Poker Nip Slip の小説・ストーリー

Her lips were curled into a mischievous smile and her eyes gleamed with childish excitement. “Do you have poker cards?” Sophia shrugged, biting her lower lip nervously. I reached for the breast pocket of my jacket and pulled out a pack of poker cards. I loved carrying it around during my business trip, because I find it oddly satisfying. My lips curled in a half-smile as a dangerous thought slithered into my head. “Here's the rule of the game,” I said as I began shuffling through the cards. “Whoever loses any round will strip off a piece of clothing. Do you agree with the rule?”

“The most classic version. And we must play.” I had played poker many times; friendly games with chips and bragging rights. But this? This was new territory. Naughty territory. The kind that made my stomach tighten with anticipation. “I… I’ve never played strip poker,” I admitted, my voice a little breathy. His grin widened. “All the better. The rule is simple: you remove a piece of clothing if you lose a hand.” He opened the box, the cards making a soft shuffling sound as he dealt two piles of chips. “We start with five items. Shoes and socks count as one. Jewelry doesn’t count unless you want it to.”

She cackles until tears run down her face. Cards come out next. She teaches me a poker variant she swears she invented. Her bluff face is terrible. Her tongue pokes out every time she lies. I still lose spectacularly. She throws her winning hand in the air. Cards flutter everywhere. “Read ’em and weep, babe!” I fling a napkin at her. She ducks. It hits the lamp instead. Napkin war officially begins. The room fills with shrieks and flying crumbs.

Chapter 31 Esteban sat arrogantly, not caring that he was drawing the attention of many, because that was exactly his plan. His slender fingers tapped on the table while his other hand played with his cards. The trick was to play each hand correctly. Bad hands like 72-offsuit were best played by folding. Poker is a game of skill. Underground poker is poker played in a venue not operating in accordance with local gaming laws.

"I raise you." Shivel chuckles and takes a drag off his cigar before tossing in some more chips. "Call. What you got, mother fucker?" Christian lays his cards on the table, revealing two kings and three queens. I look at Shivel, who is trying to come across unaffected. But years of people-watching has made it easy to see his tells. His fingers twitch just slightly and his eyebrows raise just a miniscule amount. He's won and he's just drawing it out as long as he can. Asshole.

Nia whimpered softly as the crotch rope rubbed insistently against her clit, the constant friction sending sparks of pleasure through her core. Jabari stepped back to admire his work, then circled her slowly. He ran his large, calloused hands over her body — squeezing her bound breasts until she moaned, pinching her hardened nipples, trailing his fingers down her stomach, and lightly slapping the insides of her thighs. Each touch left her skin tingling. He dropped to his knees in the warm sunlight and began the long, merciless teasing.

She smiled as she said to Marshall, "It's all right. Just do your best." Soon, a waiter gave them two decks of poker cards. While the waiter was shuffling the cards, Felicity said to everyone, "Here's the deal, we'll play Winner. The last two men who don't play all their cards, whatever number of cards you're left with, the ladies you are paired with will drink the same number of glasses of alcohol. The punishment is just drinking."

"I'm tellin' ya, this hand's got jackpot written all over it. Just deal the bloody cards!" It was as if the room had held its breath for that moment, and then the storm broke. Coins clinked as they were tossed onto the table, chips shuffled, and the cards were dealt with an air of resignation. Niels' fingers fumbled with his cards, his grin unwavering, as if daring his fate to take yet another twist. ‌

Gabe. Gabe stared at the cards in his hand. Seven two off suit. “Raise.” He slid two chips into the pile and let his cards fall facedown. Gabe played poker most Wednesday nights with his friends, and the understanding was that if you could win the hand with seven two off suit, presumably the worst hand in poker, everyone at the table owed you five dollars. It was the only actual money exchanged in their poker games. They played with numbered chips, but no one ever went home richer on Wednesday nights. They’d been playing the same way since high school, and Gabe was thankful. He still hadn’t learned how to win the game.

I asked under my breath. He smiled, wolfish. "First, we get you what you need." He led me toward a shadowed corner where a private table waited, isolated from the rest. In the chaos of the glittering room, it was easy to miss. Perfect for a quiet transaction. As we sat, a dealer appeared a young man with quick eyes and a subtle nod for Dante. Without a word, he placed a small, ornate poker chip on the table. Black. Unmarked. I reached for it casually, pretending to admire its craftsmanship, feeling the slight weight of the micro-recorder embedded inside.