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Saturday’s poker game was Mark’s oldest friends: Jake, thirty-six and broad from rugby, and Tom, thirty-seven, quiet with clever hands. Claire served the drinks in a black slip and nothing underneath, exactly as instructed.
Halfway through the second hand, Mark laid his cards down. ‘Lads. Claire’s going to be the pot tonight. She’s agreed. Haven’t you, love?’
Her face burned. ‘Yes, Sir.’ Jake’s beer stopped halfway to his mouth. Tom just looked at her, slow and hungry.
‘Show them,’ Mark said. Claire lifted the slip over her head and stood in the lamplight, shaved and already glistening. Jake swore softly. ‘Fuck me, Mark. You lucky bastard.’
Mark guided her to the table and bent her over the green felt, chips scattering. He spread her cheeks with his thumbs so they could see her pussy, pink and dripping. ‘Touch her. She wants it.’
Tom went first. Two thick fingers slid into her, curling, and Claire moaned into the felt. Jake’s hand found her tits, rolling her nipples hard. She could hear Mark breathing behind her, could hear his zip.
‘Please,’ she whimpered. ‘Please, Sir, let them fuck me.’
Mark leaned down by her ear. ‘Good girl. Now we just decide how.’
What happens next?
→ Mark sends her upstairs with Jake alone