Mob Strip Poer

What do you know about strip poker?

Right. What in hell is there to know? When you were a kid, a teenager, it was an off-color joke. Presumably, people did do it. And, yes, it was intriguing, but how do you get invited?

Now, all those guys who were adolescents in the 1950s, 1960's, and so on, are lamenting all that they missed. Erotic daydreams. Fantasies.

And on the internet, where the biggest pot of gold is pornography, you can view hundreds of videos of strip poker. You can participate, too, for a monthly fee, in a live online strip poker. Yes, for the right price real girls will strip and pretend to be alarmed and embarrassed to slip off their bras and panties.

All the fantasies I encounter, all the tales of illicit sex, become in me a need to do them. I had some of strip poker at the high-school academy in Connecticut and even in college—a few fraternity parties. The thrill is exhibition, and its darling, voyeurism, and the hope that the game would end in an orgy. I was the girl who felt guilty when you had a hard-on. I was the girl who smiled when you reached over during the game and flic ed my nipple. I laughed.

Ten years later, I'm still game—if it is for a good cause. I have mentioned, in passing, a young woman in East Hampton who panicked after a traffic accident, did a hit and run, lied about it, tried to bribe a witness, and ended up with a nine-month prison sentence. It horrified me. This woman is the sex prey. I knew what would happen. I ended up visiting her at the Suffolk County penitentiary every two weeks. Trying to give her advice. Give it up in the most bearable way and leverage that into protection.

You could say it worked. She got out in one piece. Problem is that with her record, her attitude toward life, and her sheer hardness she hasn't thrived in "civilian life." She could marry money. She is drop-dead beautiful in a big Russian girl way, flawless oval face, eyes alight (though not with joy), mouth big and pouty, and all framed with chestnut hair flowing down over her shoulders. We will get to her body.

Skip over, here, all my other efforts to help.

So, one day Katrina wants to know if I will join her and another woman for a strip poker game with three guys. Katrina does this. No sex not required, she said, just a fun game. Nice guys, money. Katrina needs it, but she must bring other girls. She knows any money I get does to her.

Right. That I even considered it, did not lecture her about getting a life, did not storm away tells you I am sexual risk-taker, an exhibitionist, and a fringe member of polite society.

I said, dubiously: "Three of us get naked with three guys and then smile, collect some money, and say, I have a lovely evening."

"No, of course not, Ellen. But I can handle three guys. For me, it's just another gang bang. (Ouch!) Once they get off, they don't care about you. And I think the other girl is probably a slut, too."

"After the game, I just sit around bare ass and watch? Maybe I could serve the drinks? And wipe up their dicks with a wet face cloth when you're done." This sounded weirder than the game itself.

Katrina has a gorgeous laugh. She just breaks up, and then she's even prettier. She didn't answer, though.

She insisted on picking me up. "I don't drink anymore, Ellen--ever. I will drive you home. This is essential." It took over a year to get her driver's license back after she left a body beside Route 114 that evening. Of course, most of it was in prison.

Sure, I have no way to bolting. But let's not catastrophize. Katrina has been making a living for three years.

It was a Thursday evening. Katrina was high, but not on a trip. She spoke calmly, drove well, laughed. After a long drive, all on backroads, I had no idea where we were. I asked Katrina. She laughed and said, "Land of Cand. Land of the Golden Man. Land of Whipper Ginny. Land where none grow old!"

How can you doubt that? I used my cell phone GPS, then called a friend I knew was out and left a message about where I was, what I was doing, when I would be back.

"Smart," said Katrina. "But you'll see, all under control."

Then, she turned to me and said: "This is ridiculous, I know, but..."

"I'm still on the pill."

"Good."

We walked into a mansion. From glimpses, I thought we were near the water. Not sure if it was the Atlantic or Peconic Bay, not so far apart in Long Island.

Not shoddy! After clearing ourselves with the young man at the entrance, then passing along a couple halls, we walked into a regal living room, well-lighted (of course), thick carpet, beautiful furniture, and, in the center, a round table with six chairs, its top casino-green nap.

Three guys rose and came forward. Not bad looking, rugged handsome. But was I paranoid? What did senior members of the Gambino crime family look like? I did have that thought, but who knew? They were tall, broad shouldered, and their smiles were happy and welcoming. Anyway, I am with gorgeous Katrina and already here is the third girl, Tammy, a chubby little blond piece with excited, sparking eyes and what looked like a permanent pout. I was guessing she had some rolls of fat at her tummy, easily forgiven when she is packing about five times the ordinance I have in my bra.

I shake. I smooch. I hug. I giggle.

One guys can't stop staring at me. Am I too scrawny? He is scrutinizing my long bare legs, frowning at my bare chest revealed by my blouse, looking at my face under the black pixie bangs.

We seat ourselves. Three women on one side, three men on the other. A young guy comes in to take our drink orders. I think he is "related." Also horny. He stares at Katrine but especially at Tammy with her sweet face, sexy dark-blue eyes, and corn-yellow short unruly hair. I wonder where they got Tammy?

Okay, heads up. One guys smiling, reciting the rules. When you lose a round, you remove one item of clothing. When you are stripping, you stand up, back from the table. When you return to your seat, you do not close your legs.

I raise my hand, grinning. Should we all take off our shoes and socks? Earrings and watches don't count. And, guys... take off suit coats and ties... Even things up.

Applause. NO ONE here wants to say dressed.

Now, all the guys are studying me, grinning.

The game continues until only one player is wearing anything.

I raise my hand. When the girls are sitting, our boobs are on display. So the guys who are stripped below the waist must play standing up so we can study their packages.

They glance at each other, frowning. One shrugs, then all of them shrug. Applause. The guys are grinning at me. Katrina is happy, too, This game is a winner. I may set a new standard.

And I add, in the interest of fairness, that when a girl is naked below the waist, she also stands up to play.

All right, all right. Enough high IQ suggestions.

The guys have tossed aside their jackets and ties, we all have shed out shoes and socks. A guy deals. Very accomplished. His fingers move fast. I am watching to see if he is dealing from under the top card. Easiest cheat in the world.

What do you know, I lose.

I stand up. Such famished stares. I hate to tell you I am a 31B. Of course, I shrug off only my blouse. I have pale slender shoulders, nice arms. Delicate. I am wearing a hot tangerine bra. My torso reveals daily workouts to sculpt my abs. My secret weapon is my cute grin from under my bangs.

Okay, for God's sake, stop staring.

More rounds are dealt. As far as I can tell, they aren't cheating. Only guys deal. But what the hell do they care? Soon, all three guy are bare chested. One sits in his underwear. Good pecs. Not flat and sculpted. A little well-padded, but real muscle. God knows for what. Nipples mostly dark. Sicilian? Just my fantasy.

They are waiting.

Chance hits Katrina. She goes red. What an act. Trained in the penitentiary.

She stands. I notice she is wearing a black bra too small for her, overflowing. She smiles, but she glances around nervously, plays with her straps. Glances at Tammy and me as though for support. Yup, I fall for it. I feel sorry for her.

Her hands are behind her. She has paused, again. Glancing around as though for a last-minute miracle. There is none. Her full lips compress; her eyelids lower. She is working behind her back.

The bra comes off. She drops it. And there they are. Defying the laws of nature. For full, heavy breasts, they are incredibly high, perky, held up by magic, and topped by dark, defiantly big tits. She stands there, revealed. Her face is lowered, the perfect demurely shadowed cheek, lips.

The response is awe. Literally, struck dumb.

I am jealous for the spotlight. I grin and lean toward Katrina. My hand cups one exquisite boob. I grin wildly. She bursts out laughing, keeping it light, keeping it fun. I squeeze her and shake her. Wild applause.

It goes on. Next Tammy's knockers. Very white, soft-looking, big and gently rounded, with little nipples. Makes you want to feel her up. And her pout says you better not.

Next round, one of the guys loses his shorts. Now, he is standing. A thick pecker is arcing out from his nest of black hair. He is slightly excited, so the swelling is beginning to drag back his foreskin. Half of his dark red raspberry is on display. His grin is like a little boy's.

Next, the deal goes against me. Who cares? I expect to be naked and gang banged. All this for Katrina!

There is a famished focus on my chest. How to play this. I wait, glancing around, my face tense. Murmurs, then laughing protests, a few fingers pointed at my chest. My face is lowered. One of our guys orders, "Get it off!"

I look up as though awakening. I frown, sigh, then my arms go behind. A long pause. How does one do this?

Then, I shrug off my bra and toss it away. I am upright, shoulders back, proud, sticking them out there. I have a faint "So what" smile. I know I am not huge. Boobs well separated. Pink nipples completing the way my breasts swing down slightly and taper to a point.

Applause. Self-consciously, my hands cover myself, but end up giving a quick massage, rubbing, lifting, rolling, and finally flicking my nipples.

In a few rounds, all the girls are topless, two guys are naked. They are standing as per the rules. We can see it all. Thick peckers, rapidly getting stiff. Grins.

Oops. Tammy's turn. As she stands, all eyes are on her panties. She pouts even harder, frowning, looks around, hands up to cover her tits. Now is the time for casual. Tits are explosive. Pussies are the second act.

She shoves down mauve bikini panties. She remains standing, as agreed. Three guys and two gals are studying her chubby, shaved pooch, smooth, pale, with a heavy secret looking slit. One more round with three guys standing, their packages all in a row a few inches above the table, looking as though they don't quite know what to do with themselves.

Now, Katrina loses her bottom. Fantastic flat belly, curly spreading chestnut hair. She laughs so brightly--fun girl. She looks down at herself. Her hands are parting the hair so that thick, dark brown pussy lips are on display. She laughs and looks up right at the men, glowing.

So, game over. I win. I still have my panties. I am the only one still seated. I look up, grinning. One of the guys gives me a smile. He says, "One more round, each of us bets $100 and you bet your panties?"

Done, and I am three hundred richer. Tammy is seriously pouting. Katrina is joyous.

"Another round?"

I win another three hundred.

The three guys are still standing, peckers in a row, all now elevated.

"Make it three?"

I nod. I hope to God I lose this one. And I do.

The guys cheer as though the quarterback just dived over the goal line in the last five seconds of a tied game. They chant: "Strip, strip."

I'm wet. I love attention. Love it.

I get an inspiration. I stand up. I am wearing a red thong. I turn so they see my mostly bare ass, which is tight from running, working out. As I turn back, I grin at them. Then, I pull my chair nearer to the table, step up on it, then onto the table.

Utter tumult. I cross the table to the male side, where three cocks are now unblushingly standing about navel height. I like the little faces, with two chubby cheeks facing me. And leaking tears.

I push down my thong. When I straighten up, I thrust my loins forward like a slave girl on sale, my jet-black swatch of pussy hair against a pale belly. One guy's head tilts far over, making a joke of trying to look up between my legs. I let my feet slide wide apart. Now, all three are examining me for real. Never saw a pussy before, I guess. I reach down and inside; I draw out a long strand of precum. My audience is mesmerized.

I reach down and muss a guy's hair, then another's. A big hand reaches up, in turn, and musses my pussy hair. Roars of laughter. More hands. Before fingers start probing, I turn, bring my legs together. I stand with my back to them as hands squeeze my ass.

I glance at Katrina. Tell me you know what is going down here?

She catches my gaze. Shrugs, smiling hugely.

Yeah. I am climbing down from the table. I take a seat. But Katrina and Tammy have gotten up and are going around the table. Katrina goes up to a guy, enthusiastically says "great game," puts her arms around him, presses against him. Tammy does the same. Imagine those monumental breasts crushed against you. I pick up my wine glass. Deliberately avoid catching anyone's gaze. Maybe Katrina has told them I don't play this game.

No chance, of course. After a minute, I look up and a guy is standing a foot from my chair. Great close-up of all he's got. I gaze from under my bangs, smiling. He says, "Never saw anything quite like you." He adds, "Really."

I say: "Katrina is an old, dear friend. I did this for her. I want her to be taken care of. "

He is staring at the tips of my nips. He says, "Done. My word on it."

There are words and there are actions. I just like to be asked.

I reach out to take his big balls and cock, close on them, grinning. As I play with his stuff, he reaches out one big hand and takes my boob. I push it into his hand. He lifts the other hand and gives a swift slap across my left tit. It hurts. I yelp. Which is what he wants. My hand that is holding his package rolls his balls together roughly, as hard as I can.

He howls and jerks back--but laughing. This is his world. I lift my hand and spank the handful of handful of balls I am holding. He doubles over, laughing wildly. I know it is coming: His big hand whips across my right boob. I deliberately make no expression. I shrug, smiling.

But I am slapping his tight package, again. He is groaning, his knees giving way, but getting stiffer if that is possible

I stand up. I just inches from him. I know I have super stiff titties. Then, I gaze down at him, as though judging, deciding, assessing his assets. Create a little tension. When I look up, my eyelashes are lowered. I say, in my little girl voice: "Please don't hurt me, again, mister. I'll do anything you want. Just tell me."

For a second, he looks genuinely alarmed. Then I grin. He roars with laughter.

I drop to my knees, expression intent and businesslike. Take him in my fingers, roll his foreskin up and down, examine his wet raspberry. I slowly lower my face, lips open, stretched to the limit to swallow him.

I am effectively gagged. His manhood stuffs my face. My eyes rise to him. Yeah, of course, he is shoving his prick down my throat. Where does he think it can go? I lick him, suck him, my wet tongue races round and round the slick head of his penis.

"Oh, jeez!" he moans.

I curl a forefinger against my thumb. I snap it into his right ball.

He almost barks, howls, and his hands fly down to protect himself. I push them away. He is gasping but behaving himself, muttering, "My nuts, my nuts."

With a mouth full of saliva, I administer wild licks under the head of his cock. Then, I am kissing it, smearing my lips against it. I squeeze my boobs together to trap his cock and rub it.

He is making religious references, now. I gaze up, my expression commanding. I take his hips on either side and drag downward. He quickly kneels. I fall against him, knocking him back. I grab his cock, again, jerking him.

Time to ride the midnight highway. I hike one long slim leg over him. He sighs, closes his eyes. Mounted over his belly, I first walk myself up forward until I am straddling his neck with my thighs, my pussy is on his mouth. At first he does nothing. I reach behind and give his nuts a gentle slap. "Suck!"

Instantly, he gets busy. I can stand only a half a minute. With a gasp, I pull off his lips, slide down his torso. I take his iron-stiff rod in one hand, position my cunt, and impale myself on him. He gives a shuddering sigh.

I start with a walk, move to a trot, a canter, and soon I am galloping, my loins making my pussy whip his dick back and forth 60 times a minute. My face is raised, it feels hot. I am grimacing with nearly unbearable pleasure. My guy is going wild, bouncing me with his heaving hips, so we have four-way motion. Course, it's probably going to tear through my pussy into my womb...

I am walking slowly with my wine glass, surveying the silent battlefield. Tammy is flat on her back beside her guy, her chubby legs lolling wide, eyes closed, mouth open. He lies beside her with one hand clutching her breast, barely pushing it down. Her pussy lips are parted, too, covered with gluey cum.

Katrina is on the job, on her back, knees held drawn up. Her guy is kneeling between her thighs, running his rod up and down over her wet pussy. She is leaking cream, so I know he has come at least once. Her eyes are open. She grins up at me. I kneel, careful with the wine, and take her left tit between my lips, sucking it. She gropes one of my pointy tits. We could work this into an act.

I wonder if my guy has gone to the bathroom to clean up? Or fallen asleep where I left him knocked flat, his cock bending over and down toward his belly.

Nope, here he comes. I glance up, grin. He has found another erection somewhere. I go back to Katrina's stiff tit.

He has knelt behind me. Only question is do I get dick in the pussy or up the ass? I arrange myself on all fours, face on Katrina's chest. Knees well spread on the carpet. I know he is seeing a pale butt that looks amazing round because my waist is so small. Several times, he runs his hands from my armpits down to my thighs, shaping me, comprehending the female form.

Oops. I guess he figures he's done my cunt. I don't mind so much getting my ass reamed, although I prefer it before I have come.

Ah! Not going to have that choice. Ah! He doesn't start slowly. I am shoved forward and hauled backward. Barely keeping my lips on the tit. I think he is trying to nail my head into a wall or something.

I will not cry out. I reach way back under my body. Locate where his swinging balls are rhythmically banging my ass. Get my fingers loaded. My timing right.

It is totally unexpected. He screams like a girl.

I glance over my shoulder. "Easy," I grunt, "I'm not a big girl. You can't drive a trailer truck through my tunnel."

He manages a strained grin, nods. He is back to a gentler rhythm.

On the drive home, I silently hand Katrina the $600 I earned for taking off my panties, plus a four-figure tip. Sweet. A long goodbye kiss and a roll of bills pushed down inside my blouse between my boobs.

Katrina says, watching the road. "I talked to Ron for a few minutes." She shakes her head. "He begged for your name, phone number, email."

I wait.

"I didn't tell him anything." She makes a face. "I think he wants to marry you. Men!"

Anything for a friend, Katrina.