Grand Prize Poker · Part 1

Grand Prize Poker · Part 1 (1/2)
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Steve was getting restless, and I was getting concerned. We were both pretty compatible and happy with each other, at least I was, but the spark was starting to fizzle between my boyfriend/live-in of four years and I. I had already done what I thought were all the right things: I was supportive, did my best to be good in bed, wore revealing clothes out in public and even when serving refreshments for his every-other-week once-every-two-months-at-our-place poker game. That seemed to perk him up, having the other three guys get to ogle me, but to know he was the one who was going to be all over my naked and willing body later that night. But I could tell something needed to happen to put me back forefront in his mind. To convince him I was the absolute best he was ever going to get and he better take good care of me. But what?

Then it hit me. He knew I liked to show off and tease. He loved to see me show off to others and he liked the way I looked naked. I could offer myself as the grand prize for his next poker game in our house in three weeks. Of course, he'd win. He'd better! And then an extra twist hit me, one that I knew would have him hot the entire time up to the game and hopefully quite a while after.

We had purchased a "fucking machine", a machine where you could mount a dildo and the machine would run it up and back a short distance. If that short distance was inside of me, well, all the better. It was a deluxe model with a self-timer, the ability to change speeds within a set range, long-term lubricating dildos, and even an attachment which varied the depth of the stroke randomly each time.

We (he) had padded and embellished a 3×6 piece of plywood so I could use the FM when I was alone and wanting to be tied up, with no control over what it did to me. Sort of a mechanical ravishment fantasy. So we'd padded and set up the plywood. It had straps to hold my ankles and knees wide apart at the edges of the plywood and four little holes on the board between my ankles for the rubber feet of the FM to lock it in place so the vibrations didn't shift it any (which could be real bad if I were tied down and couldn't keep moving with it, and the idea was that with this setup I couldn't).

My hands rested together hand in palm right above my head and there were stocks-like padded clamps that came down over my wrists to keep my hands and therefore the rest of me trapped in place. There was a latch to keep the clamps closed where a peg could be slipped through, or we had a timer-based solenoid that would also work. It could be set to keep a rod extended into the latch and thereby keep the stocks locked for a period of time. When the timer shut the power off, or the power failed, the solenoid sucked the bar back in and I would be unlatched, able to get free.

Steve had a lot of fun personally testing the setup on me, especially the stress testing one night where he put me in it then took maximum advantage of me! He came three times in and on me, running me up to the edge several times, but the bastard didn't even let me come once! Boy, I fixed that once I finally got loose!

The FM could be left running for quite a while without losing lubricant. The dildos had lubricant reservoirs inside them and the back-and-forth motion slowly eased it out over time, keeping the dildo lubricated while it continually did its evil magic. We figured we had at least three hours before we had to worry about one of the dildos running out of lube, but our actual testing ran between four and eight hours, depending on how fast it went. Steve enjoyed using the platform and the FM and me to generate those statistics too!

But back to my idea. We could get plexiglass or something similar and construct sides and a top for the platform. Holes could be cut into the sides large enough to ensure airflow for me and to allow the guys to reach into the box and play with me. I would be strapped and locked to the platform, naked and visible to all of the players, and would be left alone with the winner for the rest of the night to do whatever the winner wanted. Of course, that would be Steve. Of course, that better be Steve. Jack, Will, and Matt seemed nice enough (maybe not Matt. He seemed to be a creep sometimes, spending a little too long drinking me in) but this was all for Steve.

I mentioned the idea to Steve at an opportune time, selling it as a "high stakes" poker game. He really liked the idea of the box and me being strapped into it and naked and helpless so the guys could grope me a little. He didn't like the thought of me being the grand prize, and me potentially having to have sex and basically be the toy of one of the other guys. For me, the idea was to get him excited. I told him that I was doing this for him, and I wanted it to be a contest. I needed it for my own fantasy. I didn't mind the groping as long as I was safely in the box and he was right there, or at least around.

I didn't want anyone to win but him; I wanted the risk and situation of being tied up and naked in front of all the guys with the understanding that I would be the absolute sex slave to one of the players later that night and the risk that it might not be Steve. Just the risk. I didn't actually want to screw anyone else but him.

He still didn't like it, so I thought about it for a moment, then told him to never mind. Without the risk, I was just throwing my naked body at the guys and getting nothing for it. I would be happy to give Steve the winner's reward when everyone else went home but didn't want to spend the time getting fondled and played with and showing my naked body in the box to the others for nothing and acted like that was the end of it.

I figured Steve would react this way and was being honest with him. I was inwardly hoping that his desire to see me naked in the box and to see the guys playing with me would overcome his reluctance to taking a chance on the game. I could see he was thinking it over. I slid up next to him. "You're going to win, you know. With me at risk, you'll play for your life."

Something inside him clicked. "OK, I agree," he said. I squealed, grabbed him, pulled him close, then started dragging him upstairs for what I hoped would be some really inspired sex for a change. It was.

He put the box together over the next few days. It was everything I wanted. The plexiglass had holes about four inches high through all except the last twelve inches of each side of the box, plenty of air, plenty of access. The box dropped snugly over the plywood; he didn't worry about latching it since the point of me being in there was being stuck in there. The Thursday a week and a half before the game, he called me at work and asked me if I was willing to do a test run when I got home. Of course I was!

The platform was sitting in the middle of the den on the seats of four of our kitchen chairs. The plexiglass cover was sitting off to the side, and the FM was in its intended place. When I got home he was waiting a little expectantly, so I looked it over and everything looked fine. Off came my shoes and jeans and blouse and bra and panties, and I sat down in the middle of the platform. I strapped my ankles and knees in, making sure the FM was properly positioned, then lay back and put my hands into the stocks. Steve was there in a heartbeat, flipped the top of the stocks into place and dropped a dowel into the lock.

Locked in!

I could feel my heart beat a little faster and myself becoming a little wet. Then he started the FM, with the random depth attachment, slow and steady. Nothing I could do about it as it plunged in and out of my pussy, but I wouldn't have stopped it if I were able except to replace it with its nearest non-mechanical substitute. I hoped that was in Steve’s plans for the night.

Steve took the plexiglass and placed it gently over me. It sat perfectly, and I could hear out pretty well, not that I could hear much over the FM running. He pulled up another chair on the left side at chest level, then spent some time reaching in and tweaking and playing with my nipples. It felt good and helped me along in the direction I was already going. A person could pretty much reach to the far side of my body from either side.

"OK, it works," I told Steve, "now let me out."

"I don't think so, not yet. You need to be in it for about thirty minutes to test how the airflow is going to be."

I glared at him, but of course, couldn't do a thing about it. We actually ran the test for about thirty-five minutes; thirty minutes for me to work up to a nuclear bomb of an orgasm and five minutes for my shaking to stop. After that, the top came off, the FM was placed off to the side, and Steve commenced to remind me why he would never be replaced by the FM.

"It's time," Steve told me.

I had butterflies as big as elephants. Steve had been really heartless; that test run was the last time he had given me an orgasm, and he made me promise not to do myself alone. He wanted me to be so, so ready for him later on tonight. I did it but was not happy about it. Especially the three times over the next week that he tied me to the platform and got my motor thoroughly running, but didn't take me all the way. Well, he wanted me sex-crazed and ravenously hungry on poker night and he had that. I was still willing to do this. I could see the light in his eyes and I didn't even want to think how it'd affect our relationship if I chickened out at this point. It's not like he'd leave me or anything but he'd be hurt for a long time. Besides, I'd been wet all week in anticipation.

It was about forty-five minutes before the poker game started. Steve had made the box the table on which the game would be played. At first I would be inside the box, naked, gagged and silent, with a large sheet acting as a tablecloth over the box. At some point, after the game had been going a while, Steve would pull off the sheet and the fun would begin.

"Ok, " I reminded him. "You promised. If you lose, you'll go with the other two guys and stay gone until morning, right?" I wanted him on edge. I wanted him to really be risking me not just playing games. He had announced he wanted to tape-gag me, and in exchange, I extracted this promise from him: if I wasn't really, truly at risk, it wasn't worth it to me. But he damn well better win. Then again, he and I had addressed that.

He nodded. He still didn't like it but he knew I needed the promise and I knew he really, really hated to break promises. Then again this might be one of the times. "You're going to win." I hugged him, pressing my body hard against his.. "And have me as your willing, submissive little sex slave all night. What are you going to do with me?"

He gestured at the platform.

It took a second for my sundress to fly off my head and join my sandals on the floor. I smiled and looked sultrily at Steve. "May your future sex slave meditate on any ideas of the sort of things you have planned for her?" I asked. "Thinking about what is coming might help me pass the time."

He pointed at the platform, answering me only with a mischievous smile. I climbed up and arranged myself on it. He placed and tightened the straps around my knees and ankles, then flipped the stocks onto my wrists and shoved the pin in. I took a deep breath. I was committed. I was naked and stuck on the plywood and if Steve wanted to go through with our plan I no longer had a way to stop him. I felt myself get a little wetter. He took a strip of duct tape and pressed it down around my mouth and then he carefully placed the plexiglass box over me. The sheet was draped over it, covering the box entirely. It'd seem a little weird to the guys, not playing at the kitchen table, but we expected they'd deal with it at first and have no problem at all once the sheet came off.

Despite now having an itch that I had no way to scratch, I settled in to wait. Steve left the room for a few minutes then came back in. Flipping up one side of the sheet, I watched in concern and chagrin as he put some extra things in the box. A pinwheel, two of our vibrators, a set of clothespins, and our clover nipple clamps. "No, Steve! What will they think of us when they see all…" I started to slow down as I heard myself and saw myself. "That… stuff. Yeah."

Steve wasn't listening anyway. The sheet came back down into its proper place and he moved off into the kitchen to work on snacks and sodas.

I had insisted on one thing to make sure I was the prize for my boyfriend. Right above the table, the ceiling was mirrored and Steve and I had worked out a system just for this one time. I would be able to see the face-down cards, they'd be above me on the Plexiglass. I could see the face-up cards in the mirrored ceilings so I could basically see everyone's hands. If Steve was going to win, I should look at him and smile. If he was going to lose, I should look at him and blink. Yes, it was cheating but it was only this time and I didn't want anyone else's cock in me tonight (or any other night) but Steve's.

But he had made sure of that. He had kept me high and dry ever since the last test and I was quite ready for some multiple orgasm sex in a few hours. After this show, he should be sizzling like the surface of the sun. I was going to enjoy the hell out of quenching that fire.

I thought idly as I waited about the three other guys in the game. Will was middle-sized, sandy blonde hair, an accountant or some kind of financial person. He was quiet and courteous at the games. Sure he looked me over just like everyone else when I was showing off but seemed to be all gentleman. He wore a wedding ring. If I had to be his sex slave for a night, I thought, he'd probably pass, but if I wound up serving him, it'd probably be interesting and I wouldn't regret much about it the next morning.

Jack was the most muscular of the three. He and Steve and I went way back, all the way to high school. He made his living as a plumber and did pretty well from the car he drove. He was quiet and well-centered as people went, with a quick sense of humor. He had been in a real serious relationship with a girl named Jenny but they had broken it off, rather roughly it seemed, about four months ago. You could see it when that happened; the first game or two he would get so drunk he would just quit playing, but he seemed to be getting his life back in line. Nobody had replaced Jenny yet that I knew of.

I wondered if I should work on that, and if so with who? Maybe Carla? Could I get her to come over for the next game and help serve, and have her wear something much skimpier than me (which wouldn't be a problem

Grand Prize Poker · Part 1 (1/2)
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