flush. I silently thanked my good fortune, hoping I wasn't giving any tells to the other three players around the table. I glanced to the others surreptitiously. There was Cobb, whom I knew pretty well, a big, bearded guy in his mid-fifties who was as often a drinking buddy as an opponent. He was chewing his cigar thoughtfully, tilting it up slightly with his jaw. That told me he had a so-so hand. I figured I had him. Chicago Joe – he had only visited the Windy City, despite the implication of his name (I suppose it sounded better than 'East Rutherford, New Jersey Joe') – held a stoic expression behind his reflective sunglasses, although his left ear twitched: bad hand. I had him, too. The third person at the table was only known as Mueller. I had only played with him once before, and didn't like him too much. He wore way too much cologne and was always fidgeting. I figure he had Tourette's Syndrome or something. Or maybe he only faked it to hide any tells. I couldn't read him all too well. Lastly was Robin Leakey. I had played with her a few times, enjoyed a few drinks with her. While she was married – as evidenced by the sizable rock on her finger – she always hit the casino alone. She was an attractive woman, exotic, even, with her milky, alabaster skin and short, dark red hair. Her body was slender, with narrow shoulders and small breasts which were never encumbered by a bra. That much was obvious by the fact that her nipples were always erect, pushing through whichever top she wore. On that night, Robin wore a slinky green V-neck that plunged almost all the way to her navel. While she did not have too much in the way of cleavage to show, the looseness of her blouse offered near-glimpses of what I was sure were very pink and impressive nipples. I had no doubt that Robin's exhibitionist wardrobe was intentional; anything that distracted the men gave her an edge. She was a good player, though. She had taken the first round, after all. "Bet," Cobb said gruffly, tossing in another hundred. Chicago Joe paused a moment, then matched the bet. As did Mueller. Robin didn't hesitate, glancing to me briefly. The few times I had shared a drink with her in the lobby, she had been flirtatious, but only to a point. Had she not been married – hell, if she had given me any indication that the ring on her finger was only ornamental – I'd have let her know my sheets needed warming. But I was a gentleman, for the most part. I took up a hundred, then another. "Raise," I said, meeting Robin's eyes. She smiled slyly. Cobb bristled slightly. "Fine," he said, tossing in his chips. It went back to Joe, who sighed, slapping down his cards. "Fold." I smirked. One down . . . . "I'm in," said Mueller, dropping a green chip. Robin followed suit. "Cards?" the dealer asked. Cobb elected for another, as did I. Robin and Mueller kept their hands. My shit four of clubs had been replaced by a queen of hearts. I felt a moment's excitement as I arranged it, then took a sip of Scotch. Cobb grumbled and dropped his cards on the table, leaning back. "Fold," he growled. He glared at me for a moment, then chuckled. Mueller, stoic as he had been throughout the first two hands, picked up two green and tossed them casually on the table without a word. Robin started to reach, hesitating briefly, then added her two chips as well. I tried not to smile. No way her hand's as good as mine, I knew. I banked the bet. "Call," I said, and laid out my cards, the deuce acting as the nine of hearts. Immediately, Robin cursed, revealing her two pair. I looked to Mueller. He had given me a good run in the previous game – which I had won – so I wasn't sure if I was about to lose six hundred bucks or not. Mueller breathed in slowly, then laid out his low straight. Six, seven, eight, ten and jack of Diamonds. A good hand. But not good enough. He gave me a nod, stood from the table. "Good game, Mr. Sharpe," he said, then took up his beer. I nodded back, then leaned forward and raked in the two thousand dollars' worth of chips. Not a bad return for a six-buck investment and five minutes of my time. Cobb congratulated me, then added, with a wink, that he would be in the usual lounge. I chuckled. Sure, I'll buy you a drink, I thought. "See you guys around," Joe said with a self-deprecating look. "I'm going back to the kiddie tables." "Oh, that's what I thought this was," I chided him as he stood. Joe rolled his eyes. "Ha. Ha," he snapped dryly, then gave Robin a nod before departing the table. My eyes drifted to the milk-skinned redhead as I stacked my chips. Thanks to winning the second round as well, I had a good five grand in front of me. Ten times the amount I had brought to the table. "You done for the night, as well?" I asked. Robin's eyes smoldered slightly, her narrow yet lush lips curled at the corners. She had to be the most gracious loser I had ever met, which was most likely due to the fact that it did not happen often. "You know, I have a hard time reading you," she admitted. "The only tell I've picked up is that your left eyebrow twitches when you're borderline." I smiled, sipped my Scotch. "I'll have to watch that." Robin leaned with her arms folded on the table, her back straight. She may not have had much on top, but she sure knew how to use what she had. Robin was a confidently sexy woman, very sure of herself. I imagined her husband as a man easily controlled by her. I let myself graze over the exposed portions of her body with my eyes, noting the faint spattering of freckles on her porcelain skin. Her arms from the shoulders to her hands were practically brown with the sexy patina, making for a contrast that I found erotic. "How about one more game, Nick?" she suggested. "Just you and me. Five-buck ante, no limit." I arched an interested eyebrow. "Why the steep stakes?" I asked. Her eyes twinkled. "Nervous?" I shook my head with a small laugh. "Just curious." Robin shrugged. "I'm feeling lucky," she said. But I noticed her temples moving as she worked her jaw. There was a note of desperation about Robin's actions I had never seen before. I decided not to think about it; a good poker player did not let personal feelings influence his decisions. It was not my obligation to deduce Robin's financial situation and her attendant motives for gambling. I picked up a stack of green chips and let them clack-clack-clack back onto the table. "Sure." Robin grinned and eased back, giving a nod to the dealer. Blue-backed cards slid across the table toward us. I took them up as Robin did the same. My cards were a random mix; three of clubs, seven of spades, nine of diamonds, ten of spades, and a sharp deuce. I took that last card as a positive sign. "Ante up," Robin said, tossing five hundred on the table. Her face was blank, expressionless. I followed her lead, slapped down the three and the seven. "Cards," I said to the dealer. He shot them to me, as well as two to Robin. I tossed in another five. "Bet." Robin's nostrils flared slightly, but she did not hesitate to match the bet. "Raise," she said, flashing her green eyes to me while dropping one large on the pot. I smiled slowly. A reckless feeling rolled through me. "Oh, you are feeling lucky, aren't you?" I said, matching the bet. "I see your thousand, and raise you another." I felt pretty confidant, despite the fact that all I had was a pair of tens. Robin watched me drop the chips, and swallowed nervously. Or perhaps it was just for show; I had seen Robin fake nervousness before, to encourage her opponents to overextend themselves. She glanced briefly to her cards, then matched the bet. The chips danced on the pile already made. She pulled her hand back, then took up another stack of green chips. She let them fall slowly, deliberately. "And I raise you another grand." I met her eyes, not sure what I saw there. Confidence? Desperation? This time, it was I who hesitated, and Robin smiled slowly. I considered what I held: a simple pair of tens. Not the best hand, but not the worst, either. If Robin was bluffing, if my instincts about her were correct, I stood a good chance of being thirty-five hundred ahead. And even if not, I would still leave the table with three times the amount of money I had sat down with. "Sure," I said at last. "What the hell." I tossed in another thousand. Robin watched the chips dance in the middle of the table. I got the immediate impression she had not expected to see that. Robin breathed in slowly, then lay down her cards. "Pair of nines," she said, not looking to me. I let mine drop with a grin. "Tens." Robin cursed under her breath and sagged back. "Son of a bitch," she muttered. She looked absolutely crestfallen, and for a moment, I took pity on her. But just for a moment. This was the nature of the beast, after all. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. I had endured nights in which I had left the casino with my pockets thousands of dollars lighter myself; I could feel for Robin, but fair was fair. The game was what it was. I gathered my chips, called for a steward to take the chips and cash them in. The young man headed away hurriedly; he was a kid I had seen a few times before, who knew I was a good tipper. He would have my cash quickly. Robin stared at her small mound of chips – just over a thousand, little more than that which she had begun the night – and ground her teeth. She took up her half-finished glass of Chardonnay and downed it. "Good game," I said. Robin licked her lips, then forced a smile. Finally, her eyes settled on mine. "Yes it was, Nick," she said, then scooped up her chips and left the table. I watched her go, admiring that tight, round little ass beneath the loose black skirt she wore. But more than the base and brief sexual thoughts I entertained about Robin, I wondered as to her conduct. Robin had never given me the impression that she took gambling any more seriously than I. Yet, in the space of a single game, I had gained the idea that there was something troubling her. Something for which she needed money to resolve. The steward returned with my eighty-five hundred in crisp, organized bills. I gave both he and the dealer fifty bucks, thanked them both. Then I headed to the lounge. *** Cobb was a funny guy; he had a joke for any and every topic. After finding him at the bar in the casino, we retired to a table and I treated him to a couple belts of Maker's Mark while indulging in my usual libation of Glenmorangie on the rocks. Within half an hour, he had my sides protesting with his latest round of mirth. "Three guys die, and are waiting to get into Heaven," Cobb said as we nursed our drinks. "Saint Peter tells the first guy, 'Heaven's pretty close to capacity. Tell me how you died, and we'll see if we can fit you in.' "So the guy says, 'I've lived a Christian life. Went to church every Sunday, even sometimes on Wednesdays. I never hurt anyone, and I was a good father.' "'Very commendable,' Saint Peter says. "'Okay, so I come home one day to my high-rise condo,' the guy says. 'Right away, I can tell something's wrong. I hear noises from the bedroom, sounding like two voices – a man and a woman – talking hurriedly. I had been suspecting my wife of having an affair for some time, but I didn't want to believe it.' "'A terrible thing, adultery,' Saint Peter says. "The guy continues: 'So I run into the bedroom. My wife is sitting at her vanity, looking innocent. But I know she's not. So I start looking around, and notice the balcony door is open. I run out, and there's this guy, hanging off the balcony by his fingertips, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. I go berserk, start stomping on his fingers. He lets go, and drops twenty stories to the ground. But, he hits the bushes, breaking his fall, and I can still see him moving around.' "'I'm not really thinking too clearly. I run back into the bedroom, and start pushing the armoire out the balcony. It's the heaviest thing in the world, but I am so blinded by rage that I don't care. I shove it against the railing, the railing breaks, and the armoire plunges twenty stories down and lands right on top of my wife's lover, killing him instantly. But the strain was so great that I had a heart attack, and died right there, on the balcony.' "Saint Peter puts his hand on the man's shoulder. 'That is truly a tragedy, my son,' he says. 'Heaven has a place for you.' So he opens the gates and lets the man in. "The next man steps up, and Peter asks him how he died. "'Well, good saint,' the man says. 'I have always honored God in all that I did. Even though I was a lawyer, I defended only people whom I felt were innocent.' "'Very commendable,' Saint Peter says. "'I lived in a high-rise condo, on the twenty-first floor,' the man says. 'I had just successfully defended a man wrongfully accused of murder, and cleared his good name. Wanting to relax, I took a shower, put on my robe, and stepped out onto the balcony to enjoy some fresh air. But the balcony railing broke, and I began falling. However, I caught myself on the balcony below mine, barely hanging on by my fingertips. I said a thankful prayer to God for saving my life, but then this man comes out and starts yelling at me.' "'He stomps on my fingers, making me loose my grip and fall again, this time all the way to the ground. But God, it seems, is with me once more, for I land in soft bushes and have little more than scratches and cuts. Then, out of nowhere, this enormous armoire falls down from above, crushing me to death.' "Saint Peter shakes his head with a 'tsk, tsk' sound. 'That is a tragic end to a good life,' he says. 'Heaven has a place for you.' So he opens the gates and lets the man in. "The third man steps up and faces Saint Peter. 'Heaven is nearly full, young man," Peter says. "Tell me how you died.' "The man wrings his hands. 'Okay,' he says. 'So, I'm hiding in this armoire . . . .'" Cobb trailed off, grinning. I sputtered with laughter, shaking my head ruefully. "Good one, Cobb," I said. He laughed as well, showing cigar-stained teeth. "Thought you might like that one, Nick." I raised my glass, still chuckling. "To good humor," I said. "Good humor," echoed Cobb. A small purse fell to the table, just before Robin pulled out a chair and took a seat. "I hope this isn't a private party, gentlemen," she said. "If it is, I'm crashing." The smile never left my lips as I looked Robin over. "And I'm buying," I said. She pursed her lips a moment, looking to me. "Damn right you are," she said. I laughed softly, looking around for one of the busty cocktail waitresses in their tight, sleeveless tuxedo shirts, and beckoned her over. I turned back to Robin. "Least I can do for taking your money." "Oh, hey, careful, Nick," Cobb warned me. "The game stays at the table." I glanced to him with mild admonishment. "You're right," I said. "I—" "How did you know I was bluffing?" Robin asked quickly. I looked back to her, noting the fierce glow in her peridot-colored eyes. "I guessed," I said. She looked surprised. "You guessed?" I nodded, indicated the cocktail waitress as she stood over Robin's shoulder. "I guessed," I repeated. "What do you want to drink?" "Cosmo. Grey Goose," Robin said with skipping a beat. "Did I have any tells?" I chuckled, peripherally aware as the waitress headed back to the bar. "Why are you so worried? Everyone has tells. Is that what this is about?" Robin sat back, sighing heavily. Her eyes roamed over me. "I want another game. Just you and me. No ante, no bets, just five grand on the line." I arched an eyebrow in interest, then chuckled. I glanced to Cobb, who gave me an interested look, then back to Robin. "A casino is the wrong place for desperation." Robin frowned, insulted. "I'm not—" she began, then stopped, casting her gaze down. She worked her jaw a moment, those sexy red lips parting softly. "I can take you." I sipped my Scotch. "Maybe," I said. "But I've had a good night. I think I'll stop while I'm ahead." Robin glared at me, her green eyes strong, bright, almost intimidating. "What's'a'matter? Don't you have the balls?" "Whoa, whoa," cautioned Cobb. I ignored his words and stared back at Robin. "Actually, I do. Two of them. Big and full and ready to burst. Why? You willing to do something about that?" Alcohol and my gambling high were making me feel reckless. Robin didn't hesitate as she shot back. "Maybe." "Huh?" muttered Cobb. I grinned at Robin. "You can't play me, baby," I said, and eased back. The cocktail waitress returned, set a crimson-tinted martini down before Robin. The redhead ground her teeth a moment, then took up the fragile glass and tilted it back. Half of the cosmo was gone when she set the glass back down. "What is it, Robin?" I asked her. "You've never been serious about gambling before. You played your hands, took your losses well. Why is this different?" Robin tapped her fingers along the stem of the martini glass, breathing in and out. "I need the money," she said. "I need it tonight." I frowned. "Why?" She sighed heavily. "I owe money," she said. "I've almost got it all, but I'm five grand short. I have to have it tomorrow, or . . . ." Cobb leaned forward. "Or?" he asked. Robin shot him a look. The fear and anxiety was suddenly obvious on her face. She didn't say a thing. "Who do you owe?" I asked. Robin's lips quivered as she took a breath. "Andre Navokov," she said in a heavy voice. Cobb and I exchanged a quick glance and groaned in unison. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Are you fucking stupid?" I asked Robin bluntly. "You took a loan from the most psychotic Russian mobster—" "Yes!" she cried, slapping her hand to the table. "I'm stupid, all right? I started doing well at the tables, then fell back, and I needed to replace the money I took from my husband's account so he wouldn't notice! Fucking sue me!" I sighed heavily, considering my options. "You being level with me?" I asked her. Robin lifted her head. Her eyes were swollen, red, glistening with tears that threatened to burst. "Yes." I closed my eyes a moment, then reached into my jacket for my billfold. "Fine," I said, beginning to count through the hundreds. "But you owe me, Robin. I won't be as bad as Navokov, but—" "No," she said firmly, grabbing my wrist. Her eyes burned into mine. "I won't get out of debt with one man just to be in debt with another." I stared back. "So you want a one-shot game?" I asked. "What if you lose? Then you'll be ten grand in the hole and even more fucked. Don't put this on me, Robin. I'm sorry you made a bad decision, but you made it." "I know that," she hissed defensively. Her hard features relaxed slowly, and she slid back across the table, taking up her drink. "I'll sweeten the bet." I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. "How so?" She gulped down the rest of her cosmo, took a breath to steady herself. "One round, five large," she said. "Cobb deals. I win, I take your money and pay off Navokov and go home with my kneecaps intact." "And if you lose . . . ." I prompted. Robin stared at the top of the table, licking the edges of her teeth. Her pale cheeks colored slightly. "If I lose . . . I still get the five." I snorted. "And what the hell do I get?" She lifted her dazzling green eyes slowly. "Me." "Ooo," I heard Cobb mutter in interest. I blinked, wondering if I had heard Robin correctly. "What was that?" I asked. Queen of Hearts Robin closed her eyes, her narrow chest swelling as she filled her lungs. She gave me a brave look. "If you win, you can have me, Nick, all night. Any way you want, as much as you want. I won't say no, I won't have a headache. Anything you want, Nick. Anything." I felt my libido stirring, making my cock swell in my slacks. "And you still get your five large," I said. Robin nodded slowly. "Yes." I snickered. "Sounds like you can't lose," I said. She shrugged, then smiled in that confident way I had seen several times across the green felt of a poker table. "No, but you can." I fell quiet, contemplating the eight-thousand-plus sitting in my wallet, how I had come to the casino with only five hundred. If I agreed to Robin's proposal, I would still head home with over six times as much as I had invested in the night . . . and, if I won, carnal knowledge of Robin. As a gambler, I could appreciate the intricacy of the bet. Five grand on the line, versus Robin's charms and complete submission. I looked to Cobb for his input, saw the encouraging grin there. If nothing else, I knew, Cobb wanted the vicarious thrill of having been part of this deal, come what may. I met Robin's eyes once more. "I'm a fairly kinky guy," I said. She nodded. "I know," she said with a sly smile. I laughed, downed my Scotch. "What the hell. You're on." *** Both Cobb and I were pretty well 'in' with the casino owner, so it took only a simple request to get a private room. Robin and I faced one another across the small, felt-topped table as Cobb took the dealer's post. We did not use chips, nor cash. The stakes were clear. "Five card stud," Cobb said, flipping the cards out fluidly. Robin and I stared at one another as we caught and gathered them up. Her bright green orbs glittered in the light of the room, fixated upon me. "No bets, no raises," Cobb continued. "One round to exchange cards. It's put up, or, uh . . . put out." I smirked slightly at his words, only briefly taking my eyes off Robin to check my hand. I had crap. Only the queen of diamonds to sit high, if it came to that. Robin stared back. "Two cards," she said, sliding her discards across the table. Cobb cast two fresh ones to her, and she took them up, her eyes blazing fiercely at me. Her doll-pale cheeks glowed with rouge. "Two," I said as well, and took up the new cards Cobb gave me. I tried not to grin as I settled the queen of hearts next to her sister. A high pair. Tough to beat. For a long moment, Robin and I simply gazed into one another's eyes. I relished the thought that I had a chance to bed her, and not only that, but in any way I wished. As much as I wished. I could see myself as a happy, content, and thoroughly satisfied man come the morning. "Call," I said, and set my queens upon the table. Robin stared at my cards for a long moment, her lips slowly parting. She looked to her hand, breathed slowly in and out . . . then folded her cards down. She pushed back from the table and regarded me with an inscrutable expression. "What room?" she asked me. For a moment, I took pity upon her once more. "You don't—" "What. Room." Her voice was firm, determined. I sighed. "2112," I said. She nodded, looking away. "Give me an hour," she said, then pushed up from the table and left the room. I looked to Cobb. "You know, I'm not sure if I should be happy or not." He shrugged, and reached across the table to gather up the cards. "She set the stakes, Nick. She was ready to accept them. It's the gambler's rule: you never play if you can't handle the loss." I nodded. Sage advice, I thought. I stood. "Guess I'd better head back to my room, take a shower." Cobb smiled. "Bed her well," he said. *** It was a little before eleven that night when the knock came. I was clad in only the hotel robe, smoking a cigarette beside the open balcony door. The night air that wafted in was cool, but not cold. Far below, I could hear the traffic of the streets and the faint beat of club music. I opened the door to find an absolute vision before me. Robin wore a loose, shimmering silk gown of deepest red, looking like a professional escort. She smelled sweetly of roses and sported fresh, if minimal, makeup. Her eyes glowed like beacons as she stared up at me. "Good evening, Mr. Sharpe," she said in a soft, breathy, sultry voice. Whatever reservations I may have had regarding our tryst vanished instantly. I drank in the sight of my imminent lover, enjoying the contrast of the dark scarlet dress to her pure, pale skin. Arousal coursed through me, overriding all thoughts of reason or morality. I wanted Robin, and that was all that mattered. I said nothing, just stepped aside and let her in. Robin slinked her way into the room, swaying her hips slightly. The dress she wore had practically no back; it plunged all the way down, just past the base of her spine, revealing the swell of her firm, round buttocks. She turned her head slightly. "Got something to drink?" I closed the door, stepped up behind her. I felt her shudder slightly as my hands touched her shoulders. I breathed in her scent for a moment, then stepped away. "Champagne, or liquor?" She watched me with a small, nervous smile. "Champagne." I nodded, took a split from the cooler and popped it open. I filled two glasses, brought one to her. We clinked, sipped. Her green eyes glowed. "So . . . what would you like?" she asked. I glanced to the broad balcony door. "Come on," I said, and took her free hand. Robin offered no protest as I lead her outside. The gentle breeze washed over us. Robin stepped to the railing of the balcony, looking out over the city below. I sat upon one of the lounge chairs, watching her. Robin seemed to think for a moment, sipping her bubbly. Finally, she turned around to face me, and smiled. "Open your robe," she said softly. I set my glass aside. Keeping my gaze locked with hers, I untied the belt around my waist and separated the folds of terrycloth that kept me decent. My cock was already hard, laying upon my abdomen. I settled my feet to the ground on either side of the chair. Robin's gaze softened somewhat as she looked upon my nakedness. Her eyes were riveted to my dick, it seemed. She licked her lips, drained her glass. Recklessly, she tossed the empty vessel to the corner of the balcony, where it shattered, and stepped forward. Her face glowed as she slipped off her dress. "I'll do anything you want, Nick," she whispered. Her dress fell with the slightest flutter to her feet, leaving her in only her scarlet-colored heels. "Any fantasy . . . any kink." I breathed in, trembling with arousal. Robin was, simply put, gorgeous. Her breasts, while small, floated high and firm, sporting thick, bright pink nipples. Her torso was narrow, with just a little softness to her stomach that I found endearing, sloping down and in toward a pubic mound topped with bright, flame-colored hair. I noticed that her tangerine curls had been sculpted into a heart shape, with the lower point drawing the eye to a dusky pink clitoris framed by smooth, fleshy vulva. "Come here," I beckoned her. Dutifully, Robin approached, stopping at the foot of the lounge. "What do you want?" she asked. I took a deep breath to calm myself. "I want your mouth," I said. She smiled slightly, and looked to my crotch. "Do you want me to suck your cock?" she asked, with all the casual aplomb of a submissive. I shuddered. "Yes." Robin's smile broadened, just a little, as she settled to her knees. She leaned over my groin, running her hands up my thighs. She gazed upon my thick cock approvingly, inhaled my scent through her nostrils. She sighed softly, then lowered her head, opening her mouth, slipping her tongue out. I groaned as she licked my cock, dragging her wet tongue from base to tip over and over. My hands gripped the arm rests of the lounge, and I found myself pushing my hips toward her. Robin murmured softly, lapping up and down, breathing hotly on my shaft. Nothing in what she did gave me the impression that she was not enjoying herself. I even began believing that she wanted our union. "Oh, God," I moaned, as Robin sucked my balls into her mouth, one at a time at first, moving back and forth, then both of them together. Her sucking lips, her massaging tongue . . . oh, sweet Nirvana . . . . She panted on my dick, releasing my balls, licking up along the shaft, tilting it up with her hands. I sighed loudly as her mouth slid down the length of me. I looked down, watching her engulf me, swallow me, devour me. She paused a moment as the head of my cock pressed against the back of her mouth. Then she pushed down, taking it all in. I grunted, feeling the sweet, caressing tightness of her throat. Her lips pulled at the very base of my manhood. "Robin . . . oh, Robin . . . ." She slipped up with a gentle swallow and soft gasp around my cock, but kept working her lips and tongue up and down the length. Her hands joined the action, pumping, stroking me and rolling my balls. "I wanna make you cum, Nick," she whispered, her lips fluttering around the sensitive head. "I wanna taste it" I groaned, writhing in pleasure. "Suck it, baby," I gasped. "Make me cum." She sighed heatedly, then dove down, sucking and pulling with her mouth and hands. Her movements seemed to be inspired by desperate urgency, matched only by my own. I languished in bliss, bucking beneath her. Robin moved her head back and forth, moaning as she sucked and pulled, massaging my cock from all sides. Her gorgeous green eyes flashed up to mine now and then, twinkling with mischief and desire. How sexy she looked with her lips wrapped wetly around my shaft . . . . "Oh, God!" I cried at last, bucking my hips up, shoving my cock into Robin's throat. She gurgled a moment, slid back quickly. Hands stroked me fervently, squeezing with the tightness of a vice, her mouth sucked hard on just the head. My body exploded with fire as I erupted in her mouth. Robin moaned as she felt the hot sluices of fluid jetting along her tongue. She stroked my spurting shaft frantically, swirling her tongue all around the head. The effect was mind-numbing, maddening, borderline agonizing. I clasped her head in my hands, unsure if I should push her down or pull her off. "Jesus, Robin," I muttered. "Mmm," she moaned, steadfastly sucking me. Robin wrapped her arms around my waist, taking my dick all the way into her throat. I shuddered, trying to endure the intensity of the pleasure she gave me. "Enough, baby, enough," I sputtered, pulling on her head. Robin lifted up, letting my cock slip from her mouth to fall heavily against my abdomen. She licked her lips, wiped away the bubbles at the corners of her mouth. Her face was shiny, glowing with pride at her accomplishment. "Not nearly enough, Nick," she whispered passionately, sliding her body up over me. Wet, warm lips crushed against mine. Her breath was fragrant with the aroma of my seed as she panted. I felt her hot, insistent wetness against my cock as she straddled my hips. She pushed up a moment, those dark green orbs blazing upon me. "My turn." I offered no protest as Robin stood and straddled my chest, bracing her hands on the back of the lounge chair. She smiled down upon me as her musky-sweet pussy was poised over my mouth. Her pink lips had flared out, shiny and slick, showcasing the darker, pursed opening within. For whatever reasons, Robin was obviously turned on. I grinned up at her, curling my arms around those slender, milky thighs. "Your turn," I whispered, licking along the insides of her thighs. Her sweet juice had trickled out, leaving little trails that I followed with my tongue. But just as I neared her lips, I would find another trail, then another. Robin began groaning in frustration, giving me a pleading look. "Don't tease me, baby," she pined. "Eat me . . . please." I chuckled, lightly licking along her smooth, wet outer lips. Robin had enjoyed controlling my pleasure; now I did the same to her. Judging by her smile, she understood the game, and appreciated it. Her fingers ran through my hair, but she did not try to pull me into her sex. It was enough for the moment, I suppose, that she finally felt my tongue along that sensitive flesh. "Yes, baby, make me want it," she breathed, mouth hanging slack. She rolled her hips in slow, lazy circles, following some sexual rhythm in her head. I licked all around her swollen lips, dipped in for a fresher taste now and then. Each time my tongue licked at her hole, Robin would shudder slightly, catching her breath. Then she moaned gratefully as I licked and sucked with purpose, pulling her lips with my own, nipping at them, chewing them, even. I pulled her down atop me, pressing my mouth to her sweet, tangy pussy. My hunger could no longer be denied. The game was over; real play now began. I sucked and devoured her, loving the feel of those soft, wispy orange hairs beneath my nose, the firmness of her Venus mound, the slippery feel of her lips gliding around my own. I thrust into her treasure like a pirate seeking gold, feeling the massaging muscles of her tunnel. My fingers dug into her thighs, holding fast and firm as she rocked atop me. She made little noise beyond panting and soft, yearning moans. But like the chords of a violin, she vibrated and shook, her body tensing and quaking with the silent music of her imminent release. Gasps of pleasure escaped on hot breath once, twice, three times . . . then she stiffened, head thrown back, hands clutching my head close. I felt her pussy contract, then a literal burst of uncommonly sweet fluid upon my tongue. "Ahh!" Robin heaved for breath as she climaxed, grinding her orgasmic cunt into my mouth, humping back and forth. The lower half of my face became all but saturated with her juice, despite my fervent attempts to devour it all. I moved up a bit, covering her clit with my mouth and sucking on it. Robin all but screeched and jerked back, staring down at me. The porcelain tone of her skin had become a dark pink on her cheeks and neck. "No, baby—" I grinned, and pulled her back down. "Yes," I growled, and sucked her clit back into my mouth. "Ahh! Fuck!" she cried, arms flailing as if she was not sure where to put them. One finally slapped to the back of the lounge chair, the other to her pubic mound, tugging on her flesh, trying to pull her clitoris from my merciless mouth. But I was not about to let go. When she came again, Robin literally screamed in painful ecstasy. I heard her echoes flying between the buildings long after the moment ended. Her body swayed and she fell back, sagging atop me. I could feel the muscles of her thighs quivering as I slowly slid her down my body and pulled her up until she was in my lap. Robin wrapped her arms around me limply, her head on my shoulder. Her breathing was deep and ragged, her body sweaty. I settled tender kisses on her temple and cheek. She turned her head, meeting my lips, then kissed and licked all around my mouth, sucking for a moment on my chin. Clearly, Robin was not put off by her own flavor. Slowly, yet noticeably, as we kissed, Robin's passion became rekindled. She shifted on my lap, pushing up slightly and reaching between us. Deft, slender fingers found my erect cock, tilting it up. I winced at the heat of her flushed pussy. "Fuck me," she whispered. "Don't tell me twice," I responded, then thrust upward, nearly burying myself with the first plunge. Robin's eyes flashed open, green pools of fire staring at me. She looked shocked, even perturbed, for a long moment. I wondered if she was thinking of the husband she was betraying that very moment. Then her features relaxed, and she smiled with erotic, hedonistic pleasure. I felt her pussy sucking me in as she ground down, seating my shaft deep inside. "Oh, baby, I knew you'd feel good," she muttered. I kneaded her firm, pale cheeks in my hands, bracing my feet on the balcony floor. "I was about to say the same thing," I said, pushing her back and forth. Robin and I stared into one another's eyes as we moved back and forth, my cock sliding within her tight sheath. She made soft, faint whimpering noises, her features shifting slightly; a twitch of a brow, a parting of her lips, a momentary glazed look in her eyes. I rolled forward, lifting us up, and turned about until Robin lay on her back on the chair. My cock never left the tight, rippling home it had quickly become accustomed to. Robin gave me dreamy, captivated looks as I held her legs wide, hands grasping fine-boned ankles, and sunk into her again and again. I would pull back until just the head of my cock was within her, then lunge in to the hilt. Robin grunted time and again as I took her. And she gave herself willingly. I was sufficiently blessed with enough stamina to keep up the pace until Robin came again. I was quickly learning that, once she got started, Robin was an orgasmic machine. She came once, sighing and cooing, then again amid loud moans and groans, and finally, with a cacophonous eruption from her legs. That last one did the trick for me. Her cunt squeezing and pulling as urgently on my cock as her mouth and hands had, I could no longer hold back. I thrust deep inside her one last time, relishing the incredible rush of passion as I joined Robin in orgasm. Had I been some ancient warrior, my cry may have been heard as a battle roar, the guttural declaration of a conquering hero. *** Robin was not much for conversation. After regaining our breath on the balcony, we headed inside, to the more intimate trappings of a king-sized bed. What we did talk about, as we lay atop the sheets, caressing sweaty skin and sharing soft, impassioned kisses, was as mundane as what any two strangers might have discussed in a bar. Robin, it seemed to me, did not want to think about anything more pertinent than the moment. And the moment concerned sex. She went down on me again, despite the fact that we had not showered, and cleaned my cock of our sticky, mingled fluid. I pulled her atop me in a sixty-nine, finding Robin's pussy uncommonly wet and sweet. The depths of her womb had mixed our fluids together to form a thick, unique broth. I did not mind the unusual flavor in the least, even as I knew that perhaps half of what I licked from her was my own cum. I honestly do not remember how many times we fucked that night. It was not making love, it was not coupling. We fucked. Like animals in the jungle, like slaves in a pen, we fucked. I took Robin in every position, and she would suck my cock after each of her orgasms before we switched. The sun was finally rising by the time we fell asleep – or, rather, passed out – in the bed. Robin snuggled up beside me, kissing my chest before she drifted off. I followed soon after, wondering what the morning would bring. *** I stirred from a kaleidoscopic dream of passion and sighs, sliding my hand across rich linen sheets. It took my conscious mind a moment to deduce that I had expected to feel a warm, feminine body, and did not. I sat up quickly, looking around. The bed beside me was empty, the sheets tangled and hanging off the side. The pure, clean aroma of soap wafted to me from the bathroom. I glanced to the clock beside the bed; it read 1:30. PM. Her clothes were gone, of course; Robin would not have left naked, after all. In fact, there seemed to be no trace that she had ever been there, save for the shattered champagne flute in the corner of the balcony. I sat on the edge of the bed, smiling ruefully to myself. Of course, I thought. I showered and shaved, dressed casually. I still had one more day at the casino. But, for the first time, I did not look forward to an evening of gambling. I was aware that the only thing I wanted to play was the sweet, rewarding game I had enjoyed the night before. But that was a closed table, now. I would have to be happy with my memories. Queen of Hearts The lunch buffet was almost done when I made it down to the restaurant. I managed to get my fill of king crab and lemon-pepper shrimp, then took my usual table at the outdoor café. Café mocha. Double shot, this time. "And . . . how was your night?" I chuckled at the sound of Cobb's voice. He pulled out the chair across from mine and eased into it. "It was . . . worth it," I said with a wink. He arched a bushy eyebrow. "Was it?" I shrugged. "It was what it was." Cobb shook his head. He motioned to one of the waitresses, ordered a café latte. He regarded me a moment, rolling an unlit cigar in his fingers. "She's gone, you know." I nodded, sipped my coffee. "I figured." "You think she'll be back?" I sighed. "She's still a married a woman," I said. "Last night was . . . a bargain. A debt earned, and paid in full." I smirked. "And then some." Cob laughed gruffly. "Are you sure about that?" I frowned. "What are you talking about?" Cobb leaned back, scratching his beard. "I've been around a lot longer than you, Nick. I may not be as good at cards, but I've seen more. I remember when Arizona Joe bluffed his way out of a flush with Brown-Eyed Bobby. Joe didn't have more than a ten of spades as the high card, yet he got Bobby to fold. I thought that was the best bluff I'd ever seen. Until last night." Confusion deepened my frown. "What are you talking about?" Cobb's older, wiser eyes met mine. "Three of a kind," he said. I said nothing. He leaned forward, grinning. "She played you, Nick," he said with a smile that was both smug and impressed. "She had three sevens. Three of a kind beats any pair." I was silent for a long moment, mulling over Cobb's words. Robin could have taken my money and left, her 'honor' intact. Yet she did not. She chose to come to my room. What had happened, had happened because Robin wanted it to. I smiled slowly. "Oh, she had three sevens, all right," I said, then lifted my cup. "But I had the Queen of Hearts." -finis- Queen of Hearts The cards riffled between my fingers with a soft whirr, the results of way too much practice. Even with the haze of cigarette smoke that filled the room and made breathing problematic, I could see the fingers of the man across the table from me. They were never still, those fingers. Of course, when they belong to a professional card sharp, they never are. I had noted him as a pro the instant he laid his left hand flat on the table, thumb hovering a half-inch off the baize. I had silently returned the inquiry, a left hand tapping once, twice, thrice on the table. We were, of course, strangers, but our communication had told each other about our hands. Almost like telepathy. But far less mystical. I slid the deck to my left hand and finished the overhand stack. Poker was a mug's game when the cards were in pro hands. The man across the table had proven as adept as I at the double-handed shift and we had run up the tally of chips between us to a significant level without undue comment. This would be a losing hand, I decided, and rested my hand with two fingers extended as the fat gentleman to the left cut the deck. His fingers interlaced; he understood. I dealt us both fair-to-middling hands and passed the spade flush to the dithery woman two to my left. She grew flustered (it was probably her only winning hand of the night) and the rest of the table didn't bother to run up the bidding; she took not much more than the ante in the pot. It was the right call. Three hands later, the cards were back in pro hands and his signal was that this would be the breaker. High hands would fall all over the table, straights, flushes, high double pairs...and he flicked a card to me that I only barely saw come off the wrong side of the deck. His control was superb. Four hearts: ten, knave, king and ace. And the three of spades. I smiled inwardly. The bidding went high; I pushed it a bit higher and was gratified when the dithery woman went all in. Calls came from five of the seven in the game. I watched the pro drop out and start dealing cards. I threw back the trey, and watched and the second card spun to me from the bottom of the deck. I knew even before I reached for it that it was the Queen of Hearts. I called the high bid and watched as a straight, a full house and a three of a kind in nines went down. I paused for a moment and then revealed my hand. Expectations turned to groans around the table, but a smattering of applause came from the onlookers. I scooped the chips and stacked them quickly, accurately, and then signaled to the pit boss. "Clear me out," I told him softly. He didn't even blink as he signed out a stack of small stack of black-bordered chips and ordered one of the attendants to remove the half-ton or so of plastic on the table. The pro across the table scattered the cards across the baize and stood, scooping his own chips up. "Gentlemen, ladies," he murmured, his voice soft, almost sinfully so. "Your servant." I found him, or he me, in the anteroom of the bar, where a more efficient ventilation system removed most of the fug and the music from the floor show trickled in. Truly, while I had been looking for him, it was he that arrived at my side, as silently as his signals had been. "You were superb," he said softly. "I thought I knew all the locals." "Not local," I returned calmly, twisting slightly to look at him. Out away from the omnipresent smog of the casino, he showed to significant advantage. A well-cut suit defined a big frame, a little rotund in the middle, but hardly fat. A pair of steel-rimmed glasses turned his eyes to weakness and ineffectuality, and the only adornment on him was his tie pin, a deep green emerald. He was the antithesis of all pros, except for his hands. His fingers moved almost continuously. I remembered the ease with which he had shuffled and dealt, the easy motions that had seemed almost sensuous as he used the cards like an extension of himself. I remembered the speed of his deal and the almost caressing way he had thrown the last card to me. And I shivered. "John MacGregor," he said, holding out his hand. "Sam," I said, barely keeping a stammer out of my voice. His fingers closed about mine and he raised my hand to his lips. "You are too exotic for a mere 'Sam'," he said, his breath dancing across my knuckles and sending little shudders through me. "Even 'Samantha' does not do you justice." "Iptisam," I said softly. I almost never gave away my first name. "Iptisam," he repeated, his voice husky, filled with the smoke of a hundred rooms and I felt a shaft of pure desire sink through me. "Might I ask a favor?" "Yes," I replied instantly. He smiled; he had still not released my hand. "I understand that they serve an excellent supper here," he said, velvet voice stroking over me. "Might I take you as my companion?" Believe it or not, I was hungry; I had been at the table for several hours, and I do not drink alcohol nor eat anything whilst at play. "Of course." He was as pleasant a dinner companion as he was a poker partner; I found myself often laughing at his quiet jokes and his sense of humor paralleled mine. Curiously, however, he showed no sign of despising the sheep which both of us fleeced to live. On the contrary, he showed signs of concern that one might have plunged a bit too deeply (I placed his concern after a second: the fat man to my right) and wondered aloud how to ensure that the night's losses did not overly injure him. Neither of us could come up with a plan that seemed feasible, however; having quit the tables, it would look odd, and probably suspicious to the sharp-eyed casino staff, if the two of us re-engaged the same poor player and commenced to losing where we had so recently won. Dinner was followed with an excellent brandy and the talk turned personal. I found in short order that he was not married, his wife having passed away years before. He had no children, no relatives closer than a cousin and, in short, no one to care about or miss. I in turn told him of my father, inveterate card sharp himself, who had taught me to spot the sharps, but had never intended that I make my way in the world in his footsteps. But a sudden heart attack at age fifty-one had left the family (including my four siblings) little money; I had turned to cards as the one talent I knew and had supported my family thus for six years. My mother still lived on the annuity I had purchased for her with my winnings. As the floor show changed to a new singer and band, I made my decision. "John? Would you like to come to my room for a nightcap?" "Iptisam," his voice caressed my name as his fingers had caressed the Queen of Hearts, "I would enjoy that very much." My room was on the seventeenth floor, two above his, but like his, paid for by the casino. Comping rooms was common; we hadn't paid for the meals either. Once inside, I turned from securing the deadbolt on the door and faced him again. The nearness of his body flicked heat across me; I could almost see the shimmer as though a fire burned before me. Slowly, so slowly that I could have dodged him or stopped him at any time, he framed my face with his hands and touched his lips softly to mine. Time slowed, spun on its axis and toppled off the perch. I could feel the warmth of his mouth as he explored the curve of my lips, taste the heady sweetness of the brandy as he traced my teeth and smell the golden scent of him as our tongues slid across each other. I moaned softly, sliding my hands into the thickness of his hair, holding his mouth on mine. He broke the kiss, but not the contact, sliding his lips along my jaw line to my ear, which he nuzzled. Silvery lights popped behind my closed eyelids as his tongue traced the delicate curve of my ear, and then his mouth traveled down the side of my neck. I pressed closer, arching back and neck to expose more of myself to his touch and feeling my breasts, already tender and aching for touch, crush against the musculature of his chest. My breathing quickened, turned ragged. His fingers glissaded over me as though I were made of spun glass...or plastic-sheathed cardboard. By the time he finally lifted his head away from me, I was a molten mass...and a melty mess. I ached for him in every joint I owned. My eyes were huge, dark with lust; I could see them reflected in his glasses. "Don't you dare stop," I whispered. He smiled slowly. "I don't think I could even if you wanted me to," his velvety voice whispered over me. "You are the most exquisite, superb, wonderful woman I have ever met." He was a poker player, master of the bluff. But, then, I was too. And what he was saying to me, with his hands and eyes and mouth, told me that his words were as true as any of us can make them. I reached behind me, undid the zipper of my dress and let it fall, pooling in silver-gray onto the creamy carpet. My breasts are small and high, requiring no bra, and I have never enjoyed the wearing of undergarments. As my dress slid to the floor, then, I stood exposed to him, clad only in thigh-high stockings and flat shoes. He held me steady with his gaze has he peeled off coat, tie, shirt. Each was flung with perfect aim and negligent ease over the back of a nearby chair. His belt followed, and I felt my breath stop as he undid his trousers and pushed them, along with his dark gray briefs, to the floor. What was revealed mesmerized me. He was huge. Porn-star god huge. I spared a pang of jealousy for the years-dead wife who had probably split herself on that tool regularly. My arousal, already trickling down my bare legs, increased in volume. I reached out, touched it. Steel-hard shaft and soft skin. He reached down, covered my hand, holding me to his massive self. As if in a dream, I followed him slowly to bed. I had originally thought about taking him in my mouth, letting him (if he wanted) feast upon my honey pot, but the sight of what he had kept in his pants had thrown all of that out the seventeenth floor window. I had only one way to honor such endowment. He laid down on his back. I spread my legs, sliding myself up his shaft, letting hi tickle my engorged clitoris, bathing him in my dew, until his head rested at my opening. I didn't even need to guide him; it was as though some laser-guidance system on his love missile had already locked onto my target. I pushed. My soft lips gaped to take him. If I had not been so ready, so much in heat, I do not think I would have managed his invasion. As it was, I felt myself stretching to accommodate him, felt his huge glans push aside my dripping membranes, felt him slide in, oiled by my hyper-aware body. He had not even reached halfway when my first orgasm ripped through me, launching me into a shuddering convulsion atop him. I felt his long gambler's fingers gliding over my hips as I rode out the firestorm. He asked for nothing I could not give, he did not pull me down on his spike, he waited for me to return to earth and resume what I was doing. Centimeter by centimeter, I felt him invade me. His head made contact with my already softly ripe cervix, and I felt another shudder pass through me. Weeks ago, I had undergone drug and hormone therapy for an old injury; one side effect had been that my cervix was now dilated. I caught my breath and dropped the last two inches. Enough stars to need a new galaxy flashed inside my head as his huge member pushed through my cervix and into my womb. I was totally, utterly, ineffably, filled. I could barely rock my hips. But that was enough. He moved with me, within me, setting me afire, making me gasp and then, as he held me suspended on the mountaintop, thrusting three times, hard, into me so that I flew off into the eternal void of ecstasy, screaming his name as I felt him erupt deep inside my womb. I do not recall when he left. I cannot recall how many times we had come together. I cannot even remember locking the door when he left. But when I awoke the next morning and turned to look at the pillow beside me, my body aching from the abuse I had given it, I found a card. Not Hallmark. Of course not. A plastic-sheathed bit of cardboard with his name and phone number. I turned it over. In an elegant script it read: Happy Valentine's Day, Iptisam. It was the Queen of Hearts.