Joker's Mistress

Chapter Two-1

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 n*****s 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.

“s**t,” 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 c****d 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 f*****g 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 p***s 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 s****l 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 f****d 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 s**t 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 p***s 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 p***s was half-c****d 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 p***s began to lift. Oh thank you, Lord! And he thrust deeper between her legs, the spongy head worrying at the brink of her c******s.

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 s*x. 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 f**k 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 p***s 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 f**k of my lifetime, he thought, succumbing to wave after wave of her vaginal rhythms; the tightness sucking at the head of his p***s. 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 f**k 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 p***s ache. Oh no! his mind screamed, but it was too late. He tumbled hard. He felt his p***s 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 p***s withered. My god; if I only had my wooden yardstick... I’d show them!