My name's Katie, and I host strip blackjack for stag parties. The strip part was the draw for them; the blackjack was the draw for me. My uncle taught me to count cards when I was sixteen. He was a maths teacher with a gambling problem who decided this was somehow appropriate mentorship for his niece. It turned out to be the most useful education I ever received, although he might be upset knowing how I used it. Counting cards helps, but it's much easier to win when the competition is drunk and ogling your breasts. 

I wore tight black jeans, a fitted white shirt with the top two buttons open, a black waistcoat with red trim nipped in at the waist, and a green visor cap. I looked like a pretty standard blackjack dealer, but my stage name was embroidered onto the breast of the waistcoat: ‘Dirty Dealer’. 

When I entered the room above the pub, five faces turned to check me out. I gave them a smile before I pulled out the chair at the head of the table and settled myself. As I started sorting the chips, I introduced myself and began explaining the rules, after which I asked, “Who is the poor bastard getting married?”

The sandy-haired one in the middle raised his hand with a grin. “Guilty,” he said. “Andy.”

“Congratulations, Andy. You're about to lose a significant amount of money.” I did a quick card spring to show off which elicited a small round of groans. People always seem to accept being fleeced if you tell them about it up front. It helps to offer them a strip tease at the same time, of course. 

The others introduced themselves as I dealt the first hand. The older man beside the groom-to-be was Matt; he was slightly greying at the temples, had a kind face and a comfortable gut that suggested he enjoyed his life. He looked mildly embarrassed to be there in a way I found immediately endearing. The man across from him was Nick, who leaned back in his chair and told me in a broad American accent that he was a very good card player with a confidence that I didn’t believe for a second. Next to him was Sean, who grinned and said he was absolutely not a good card player and had made his peace with that - I liked him straight away. It helped that Sean had a beautiful Irish accent. At the far end of the table was an enormous black man who hadn't said anything yet. He waited until I was looking directly at him before he spoke. “Jack,” he said, and the voice was so deep I felt it somewhere between my sternum and my stomach.

“Ahh yes, you’re the best man?” I asked, recognising the name from the booking.

“That's right.”

I held his gaze a moment longer than was strictly professional and then looked back at the table and told them all to put their chips down. We needed to get started because there was a game to run, and I was going to run it.

The rule I'd set was straightforward: if three or more of them beat me in the same round, off came an item, and I played carefully enough that this happened at intervals that kept the energy up without giving everything away too fast.

The first time it happened, midway through the second shoe, all five of them beat me on the same hand, and the table absolutely erupted, as they all anticipated me stripping, and I stood up with great ceremony, reached up, and removed my visor cap.

“That,” I said pleasantly, setting the cap on the table, “is item one.” The silence that followed was genuinely wonderful. I did it every time, and it always got the same reaction. 

Nick put his head in his hands. Sean burst out laughing. Andy said, “Oh, come on,” in a tone that suggested he was not actually unhappy about this at all. I sat back down, reshuffled and dealt the next hand, giving them a little smirk.

The waistcoat came off two rounds later, and not long after my shirt followed. I took my time unbuttoning from the bottom up whilst they watched with collectively held breath. When it came off, the atmosphere in the room became something you could have cut with a knife. The bets got larger after that. They always did. Which is why I went topless so early rather than playing around with shoes and socks.

Matt played cautiously and lost at a gentle and sustainable rate, taking each bust with good grace and a sip of his pint. Andy was getting progressively worse at cards in direct proportion to his improving opinion of the evening. Sean played with cheerful recklessness and didn't seem to mind the consequences. Nick performed at a level of competence that was somewhat lower than his self-assessment suggested. Jack, however, made the right call on every hand. He was worryingly consistent.

The pattern of his bets and the moments he stood or hit were not the pattern of someone playing casually or by instinct. By the fourth round I was ninety per cent certain he was counting like I was. He'd caught me looking twice and said nothing either time, just held my gaze for a moment and looked back at his cards. I found that silence more interesting than it probably ought to have been.

My bra came off. I’d been distracted by Jack, and suddenly he, Matt and Andy had beaten me. So I unclasped it at the back and let the straps fall forward off my shoulders holding it against my chest for a moment, just a moment. Then I dropped it on the table, sat up straight and let them look.

The reaction was exactly what I'd hoped for and slightly more besides. I was a showgirl. You didn't do this job unless that was true of you, unless the attention was something you wanted rather than tolerated. I liked the room's eyes on me. 

A few rounds later, as most of the others dropped, it came down to Nick and me head-to-head on a sizable pot. The room had pressed in close. We both had 20 showing, and the house wins draws. 

He looked at his cards. He looked at me. He looked, very deliberately, at my chest.

“OK, I’ll hit, but let's make this a bit interesting. If I win this hand,” he said, with only the slightest slur in his voice, “I want to play a bit of Texas Hold'em.” He gestured. The meaning was entirely clear. 

I ran the deck in my head; an ace was unlikely enough that the odds were comfortable, and more than that, this was exactly the kind of moment that kept a room's energy at the level I needed it. 

“Deal,” I said, and you could feel everyone in the room tense. 

He drew. Ace of spades.

The room detonated, and I sat with it for a moment in the centre of the noise, recalculating. I had not, if I was going to be honest with myself, seen that coming. But a deal was a deal. I pushed my chest out, and Nick reached over.

His palms were warm, and his thumbs moved in slow circles across my nipples. I let a moan escape that I hadn't precisely planned on making. I tipped my head back a degree and enjoyed the sensation for a while before pulling away. 

The game continued, and chips kept dwindling. Matt bowed out with good grace; Andy went bust off an eighteen he absolutely should have stuck on, and Sean folded saying  he'd never expected to win anyway and had just enjoyed the show. Nick lasted longer than he deserved to, due to the large pot he won earlier, but inevitably overbet and ran out of chips. Which left me and Jack, and his pile was bigger than mine.

A few rounds later I was in real trouble. A few bad hands and I was unable to match the bet. At least I couldn’t and keep the profits I'd put aside. Jack looked at me across the table after a quick smirk at Nick, and in his deep resonant voice, he said, “I’ll let you play even though you can’t match, but if I win, I want to hit it.”

It took me a second to realise he meant 'fuck me'. I held Jack's gaze and kept my voice as even as I could. “You’ve been counting cards, haven't you?” I accused.

He nodded. “You grow up being called Jack and being black; you learn to play Blackjack. It avoids a lot of teasing.”

“Fine.” I made a decision. It was possibly a bad decision, but after my breasts being fondled earlier and looking at Jack all night, it was the decision I wanted to make. “I’ll do you a blowjob?” I offered.

Two seconds of silence.

Then Nick piped up, “Yeah, poke her face… get it, poker face…” Everyone threw stuff at him, groaning at the pun. 

Except for Jack; he just looked at me and said, “Deal.”

He drew to 18 and stuck. I drew to 20. That's where I should have stopped. I’d won. 

I looked up at the group of men. All looking dejected. I reached for the deck and drew. It was a six of clubs. That made twenty-six. Bust.

They erupted in laughter and disbelief because they'd all realised what I had done. Nick was saying, “She did it on purpose,” over and over; I think he was a little drunk at this point. Just a little.

They quieted as Jack stood up. I had known he was big since he walked in. But there was understanding something, and then there was watching Jack unfold to his full height and walk towards me. I was mesmerised. 

I got off my chair and went to my knees on the carpet.

He undid his belt and zipper, his cock bursting out into my face. Then his cock was in my hand, and I took a moment to simply hold it and see the reality of what I was working with. He was extraordinary, long and thick. I don’t want to say he was as long as my arm, as that would be hyperbole, but not by much.

I looked up at him and held his gaze as I licked a slow trail from his root to tip, feeling the thick vein pulse against my tongue, watching his jaw tighten as I did it. I did it again, taking my time, putting on a show. The rest of the room was silent as the others watched. I like to think they were entranced by my skill, but they may have just been intimidated by the appendage Jack was calling his cock.

I took the head into my mouth, working my tongue in slow circles round the ridge, feeling him twitch against my tongue. I worked my hand up from the base and twisted slowly on each stroke while keeping eye contact. 

But this was too slow; I was getting antsy with my own teasing. I took him deeper and worked him, making it wet and noisy. I had spit running down to my chin as I  pulled back to the tip and sucked hard before going back down, twisting my hand on the downstroke, and he let out a low rumbling groan. 

His hips started to move. Carefully at first, testing small rolls of motion that I met by relaxing my throat and tilting my head and letting him push deeper. His fingers wove into my hair, and he thrust properly, hitting the back of my mouth and making me gag a bit on about half his length. I pushed forward, not letting the gag stop him. 

He responded by thrusting again, harder this time, and then again and again, fucking my face with eager strokes, and I took it with my eyes watering and my chin a mess.

I could feel the tension building in him and hear the change in his breathing, and I wanted him to explode. But I wanted more than that. I pulled off him and looked up with mascara somewhere down near my cheekbones and saliva on my chin. “Are you ready to hit it?”

He growled, the bass thrumming through me as he nodded. I stood and turned, leaving any sense of poise or dignity behind, and bent over the table with chips pressing into my skin, and I reached back and shoved my own knickers down and off because I was past ceremony and everyone in the room knew it. 

Jack's hands closed on my hips, and he pressed the head of his cock against me and pushed in slowly, working into me. Despite my arousal, he was struggling to fit. He stopped. The room held its breath around us, five men and a pregnant silence. He held there for a moment, letting me adjust, and then he pushed deeper, my body accommodating him in rolling pulses.

“Oh god, oh god, yes, yes, please.”

Nick appeared at the other side of the table with his eyes fixed on me. “Go on then, Tex," I gasped and nodded at my breasts, and he didn't need further instruction, reaching across and getting both hands on me, pushing them together and rolling my nipples between his fingers.

Jack began to thrust with long strokes, pulling almost entirely out and driving back in. The table jolted steadily with each stroke. Nick's thumbs worked at my nipples. Andy and Sean were very still at the edges of the room, breathing carefully, and Matt I registered dimly was sitting quietly near the wall.

The orgasm built slowly, a warm pressure gathering inside me and spreading outward as each thrust added to it, my thighs beginning to tremble against the table edge, small sounds escaping me in a rhythm that matched his. I was gripping the felt with both hands. Saying “yes” under my breath on each stroke and had been for some time before I noticed. Nick's hands were relentless, and Jack's cock was filling me so full I could burst. 

He shifted his grip on me, making some small adjustment of his thrusts, and I said “yes” so sharply that Nick's hands stilled for a moment. Then the orgasm was there, cresting and breaking all at once, a wave that started behind my navel and crashed outward through my entire body simultaneously. I came loudly, without any remaining dignity, shaking against the table and letting out a scream I couldn't control, my whole body clenching in rolling pulses as he fucked me. 

He held his pace as I came down the other side trembling and oversensitive, and my body started climbing again almost immediately. I pushed back against him, needing the full force of his thrusts, and I heard him grunting as the patience he'd been exercising all evening was reaching its limit.

He sped up, feeling urgent, as I moaned into the table, chasing it, grinding back onto him, Nick's hands and Jack's cock and five men's worth of attention all converging on me at once until the pressure simply snapped.

"Oh god, oh fuck, yes, Jack, yes, please, yes, god yes."

The second orgasm hit considerably harder than the first, a concentrated detonation that made me cry out as every muscle in my body contracted at once, releasing in waves. My cunt gripped him in pulses so strong they were almost painful, my whole body shuddered against the table, and I was sobbing because there were simply no words.

Above me, Jack made two hard thrusts that drove me roughly into the table, and then he pulled out. I felt the first splat of his cum land across my arse, and then another higher, across my shoulder blade as he spent the rest in long, heavy pulses that sprayed up my spine and landed in my hair. It pooled on my lower back, running in slow rivulets down to the crease of my arse.

I was still catching my breath, with Jack's cum cooling in thick streaks across my back, when Matt appeared at my elbow with a folded handkerchief. “Do you want a hand cleaning up?” he asked.

I turned my head to look at him properly. His face was flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the lager, and his eyes were moving over my back, travelling the length of the mess Jack had left across my skin with an expression he was not quite managing to keep neutral. 

I nodded and flopped back down. Letting him start wiping my back. But after only a few, almost reverent wipes, he paused. I looked round to see he had his cock in hand and a wild look in his eyes. It took only a few brief pumps before he groaned. Shooting more cum over my ass. 

His cum didn’t have the force of Jack's and was left mostly in a single glob on my left arse cheek, which slowly slid down into the crevice. He stood there afterwards, breathing hard, looking at what he'd done.

I sighed, looking at him over my shoulder. “You were supposed to clean it up,” I said, “not double down. You’re going to have to lick it off now as punishment.”

The look that crossed his face was unmistakable: he been granted permission for something he could never have brought himself to ask for. It also meant that none of the others would decide it was time to join in. I’m not sure I could take another fucking. I was feeling rather delicate.

Matt leant in, his tongue lapping up the warm spunk, and he was thorough, working over everywhere. I lay across the table and let him, staring at the scattered chips and spent cards, and thought that this had been a considerably more interesting evening than most.

When he was done, I straightened up and located my clothes and did what I could with my face in the dark glass of the window, which was not a great deal. I counted the chips in my head. Even with the thrown hand, I'd come out ahead.

Matt even handed me a sizeable tip once I was fully dressed. 

Sean caught me at the door, still grinning, telling me he was getting married in a few months himself and that Nick, his best man, should sort out a booking.

Nick already had his phone out. “Absolutely on it.”

“Fuck, if you’re booking her, I’m coming on your stag, mate; I don’t care this was the first time we met,” Jack said as he leaned against the wall. “I want to play another hand.”

“I think I can find an opening for you.” I smiled. “I rather enjoyed being BlackJacked.”

I think Nick almost proposed to me as the others groaned at the play on words. Jack just smiled.