As we’re sitting chatting, almost out of nowhere, you hand me a deck of cards, still in the box. I smile at you, thinking at best, “sweet! Strip poker!” and at worst, “this’ll be fun – some card games…” But then my logical brain kicks in and offers up reality “DAMN! First, the scrabble-esque game that we all know I stink at, now cards, which she always dusts the floor with me with when we play…”
“Fancy a game of cards,” you ask…
I start to stammer a bit, trying to find a way out – especially based on the look on your face. I know I’m in trouble with that grin.
“Yes, yes you do,” you quickly follow up. “Please check the cards, but please pull out the face cards and separate them. Be careful to leave both joker cards in the main deck and shuffle both decks very carefully please. Oh, and please remove the Aces.”
The Jokers are a twist. I do as I am asked. She tells me to fan them out on the desk.
“Red, or black,” you ask… I choose red, not really knowing what I am choosing.
“Welcome to orgasm cards. You’re going to pick 5 cards. Red cards apply to you. Black apply to me. How fitting. You’ll see there are two decks of cards. The face cards, the number cards.
- red diamonds, Charmer gives. Red hearts, Charmer receives.
- black clubs, I receive, black spades, I give
So far, so good,” you ask… I nod. “The face cards determines who is doing the “work” of the activity. Jacks and Kings, you are. Queens, I am.” I snicker at the imbalance. “It’s a simple game of edges and orgasms. The number cards are the number of edges or other goodies (in your case) or the number or orgasms (in my case).”
“Other goodies?” I ask…
“Yes, for numbers 4 or less, for hearts or spades, it’s an automatic 4 smacks with my crop for you. No matter WHO draws the cards.”
Shit just got real.
“So, for example, you draw a 5 of hearts. This means you receive 5 edges. Then you draw a face card to see who gets to do the effort to get you there. Pretty simple, yes?”
I nod. “But what about the joker,” I ask. “Ah, the joker. That means you get an orgasm, potentially. You have to hold that card to the end, and you must draw the second joker before we’re done too.”
This seems immediately rigged. Of course.
Then you let me know… “We each draw 3 cards, and do as indicated on the cards after drawing each card. If you do draw a joker and have not matched by the last card draw, I will give you one additional draw, with the condition that edges are finished, but swats are not. It’s your option and choice whether you want to draw that last card of course.”
That almost seems kind, in a weird way.
I draw a card. 3 of hearts. I hand you the crop, kneel on the couch and lean forward. Before I’ve even taken a breath I hear the first swoosh. It registers as a not very “let’s get this started” swoosh and more of a “oh crap, this is gonna … ” and it connects with me, jolting me immediately to the present. Before I can even react, I hear another swoosh, this time connecting with my other cheek. You tease me a bit and rub the crop on me, I can feel the heat pouring from my backside at this point and I’m bracing for the impact, wondering which side it will be.
It spans both sides. You’ve used the crop more like a switch and the shaft connects with me with a swoosh-slap as it wraps around and the crop head making contact at a delayed rate. I almost jump out of my skin and can already feel the welts showing themselves.
“Yes! My turn!” Is all I hear as I turn around and face you.
5 of hearts, and the face card is Queen.
“You need to sit down and be patient please.” You pull out the wand and lay back into the couch, making a show of getting comfortable. Between the smacks and the impending show, I am forced to sit carefully; I’m awkwardly standing at attention and want to help, but also to watch.
You put on a huge show for me, cumming in quick succession, doing just what you like, exactly as you like – asking me, all along the way if I’d like to help, then reminding me that I’m not allowed to get up or reach out, or reach down for that matter. I’m to just sit. It’s an erotic show like none other.
After your 5 orgasms, and a few minutes to come down, you sit back up and it’s time to draw.
I draw a Joker. While I know the possibilities of this, I have this distinct realization that the odds are not “ever in my favor.”
You draw. 7 diamonds. I grin as you pull the face card – a Queen.
You move to me and start stroking me with the lightest of touches. Talking me through your just-completed orgasms, how nice they were, and how nice it is to be able to cum whenever you like. As I’m getting closer and closer, you continue talking me through, asking if I’d just like to cum and get it over with and then pausing for my answer. We’re already 4 edges in and my rational thoughts are long gone.
This pause as you ask if I’d like to come makes me retake your gaze. You have a sincere look on your face, and you’re stopping as if you’re offering. I’m trying to figure out if you’re serious, which is giving me enough pause to regain my composure…
Until you take me in your mouth and have me screaming toward the edge. Just as it all almost becomes too much, you stop and resume slowly, lightly with both of your hands in this maddening constant downstroke. “Well?” you ask… looking for an answer. “Do you want to cum right now?” That sincere look and where I am right now, I relax just a bit and tell you that yes, yes I’d love to cum right now.
“Sorry!” is all you say. You increase your grip and start stroking me and you can see me squirming to keep control. Just as I’m about to say stop, you do. But only for a second, then you go back at it – “You still have a couple more, have to do what the cards say!”
I’m actively squeezing every muscle of my core now to try to block the orgasm. I feel it moving past “swelling up inside me” to “imminent” and you suddenly start alternating between fast and firm and slow and soft strokes – I’m literally hanging on the edge. It’s like my brain is doing this flip-flop thing in my head, but realizing I need to maintain a modicum of control.
Finally I trip past the torture and you take me just to the edge and stop. You repeat this whole thing, including the torture, again, for #7. I’m a shaking ball of sweat when you get done.
“Geez, too bad you didn’t get that joker, eh?” is all you say as you sit back to draw your final card. The Joker.
I’m trying ever so hard to get back to planet earth but seeing the Joker squashes my last chance for the game. And the look on your face.
“Well, well. There is one little rule that I didn’t think I’d have to mention, but what happens if *I* pick the Joker. It’s a wildcard, of course. I get to do, or have done, whatever I like.“