Sitting on her bed with her hands in her lap, Cindy Kole anxiously waited for her daddy, the embers within her loins simmering in anticipation. It was her nineteenth birthday and while she didn't know what he had planned, the outfit he'd picked out told her it wasn't dinner and a movie. At first glance the frilly, white dress with its mid-thigh hem, high collar, and full-length puffy sleeves appeared innocent, even dollish. But indistinguishable among its ruffles and lace were four ribbons that held a section at its front which, when removed, allowed unhindered access to her pert, B-cup breasts. On her legs were a pair of sheer, white stockings with elastic cuffs hugging her thighs, and on her feet were black shoes with gold buckles. Other than these items she wore nothing else; no bra or panties. Adding to the outfit's dollish presentation, her raven-black hair was done into springy curls that barely touched her shoulders, her bangs were held back by a single ribbon with a bow, and her innocent features and bright eyes were untarnished by make-up.
A gentle rap on her door made Cindy's heart begin to race.
"You ready, Sweetheart?" Mr. Kole asked, stepping into the room. He was a tall man with rugged good looks, wearing jeans and a dress shirt that fit his firm physique well.
"Yes, Daddy," she whispered, her voice quivering with excitement.
"Come on then," he smiled, taking her hand.
Rising from the bed, her heart beating faster and faster, Cindy allowed him to lead her out of the room and along the short hall, then down the stairs to their home's first floor where he headed for the rec-room at the back of the house. Following him through the door, Cindy's racing heart leapt into her throat when she saw how the room had been rearranged . . . and the three men in it.
The pool table had been moved from the center of the room to against one wall. In its place was now a mattress, covered by a soft sheet and a couple pillows. The two couches and easy chairs had been moved to encircling it with a few feet between them and the mattress. The only thing that hadn't been moved was the poker table, it still sat off to the one side near the bar.
On suddenly weak legs, Cindy followed her father over to the table where his friends sat, rocks glasses in hand. Standing beside her, he continued holding her hand while resting his other hand at the small of her back.
"Sweetheart, you know everyone," he said by way of introduction.
She did. Each of the men had been to the house on numerous occasions, and she'd been to their homes as well. Over the last years, ever since her mother had passed, she'd often been her father's date at social functions, a situation that had somehow in the last year, led to their current . . . relationship.
But she'd only ever been platonic with the men. In fact, she'd only ever been with her father in that way. Yet standing there . . . seeing the way the men were looking at her . . . she knew that was going to change tonight. Her father had talked about sharing her with his friends, but she'd never thought he'd meant it. Now she did. The idea made her nerves tingle excitedly and sent tropical breezes wafting across her embers.
"Gentlemen, the evening's entertainment as promised. A darling little lady to be used by each and every one of us until we are finished with her." He said, confirming her suspicion.
A sudden wave of shyness made Cindy lower her face as color rose to her cheeks. Looking at the men through the tops of her eyes, her heart fluttered within her chest. The men were all well-built and nice-looking, and she'd had a little crush on each one of them over the years. Something her daddy had obviously picked up on. Mr. Grant was the most handsome, his own rugged good looks enhanced by his sparkling eyes. Mr. Craig had the most powerfully build, sporting the slimmest waist and broadest chest and shoulders. And Mr. Stone had a gentle warmth to him that made her feel very comfortable in his presence.
"And now to go over the rules once more, mainly so Cindy can have an idea of how this will work," her father announced. "We're going to play poker to determine in what order and in what ways we get to enjoy her. While the winner of the first hand has his fun, the rest of us will continue playing. Whoever wins the hand that's being played when he finishes goes next. And so on. As for which of her charms the winner is entitled to, that will be determined by the size of the pot; the bigger the pot, the more intimate the concession."
Listening to the plan, thinking how she would be a reward for each of the men in turn, the heated breezes fanned Cindy's embers into smoldering briquettes of desire and she swayed slightly under their gazes. She wondered what her father meant by the size of the pot determining the concession, but she didn't ask.
"Out of deference to the spirit of the game," he continued. "I will concede the first two wins and allow the others to cut for high card if I happen to win the pot."
With that, her father led her over to the mattress where he turned to gaze down into her eyes and gently cup her chin to lift her face to him. Her shoes had low heels, but even in them he stood a foot taller than her and when he leaned down to kiss her she lifted up on her toes. As their lips gently connected a tingle raced through her.
"Kneel here and wait," he told her, after the kiss. "And return after each session."
"But how will I know what...?" she let the question trail off, too nervous to finish it.
"I'll let you know," he assured her with a smile.
As he returned to the table, she did as instructed. Kneeling on the mattress, she straightened the dress's skirt under her then settled back on her haunches and carefully smoothed out the front over her thighs.
The cards were dealt.
The game commenced.
Cindy's mind reeled with what was happening . . . what was going to happen. She wondered what these men would be doing with her . . . how they would use her body for their pleasure. Over the past months her daddy had introduced her to many sexual adventures, and she'd enjoyed every one of them. Thinking about all of the possibilities made the tropical breezes fan her embers even more while she fidgeted with the dress's skirt.
Mr. Kole had taught her how to play poker, so even being away from the table she could tell they were playing five-card stud. She wondered why all the men were staying in since odds were at least one of them had no hope of winning. Then she noticed that his friends were paying her more attention than their cards, gazing over at her with hopeful, admiring eyes.
When the hand was decided, Mr. Stone was the victor. But even as he raked in the chips he was looking at her, more interested in his other prize.
"Congrats, Brad," her father said. "That pot wasn't bad, but it could've been better. It wins you a blow-job from my beautiful daughter."
