Deal Me In
By Captain Eazy
Once upon a time there were three beautiful queens…and one joker.
Disclaimer: If you are underage or if explicit sexual fantasy offends you, please read no further. This story is my intellectual property. You are welcome to copy it or print it out for your own reading, but do not repost it on any website that charges for the privilege of reading stories.
1
When Daley saw that her roommate was sitting with the March boy, she almost turned and left the Student Center. But she grimaced, squared her shoulders, and threaded her way between the tables over to where the two of them sat on a sofa in the TV corner. The television was showing one of those boring celebrity poker tournaments. The sound was so low you couldn’t hear it over the murmur of conversations in the rec room, a small favor, in Daley’s opinion.
“Hi,” Daley said to Susan in a flat voice, pointedly not acknowledging Tim March. She tugged off her coat, revealing a well-filled black sweater and skirt, worn over opaque black stockings.
Her pretty blonde roommate glanced up and smiled. “Hey, Daley! Tim, you have to show her that trick!”
Daley’s gaze flicked toward Tim March, a—well, admit it—a good-looking guy of twenty-one, dark short hair, high cheekbones, a good strong chin, and devilishly arching eyebrows. He gave her a white grin. “You like card tricks?” he asked.
“Not particularly. Susan, I need your key. I locked myself out of the apartment this morning—”
“Whoa,” Tim said. “How did you get to school?”
“I rode the damn bus, all right?” Daley growled. “I shut the damn door and it locked behind me before I remembered I’d left my keys on the hall table, so I had to catch the bus.”
Tim raised two hands as if defending himself. He wore a red corduroy shirt open over a black tee shirt and black jeans. Daley felt obscurely irritated by this. Black was her color. “Sorry,” he said. He picked up a deck of cards and began to fiddle with it, shuffling, riffling it.
Susan was digging into her purse. “Here,” she said. “You’re gonna be there when I get in, right?”
“I’m not planning on going anywhere until next Tuesday,” Daley said firmly. This was Friday. Presidents’ Day was Monday. Three-day weekend, thank God.
“Sit down,” Susan said, patting the sofa. “Come on, relax. Tough exam?”
“Not so much,” Daley said, but she grudgingly sat next to Susan and took her key ring from her. “I’m just not in a good mood, okay?”
“You need to relax,” Susan said. “Doesn’t she, Tim?”
Tim shrugged. “Don’t ask me about relaxing. I’m the one who’s working his way through college.”
“That must make it hard, being older than your classmates and all. When are you going to finish?” Daley asked with a nasty little edge in her voice. Her parents had money. And so did Susan’s. This guy was so—common.
“June,” Tim said promptly. “Six credits left, and I’m acing both classes, so June and I’m out of here. Come on, Daley. What have I ever done to you?”
“Nothing,” she muttered. She forced a smile. After all, Susan liked this guy, and she had known Susan since prep school. “So . . . I don’t think Susan’s ever told me about your job. What do you do to earn your keep?”
Susan giggled. “He’s a magician,” she said.
Daley raised her dark eyebrows. “Oh, really.”
Tim gave her that white grin again. “Well, magician, hypnotist. I even gamble now and then. I’m especially good with cards.”
“So you do what? You’re like the clown at kids’ parties? God, that would drive me crazy.”
Tim extended an empty hand, turned it over flat in the air, made a quick flicking gesture, and suddenly he held a business card. “Don’t do kids’ parties,” he said. “Here, this is me.”
Suspiciously, Daley took the card. She read what it said:
MAGIC! HYPNOTISM! COMEDY!
CALL THE MYSTIC TIM!
. . . and there was a telephone number. Beneath that, in bold but small letters was the warning:
ADULT SHOWS ONLY! PUT SOME SPICE INTO YOUR CELEBRATION!
She handed the card back to him. “So you do what, stag parties?” she said sweetly.
He winked. His eyes, she noticed now, were a deep cobalt blue, eyes that she would have killed for, and he had improbably long lashes, too. “Nope. Anniversaries, adult birthday parties, and a lot of bachelorette parties. And what I do isn’t porn, Daley. It’s just a bit of racy harmless fun, that’s all.” He made the card vanish. “Like right now, for example. Just harmless fun.”
“Well, I’m sure—” Daley broke off, feeling something prickling and strange. What in the hell?
Susan giggled. “He’s very good!” she said. “Did you put it—you know?”
Tim shrugged, but he was grinning like a little devil.
Blushing, Daley squirmed, then reached underneath her sweater and with two fingers retrieved the card from her cleavage. “How in the hell did you do that?”
“Can’t tell you,” Tim said. “Magicians can’t reveal their secrets.” He leaned closer and in a conspiratorial voice added, “But I’ll admit this much: it was a trick!”
Susan broke out into guffaws. “Do the card trick! Show her the card trick!”
“Want me to?”
“Please!”
“Okay.” He handed the deck of cards to Daley. “First, just turn it over and look through the cards, make sure it’s a real deck.”
Daley had to admit she felt intrigued. Just a bit. Maybe this guy wasn’t so totally bad after all—if only he had some background, some standing. She riffled through the cards, looking down as diamonds, spades, hearts, and clubs passed by, the queens serene, the kings hatchet-faced, the knaves smiling slyly. “Looks real,” she said.
“Okay. No, don’t hand it back to me. Shuffle it yourself until you feel they’re truly well mixed.”
This Dailey could do, with years of bridge-playing experience. She expertly handled the cards, shuffling, cutting, reshuffling, until she felt they were as mixed as they were ever going to be. “Okay.”
“Put the deck face-down on the sofa next to Susan. Susan, cut the deck, okay?”
“Okay.” Susan reached down and cut the deck approximately in half.
“All right, Daley, you choose which stack.”
“This one,” Daley said, pointing to the nearest.
“Pick up that stack.”
Maliciously, Daley reached across and retrieved the far one. “Changed my mind.”
“That’s all right. Woman’s prerogative.” Tim reached into his shirt pocket and produced a three-by-five inch spiral-bound notebook and a pen. He drew something, tore it out of the notebook without showing it, folded it twice, and placed it on the sofa. He put the remaining stack of cards on top of it. “Okay, fan the cards out. Susan’s going to pick one.”
Daley made a Japanese fan of the cards, and when Susan reached for one, she said, “No, get another one instead.”
Susan pulled one from close to Daley’s thumb.
“Show her the card,” Tim said.
Grinning with anticipation, the blonde Susan revealed the nine of diamonds.
“Okay, Daley, get my piece of paper from under the other stack.”
Daley thought He can’t have done it and moved the stack. She unfolded the small sheet of paper without asking if she should.
Tim had drawn a crude nine of diamonds.
“How did you do that?” Daley demanded. Then she turned on Susan. “You were in on it!” she accused. “You switched cards!”
Giggling, Susan shook her head. “No, I swear!”
“Oh, come on!”
Tim said, “She’s telling the absolute truth, Daley.” He retrieved the cards, shuffled them back into order, and went on shuffling the deck. They made a monotonous little clattering sound, a rippling sound, somehow impertinent to Daley’s ears.
“I’ll figure it out,” Daley said.
“Okay,” Tim said. “Let me know when you do.”
“Oh,” Susan said, pointing to the TV, “Cheryl just lost! She’s out of the tournament.”
“What is that?” Daley asked, turning to glance up at the screen. A minor Hollywood starlet was pouting as she pushed back from a green baize-covered table spread with cards like the bodies left on a battlefield after a minor war.
“Texas Hold ‘Em tournament,” Tim said. “It’s a good game. I like to play it when I gamble.”
“I suppose you always win,” Daley said.
“Not always, but enough,” Tim replied. “At least I stay ahead of the game. I guess if I wanted to buckle down, I could get extremely good, but I really don’t want to make my living as a professional gambler.”
“What are you going to be?”
“Well, I’m studying psychology,” Tim said. “So we’ll see. How about another little card trick, Daley?”
“What are you going to do now?”
Tim shuffled, cut, and reshuffled the cards, making busy professional tsss-zitttt! sounds. “For centuries, cards have held the mystery of human fate,” he intoned, his voice suddenly becoming . . . warm, low, intimate. “I propose to show you your guardian card, the one that symbolizes and stands for you.”
“Ooh, this one’s spooky!” Susan said. “Do her, Tim!”
Tim, looking very serious, leaned forward and pulled a low table over. He spread the cards face-down on the table’s scarred surface, and then with both hands—strong-looking hands, but with such long, such sensitive-looking fingers—he swirled and scrambled them. “All right,” he said. “Daley, pick up any card you wish. But I’ll tell you before you do what it will be. Ready?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Like that’s going to happen.”
“Then try it. Just reach out, touch any card you want. Don’t turn it over. Before you choose, though, I will tell you: You are going to select the Queen of Clubs.”
Daley passed by her first two choices and picked up the third. She stared at it in frank unbelief.
“Well?” Susan teased.
Silently, Daley turned the card so they could see the strangely mysterious, knowing, attractive face of the Queen of Clubs. “And you won’t tell me how you did it,” she complained.
Tim took the card from her and began to twirl it somehow, so it spun between his first and middle fingers, the blue-diamond pattern back, the smiling Queen, flickering, flashing in her vision. His voice became an authoritative purr, like the rumble of a big cat: “You are a dark-haired, brown-eyed woman of great beauty and . . . passion. You have little use for nonsense in your life—that is why you distrust the inexplicable, why you want to have control. You are temperamental, and sometimes you let your anger get the better of you. But you love nature, and you are a natural leader. You know you ought to relax more. Maybe learn a new card game.”
Daley felt unaccountably drowsy. “I—you—that’s a good trick,” she heard herself murmur.
“Thank you.”
Susan tugged at Tim’s arm. “Could you teach me how to play Texas Hold ‘Em?” she asked. “I’d really like to learn.”
Tim continued to spin the card. Daley focused on it, seeing it flash blue, then that dreamy, Mona Lisa knowing smile, then blue again. . . .
He said easily, “Oh, I could tell you the rules, but you really need to play to learn. And you need at least four people to have a decent game.”
“Daley will play with us,” Susan said.
“Hmm?” Daley muttered with a sleepy half-smile, a . . . why, a Mona Lisa smile.
“You’ll learn how to play Texas Hold ‘Em with me, won’t you? And we could get Melly to join in, she’ll do anything.”
“Who’s Melly?” Tim asked.
“Melanie Maxwell. You’ve met her. She lives next door to us.”
“The redhead? Sort of short and a little heavy, but very, very zaftig?“
“Yep.” Susan couldn’t seem to stop giggling, Daley thought muzzily. “She’s up for anything, anytime. She’ll join in.”
“She’d be fine,” Tim said.
“What, what are we planning?” Daley asked, frowning slightly. Melly—I don’t even particularly like her! She’s got money, but she’s so common! But yes, she’s up for anything, and if we’re going to—to—what are we going to do? “What—what are we planning here?” she asked again, her lips feeling oddly numb. Why couldn’t she tear her gaze away from that maddening, spinning oblong of cardboard?
“Tim’s gonna teach us a new game,” Susan said in a delighted, little-girl voice.
Tim suddenly snicked the Queen back onto the table. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow will be good. Why don’t you all three come over to my place at noon for lunch, and we’ll spend the afternoon learning the game.”
“That’s . . . uh, fine,” Daley heard herself say. She shivered a little. It was . . . was good that Tim had put that card away, but absurdly she almost, well, almost missed it somehow.
“Thanks!” Susan told her. “Look when you get home, would you see if Melly’s up for it tomorrow afternoon?”
“Um . . . sure.” Daley got up, wondering what she was supposed to do next, and then remembered that she was headed home. With, right, with Susan’s key. Which she had borrowed. “Okay. See you at the apartment, Susan.”
“See ya.”
Feeling strange, as if she were walking on a yielding, bouncy surface instead of the campus sidewalk, Daley shrugged back into her jacket and walked out into the cold winter afternoon sunshine, to the bus stop, and then climbed aboard the Third Street bus. All the while she kept a strange, haunting smile on her face.
2
“Your friend doesn’t like me very much,” Tim observed, reassembling the deck of cards. “Why is that?”
Susan grinned impishly. “She just doesn’t know you as well as I do,” she said with a cute inflection, and then with just a hint of naughtiness she added, “She’ll learn, though.”
“I don’t understand her,” Tim said with a sigh. “I never did anything to her.”
“It’s just Daley,” Susan reassured him. “We practically grew up together. She’s kind of snobby, I guess. She’s never had to work or anything.”
“And I’ve had to work since I was fourteen,” Tim said.
“Well, Daley’s dad’s the CEO of a fairly big company. He’s rich and all.”
“So’s yours, and you’re not snobby.” Tim said fondly, putting his hand on her thigh. “You don’t care that my dad was a drunk who ran off and left Mom and me alone when I was twelve. You don’t mind that I have to work to pay my way through school.”
“I sure don’t,” Susan said, putting her warm hand down on his, pressing his hand close against her thigh.
“That’s good.”
“Well, I appreciate people more than she does, maybe,” Susan told him, leaning against him, her soft breast against his arm. She whispered, “Show me my card again, okay?”
Tim fanned the cards and unerringly pulled out the Queen of Hearts. “Here you are.” He began to spin it between his fingers. “You’re blonde and beautiful. You have strong maternal instincts and are very romantic. You have the tenderest heart and always want to help those who are not as fortunate as you. You are exceptionally generous and you love to share good things with others. Often people are put off by you at first impression—lots of boys think you’re too gorgeous even to approach, and girls are suspicious of you because you’re so beautiful. But you are secretly mad about the act of love, and your body sometimes seems as if it’s on fire.”
“Can we go somewhere?” she asked thickly. “Now?”
He squeezed her hand. “Come on.”
Tim’s place was only a couple of miles from campus, but Susan thought even a couple of miles was a good deal too far to go, all things considered. The library, next door to the Student Center, offered an alternative. They hurried across, past a yellow lawn still streaked with melting remnants of the previous week’s snow, and into the warm, nearly empty library. Susan, her face already flushed, checked out a room key and a CD from the music appreciation listening list and hurried up to the third floor where the private listening booths were. They were cramped, hardly larger than an old-fashioned phone booth, maybe five feet square, with a low acoustic-tile ceiling overhead.
But they were private.
Tim waited for her on the third floor near the elevators, and he followed her to a rank of doors opening into the listening rooms. Each one had a sign on it warning that only one student at a time was permitted inside, but at a time like this, Susan was blind to such warnings. She inserted the key and unlocked the door with shaky fingers. The door closed behind them, and she practically tore at her clothes, feeling on fire, wanting her skin to be naked and free, wanting to press her nude flesh tight, tight against him. “I hope we won’t be interrupted,” he said, admiring her as she reached behind her and unfastened her bra, letting her big, bouncy breasts bob free.
“Friday afternoon,” she gasped. “Nobody around. Soundproof room. Oh, God, I need you!”
Clad only in her pale, transparent blue panties, she pressed herself against him, locking her mouth on his. Their tongues played with each other, and she shoved his red shirt back off his shoulders. He let it drop to the ground and she tugged the black tee loose from his waistband, peeled it up, over his head, then moved close, swinging her shoulders playfully, brushing her stiff nipples back and forth over his hard chest. “Like that?” she said in a throaty growl. “Do you like my tits?”
“Love you,” he said. His hands caught her buttocks, clenched hard, hard, the way she liked it, and pulled her pubis tight against him. She felt his erect cock still inside his jeans, and she ground herself against it, sensually.
“Mmm, I want that big hot cock,” she said. “Ooh, I want it deep inside me. I want to feel it, taste it!”
“My Queen of Hearts,” he said.
She shivered. “Yes, Master.”
“Do you like calling me that?”
“Yes, Master!”
“Do you enjoy being a slave?”
“I love it! Oh, I love it when you order me to do dirty, dirty things!” Her fingers were fumbling at his belt, but her hands kept slipping away, caressing his erection as if she wanted to reassure herself that it was still there, still available, ready for her.
“Undress me, slave.”
“Yes!”
She knelt before him, untied his shoes, eased them off, pulled down his jeans and his shorts, and then she moaned with pleasure. His stiff cock stood out, and she nuzzled it, not sucking it, not even kissing it, but letting its springy length bob and tap against her soft cheeks and her lips. “Ohh, I love it so much,” she moaned.
“Stand up. Take off those panties.”
“Yes!”
She got up quickly, pert breasts bobbing, hooked her thumbs in the waist of her panties, and pulled them off, dropping them carelessly on the floor.
“Sit in the chair,” Tim told her. “The way I like to see you.”
Her face was so hot. Her throat felt thick and tight with excitement. Looking down, she felt pleased that her big tits were crowned so becomingly with her coral-colored nipples, erect and stiff and demanding attention. She was pleasing him, she knew, and that knowledge in turn brought her keen pleasure. She sprawled back in the chair, raising her legs, settling just her heels on the corners of the chair so her thighs were spread enough for him to see all of her. “Like this, Master?”
“That’s good. Now what do I like?”
“A hot . . . tight. . . wet pussy,” she said in a delighted voice. “Shall I make my pussy ready for you?”
“Go ahead. Let me see.”
Joy rose in her as she noticed how his erection grew even stiffer, how his cock head swelled like a juicy ripe plum, throbbing, aching for her touch. She felt absurdly like weeping with joy. She was causing that beautiful thing to happen. She began to stroke her pussy with the gentle fingers of one hand. With the other hand she reached around beneath her thigh, tugged at her skin, opened herself for him so he could see how eager, how wet she was. Mmm. . . . when she had first gotten the Brazilian wax job, she had been surprised at how young and innocent it had made her pussy look, the tiny strip of blonde curls crowning her pink slit. She knew it was cute, and she thrust her ass forward in the chair, opening her knees. Her fingers played with the delightful, slippery little patch just in front of her engorging clit. She felt her nipples swelling even more, jutting out so lewdly, so invitingly, and she brought her shoulders back, putting her tits on proud display.
“That’s good. That’s good,” Tim purred. “Are you getting wet, slave?”
“Oh, yes, Master! Look at my pussy! It’s dripping!”
She began to play with her clit, her other hand now peeling aside the pink labia, exposing the glistening passage to her lover. Susan’s head felt as though it were spinning, as if she were going to faint soon if she didn’t have his cock, his cum inside her.
“Lick your fingers,” he said. “Make your clit really really wet for me.”
She thrust her fingers into her mouth, savoring the exotic taste of her own cunt. She brought them out drippy with saliva and trapped her clit between her first and middle fingers, the way, oh God! the way . . . uhhhnnnnhhh . . . Tim had done the card. . . . . ohhhh. . . . .
“What do you want, slave?”
“Your cock!” she groaned, her voice so thickened with her sexual need that the words were barely intelligible, even to her. “Please!”
He kicked their clothes into a soft pile in front of the chair and knelt before her. He had to rise up a bit, and she accommodated him by scootching forward in the chair, and then his big, hard cock was pressing pliantly against her pussy, and he was teasing her, rubbing it up and down, making the plummy head wet with her own juices, tormenting her, making her want it in her so bad.
And then he pulled her onto him, and his shaft stabbed into her welcoming, hot depths. “Oh, God!” she screamed, bucking and squirming in ecstasy.
Tim stood up, strong hands holding her ass, cupping the cheeks, lifting her into the air, and she threw her arms around his neck and bit into the flesh of his shoulder. She locked her legs around his waist and pounded, pounded with her ass, fucking him, fucking him as he stood holding her, so hard, so deep.
“You’re going to come,” Tim whispered to her.
“Nnngggghh. . . . Yes!”
“Ready? Wait. . . wait. . . now! Ahhhhh!”
They came together, gorgeous, beautiful, and she pressed her pussy so hard against him she felt as if she were trying to take him inside her, all of him, head to toe, and his stiff hard cock throbbed and jerked inside her and scalding jets of his cum shot deep into her center, and oh, God, it was better every single time!
Weak, spent, she finally let him set her down, felt his flaccid cock slide out of her, and she felt a pang of regret. She slipped down, sinking slowly to her knees, her big lush tits flattening against him, rubbing against first his chest and then his belly as she knelt humbly before him. With reverent fingers she caressed his balls with one hand, tenderly lifted his limp cock with the other, and she opened her mouth and licked the remnants of cum off him, cleaning him, tasting him.
He was good, and he was young. “I can come again,” he said after a few moments of her attention, his cock hardening again. “I want to come in your mouth, slave.”
“Mmm-hmmm!”
“But you’re such a good slave, you can finger yourself and make yourself come at the same time. Start now. That’s right. That’s right, my Queen of Hearts.”
His cock filled her mouth, the tang of it mixed with her own taste, and she loved it, she was drunk on it. Whimpering with lust, she sucked it, bobbing her head, while her fingers explored her sticky, dripping depths, while they coaxed another orgasm from her clit. It took a long, slow time now that he had already come once, and she gloried in every second of it, feeling the heat of desire in every pulse of her heart, every twitch of her clit, every stray touch of her nipples against his thighs. He did not need to caress her head to keep her from pulling away, as her first boyfriend had. His cum never made her retch. It was nectar to her, hot and glorious.
When he came again, she received the spurted gift joyfully and yet humbly, as though she had been chosen as a vessel by a god.