Chapter One

 

"Call."

Daria grinned evilly around the table, taking a drink of vodka and smirking a bit too cockily. Would they think she was bluffing? She hoped so. She was double bluffing. She really did have a great hand, and she'd lost too many that night already.

"Raise."

She felt her heart turn over. She was hoping her confidence would convince Jerry to throw in. She didn't have any more money. She'd had a bad night tonight, but she knew, she just knew her luck was changing. This hand was the one which would set it right for her. Shit!

Paul threw in another ten. This was not a low stakes game, not by Daria's standards anyway. But she almost always managed to hold her own, and often came out on top.

She'd been playing poker since her freshman year in high school, when Collin Welch got her hooked. For the first year or two it had been once a week penny ante stakes, playing for quarters in her basement, or someone else's. There was something about the turn of the cards that called to something deep inside her. Everyone else just thought of it as a game, but to her it was something more.

The others said she took it too seriously. Some of them stopped playing with her because she was too intense. In her third year a high school, at sixteen, she'd gotten a job. That let her play in higher stakes games, a dollar a hand, sometimes two or three. Some weeks she made more money at poker than her cheap fast food jobs.

And didn't have to pay taxes.

By her senior year she was obsessed. She read games on poker and blackjack, on the various ways of working the cards. She imagined various strategies as she lay in bed waiting for sleep to take her, and she could no longer wait an entire week for a game. She sought them out two or three nights a week.

But she wasn't content to play with boys any more. Now she was playing with men, and for higher stakes. The men weren't as easy to bluff as the boys, and knew their cards much better. She still won more often than she lost, but it was harder. The games were more intense for her. But that just made the rush that much more wild every time she won a hand.

Her first year at university, taking economics, she made a killing off college men, drunken frat boys and newbies away from home for the first time. The money was nice, but she didn't really get that same rush. They were too easy, and she found their lack of seriousness, their casualness, frustrating. Then she found a real poker game. This one was for serious players only, and she knew that the host was connected in some minor way to the local mob.

That just gave it a higher rush. These guys cared about their poker. They knew the game and respected the cards. They were her kind of people.

Sort of.

The other players were all men. Most of them were in their thirties and forties. They had little in common with a nineteen year old second year university student.

Except the game. And that was everything.

The sense of bitter failure when she lost was high. But the rush was higher still when she won.

These men respected her ability with the cards, but Daria was not naive. There was always an underlying sexual tension in the small rooms where they met. But that had almost always been present. She'd sensed it when she was very young, and at first been a bit embarrassed and a bit excited by it. But as she'd grown older she'd learned to use it. If her opponents were distracted, well, so much the better.

Not that she was obvious about it. Not too obvious, anyway. Her tank tops were always tight across her firm young breasts, but not too tight. Sometimes there was a little cleavage in her blouses, especially when she leaned forward to scoop up her winnings, but there was never too much creamy flesh visible for anyone to make any accusations.

Her dark brown hair was glossy and just a bit tousled as it spilled down across her shoulders, the bangs cutting across her forehead in just that way, the way which made the men lick their lips and sigh within their minds. She had worked it into an art form, so that it seemed so natural, without any effort at all.

But it was different in this game, because these were men, older men, and harder men, at that. It felt risky playing such games with them. She was a slender young girl with a sleekly athletic body, and she knew she was the stuff of dreams to middle aged men. She knew they thought about her, would often catch their eyes on her as she looked up from her cards.

It was a little heady, that sense of being wanted, of being admired, of being a sex object. It was a bit uncomfortable, too, and her mind would squirm a little if she thought about it much, since a couple of them were old enough to be her father. So she tried not to.

Gene took a card and tossed a ten onto the pile. Mike did the same. They looked at her, and she felt a tremendous sense of frustration. She finally had a good hand, damn it; a straight flush!

"Well, kid?" Jerry demanded.

She scowled at him, and Gene chuckled. "I think the little lady's out of dough."

"Awww," Paul said in mock sympathy.

"You could loan me the money," she said sulkily. "It's only ten lousy bucks."

Mike shook his head. "You know the rules of the game, kid. No fronting. You bring what you need to the table or walk away. Now what's it gonna be?"

"You could sell something you got for ten bucks," Paulo said with a grin.

Daria glared at him from under her eyelashes. She was wearing a tank top and jeans. She had a leather choker and a cheap watch.

"You wanna buy my watch, Paulo?" she asked sarcastically.

"Nope. But I could buy, say, your tank top."

The other three men chuckled in amusement, and Daria bit back an obscene response. She had to play with these guys, and she was only here on sufferance. She was not really one of them, after all.

"This top cost me thirty-four bucks at the Gap," she said.

That just drew more laughter.

"Tell you what, babe," Paul said. "I'll advance you thirty bucks for it. If you lose, you can buy it back."

"Paulo just wants to see your tits," Gene said with a sly grin.

"Like I hadn't guessed that," she said.

But her mind was working fast. She had a pretty good idea what cards Paulo could hold, and what Mike had, as well. She knew Gene had shit, so that just left Jerry, who had raised. But Jerry was a notorious bluffer. If she won she could really rub their noses in it. The rush would be intense.

The pressure made her stomach churn, and she gulped down more vodka as she thought about it. She had a black bra on underneath. It was not particularly conservative, but it didn't really show any more than she'd show at the beach.

"Deal," she said.

The men grinned and chuckled, and her face reddened a bit.

Paulo held up three tens but pulled back when she reached for them.

"Top first," he said.

"Come on! If I win - ."

"But you can't win without the ten, and if I give you the ten without getting the top it's a loan, and loans are against the rules. Remember?"

"He's right," Mike said, his voice a little slurred.

"But you could buy the top from me and let me wear it, just for one hand," she said with her best puppy dog look.

He sniffed disdainfully but then tossed her the money. She grabbed it eagerly and tossed a ten on the pile. "Call!" she said as Jerry filled her glass again.

Mike had a pair of twos, the loser. Paulo tossed his face down, showing he was bluffing and had nothing. Gene did the same. She spread hers on the table, her heart thumping, and then Jerry, with a slow, spreading grin, spread a full house out before him.

"Shit!" she snarled, thumping the table as the others chuckled.

She couldn't refuse. She couldn't ask for an extension. She'd already reached the limits of what her pride would allow in selling her shirt to Paulo. The only way to retain any dignity was to be as casual as possible. So what if she was in a bra. It was a bra, for Christ's sakes! It was no different than her bikini.

That was what she told herself as, with her best poker face, she reached down, peeled the top up and over her head, and endured the wolf whistles and leers of the four men around the table, tossing the shirt at Paulo. She defiantly did not cross her arms across her breasts, but she wanted to.

The sexual tension in the air suddenly rocketed up, and it was all she could do to pretend to ignore it.

"Are we playing or what?" she demanded.

"Oh I know what I want to play with," Gene said.

"They're just tits, Gene," she said. "You've seen lots of them."

"But I never get tired of the sight."

"Deal the fucking cards, all right?"

But she was rattled, not thinking. They knew she only had twenty bucks. All they had to do was raise twice and she was out. She held her glass steady to keep her hand from shaking, and drank deep, feeling the heat rush up through her chest.

The cards went around, and around, and with every raise she felt the knot in her chest tighten until they reached the third one, the one she couldn't match. And what was even more infuriating was that she had an even better hand, an almost sure thing! This time it was Gene who coughed and grinned.

"I could buy that bra," he said with a grin.

"Screw you," she said. "This isn't strip poker."

He shrugged and sat back in his chair, cracking his knuckles casually.

"I could sell you my shoes," she said, which was so stupid she flushed as soon as the words left her mouth.

They jeered at her, of course and gave a careless shrug.

"I could buy those jeans, though," Gene said.

"Forget it. I'm out for the night," she said, starting to rise.

Then she remembered that she'd gotten there by subway. How the hell was she supposed to take the subway home, or even call a cab (with no money) without her fucking top?!

"They look like expensive jeans. I could buy them for, say, a hundred bucks," Gene said.

That was the maximum for a hand in this game. There was already twenty on the table. They wouldn't be able to raise her beyond what she had. And she had four freaking aces! Oh, the way they smirked at her, so sure of themselves, these fucking arrogant men! They were so sure she would refuse. And in fact, she wanted to, she needed to. She told herself she was being insane. But then again, how did she get home without a top, unless she let one of the guys give her a ride. And that had it's own dangers - riding home with a middle aged guy and her in nothing but a bra.

"Fuck it. Go for it. I'll make you eat your fucking smirks," she said, putting the glass to her lips..

There was more laughter and chuckles, and Gene held up a hundred bucks, but he shook his head when she reached for it.

"I'm not as nice as Paulo, kid. You know that. You want the money, you give me the jeans."

The sexual tension was taking a dramatic rise, but Daria's pride was struck, and she glared at him. She was feeling breathless, and her head was starting to swirl from the vodka. She'd always been careful before about not drinking too much, but the stress was getting to her.

And damned if she would give in to them. Damned if she would when she had a great hand like this!

It's just like wearing a bikini to the beach, she told herself, heart pounding.

But wearing a bikini at the beach was one thing, wearing one in a small, enclosed room with four middle aged men, none of them any particular friend or relative, was something entirely different.

And her bikinis didn't have thong bottoms either.

But she pretended an insouciance she definitely didn't feel, and knew her red face was betraying the fact, as she stood up and undid her belt.

"Da-da-da, da-da-da-daaaaa, da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da, da-da-da - .

"Oh shut the fuck up," she snapped at Jerry, as the others snickered.

"I heard of losing your shirt at this game, but not your pants," Mike said.

Daria shoved her jeans down her legs, sitting down immediately, glowering at them as she bent to jerk them down over her knees and pull her feet out of them. Then she tossed them to Gene, her chest tight with anxiety as she took the money from his hand.

If she didn't win this fucking hand...

She had to win this fucking hand!

She didn't see Mike fill her glass. But she picked it up absently and emptied it as the hand played out, eyes fixed on the cards, chest tight, belly churning.

"Four of a kind," Mike said with an apologetic grin.

The pot was one hundred bucks. She had twenty bucks left. And the four men were grinning at each other and eyeing her up and down.

Daria felt numb.

"Cheer up, kid," Paulo said with no sympathy at all. "You can still sell your bra and panties."

"And that ain't all she can sell," Gene smirked.

"I'm not - I'm not selling anything else," she said, face hot, her fingers clenched in her lap. Her eyes felt heavy and swollen. She absolutely would not cry! She could live down anything but that! They'd never let her play again!

She felt those four sets of eyes on her, looking her up and down, and it was all she could do not to cringe, to curl up into the fetal position to hide. She had never felt so self-conscious as the four men eyed her in her lingerie with unconcealed interest.

"I-I need a ride home," she said, her voice almost breaking.

"To your dorm? Do they let you walk into the dorm half naked?" Paulo asked.

"You think they're going to stop me?" she snapped.

"Hey, kid, don't get mad at us. You know the rules of the game. You knew them when you got into it, you knew them when you came over tonight, and you knew them when you let these two schmucks buy your clothes," Jerry said. "If you feel like a dumbass for losing your pants that's on you, not them."

"I know," she said sullenly.

"It's a man's game, baby," Paulo said with a grin. "I tole you that before."

"Kiss my ass," she said crossly.

"With them thong panties it won't be too hard," Mike said.

"I'll call you a cab," Paulo said.

"Come on! I can't go in a cab like this!" Daria exclaimed.

He shrugged. "I live upstairs and I got no car. You wanna call someone to pick you up?"

Who? Her obsession with poker had taken up all her free time. As a result she'd hardly dated and made few friends at college, certainly none close enough to come and pick her up in her underwear. Her roommate Janet would, but she had no car, and Daria would never hear the end of it if she found out.

And it was two in the freaking morning on a Wednesday night!

She felt intensely vulnerable, and ashamed because of it. She'd been playing poker with guys for years, and lived the culture of bravado and swagger. She hated being defenceless like this!

And it was weird the way they were all looking at her, the way their eyes kept skimming over her body, the way their eyes telegraphed what they were thinking, their lust, their wanting her. She was used to being lusted after, of course, but it was different when she was in her panties.

Gene dealt out a hand, the other men now silent. With nothing else to do she picked hers up. The cards were good. But the cards had been good before, and her luck just wasn't there tonight.

She felt light-headed.

"I raise," Paulo said.

"Hundred bucks for the bra," Gene said, waving the money at her.

Daria looked down in confusion, then at Gene. She was swaying a bit in her seat.

"Paulo raised. You got any more money?"

She shook her head numbly.

"You either drop out or take the hundred bucks."

If she won - but she knew, even as she suddenly became aware of how much she'd drunk in the last half hour, that that was a stupid bet.

She reached for the money, staring at it.

"The bra, baby," Gene said, his voice harder than usual.

She looked at him in confusion, then realized what he meant. Her eyes flitted around the table, and then, her left arm across her chest, she undid her bra and slipped it off.

There was no laughter this time. The room was quiet. But those eyes were on her, and she tried to keep her arm steady across her chest as she looked at her cards. That wasn't easy to do while putting a ten on the pile and taking another card. Her arm moved around as it mashed into her soft breast tissue, rolling and squeezing them against her ribs.

The bets went around the table, then again, as others raised. She had her left hand over her right breast now, squeezing it, her arm covering her left breast, trying to keep it steady. She held her cards in her right hand. But every time she had to put more money into the pot she had to lay down her cards, and then use that hand to do it.

The round went up to one hundred, and she watched breathlessly as the others revealed their cards. Gene was the last, and she felt a wild surge of victory as she laid hers down.

Four tens.

"Yes!" she shouted, punching the air with her right fist. "Gimmie back my bra!"

Gene grinned and sold her the bra. She gave him the hundred and took back her bra. She was sweating, but only noticed it now, elated, grinning from ear to ear. She pulled the bra on awkwardly, not even really caring that four men were watching and catching glimpses of smooth, creamy flesh.

The next hand was dealt, and she won again. Now she was high, on a thrill ride. She taunted them as she bought back her jeans, stood up to pull them on, turned and rolled her now safely covered bottom saucily at them before smacking it, whirling, and sitting down again.