Poker with Unforeseen Consequences [Group] [Exhibitionist] [Voyeur]

*The full version of the story preview I posted earlier; it’s now also up on Literotica, and can be viewed here:* [*https://literotica.com/s/the-poker-club-1*](https://literotica.com/s/the-poker-club-1)

**

In a city I won’t care to name there is a building. Modest, ordinary; it wouldn’t look out of place in any major hub in the world, and you’d walk past it every day without wondering about what was inside. And for the most part what’s inside is, well, ordinary too: offices, storage. But then there’s the top floor, and the top floor is different.

The top floor is the lavish, luxurious home of a very exclusive club. When I say ‘exclusive’, yes, I do mean that the contents of the bar would probably sell for more than the average house, but it’s not just money that makes it prestigious- you have to know the right people. No, not like that, nothing sinister. But it takes a certain type. Adventurous, voyeuristic, good at keeping secrets. Very good at keeping secrets. I couldn’t believe some of the people I saw there, and I doubt you would either, if I was brazen enough to mention their names.

So how could I refuse, when I was invited? Fresh out of college and not yet quite to grips with networking. I was flattered. It sounded fun. Besides, I had never played poker before.

My date picked me up at around ten. I was there as his guest. I wore a dress that didn’t hide much and the necklace he’d given me because he said it brought out my eyes. I felt amused as he gave me his tips on the way there. Give nothing away. People will be polite and affable, but remember, they’re out for themselves. I nodded along, privately thinking it was overzealous; I’d done my research ahead of time, naturally, I knew what I was doing- and besides, it wasn’t as if I had a great deal to bet anyway. I was there for the experience.

I was taken aback as we arrived at the building and went inside, through the foyer I had always assumed belonged to just another boring company. This didn’t exactly look like a chic night spot. We took the lift up to the top floor, I smiled a little abashedly at my reflection in the mirror, and then all of a sudden we were there. I caught my breath. The top floor was different. It was like stepping into a spy blockbuster; a throng of black ties and backless gowns, cocktails and crushed velvet. And beautiful people, everywhere. I had imagined an older, greyer crowd- back when I hadn’t realised just what this place was for. These must have been heirs and heiresses, or social media stars and starlets, or people who’d risen meteorically to the top of their professions. They were all rather like the building, I thought, in the sense that you’d never guess from a look at these suave exteriors the sordid secrets that were lurking underneath, although there was a difference. In the case of the building, it got by through looking drab on the outside, and prompting you to look no further. These people were so glamorous that you could get lost in the exterior.

I was a little intimidated, but I made myself at home. There were soft couches, *chaise lounges*, little tables bearing more drinks and, curiously, something tall at one end of the room under a long curtain-like cover, like a piece of art about to be unveiled. I deflected questions that probed much deeper than my interests or my hobbies, which nobody seemed to mind too much- they were all doing the same. What I did gather was that a fair few people were like me, however- plus ones, dates out for a new adventure in this ritzy new world. I made small talk and enjoyed my date introducing me, though we were similarly evasive when asked about our status together- we’d said so far that we were simply ‘seeing each other’, which I figured was code for us both being allowed to cop off with other people. Boy, did I not know the half of it yet.

Small talk and champagne and long-winded anecdotes until a sudden hush seemed to settle across the room, and the majority of guests migrated to a vast, long table for the main event of the night. The chips were laid out, and I waited with faint anticipation to be dealt in. But my cards never arrived. They were distributed only to around half the guests- both male and female, but in both cases the more stylish, more assured half, including my date. I looked up and down the table to see if anyone else was similarly confused, but the others seemed entirely unsurprised and were watching with unabashed excitement and intrigue of their own.

It took until a couple of rounds of the game had passed for me to begin adding things up. Each player, my date included, had their own unique set of chips marked with their initials. There were other markings, too- some were marked with periods of time in minutes, whilst others bore silhouetted illustrations, some of them objects, some others people in various poses. But it finally clicked into place for me as one handsome player proudly laid out a straight flush of spades and swept up the pile of chips, a clatter with my date’s initials amongst them, and gave me a covetous look out of the corner of his eye. I looked again at the illustrations on the chips and, like that moment looking at an optical illusion when the hidden image finally jumps out at you, figured out just what I was seeing. Lengths of time, positions, accessories. Sexual forfeits. I- and from the looks of it, the other companions and plus ones around me- hadn’t been invited to this game to compete. We weren’t the players. We were the prize.

No sooner had that realisation dawned on me than a second followed hot on its heels as, shocked, blushing, I let my gaze fall down and settle on the table. My date was losing. My charming, suave suitor who had brought me here was running low on chips- maybe even the lowest at the table.

“I thought you were good at this,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth.

“I usually am,” he replied, shrugging. “Don’t worry; it’s not over yet.”

I cast my eyes back to the piles of chips amassed by each player around the table. There were plenty of my date’s amongst them, some close enough for me to see the designs on them. Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes. Lewd positions. Some even I was sure were silhouettes of sex toys. I was sweating and could feel goosebumps on the back of my neck. But I looked at the players, these most exotic of socialites- suave, striking, their looks given a new edge in the half-light around the table- and I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t excited by it all.

Another few hands were played. Some of the guests were now openly eyeing one another with barely disguised desire, and the non-playing guests looked every bit as eager as those at the table. A woman my age in a red dress caught my eye and winked, and I blushed as I felt a tingle unbidden between my legs. My date had earned a couple of small wins in the past couple of rounds, but he folded as I looked at him with a shake of his head. “Why didn’t you stay in there?” I asked in hushed tones. “Your hand wasn’t that bad.”

“I was being cautious on purpose,” he murmured discreetly. “I’m second to last right now and I don’t want to lose.”

“You… wait, what happens if you lose?”

I would have to wait for my answer; the next round was being dealt. It couldn’t make much of a difference, anyway. I had stumbled into a swingers’ affair and it looked like I wasn’t getting out of it unscathed. Or… wasn’t I? I wondered whether anyone would seriously try to stop me were I just to get up and walk out. Everyone had been perfectly polite thus far. I imagined how the interaction would play out. “*Sorry, guys, I got the wrong idea. This isn’t for me.*”

I’d promise not to spill their secret, and the little club would continue on uninhibited. I certainly had no obligation to stay; I’d had no idea what I was getting myself in for. So was I going to leave? I looked the length and breadth of the table; all that skin on show, the film star-esque couples some of whom I swore looked familiar, and the ever-growing sense of anticipation as the game neared its finish…

It wasn’t that I couldn’t have left. It was that I didn’t want to. My heart was racing, my nerves were jangling. And I liked it. Perhaps that was why my date had brought me here.

The final hand was dealt.

I did my best to count up the chips as they went through the usual preliminaries and the players with lesser hands bowed out. It was between my date and a lady in a black floor-length gown for the smallest hauls at the table. But the lady in black was clearly feeling confident; she was still in the game. My date was going to have to challenge her.

And he did. They were the last two players left- the others presumably either not confident enough or content that their work for the night was done. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at my date’s cards. What *did* happen if he lost? Were he or I or both of us to pay some even racier forfeit?

He set down his cards. I caught my breath. A straight, five through to nine. An appreciative murmur went through the crowd around the table. Well, it looked like whatever the consequences of last place was, I was going to be spared it- for good or for ill. I was torn between relief and the faint feeling of unsated curiosity. I would have liked to know just what I would have been in for-

Then the lady in black set down her hand, and the breath left me again. A flush of clubs. There were several laughs and hollers from the onlookers now, and looks of amusement thrown in my direction, making me blush once more. My date raised his eyebrows, and looked sideways at me in mute apology. I guessed in a few moments I’d find out just how apologetic he ought to have been.

It was as if the game had been keeping some seal on the pressure building up in the room, and with the last hand played it was now all of a sudden spilling over. The players were collecting up their chips with knowing smiles, and even as I watched the girl who had winked at me earlier sashayed over and settled herself in the lap of the handsome guy who’d been sitting across from my date, smiling playfully. All around the room people had suddenly started kissing, grinding against one another, undressing right before my eyes. A couple of others were clearing the table and emptying the contents of two large black boxes over the surface, and my eyes widened as I saw rings, clamps, vibrators, plugs, and more that I didn’t even recognise. I was nervous, perspiring, barely able to believe my eyes- and barely able to contain myself. It was the most shameless scene I had ever witnessed…

Another girl had joined the first in the victorious player’s lap, and another gentleman had come along to join them. A moment later the girl caught sight of my date standing a little way away, and then her eyes settled on me, glittering and mischievous. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten about you,” she said with a smile. “Your boyfriend’s lax with his cards, so you get a *special* forfeit of your own.”

“What is it?” I looked nervously at my date.

He smiled a little abashedly. “You get to look, but not to touch.”

“What?” I looked around for some better indication; fortunately, the second girl had already set off to show me. She was making her way towards the far end of the room, and the structure covered by its curtain like an art easel. She whipped the cover off.

I was too shocked even to gasp. It was a large, upright Saint Andrew’s cross, standing against the wall. At the end of each appendage I could see clasps, open but waiting to be fastened. I opened my mouth to protest. This was not what I had signed up for. It was anyone’s guess, then, why no protests were coming out, and why the cross was filling me with excitement instead of dread.

Several pairs of hands grabbed me, both male and female, and I was swept off my feet with consummate ease. I’ll say I did my level best. I squirmed, I shrieked. But I never really contemplated asking them to release me. I had stood and watched for the past hour or so as my fate was sealed on the poker table, awaiting whatever lewd convention was customary for the loser. I’d lost the game, but I’d played it with ever-growing excitement about the price for it.

They set me down on my feet, the two men and women in such stylish attire. I caught a brief glimpse of the room. I was now surrounded by nudity- naked and semi-naked guests kissing, caressing, fondling one another. There were men with women, women with women, men with men. Unsurprisingly, then, I had barely a moment to take it in before my own dress was seized in another pair of strong hands, and I couldn’t suppress another throb inside as it was easily pulled away. Then came my bra and panties. The others’ eyes raked my body appreciatively. I was now wearing nothing but my high-heeled shoes and the necklace, the one my date had picked- though, I thought with wry amusement, not many onlookers would be focusing on my eyes now.

Four sets of hands made four limbs easy work. I was pressed against the cross, my wrists and ankles tied in place, leaving me stood with my arms raised and my legs provocatively spread. My body was totally exposed for anyone who might have wished to look. Not many did. The other guests were quite preoccupied with their own trysts.

“The thing about this place is that nobody ever *really* loses,” the girl who had just tied my right ankle grinned. “At least not if fucking around is your thing. So this is the last-place forfeit. You can be a voyeur. You can watch. But what you can’t do-” She rested her own hands momentarily against mine, bound in place, “-is touch. Not yourself, not anybody else.”

She slipped a hand surreptitiously between my legs, and I caught my breath once more as her fingers played teasingly across my labia. “Looks like you’re pretty excited just from watching,” she said. “Enjoy.”

And then she was gone, along with the others, and I was stuck there, naked, spread, bound. And yes, excited. Frustrated, certainly, and a little alarmed at where I’d found myself, but very, very excited by what I could see going on all around me.

Things were now in full flow. Every guest was immersed, the victorious poker players collecting their winnings, the dates like myself enjoying being won. There were girls bent over tables or seated on them with their legs dangling over the side and their partners between them. Some players were handing out toys and accessories, with others lubing up plugs, fastening blindfolds, wincing in masochistic satisfaction as clamps closed on their extremities…

All I could do was watch with envy, at the pandemonium of pleasure that was taking place before me. There were glances thrown my way, some amused at my predicament or raking my exposed body. Others were more sympathetic, and I wondered how many had been in my position on nights gone by, and if they were feeling relieved now, relishing the chance of another evening of enjoyment and at escaping where I’d ended up. There may even have been one or two who looked as if they were, in fact, jealous of me. I stood and watched. My pussy was dripping. All around me was pleasure. Moans, shudders, curling fingers and bitten lips. And I was helpless. Helpless to participate, or- God, I could think of nothing else- helpless to reach between my legs and alleviate the tension that was building up. I thought of all the chips I’d seen with my date’s initials on them. That could have been my fate. I could have been pleasured like all the others around me, if my date had played a little better. Instead I was stuck, sweating, dripping, straining instinctively against the bonds holding me in place. Watching.

My eyes at first were drawn to the men, lithe and chiselled, mesmerising. I watched cocks be stroked and sucked, defined hips buck and thrust, muscular arms tense as hands gripped those around them. I heard grunts, growls, gasps as load after load of wet, white semen landed on breasts and faces or oozed tantalisingly out of every orifice. I saw one guy shudder as a woman’s tongue teased around his glans and felt indignant to have no such opportunity. Then my gaze shifted to a pair of guys, the first groaning with ecstasy as the second pumped into him, and my body tensed and libido tingled at the realisation of a voyeuristic kink I’d never known I had.

Gradually, though, I found the objects of my attention changing. I began watching the other women. Watching legs be spread, clits be licked, fingers tease in and out. I watched breasts be fondled, hair be pulled, and my envy took on a whole other level. Oh, to be in their place. A girl reclining in a chaise longue was quivering as a man- the one who’d peeled my dress away- hooked her thigh on his shoulder as he ravished her with his tongue; as I watched, her whole body arched and her moans resounded in my ears like a tantalising sample of what I was missing out on. Another was half-on, half-off a table with her legs around a guy’s waist, twitching with each thrust inside her whilst another woman held a wand massager to her clit. And then- oh, God. Another fantasy I never knew I had. Two men pounding into the same woman, thrusting in perfect sync as she trembled ecstatically in their arms. My imagination went wild conjuring up just how it might feel.

On and on it went. It took me a while to realise, preoccupied by everything else, that players were discarding chips as they went- spending their winnings, I suppose, and parting company with them once they’d claimed their fair reward. Eventually, then, some were left with all their chips spent, and slumped tiredly back onto the couches, grinning and glancing furtively round at the action that was still ongoing. Some began to redress, others seemed happier to stay naked. My date, of course, was amongst the early exits, with his sub-par poker haul. All thought of him had been driven from my mind by my ordeal. He shot me a brief, half-apologetic glance, then returned his gaze to the action, and I felt distinctly better about forgetting about him.

It was winding down, now. The last few players were checking off their last few acts of debauchery. Having fewer couples to focus on was no less tormenting (read: arousing) for me, though; it just meant I could pay all the more attention to what the final few were doing. Quivering hips, arching backs. The woman who’d teased me as she tied me up earlier let out a moan that was almost a scream as she came with a vibrator and another woman’s hand between her legs. I watched. As ever, I watched.

Then finally it seemed to be done. The final chips were discarded. The players sidled back to their dates, and idle chatter began to break out, as if the orgy they’d just participated in was an entirely normal evening activity. Perhaps it was, to them. I watched in disbelief, and arousal. Mainly arousal.

“That’s tonight’s scheduled poker meet over, everyone,” someone who must have been the club owner announced. “We’ll be closing up shortly. But first, of course, our last order of business…”

He turned his gaze in my direction, and I felt a minor chill around the back of my neck. “Would you all say our losing party tonight conducted herself well?”

There were nods, murmurs of assent, and a good few more glances in my direction, and I wondered if this signified I was about to be unshackled. “Then we’re in agreement,” the club owner said. “She deserves the fair reward, for observing for so long.”

Several people or more stood up at once. Some were now approaching me. But not all. Others… others were going back to the table.

I realised, with the biggest skip of my heart yet, just what was coming.

“Do I get a say in this?” I asked incredulously.

The girl from earlier was nearest to me, and she reached out and ran her hand over my shoulder. “You always get a say, sweetie. So, what’s it going to be?”

I cast an eye round. The glamour, the low lights. Everyone beautiful. I nodded, shyly but firmly.

“Good call,” she said, and kissed me.

I could still taste the champagne, and I moaned a little in satisfaction as her tongue brushed against mine, but I had little time to concentrate on it. We were now being joined by others, other mouths and other hands; male, female, big, small, but all equally, exquisitely purposeful. I barely even had time to process it all. There were hands kneading my breasts, stroking down my sides; more pairs of lips were kissing my neck and back, sucking on every available inch of exposed skin.

“Oh my G-” I couldn’t even gasp. My exclamations were swallowed up in another kiss. All around me there was movement. I’d had all this time- hours, surely, who knew how long- to ache, to fantasise about how I wanted to be touched. Now it was all coming at once. My senses were in overload. I squirmed as much as the restraints and the web of limbs around would allow me as fingers arrived between my legs, finally, *finally*…

And they rubbed. Through my labia, over my engorged clit…

“Fuck.” The word just about escaped as someone else moved in to kiss me.

“If you insist,” they replied with a smile.

Hands and mouths were everywhere. My neck, my breasts, my nipples, stomach, ass, thighs- nowhere escaped being licked, sucked, kissed, caressed… The same sinfully erotic ministrations I’d seen lavished on every one of the guests were raining down on me. A warm, wet tongue replaced the hand between my legs and I nearly screamed as it ran irresistibly over my clit, and new fingers were now arriving, pressing suddenly, exquisitely inside me…

It wouldn’t have taken much to get me worked up, after all this agonising watching from the sidelines. Under this, it took no time at all. I barely had the chance to feel my orgasm building before it exploded, and my head rolled back as I came, pulsing and throbbing round the fingers that were still stroking wickedly in and out of me. Without the restraints and the others around me I probably wouldn’t have been able to stay on my feet. As it was, I sagged against them, panting, twitching- I had never felt pleasure like it. The mouths and hands were still there, pushing me further, drawing out each trembling, toe-curling wave as far as it would go, the continual licking and sucking of my clit was almost unbearably good-

And that was the point, right where it felt as if I could barely have taken another moment of such raw, visceral pleasure, that the crowd around me eased up. The lips and fingers and tongues slowed to a gentle pace before leaving me altogether, and a few hands steadied me as I slumped exhaustedly in place against the cross. “Well done,” the girl nearest me said softly.

As I slowly got my breath back the last few players around me undid the restraints, and I stepped gratefully away from the wooden frame, joints stiff from so long in one upright position. I vaguely picked up a few words of reassurance and several fond looks as I peered around for my clothes, still twitching a little from the aftershocks. So this really was one grand bit of theatre. They’d had their fun, leading me through my… well, *initiation*, maybe, and now I was welcome. Part of the fold.

“Here.” It was her again, the same girl who’d teased me earlier, and she passed me my dress with a smile. “Did you have fun?”

I could only shrug breathlessly, and she nodded, as if at some private joke. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s like that the first couple of times.”

**

And that was it. That was my foray out into high society when you’re young and beautiful and far away from prying eyes. I didn’t go out with my date from that night again- he’d presumed rather a lot too much from me. But there’s still a couple of other faces I recognise from that club who pop up occasionally on my social media feed, and I have to smile when I think of what I’ve seen them do behind closed doors. Maybe one day I’ll message one of them, and if I’m lucky enough to get through and they remember me, perhaps I’ll have another risqué night ahead of me.

Or maybe I’ll be unlucky. And that’s okay. As I now know, sometimes losing isn’t so bad.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/yu5p4x/poker_with_unforeseen_consequences_group