The BJ Dealer
"Hello?" She queries and then wonders to herself, Why the hell do we say that when we answer the phone? Do we not expect someone to be there? And if we have caller ID, do we not KNOW who that someone is? Am I the only one to find this practice odd?
Her boss on the other end of the line quickly brings her out of her rambling mental meanderings. "There's a gig next Friday night, if you're available."
She flips through her day planner."Yep, I'm available. Details please."
The finer points of the job are described to her...
It's a private affair to celebrate a corporation's product release. All of the big wigs will be there, as will the teams who made it happen. The theme of the night? 1920's speakeasy-style casino. Black and white event. Games of chance and chips for prizes. “I want very attractive people who are very sexily dressed" was the client's main request. The pay for the event is good money for a Friday night and she has just been hired as their blackjack dealer.
She jots it down on the following Friday in her day planner.
8pm-Midnite: 20's Corp. Casino Night
"Sounds good, boss. When the order's complete, fax or email it on over."
She smiles as she hangs up the phone. She knows this company. She knows one of the men in charge, the client who placed the order. Intimately.
In fact, she gave him the idea to do a casino night as a reward for the months of employees' work. She even supplied him with her agency's phone number and helped him cybershop for the prizes.
Oh yes, she thought to herself, This is going to be an event neither of us will soon forget.
Friday, Casino Night – 6:30pm.
As usual, her work uniform is her responsibility and as usual, she only had to go to her closet to locate the perfect outfit. She hops out of the shower, towels off and slips into her short silk robe. Inside her very spacious walk-in closet, she steps to her dressing table and smiles at her reflection in the mirror before fixing her hair and applying her makeup, taking extra care to maximize her best feature, her eyes. She pulls out several clothing options and lays them out on her bed, settling on one she has had in her wardrobe for months, waiting for the right event: A very cute black and silver sequin teddy. She quickly adds complimentary accessories to complete her “uniform”: black fishnet thigh-hi stockings, black pumps, white silk cuffs and collar topped with a black bowtie and a short black wig. If she were to add a pillbox hat and carry-tray, she could be a cigarette-girl. She first considered going with a short flapper dress for the evening, but since many of the female attendees will probably be in one, she shrugs it off. The teddy “costume” was the perfect mix of keeping with the color theme of black and white, 1920’s, and sexy. So, after dressing, she gives herself one last look in the mirror and decides to add a long string of white pearls, feather boa, and a garter to complete the look. She throws on her ankle-length black leather jacket, grabs a tube of red lipstick, smears it flawlessly over her supple lips, drops it into her coat pocket, picks up the job order with directions to the event, and walks out the door.
She has been dealing cards, flirting with both male and female players (employees of the corporation) and slipping extra chips to her favorites for over three hours when the client finally steps up to her blackjack table. She had seen him around the “casino” the entire evening. Their eyes had met several times and smiles were exchanged, but they had not yet spoken to one another… he had lingered around the roulette table for a short while, with most of his evening spent at the poker table diagonally behind her. It didn’t go unnoticed by her that his vantage point to watch her work was probably best from that poker table.
He places his drink and chips on the felt and sits in the recently vacated first base, (Player 1 position) to her left.
“Ready for a new blackjack player?” he asks.
“Always,” she glances down at his chips and back up into his eyes, “But I must warn you, New Player, this BJ dealer may just clean you out.”
Intuitively, he knows that she’s not talking about his poker chips and grins at her, “I enjoy a challenge, so let’s see just how good of a BJ dealer you really are.” He places five chips in the betting circle. “Deal,” he teasingly barks.
Such is the understated flirtatious banter between the two of them for nearly an hour, as the client loses some hands, wins many and continues to double-down and split pairs, riding his good luck until he has amassed impressive stacks of chips. As the midnight hour approaches, the other players eventually step out of the game and head to the other end of the hotel ballroom, where the chips will be counted, winners will be announced, and prizes will be awarded.
Separated only by a skirted wooden frame topped with green felt, the client and the dealer are now alone. He pushes all of his chips to the betting circle.
“Let’s go for broke,” he says.
She deals two cards apiece.
Her up-card is an ace so she asks, “Insurance or even-money?”
He peeks at his cards and a sly smile spreads across his face. “Well, seeing as how all of my chips are in, I really can’t take either option, now can I?”
“Good point.” She raises the corner of her face-down card, glances at it, and then looks back to him for direction. In that simple move, she has just revealed that she does not have blackjack. He tosses his cards face up onto the table.
Impeccable timing for his first natural blackjack of the night, she thinks to herself.
“Looks like you have to pay me the 3-2 odds,” he says.
“Looks like you’re right. So, I’ll need to get some more chips.” She pulls aside the table skirt from her side and starts to kneel, “But before I do, I should tell you that I have an ace up my sleeve. Want insurance?” She giggles and disappears under the table.
Suddenly, he feels a hand gently but firmly grabbing his right ankle. Then his left. Her hands glide along the pantlegs of his black trousers until they are on his thighs, raising the table’s skirt on his side as she goes. “Surrender, hit, or stand?” he hears her ask beneath him. He draws his stool closer to the table. She lifts the skirt over his belt and lets it drape over his lap. She drabs his belt buckle and gives it a tug, asking again, “Surrender, hit, or stand?” He quickly taps the top of the table with his fingers to indicate ‘hit’ and she unzips his fly to find he is not wearing any underwear. Nice, she smiles to herself.
She wastes no time, and he gasps as she handles his soft member, pulling it through the opening in his dress pants. Teasing his flesh with her feather boa, she salivates with the thought of what she is about to do and can already feel his cock beginning to engorge with blood in her hands. Before it can harden fully, she engulfs him in her warm and wet mouth, relishing the sensation of his cock growing within her lips. She hears his fingers tap the top of the table and it's all the encouragement she needs...
While holding the base of his cock in her hand, she flutters her tongue underneath his hood and swirls it all along and across his head. She sucks just the tip into her mouth, using just the right amount of lip pressure beyond the ridge and swirls her tongue more. And more. She releases him from her mouth and lifts his cock towards his abs so she can lower her face to its base. Reaching her tongue as far as she can inside the opening of his pants, she teases his balls. He slides further down into his seat, to afford her better access and she gently sucks each one into her mouth before she licks up the entire length of his shaft in one loooong lick until she reaches the head. Without warning, she takes as much of his cock that she can devour and begins to slowly fuck him with her mouth. She pauses long enough to lick the inside of her palm and uses a combination of hand-stroking moves in conjunction with her sucking until she feels him harden to his limit. She recalls how he once told her that he doesn't usually cum from oral sex, but her mission tonight was to turn that belief into history...
She loses all track of time while she continues to worship his manhood, pulling out several of her little secrets, building him into a frenzy. When she starts to feel a familiar "rushing" within the depths of his groin, she knows he's getting close. So she jacks his cock with her hand and then grabs him by the hips and fucks him with her mouth. Hard. Fast. Without a break in the rhythm. Careful at all times not to hit him with her back molars..... Until he reaches his hand under the table skirt and grabs the back of her head, shoving his cock between her sweet lips just as he shoots a hot stream of cum into the back of her throat. Her eyes roll into the back of her head as she swallows all of each squirt he can deliver for her.
Gradually, she slows her pace as his orgasm subsides. When she is sure that he has given her all of his man-juice reserves, she takes a corner of the table skirt, gently wipes his dick dry, carefully places it back into his trousers and pulls up his zipper.
She appears on her side of the table, flushed and grinning, holding a new box of poker chips in one hand. "Ah, here we are...." She grabs his drink with her free hand and downs it, slamming the highball glass and box of chips down on the table. "Your winnings."
Breathless and with flushed cheeks himself, he says, "No, my dear, you win. You're right... You're one HELL of a BJ dealer... because I think you just cleaned me out."