Lydia and Me 8

Chapter Eight - High Stakes

“You want to do what?”

We were sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast when Lydia had asked me a question about the up-coming holiday weekend. Three days with no work, no client calls, and no plans. While things hadn’t been completely crazy recently, they’d been busy enough that both of us were looking forward to the time alone together without interruption. I was a bit engrossed with the sports section, since the Cubs were on a tear lately and I was very much looking forward to the fact that they were on the TV twice in the next three days. Then Lydia had said something about “high stakes poker.”

She glared at me with the “You and your damned Cubs,” look, and said, “Should I wait until you’re finished with that?”

I smiled and closed the paper. Even if they were closing on the division lead, it could wait. “No, dearest. You’re far more important than my Cubbies.”

She grinned, then made a mock pout. “Not if they make it to the playoffs again…”

“…which we won’t find out for months, so I’m all yours. You want to what?”

She seemed ready to say something about what might happen in a few months, but decided it wasn’t worth it. She spoke as she cleared her breakfast dishes.

“I thought maybe we could play some high stakes poker.”

I looked at her a little funny, trying not to lose myself in the peeks of her skin that I was getting from the T-shirt she had worn as a nightgown last night. It was just long enough to cover her up, but only if she wasn’t moving.

“High stakes poker? You want to go to Vegas? Why? You hate playing poker there.”

A thigh slid into view as she bent to put her plate in the dishwasher and I had to remind myself we were talking to make sure I could hear her reply.

“We don’t need to go to Vegas. We could do it right here.”

“The local casinos are dumps, Lydia. Plus, you have to pay per hand you play.”

She laughed and threw the sponge from the sink at me.

“Not that here. Here in our home, you dope.”

Maybe it was the flashes of skin distracting me, maybe it was the very slight fuzzy feeling I usually have in the morning before I’m done with the second cup of coffee, or maybe it was that I’d already entered “three day weekend mode” and my mind was fighting working at all, but I still didn’t get it.

“What are you talking about, you mad woman?”

She smiled as she refilled her juice and sauntered back over to the table (the skin theory was gaining some momentum as she did).

“You and me, heads up play. Winner calls the shots all weekend. We could even play ‘bondage poker.’”

I laughed a bit to myself. I love playing cards and we’d been watching a whole lot of the various poker tournaments that were all over the cable channels these days. They’d obviously started giving Lydia some inspiration.

“Bondage Poker? What’d you have in mind,” I asked, curiosity piqued. She put down her glass as she moved next to me, and sat in my lap with her arms around my neck.

“Oh, we could combine strip poker with a bit of bondage. After someone’s naked, the winner gets to add a piece of equipment. We could keep going until the blindfold’s been ‘won’ and that player can’t proceed.”

I grinned. She’d been doing a bit of planning for this one. “Sounds interesting. But right now, I’ve got a lead in clothes and if you get dressed, then you’ll have…”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, laughing. Then she kissed me to make sure that I did. I pulled her closer and we made out for a moment before she pushed me away with a big grin on her face.

“You’ll have to beat me at cards, mister,” she said, running to the bedroom to get dressed and showing me some more of that marvelous skin. I stood up, smiling, and followed.

As we changed, we ironed out the rules. Five card draw would be the only game and there were no wild cards. We each start with five chips and ante one per hand to play. When one of us was out of chips, we bought them all back with a piece of clothing or a piece of bondage equipment of our opponent’s choice once the clothes were gone. We could pick anything we wanted, so long as they were applied in the following order: ankles, knees/thighs, toy for the genetalia, hands, gag, blindfold. No buying back clothing, but once the stimulating toys came out, you could sell the chips back to your opponent in exchange for removing a piece of the equipment that was on you. And we had to show folded hands – nobody would be allowed to cheat to become a slave.

As we headed back to the kitchen table, I laughed and said “And what happens if we both get to our hands? Gonna be hard to deal.”

She gave me a playful swat in the butt and said, “OK, wiseguy – you have to buy having your hands undone, then.”

“And once the blindfold is on, you’ll be my slave for the weekend?” I said with a grin.

“Oh, you’re cocky today. I might just win,” she said, grabbing me around the waist from behind, “since I’ve got such a grand prize waiting for me. Motivation can be key, you know.”

I laughed and went to refill my coffee cup. Lydia grabbed cards and chips, then sat waiting for me.

As I walked back to the table I said, “It doesn’t hurt that I’m spotting you your bra, either.”

She put the cards on the table and said, “Cut. You play more than I do, so it’s only fair that you give me a handicap.”

This was a very, very true thing. I’ve loved playing cards since I was a child. And while I wasn’t professional quality by any stretch of the imagination, I was pretty confident that I could read Lydia like a book of tells. So I let it slide as she cut a jack to my four and started to shuffle.

We both played a very loose game, and clothes started to be shed immediately. It took all of five hands for me to lose my shirt and pants and Lydia to shed the same plus her handicap, the bra. As I started to deal the sixth hand, I glanced at her breasts and said, “Hmmm. Maybe the real handicap is that you’ve got it off and I have to look at those.”

She grinned as she looked at her cards, and for the first time she folded before the draw, coughing up her ante. I smiled as I handed her the deck, and asked “So if I want to be six chips on the next hand…”

“…I guess I’ll have to buy back my chips before the hand is over.” She frowned at me, feigning annoyance as she shuffled. But her eyes and the rest of her face made it obvious she wasn’t even close to upset. She dealt and said, “Your bet, big spender.”

I looked over my hand and found myself staring at two pair – kings and tens. I grinned as I bet three of my chips. Lydia growled and matched the bet She growled some more when I only took one to her three. A third ten stared at me and I worked at not smiling as I pushed the remaining three chips into the pot. Lydia stuck her tongue out at me as she took off her panties and grabbed five chips and I laughed as I flipped my hand.

“Full house, hun. Think you’re going to get to be the first wearing restraints.”

Lydia grinned and flipped over her hand. Jacks full of eights. I laughed as I stood and removed my underwear and retrieved five chips from the pot. Lydia made a show of watching as I did, humming a strip tease to herself as she grinned at me.

I sat down and stuck my tongue back out at her. She laughed and slid the deck over to me. She had a pleasant flush to her cheeks, which either means she’s been drinking (a distinct “no” this morning) or was getting particularly in the mood.

We traded a number of piddling pots over the next few deals, ending up with Lydia holding six of the ten chips. She dealt and I again stared at two pair, threes and sixes. I just bet one to suck her in before the draw, getting a funny look when I only drew one card.

“Fishing for the straight, dear? Thought you were smarter than that,” she said, drawing three again. No full house for me this time, but two pair heads up is pretty good. So I pushed all three chips into the pot and was called too quickly. The ladies didn’t like me this time, as Lydia showed me three queens.

“I’m snake bit today,” I said as we trooped off to the toy cupboard. We unloaded just about all of the gear from the cabinet to bring with us, since we’d suddenly realized that the ankles would be the first to be bound and that would make the trip just a bit harder as the game got serious. Lydia selected the fur-lined cuffs and locked them on me, then went back to her seat.

We traded back and forth a bit again, finally ending up perfectly even. On the last hand I’d sighed a bit trying to get Lydia to think I was bluffing, then bet everything before the draw. But she didn’t bite and folded right away. My straight went down the drain, though it did get me back to even.

The next hand gave me one of the worst hands in draw poker – an open ended straight draw, ten to the king. But Lydia only bet one chip after I checked, so I decided to take a chance and stayed in, throwing away the six that I couldn’t use. I was rewarded with a nine and concentrated on my cards to avoid smiling or leaning back – sure tells that something good had happened. I checked to her and waited for her to come to me.

Amazingly, Lydia bet in to me, which made me a bit nervous. She pushed all four chips in, and I wondered what she could be sitting in after drawing only one herself. Luck hadn’t been with me, but I figured “what the hell,” and called. I asked “Can you beat a straight?” and flipped over my cards. She pouted a moment, then flipped over her hand – a heart flush to the queen. Fur-lined thigh cuffs were added to the mix and I laughed at my predicament. Four more losses, and I was hers for the weekend.

Four more hands of trading antes back and forth, neither of us really interested in calling large bets. Lots of junk and small pairs in the folded hands, so things there were at least on the level. Then Lydia decided to up the ante a bit, so to speak.

She finished dealing and as I picked up my hand I felt her foot rub up my leg under the table. I grinned and looked up at her, but let it go. She pretended to ignore my glance, staring at her hand as she brought her foot up my leg, until it landed in my lap and idly brushed against my penis. I responded immediately, both in the form of getting a bit hard and pushing her foot gently out of my lap.

“Oh, did I do that? I’m sorry, dear.”

“Distracting your opponent, eh? Dirty pool, Lydia. Dirty pool,” I said, grinning.

She leaned over the table a bit, drawing attention to her breasts as they were pushed up and together by the table top and her arms. “All’s fair…” she replied, then laughed and sat back. I laughed with her and finally got a good look at my cards. This time, I really had to work not to give anything away. I stared at four eights. I glanced at Lydia and noticed the corners of her lips tugging down just a bit. So I bet two to suck her in for the draw, and threw away one. She chewed her lip for a moment, then did the same. Leaning back in her chair and staring at me seductively.

As she passed out the cards, I felt her foot moving back up my leg, and realized something pretty simple – I had a killer hand and if I didn’t take advantage of it, she’d be able to distract me in the following hands. After pushing her foot away again and grinning at her, I pretended to look at my cards, then leaned back and asked,

“So we never talked about a maximum bet. What if I want to make my bet, say, fifteen?”

She frowned at me and then said, “Fifteen? That’d be one heck of a bet. Hmmmmm.”

I let her think for a moment, then said, “Well?”

She looked at me and smiled a bit sheepishly. “I suppose you could buy your way up to that. But if you lost, you’d be out of chips and have to buy again. That’d be the blindfold and the end of the game.”

She’d reached the solution I had thought of before asking. I pretended to contemplate it, then said, “OK.”

She looked at me a moment, then said, “Done. You buy yours now, I pay out if you win. Deal?”

I agreed, since it would mean I both got to be tied up for a bit myself before doing the same to her. If I won, I could lose the gag and whatever she picked for my hands and still have her lovely legs out of the way. She stood and made her choices.

My vibrating device of torment was first, and she insisted on placing it on me herself even though my hands were free. That took a bit longer than it should have, with much “accidental” rubbing and caressing of my member as Lydia did as much as she could to either distract me or get me to give her a tell. Then the straightjacket. Lydia had decided she really liked tying me up in this after we’d first used it. While she loved to have me wrapped and helpless, the jacket offered her much more skin to play with, in particular my butt. She loves to squeeze and fondle me there, and having a mummy next to you makes that very hard to do. She tried leaving that area exposed once when mummifying me, but I slipped a hand free and she was having none of that.

She took her time strapping me in, careful to ensure skin on skin contact at every possible occasion. I laughed as she did and said, “Shouldn’t we be saving the torture until someone’s actually a slave?”

She moved her head so I could see it easily and said, “Nope.” An impish smile danced across her face and she stuck her tongue out at me. “Should have thought about that before you bet so much.”

So I stood there as she meticulously tightened the straps at the collar and down the back, my arms having been made useless first. Then the inevitable playing with me as the two crotch straps were drawn between my legs and made tight. She swayed as she tightened and tied the laces up the side of the jacket so that her breasts brushed against the skin of my thigh ever so gently. I was responding to all of this, of course, though I could do nothing more than get more erect and struggle a bit as she had her fun. I decided that revenge would be sweet and I’d just have to endure it. She slowly double-checked every strap, coupled with more toying, and finally responded to a growl from me by absent-mindedly saying “Whoops. Sorry.”

There’s a moment when you’re being tied up where you pass from being a willing participant, cooperating with your partner to move the scenario along without making it too difficult or impossible for them to tie you, to being the captive. That transition from partner to slave is an amazingly erotic moment for me. It’s as though the sudden realization that I no longer had the power to resist effectively sent a telegraph through my body, heightening my reactions to everything and redirecting the stimulation to my genitals. As the straps for the straightjacket were tightened and adjusted, that moment arrived. I smiled, then tried to force myself to stop – I wanted to win this one, if only to be able to force Lydia to watch the games with me (she’d teased me mercilessly our first time around when the Cubs didn’t have a great team).

But despite my efforts not to betray my pleasure too much, two things happened that clued Lydia in. The first was the obvious reaction of my erection, which seemed to grow larger with every strap being fastened and tightened. The second was a shudder that ran through my body when the second crotch strap was secured. I couldn’t see here when that hit me, but she immediately squeezed my butt, so I was sure she noticed. The part of me that loved being submissive suddenly seemed to be growing in strength, arguing loudly that losing would be far superior to winning right now. But not quite loud enough – I was still looking forward to getting back into the game in a single hand.

Lydia grabbed a strap, some of the wrap, and a large sponge ball from the pile along with the padded blindfold. The strap pinned my arms more firmly to my belly, and she turned to wrap up the ball while “accidentally” pushing her rear end into my crotch. I groaned and was just about to speak when she turned around, grinning broadly, and wasted no time popping the gag into my mouth. She secured it with some more plastic wrap, then looked thoughtfully at me.

“You know, I could just cheat now, couldn’t I? You’re in no position to stop me from just mixing your cards into the deck.”

I glared at her a bit, a bit annoyed. I’m a competitive so-and-so and we were playing a game, so my fighting spirit was in pretty full gear. I mmphhedd and garumphed and harrumphed as much as the gag would allow until she finally broke out laughing.

“That was positively ridiculous, hun.” She turned back to the table and picked up my hand. Without looking at it, she held it up so I could see.

“I’ll even be a wonderful woman and give you a chance to back out. Sure you want to play this one for these stakes?”

I nodded and tried to say “You bet.”

She smiled and flipped the cards up on the table, showing my four eights. Then she grabbed her hand and held it up so I could see, grinning all the while. I stood there stunned as the ladies had bitten me again – four queens.

She reached for the blindfold and began securing it around my amazed eyes. As she did, she said, “Don’t worry dear. If you please me enough, I might let you watch the Cubs at least once.”

The strap was drawn tight about me and she put her mouth close to my ear, her hand drifting down towards my raging erection.

“The real question is – do I let Jane see you like this? She wanted to come by to pick up some things today or tomorrow.”

Her hands moved, caressing my neck and my legs, then pushing me gently into my chair. She straddled me and began kissing my neck, rocking ever so slightly so that her clitoris grazed the head of my penis in a slow rhythm. I could see the big smile on her face even though I was blind, and I struggled both because I wanted to and I knew it was what she wanted.

“I’ll have to think about that. She was nice enough to loan me her deck of marked cards…”

I moaned loudly at that, and struggled. My submissive side made a mental note to buy Jane something nice if I ever won a game of high stakes poker for real…

28.02.05