Erotica: Poker Night at Master of O’s


The next time he called, Steven instructed O to put on full makeup “as slutty as possible,” and present herself at his place at nine-thirty p.m. When O arrived, she found the large table covered in green felt and set up for blackjack, with decks of guilt-edged playing cards and stacks of clay chips. The sight made O’s stomach flutter. As usual, Steven (dressed tonight in a hunter green velvet smoking jacket with frogs across the front) was quite affectionate, only allowing her to kiss his matching green velvet slippers in proper slave protocol before dragging her to her feet for some serious making out. She was beginning to understand Steven’s twisted thinking too well and could broadly anticipate what was coming, though her new devil was all about the details and they changed constantly.

Steven prepared her in the back room, starting with a new pair of Wolford stay-ups, straight from the package. O wondered whether he shopped for such things himself or simply called and had what he wanted sent over. He collared her with the customary kiss on the nape, made her do the patent cuffs herself, which he fitted with small brass bells that clipped onto the rings, adding loose chains in between that would only slightly hobble her movements. This pair of ankle cuffs had snug stirrup straps that would have prevented her from kicking off her punishing patent heels, even if she’d had a mind to, though the very idea was too undignified to contemplate.

For once, he added a bit of costume, a tiny, black latex apron edged with a white latex ruffle, far too short to conceal anything a viewer might want to see or touch. Steven knotted the rubber straps in back with a huge bow.

From a drawer in the back room’s tool chest, Steven brought out a leather-covered tray, its red surface trimmed in black patent to match her restraints and a curved cut-out to hold it against her body. A buckled strap ran around the back to keep it in place. Lighter straps swung from the front corners. O knew enough about bondage to instantly comprehend how this was all meant to work.
Steven parked the tray up against O’s belly and instructed her to hold it there so he could buckle the belt snuggly around her middle. The narrow straps were equipped with snap-hooks that attached neatly to her collar rings, holding the tray level at right angles to her ribcage. Steven walked her over to the big mirror and had her do a turn so she could appreciate the effect. It was quite lewd, presenting O’s breasts on the tray along with whatever libations she expected to serve. The makeup was heavy enough to make her look like the fuck-doll she knew she would soon be.

But for whom? Steven offered no explanations as he showed her to the bar station at the kitchen island and quizzed her on how to properly mix various cocktails. O wasn’t much of a drinker, but she had once dated a bartender during her swing-dancing period and was quite adept with a shaker. The way the motion made her breasts bounce would undoubtedly contribute to her popularity.

O was relieved that there were only three extra places at the table, knowing she was in for a long evening.

It was that and more. In the kitchen Steven was using an ice cube and stainless steel tongs he’d taken from the bucket she’d just filled to run up and down her from behind, where she was completely exposed, when the B&O phone mounted on the wall rang. Steven gave permission for his guests to be sent up.

O was left in to finish setting out a tray of canapés from the huge refrigerator while Steven greeted his opponents – two men and a woman. All were lawyers, very high-ticket judging from the expensively casual way in which they dressed. They were also younger than Steven, and far from unattractive, though O would have served them at Steven’s command if they’d been a scouting party of Vikings.

The woman – slender with short blonde hair and some nice architecture well presented by the black-satin open-necked tuxedo shirt and side-striped trousers she wore – was the only one to acknowledge O’s presence, going to the kitchen to check her out. She started to ask O’s name, but Steven cut her off, explaining that O was under orders not to speak. It was the first O had heard of this order, but she was grateful for it. She had a hard enough time talking to strangers with her clothes on.

Steven relayed all the drink orders and O set to work pouring and stirring while they stood around the island and talked shop. One of the men, tall and sandy-haired, had just taken a staff position with the mayor’s office. Another, a buff black man in a tweed jacket and Oliver Peoples specs who exuded a carefully cultivated air of nonchalance, had just finished up an eighteen-million-dollar construction contract for a new wing at LACMA. The woman was taking a case on appeal to the state supreme court.

None of them seemed uncomfortable, or even surprised, at O’s all-but-naked presence, though they did turn their attention to her at Steven’s suggestion when she shook up a vodka martini for the woman, whose hungry gaze made O uncomfortable. O suppressed a smile at the thought of how the distraction she provided would work to Steven’s advantage in the upcoming match. He’d undoubtedly planned it that way.

Once they all sat down, O made a circuit around the table, dipping at the knee with her hands behind her head to serve each drink. She wasn’t surprised at all, much less offended, when each in turn felt her up, the woman lingering longest to tug on O’s thick nipple rings. She asked Steven if he’d had them put on her. He explained that she came from the factory that way.

Steven took the dealer’s position and the play got serious, both on and around the table. When not fetching refreshments or trimming cigars, O found herself constantly and rudely toyed with by everyone in the room. Each time she leaned over to clear an empty glass, someone groped her tits. For a time, the woman had her stand to one side and massaged O’s crotch with a practiced hand while deliberating whether to raise or fold. O could see everyone’s cards, of course, but betrayed nothing by her deliberately doll-like demeanor. If O was to play this part, she would play it as correctly as she could figure out how.

The tinkling of the bells on her cuffs could be heard over the low conversation with each trip to the kitchen. Steven had suggested they all make their requests of her through him to spare her the necessity of a verbal response. He knew that when the tray was fully loaded with black crystal double-old-fashioned glasses it was heavy enough to be a strain on her back and having to work around the short chains while performing her tasks was not easy. But as always, she immersed herself in the situation without complaint. By midnight, most of the girls he’d known would have been begging for a break from the evil fetish pumps, but O never gave any master the satisfaction of hearing her beg until at the limit of her endurance.

It was a weeknight, thankfully, and not intended for a prolonged match. O suspected the cards might be just a pretext, though clearly a profitable one for Steven, who had pretty much cleaned out all his friends by the fourth game. There was some predictable whining and griping, but it stopped quickly when Steven offered them all O as a consolation prize.

It was just what O had expected, ending up on her knees at each chair for a few minutes, getting everyone in the mood while Steven put away the game set, excusing himself to deposit everyone’s money in the wall safe in his closet. He took off O’s tray, much to the relief of her aching spine and neck, and unlocked the chains between her wrists and ankles.

Steven returned to find O splayed on her back on the table with one cock in her pussy, one in each hand and the woman sitting on her face. No one was to leave without getting off and O did whatever necessary to achieve that result. The black man came in her the conventional way, as Steven had the first time: supine with her heels in the air. O was glad for it, as he was long and the position kept him from going too deep. The sandy-haired guy sat in a chair while she performed on her knees. As anticipated, the woman was the most demanding. Folding O over the table, she retrieved a short, sharp single-tail whip from her handbag and used it all too competently. It was a real stinger, even for O, who involuntarily lifted one foot at a couple of particularly cutting strokes. O was relieved to be back on her knees with a mouthful of the woman’s lightly scented anatomy demanding her full attention.
O’s ass, of course, was saved for Steven, who took it on the dragon carpet after the others left. O answered honestly that she’d come with every one of them, but had the most fun with the female lawyer. O could never form a real romantic attachment with a woman, but generally preferred them for casual encounters. A quickie shoved up against the wall by a strong man was fun but she was enamored of every part of women’s bodies. With men she rarely noticed anything much about them above the waist.

Sticky and sweaty with her own fluids and those of others, she was pleased to shower with Steven and spend the night in his arms. He told her she’d made him very proud, which she already knew, but it was still nice to hear.

Returning home in the morning, she found Ray waiting for her, watching CNN. She’d barely gotten in the door before he set upon her, not even bothering to strip her fully, merely unbuttoning her blouse and skirt and nailing her to the floor.

O noted with some concern that Ray, whose sexual appetites were unpredictable, invariably made use of her every time she returned from Steven’s. He was always especially rough when she had fresh marks.

About the Author:
Ernest Greene has been the Executive Editor of Hustler’s flagship BDSM magazine Taboo since 1999 and of Taboo Illustrated since . He has performed in, written, produced, or directed over 500 adult titles, including the Nina Hartley’s Guide series, starring his wife and producing partner, noted porn star and sex educator Nina Hartley. Master of O may be purchased here.

About the Illustrator:
Fernando is a self-taught illustrator inspired by American comic books and European fetish art. One of the preeminent creators of graphic novels in the explicit BDSM genre, his work includes the Cheerleaders series, Confiscated Twins, Dark Vengeance, and many more.


  1. interestingly, since this first saw print in “Master of O” I’ve had at least half a dozen women propose we stage such an evening in real life. They would want to be the one wearing the tray, of course.

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