The house was huge. Powerful floodlights lit the garishly decorated building, as it dominated the hill overlooking Los Angeles. Somewhat ostentatious to my mind, it proved yet again that wealth and good taste aren't always mutual bedfellows. That said, I wasn't here for aesthetics; I was here for the money. 

I'm a professional poker player, Anthony Daniels is my name, Tony for short, and I can be usually be found in the online poker rooms, but every now and then, I take part in face-to-face games. Competing against players from around the world, I’ve won and lost small fortunes with the click of the mouse, or the turn of a card, but that’s all part of the fun. I’ll admit, luck has helped once or twice in the past, but to be a successful player, one must have skill rather than rely on fate. And I’m one of the world’s top ten players. 

Being one of the best, I receive invitations to wonderful and even weird events. By and large, I decline most offers — but this latest request proved impossible to refuse.

A big ass limousine pulled up outside my London house and deposited a very attractive, blue-eyed blonde on my doorstep. Wondering which benevolent God was rewarding me for something I hadn't figured out yet, I listened as Sandy introduced herself, handing me one of two gold envelopes. She explained that she worked for a disgustingly wealthy man who regularly organized private, high-stakes poker games at his home. These were for friends and acquaintances, but he had a rule; there had to be at least one professional to give the game credibility. Would I be interested?

I glanced at the expensive limo parked at the end of my drive before casting my eyes over the exquisitely dressed courier. If Sandy's mission was to encourage me to accept the invitation, then she was succeeding. Her dress, apart from being totally unsuitable for a rainy afternoon in London, was also quite revealing and would have made a sizable dent in my wallet. That said, I especially liked the way her pokey nipples didn't detract from the quality of the outfit. 

I turned my attention to the letter she had handed me. I read it carefully, looking for anything untoward, but I couldn't find a thing. All my travel expenses would be reimbursed, and a guest room — including a black suit and tie, if necessary — would be at my disposal. The game was Five-card stud, no limits, and winnings paid in cash. 

Taking a moment to think, I looked again at Sandy. She flashed a million-watt smile and waited for my response. Feeling my blood rush south as I gazed at her magnificent breasts, I let out a deep breath and agreed. Smiling, she handed me the second gold envelope. This contained the date and address of the game. It was in Los Angeles. 

When I looked up at Sandy, she was staring at me extremely provocatively. Licking her top lip in a manner that left no misunderstanding, she said, "I'll see you there, Mr Daniels," and turned on her heels towards the waiting limousine.

o0o

Stylishly attired in my favourite Italian suit, I circulated, accompanied by Sandy, my designated escort for the evening. Stunningly attractive when she’d delivered my invitation, this night she'd outdone herself. 

Back in her native California, the sun had tanned her face a light bronze, and the mane of blonde hair that I’d found so alluring in London was styled in a loose braid, hanging exotically over her shoulder, like some ancient Viking queen. Sandy's clear blue eyes, accentuated by high cheekbones, sparkled with something more than hospitality as we moved through the throng of people. The succulent lips on her wide mouth curled in a welcoming smile while her button nose seemed to twitch in secret amusement.

Her bare shoulders – probably the most underrated part of the feminine body – were as sexy as any I'd seen. In a sleeveless top, they enticed me to touch them, kiss them, and lick them... if I dared, and I felt my mouth go dry. Like her face, they were bronzed and I wondered just how much of her body she’d exposed to the sun.

The lace burgundy halter, held together by a simple clasp behind her elegant neck, loosely covered her full breasts. The slightest movement and my gaze switched automatically to watch her bosom jiggling. I could have sworn her nipples were visible through the thin fabric, but my mind was probably playing tricks on me. As for the rest... her toned stomach was evident by the way the top disappeared beneath the broad waistband of her trousers, another tight-fitting garment that accentuated her figure.

After I’d met most of the guests, Sandy eventually introduced to Mr and Mrs Hunt, my hosts. Older than me, he exuded a distinguished air of superiority which I might find irritating if exposed to it for more than an evening. Thankfully, his handshake was firm but not bone crushing. Considering he looked like an NFL linebacker, that was a pleasant surprise. However, even more surprising was his wife. Although I considered Sandy to be extremely attractive, Mrs Hunt — Marsha, as she implored me to call her — definitely gave my chaperone a run for anyone’s money. 

I estimated Marsha to be in her late forties, younger than her husband by at least a decade. That said, with all the creams, powders, and plastic surgery available to women these days, it’s almost impossible to gauge ages accurately. She was tall, at least five feet ten, and a head taller than her husband even without the heels she was wearing. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but no one could deny Marsha Hunt's attractiveness. 

Looking first at Sandy, then at Marsha, as she thanked me for coming, I thought Mr Hunt definitely liked surrounding himself with beautiful women.

"My pleasure, Marsha, I'm looking forward to the game," I said. 

“Oh, so am I," she beamed, her eyes twinkling. Then her husband, seemingly pleased with himself, encouraged me to enjoy the party and ordered Sandy to ensure I was in the gaming room at eleven-thirty. 

o0o

Above the huge card table, a bright gaming light illuminated the playing surface, except for the dark edge of ebony that ran around the circumference. Other than that, only a few dim lights were placed sporadically along the walls. They provided just enough illumination to avoid people from falling over themselves. It gave some idea of what it must have been like when poker matches such as these, were frowned upon by the authorities. 

The table was large enough to seat at least eight players in comfort, ten with a squeeze. Tonight, only six players sat around its edge, each with an ashtray, a drink, and a stack of chips worth five hundred thousand dollars. Husbands, wives, and various other guests gathered around and chatted amiably while waiting for the game to start. Behind me, Sandy placed a hand on my shoulder and mouthed "good luck" when I turned to look up at her.

For the first hour or so, everything was even, no player winning a fortune or losing their shirts. In fact, the atmosphere in the room could have been termed cordial except for the air of anticipation that seemed to permeate the viewing crowd. I heard lots of whisperings and saw sideways glances among the gathering and I wondered if they knew something I didn't. 

Then, a little before one o'clock, Mr Jameson, sitting across the table from me, hit a losing streak. 

At first, I didn't think anything about it. Everybody has one now and again and the only thing to do is grit one's teeth and try to weather the storm. Or get up and leave. Apparently, he was an old college buddy of the host, so the second option was unthinkable and so he stayed, prepared to accept his loss. And lose he did. As a professional, I've watched strange plays in my time, but some of the hands he gambled on, seemed like madness.

During one particular hand, when I won almost fifty-thousand dollars from him, I was able to study his behaviour closely. Where he'd been decisive at the start of the game, he was now unsure. His calm and authoritative demeanour had become shaky and unsettled, and his booming voice reduced to a mumble. Sweat trickled down the side of his face as the pile of chips in front of him decreased, and I had a distinct impression his mind wasn't on the game. Considering the amount of money he was losing, I couldn’t understand why he continued playing.

Not that I was complaining. I was happy to take his money. And I wasn't the only one to take advantage of his misfortune. Mr Hunt turned out to be a merciless opponent. Time after time, he reaped the rewards of his old college friend's misfortune without displaying the slightest sign of remorse, and around quarter past one, Mr Jameson staked the last of his chips. He lost, but an expression of joy lit his handsome face. I was puzzled.

For the next few minutes, everything returned to normal except for Mr Jameson sitting there looking a little out of sorts. Gradually, the tension that had evolved during the last half-hour, began to diffuse. It became so relaxed, I was sure the woman sitting on my right had taken a fancy to me. 

Mrs Anderson was a successful film producer, according to Sandy, who kept my drinks replenished. Whenever I won a hand, the middle-aged lady producer kept smiling, and when I lost, she commiserated most sincerely. She even started flirting with me, and if we'd been sitting closer together, I wouldn't have been surprised to feel her fondle my leg, despite the fact, everyone was obliged to keep their hands visible. What was more amazing, especially considering my conservative English upbringing, this was happening in front of her husband who stood behind her and watched adoringly. 

Then she too began experiencing bad luck, losing bets that she really should have won. I tried commiserating with her, as she’d done with me. But, instead of the friendly looks I'd been receiving, I was greeted with a strained, tight-lipped smile and a worried look in her eyes. Perspiration formed above her top lip and she clenched her jaws repeatedly. After watching her make another bad decision, I wondered what the hell was going on — and not for the first time this evening. 

While contemplating the evening's progress, I watched Mrs Anderson's bad luck rapidly evolve into a losing streak. It ended a few minutes later when her last chips were picked up by the only other woman at the table, a Miss Frazier. 

Unlike Mr Jameson, who after the initial joyous reaction had found it difficult to accept his losing streak, the film producer hung her head over the table and began silently sobbing, her body shuddering. I wondered if this game was as friendly as advertised. When she finally raised her head, the look of relief on her attractive face was too puzzling to understand. 

And that's how it continued. The players, more experienced than I’d expected, seemed to slam into a brick wall of misfortune. Changing from competent and confident gamblers to inept and apprehensive simpletons, their whole demeanour changed within minutes. Huge stakes were gambled on poorly executed hands and the piles of chips in front of them were rapidly depleted. It was baffling. For example, who in their right mind would try bluffing with a pair of twos. Or raise the stakes while holding a weak hand. It defied logic. 

To make matters worse, the bigger the losses, the more irresponsible the players became. Already fidgety and defensive, they started avoiding all eye contact, which is never a good sign. I put it down to them losing so much — but boy, was I wrong? Not that I was complaining. With each defeat, the stash of chips on the table grew for the remaining players. 

It must have been close to two-thirty when Miss Frazier, a freelance computer programmer, so I was told, petulantly threw in the towel amid stifled moans and much palm slapping of the table. It left Mr Hunt and me in the game. 

o0o

“So, Mr Daniels, only the two of us remain. I've been waiting for this moment." 

This comment came as a surprise. Okay, he was a reasonable player, but no better or worse than the others. He'd been fortunate. If the losing streak he'd experienced had lasted as long as some of the others I'd seen this evening, then he could have easily become a spectator. To show him I was still cool, I smiled enigmatically. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr Hunt,” I said, sipping my black Russian.

"I'm gonna enjoy taking your money, sir," he said. This confident statement confused me. He hadn't won a single hand against me, and now he was bragging about winning. I smiled indulgently and waited. 

The tension in the room was already electric and after our brief exchange, it grew more so. If anyone made a noise, they were immediately shushed. Nobody dared move. Although it's impossible, I swear I could hear them holding their breath. Even the clinking of jewellery seemed muted as the cards were dealt.

A pair of threes in the first hand gave him his first victory but the second hand was mine. It was in the third round that I felt something brush against my legs. Dismissing it as a figment of the imagination, I raised the stake. When Mr Hunt matched me and raised, I was about to fold when the 'figment' became reality. A hand definitely caressed my groin. I tensed in my seat and waited... Unmistakingly, I felt agile fingers exploring my nether regions.

"Are you in?" asked Mr Hunt. His question was not unreasonable considering how long I sat there in silence, enjoying the activity between my legs. When I demurred, the fingers stopped moving. 

"Are you sure of your decision?” He broke the etiquette that had existed. 

"Well, I'll..." and the hands still didn’t move, "raise you another five thousand," I replied after clearing my throat. The caressing resumed and Mr Hunt’s beaming smile seemed almost genuine. 

I'm not a robot. The hands between my legs were arousing, and before the round was over, my prick was erect, rock hard. That said, it was uncomfortably bent and trapped in my trousers. Feeling the ache in my balls, I desperately needed to adjust myself, but that was out of the question. I had to keep my hands above the table. Grimacing at the pain, there was nothing I could do, I just had to grin and bear it. 

As if nothing untoward was happening, I was in the process of matching my opponent's latest wager when I became aware of the deft fingers pulling down my zip. I almost sighed out loud with relief.

"I'm sorry, Mr Daniels, what did you say? Are ready to see me, or do you want to raise the stake?" 

I had good cards but suspected Mr Hunt's were better. With almost thirty thousand dollars at stake, I considered seeing him when the fingers stopped. I swallowed. My mouth felt like the bottom of a bird cage while my manhood throbbed painfully. Absolution was seconds away, but whoever was under the table, was clearly waiting for my response. Despite the reservations I had about the cards, the situation down below needed resolving.

"No, Mr Hunt, I will raise you another five-thousand.” 

Immediately, cool delicate fingers reached inside my trousers, freed my rampant hard on, and wrapped themselves around the thick girth. A feeling of euphoria and relief allowed me to think clearly. That’s when it occurred to me that I was missing the hand on my shoulder. Was Sandy, who’d been ordered to "take care of me”, following her orders too literally?. Inwardly, I smiled and, almost instantly, Mr Hunt matched my bet and raised another five-thousand. 

Everyone looked at me, waiting for my response, especially the other players who’d remained sitting at the table. They were watching me intently and, in hindsight, there was something resembling collective recognition. I didn't realize why at the time. All I could think about was the tongue flicking over my engorged helmet. 

I squinted at my opponent. He gazed at me, waiting. I glanced around the crowd, and through the cigarette smoke and dim lighting, I saw similar expectant expressions. The tension grew when I reached for my stack of chips. 

"I'll match you and raise you another five, Mr Hunt." 

Soft lips engulfed my erection, the tongue sending shivers down my spine, and it took all my willpower to retain my poker face. Quickly, Mr Hunt challenged me by increasing the bet another five-thousand. Although I knew what would happen, I didn't raise the stake but demanded to see Mr Hunt. 

Raising his eyebrows, he smiled and turned over his remaining card to reveal a pair of twos. My last card gave me a three-of-a-kind and silently I rejoiced my victory. The crowd seemed to release a collective breath as I reached out to collect my winnings, and beneath the table, Sandy's sharp teeth grazed my swollen rim. I winced and thought I heard amused sniggers from around the room, but honestly, I wasn't sure of anything. Well, except for one thing. 

Sandy's lips slid down the length of my erection while her tongue was busy with the girth. She was an expert. Her mouth and nimble fingers were used to turn me on — except for the occasional moments when her razor sharp nails seemed to slice open my flesh, making me inhale sharply and grit my teeth. All in all, she was making things exquisitely difficult for me. With a finger and thumb wrapped around the root of my erection, she gently pulled at the soft skin, drawing the foreskin over my engorged helmet and employing her agile tongue to play with the spongy dome. For a second, while a new hand was being dealt, I tried forgetting where I was and concentrated on what was happening beneath the playing surface. The respite was short lived.

Mr Hunt opened the betting and came with both barrels blazing. "Mr Daniels, I mean business. The privilege of continuing will cost you twenty-five-thousand dollars. Have you got the balls?" 

I gulped. As a professional player, of course I had the balls… it was just that Sandy had them in her hand. 

Okay, I wasn't stupid. The head between my thighs could have been a freaky coincidence. A sudden rush of arousal might have caused Sandy to want my body, but I doubted it. She'd had ample opportunity before the game started, so my obvious assumption was that it was happening to order. (What a pity! She was bloody awesome.) Yet, I was still determined to prove I was a better poker player than Mr Hunt, even with the distraction. (Easier said than done.) 

Coolly counting my chips, I was aware of Sandy's succulent lips clamped around the base of my cock, while her cute button nose pressed against my pelvis. As I've already admitted, I do not have a body that has been sculptured like a Greek god, or a face like Brad Pitt, but I do have a redeeming feature. And it’s an eight and a half inches long and thick girthed feature, to be exact. Right then it was buried down Sandy's throat. Another shiver ran down my spine as I felt her lips retreating slowly from my pelvis. Luckily, my expression of alarm could be explained to the onlookers as a reaction to the exorbitant entry bet.

Guessing what would happen if I raised the amount, I did just that and was rewarded. Sandy slowly bobbed her head in my lap, her lips clamped around my member. I looked across the table and saw Mr Hunt, puffing on his Double Corona, watching me with interest.

If he knew what was going on, he didn't let on. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and treated him to a courteous smile. His immediate response was to nod his head respectfully and then smile back. 

"I'll match your bet and double it, Mr Daniels." The challenge was unmistakable but what was happening to my cock couldn't be ignored either. Sandy was gently masturbating me while flicking her tongue over the sensitive point on the underside of my erection. It drove me crazy but I was determined not to give away what was happening. I clamped my jaws and pretended nothing was bothering me. 

I was sorting out my chips to counter Mr Hunt's wager when a woman's scream erupted behind me. All eyes, including mine — an appalling lack of professionalism, I know — whipped toward the sound. The screamer apologized profusely, explaining that someone had stood on her toes. Almost as soon as the commotion had started, it was over.

I returned my attention to the table, both above and below, and sat in a quiet state of shock. Mumbling, I pushed forward the correct amount of chips to stay in the game. Beneath the table, hot lips sucked my prick but my mind now tumbled in turmoil. During that brief commotion, when I turned around, I saw Sandy standing behind me. She even wished me luck.

So, whose exquisite lips were around my throbbing penis. I gazed around the room, looking to see if anyone was missing. But, from under the bright table light, peering into the dimly lit surroundings and through the thick haze of smoke, it was very difficult to identify anyone. 

Mr Hunt didn't give me time to think. As soon as I placed my bet, he responded. I swallowed. I thought I heard him say a hundred thousand but I was distracted by the expert blowjob and the burning question of the person supplying it. I wasn’t sure of anything at that moment. 

"Did you say a hundred thousand?" 

My voice was shaky and not because of the money involved. I needed room to stretch my legs, ease my tense muscles, as waves of pleasure coursed through my body, gaining intensity. 

“Yes, Mr Daniels, I raised you a hundred thousand dollars." Mr Hunt's tone was magnanimous. "Why, are you in trouble?" 

My balls tightened in my sac and I wasn’t sure that I could keep my voice steady. So, I smiled and shook my head. I began counting but had to restart after feeling the nose of my assailant pressing against my pelvis for a few seconds. As I stacked the first thousand and then another, the tension in the room rose. The person beneath the table also seemed to be affected. It seemed that a decision had been made to bring the contest to a conclusion.

Of course, when I say person, I mean woman. How did I know? Well, to be honest, the alternative was too abhorrent for me to contemplate, but, most important, the fingers were nimble and dainty and sharp nails had me gritting my teeth more than once. 

So, once more, soft lips, agile fingers, and a tongue that seemed to have a life of its own, all descended on my cock like the hounds of hell. With consummate skill, they continued coaxing me toward the climax I was trying to postpone until the game was finished. I hastily shoved my chips into the growing mound in the middle of the table and almost instantly Mr Hunt copied me.

Shit, this was going too fast. The hungry mouth between my thighs wasn't making things easier. I needed time to think but there wasn't any. The spunk in my balls was rising to the boil and I had no idea how long I could last. My cards were good — but were his better? That was the million dollar question.

Playing poker, I have an almost infallible memory but, at that moment, when I needed it most, my brain power was consumed by soft, luscious lips, sliding urgently back and forth along my rigid, pulsing manhood.

Casting caution to the wind, I gathered the correct amount of chips and pushed them forward. The head beneath the table upped both tempo and pressure and it was increasingly difficult to concentrate on the game because I was striving not to ejaculate.

Mr Hunt smiled and cleared his throat. "Mr Daniels, I think this has gone on long enough, don't you?" Unable to speak for fear of giving myself away, I nodded and hoped that he didn't take my silence as a sign of rudeness. He puffed on his cigar and squinted at me through the smoke before continuing. 

“This is my proposal… I'll put everything here in front of me," and he waved his hand to indicate the massive pile of chips, "in the pot. Of course, to see me, you must do the same. Or, are you going to fold and forgo the game?"

To be honest, I hadn't a clue what I was doing. My mind was reeling, my balls ached, and I was praying for release. I realized that the expert beneath the table was so good, she was keeping me on the edge without sending me tumbling over into sweet satisfaction. 

I cleared my throat but still croaked, "I'm in." 

Those were obviously the words everyone — the blowjob queen, in particular — wanted to hear. As I leaned forward, pushing my stack of chips into the middle of the table, the cock sucker fulfilled her final task. Hands and lips changed gears and, within seconds, I felt my spunk rising.

My opponent happily puffed on his cigar again. "Jolly good, Mr Daniels. You've been a splendid contestant tonight. To show that this is a friendly game, may the best man win."

I felt my cock expand and, even though I was restricted by the confines of the situation and my chair, I rocked my hips. The woman accepted my movements and closed her lips around my cockhead. A hand stroked my shaft, using a beautiful twisting motion, while her tongue pressed deliciously against the sensitive spot on the underside of my rim. I clenched my jaws. 

The first eruption was so powerful, I had to grip the table, attempting to conceal the convulsions racking my body. As I sat discharging the contents of my balls down the throat of my tormentor, my gaze flickered around the room and I was aware that everyone was watching me. The expectant expressions surprised me, but I didn't really pay much attention to them. I had more important things going on.

Mr Hunt turned over his cards. Four-of-a-kind. In the fog of my climax, I knew I’d lost, but I didn't care. I was emptying my balls and the temptress was enthusiastically swallowing my offerings. Right up to the last drop that oozed from my slit, her lips never left my cock. 

I looked across the table at Mr Hunt. "You win, sir. Well done. You've beaten me, fair and square.” I showed him my full house.

“Oh, come now, Mr Daniels, you're much too modest. You put up an admirable struggle but the deck was stacked from the beginning. You do realize that, don't you?" 

I nodded. Suddenly, hands were massaging my shoulders and I looked into Sandy’s beautiful eyes. 

"You were fantastic," she mouthed. Truthfully, despite losing, I felt good. Sandy leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "When we're finished here, I'm taking you to my room. Watching you perform was a real turn on and I can't wait to have you." 

I raised my eyebrows in something akin to surprise, especially when I heard Mr Hunt talking. "Come on out my dear, the game's over." 

I quickly turned my head, just in time to see Marsha Hunt being helped up from under the table. 

I was stunned. So she...

"Who was the best this evening, Darling?" asked Mr Hunt inquisitively, while my mind reeled with the implications of what I’d just seen. 

Had Marsha performed the most exquisite blowjob I'd ever experienced? No, it couldn't be. I glanced around the table and saw the other players grinning and nodding their heads in the manner of people who’ve shared the same experience. It finally dawned on me.

“Why you were my dear," she cooed and then winked at me. "Mind you, it was a close call, ladies," she added, smacking her lips. That elicited a burst of feminine giggles, especially from the women still seated at the table. 

Hands rested on my shoulders again, almost possessively, and I turned my head to look into Sandy's sparkling, excited eyes. "You're mine tonight," she said above the laughter.

Suddenly, Mr Hunt loudly cleared his throat. We all faced him, everyone silent. He beamed at me like I was one of his nearest and dearest. Considering what his wife had just done, I wondered what he was going to say. 

"Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I give you, Mr Anthony Daniels." There was a round of loud applause. "Tony, I look forward to playing a lot more poker with you." 

"So do I," said Marsha Hunt mischievously, and licked her lips.