A Game of Chance

[dr_mabeuse]

I want to come right out an apologize for this story. It's 10,000 words long, and I feel that's much too long to ask people to read for the sake of a critique. I wouldn't post this one here if I didn't honestly need your opinions, because I truly don't know what to make of it.

This version is condensed. The original is 13K, and I've cut out 3000 words to try and make it easier to get through. I've also cut it into two sections for the sake of posting.

Unfortunately, It's the kind of story that has to be read in its entirety. There's no way I can give you a stopping point and still get a valid opinion on it. It stands or falls as a complete piece, and while I appreciate all comments, I'm not really concerned with matters of style and mechanics. It's the story as story that concerns me:the plot, from beginning to end.

In cutting out the 3000 words, I hacked up the opening scene, which will probably seem somewhat jerky and abrupt. I apologize for that, and will only say that it works okay in the original. I also removed a sex scene in the middle which adds depth and understanding to the chars but which I thought was expendable for the same of brvity

As I said, posting a 10K word to this forum is rather inconsiderate in my opinion, and if you feel it's too much, I'll understand. But this piece has been bothering me since I finished it and I really need to get some other people's feedback on this thing. I've written something which I think is very good, but which I don't like.

And if you think that's a hook to get you to read it, you're right. It's still true though.

I don't have any specific questions except one, and if you read the whole story, you'll know what that is.

Thanks in advance.

---dr.M.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

The doors on the beach side of the café looked out on a scene so bright that all you could see were the broad slashes of white sand and turquoise water . Bogdan thought he was being slick, keeping his sunglasses on so I couldn't read his pupils, but I could see the reflection of his hole cards in the curved iridescent lenses of his Serengeti Arezzo’s every time he peaked at them: Jack of hearts and four of clubs.

It didn’t really matter, because I was going to let him win this hand anyhow. Still, it was gratifying to see that he was bluffing with such a crappy hand. After ten hours of cards, the man was desperate.

"Fifty to me, huh?"

I put my hands together and blew through them as if I were cold, pretending to think about it. It was a phony tell I'd been sending out all night—a trap. I wanted him to recognize the hand blowing as a nervous habit I had that meant I was bluffing. I was pretty sure he’d already bought it. He wasn't really dumb. Just dumb enough to think he was smart..

"Too rich for me," I said, and threw my cards down. "But what'd you have?"

I reached for his cards like an eager tinhorn and he grabbed my wrist. His smile had worn razor thin over the course of the night; his eyes were exhausted but still hard enough to flash in anger for an instant over his tints before they warmed to the old charmer look.

"Ah-ah-ah!" he warned. "No looking."

"Oh right, sorry. I forgot."

It was pretty corny, pretending I was such a beginner that I thought I could just look at his hand, and it was kind of late to try and convince him that I was dumb. I was up about two thousand Euros now, mostly his money, and I was trying my damnedest to either break him completely or just muscle him out once and for all. Either way, I wanted out of this two-man game because I was up and because I was sick of him. He had nothing left to bet anymore, but he didn't know when to quit. I didn’t like Bogdan Kerosivic, even if he had gone to school in Wisonsin, USA.

He and his pals Ivor and Dimmy had attached themselves to us last night in the hotel casino without so much as an introduction, pushing their coke and trying to impress us as a couple of local gangsters, talking it up about their boss Grecco and his ties to the Ozalan Turkish mafia. Josh and I had just dropped 50 kilos of hash off in Bari, Montenegro and I knew something about Ozalan and these guys weren’t shit. They'd made us for a couple of American marks and were out to take us, and they were wrong on both counts.

If we'd been able to get alone with Bogdan for five minutes we could have taken care of everything, but his pals and their pals were always around in a big crowd, and then Josh started playing cards with these guys and I got sucked in, and right away broke a tooth on old Boggy and almost came to blows. I had my reasons for not liking him from the start. He got under my skin and wouldn't get out and so here were at eight in the morning still playing.

Ivor had gone home hours ago and Dmitri was asleep at the tabl. Josh had written the whole night off back before midnight and was asleep back at the hotel, and I was stuck with trying to get Bogdan off my hands. He hung on like a burr.

"That’s enough for me," I tried again, as though losing 80 Euros on this hand had wiped me out and evened things up between us. "I'm packing it in."

"No! Wait! You can't, Jeffrey. I’m just hitting my stride."

"Stride? Fuck, Bogdan. We've been playing for ten hours. That's fucking enough." I put my cigarettes in my pocket and started scraping up my cash.

"Come on. Another hand. My wife’s going to meet me here any minute. We'll play till she gets here. Ten, fifteen minutes at the most.”

“She know how much you lost?”

“Easy come, easy go,” he said. “I can handle her. Come on. Ante up."

I was sitting opposite him, facing the main tourist drag that ran outside. All the doors were open to the breeze, the ceiling fans spun and the waiters brought us water and beer and coffee without a word as we played. The place smelled of tanning butter and furniture wax and cigar smoke. It would have been a nice place if I hadn't been so tired.

There was a blonde girl in a short, royal-blue dress walking quickly towards the café in the morning light, a big bag on her shoulder. She was a joy to watch, a woman who knew how to be a woman, very slim, very erect, very European in a way that lifted my heart, then dropped it just as fast as I realized it could only be Bogdan's wife. Poetic justice demanded it.

She came into the café and stood getting her bearings, then walked over. As soon as our eyes met something clicked, clunked, and locked into place, like the door on a big, iron safe. I felt the wheels of destiny turning, and my stomach ejected into my chest.

Worse, I knew that the same thing was happening to her. I saw the little hitch in her step when it did. It was like we shared the same network, like we were already connected.

She walked over to the table, her step a bit more hesitant now, both hands on the strap of her bag. She gave me a cautious smile, then bent and kissed Bogdan on his swarthy cheek.

Bogdan winced—he was shuffling for one last hand—and made introductions with his eyes. "Alena, this is Jeffrey, my new American friend. Jeffrey, my wife Alena."

I stood and extended my hand. I haven’t stood up for an introduction since they made me do it in Sunday school. This time I did it automatically.

Just like that the roof fell in on me. Just like that my heart popped out of my chest and fell into her lap. Knowing what I knew about Bogdan, my heart went out to her, but there was nothing I could do, nothing I could say.

She sat and tried to smile, said hello to Dimmy, who grunted and went back to sleep, and glanced at the pile of money still on the table in front of me, then at Bogdan's pile, then she looked at me.

"Come on," Bogdan said, already dealing the cards. "A half hour more. Maybe some of the morning crowd will sit in."

Always one more. I played, just to keep them there. I lost as best I could, too, wanting to build him back up in her eyes and not look like a selfish asshole, but by now Bogdan was exhausted and drunk and playing on sheer stubbornness, and he threw away hand after hand. Alena ordered a mineral water and gave me a pained look when I tried to pay for it.

I won a hand, a big one, and Alena got up and walked over to the bar rather than see me scoop up all those bills. As tired and exhausted as Bogdan was, he was still a hustler and not too far gone to miss a last chance. He caught me glancing at her and said, "She’s nice, huh?"

I looked at him and he grinned. "I'm not so dumb. I know what I see. You like her, huh? She likes you too. Give me 500 euros and we'll play for the rest, your money against my wife."

Josh was back at the room asleep. Dimmy was passed out again in his chair. Bogdan sat there grinning at me. It was a hateful sight.

“Just cut the cards,” I said.

“I’m serious. We’ll play for her.”

"Maybe you should ask her what she thinks," I said.

Bogdan put his glasses up on his head so I could see his red and watery eyes. "She'll do what I say. I've been watching you two. Give me 500 e's credit and we'll play for her. You clean me out, you get her for a night. I win, then we're friends again."

"Bullshit."

His smile broadened. "This isn't Wisconsin, my friend. She'll do what I tell her to. Now what do you say? She’s as good as she looks."

"You're slime," I said.

He shrugged and lowered his glasses. "You are too, my friend."

I'd been up all night and Josh and I had planned to finish up our business here and leave for Athens that afternoon. I couldn’t afford to get involved with anyone, least of all her. But I was sick of the sight of cards and the feel of the chair in my back, sick of Bogdan’s rat-faced smile and the feel of his money between my fingers, and she looked so good standing there at the bar, so cool and clean and refreshing.

I pushed 500 euros at him and said, “Deal.”

Alena came back and stood behind his chair and she knew something was up. Bogdan smiled and rubbed his hands together and made no secret of it anyhow. He reached up and took one of her hands and rubbed his face against it. "Jeffrey and I are playing for you now, darling," he said. “What do you think of that?”

She gave his hand a little jerk. "Don’t joke!"

“Oh, it’s no joke. I lose, and you spend the night with him. I win, I get all our money back.”

He laughed and shuffled the cards. I couldn’t tell whether she believed him or not, or whether she thought it was a tasteless joke and that was bad enough, but she sat down again and looked out at the harbor, her sunglasses on her head. She tried to make herself disappear, which was impossible. That dress looked so good on her.

I started winning but she didn't look at me, only at him, at his face, his cards, and his money. It wasn't until he lost a big pot—staying in again chasing a straight when he should have folded—that she ventured a look at me. It was a look of hatred, but it wasn’t directed at me. She wanted me to win. She wanted me to do whatever it took to hurt him.

On a hand Bogdan dealt I pulled a straight on the seventh card. It had been tight hand with nothing showing but my small pair, and there was a big pot. I figured Bogdan for two pair or three of a kind because he kept on raising my bets. It was perfect.

I pushed him at the end, betting his limit as if I were trying to money him out. I left it to him to call or fold. If he called and lost, it was all over.

He looked at me and looked at his cards as his cigar burned in his fingers.

I sat back with a look of indifference on my face that wouldn't have fooled anyone, then I leaned forward, put my hands together and blew through them like I was cold. It was time to see if the hook had set.

Bogdan pretended to think it over but I knew he'd taken it. He pursed his lips and sroked his chin, looked at his hole cards again and said, "Call," .

I laid down for him. "Straight, Jack high."

He sat still for a moment, looking at the cards as if he’d suddenly forgotten how to count. He smiled, stood up and took out his handkerchief and blew his nose, put it away, then knocked back the last of his brandy and tried to smile again. Dimmy came over, but I figured they wouldn’t try anything with all these people around. It had been an clean win.

"Well," he said. "You’re a very lucky man."

“Sometimes.”

I stood up too, making a lot of noise so that people would turn to look. I wanted to be noticed.

He stubbed out his cigar. "When do you want her?"

Alena reached for that big bag she'd brought and I thought she was going to hit him with it. "You son of a—"

"I'll take her now."

"Now?" He laughed once. "You've been up all night, my friend. You should get some rest."

"Now."

He shrugged and gestured to her with his head, but Alena was already on her feet. She turned the bag upside down on the table and all this crap fell out: makeup and letters and pill bottles, soap and underwear and a toothbrush and socks. They all fell out on top of the cards and money and dirty ashtrays.

She'd brought him clean socks and toiletries so he could freshen up, and he’d just lost her in a card game.

She turned to me. "Let's go. This is making me sick."

$ $ $

We walked away from the café fast. She was angry, so I just kept my mouth shut. I was hoping she’d stay angry, so angry that she’d fuck me out of spite.

But as soon as the card game was left behind, I realized how absurd the whole thing was. She was a princess, and I really didn't think she was about to come to my hotel and fuck me just because her oaf of a husband had made a drunken bet. I could tell she felt she owed me an apology, though, and so she offered to help me find my way back to my hotel. That was good enough for me. I was lost and besides, it was the only hold I had on her.

"Where are you staying? " she asked. “Do you have a car?”

"No. Dmitiri drove. I’m staying at the Metropole."

“Does he know that’s where you are?”

“No. What difference does it make?”

“He can be dangerous when he drinks.”

I didn't think Bogdan was much of a threat, besides, she was worth it. "I'm not worried."

She stared at me for a moment, trying to read me. She failed and shrugged it off. "All right. I’ll walk you to the Metrople. It's not far. I want to get away from here anyway."

The Metropole was an old, renovated pensione and very charming, set back in a courtyard filled with oleander and orange trees. It had an ancient concierge and the kind of wrought iron elevator that you don't see anymore and had come recommended to us as the kind of place that was quiet and off the tourist track, the kind of place that the local heavy hitters favored: quiet, luxurious, circumspect..

"I'll leave you here," she said as we stepped into the lobby. She lowered her head. "I apologize for what happened, but my husband… Well, I'm sorry we had to meet like this."

"Wait a minute," I said. "You forget. I won you. You're mine for the night."

"Please, don’t be silly."

"Silly nothing. That was a legitimate bet. If I'd lost, he would have taken my money. Why should I put my ass on the line for nothing?"

She got indignant. She still had plenty of anger left over for me. "Keep your voice down. I don't belong to you or anyone. Just who do you think you are anyhow?".

It was the way she looked at me that did it, that dismissive, condescending face. So many times I'd run into that same face, that same tone of voice from women just like her. I felt a sudden surge of excitement, like when I play cards.

"You really don't know, do you?" I asked.

She showed me an elaborately bored face and that did it. I felt that sudden surge of adrenalin I always get before a high-stakes bluff and I decided to go for it.

"You know a man named Grecco?"

It worked. She looked at me and I could see the fear in her face now. It felt good.

"Well he works for me. When I say 'jump', he asks 'how high'. I chew up bugs like your Bogdan for breakfast, Alena, and it just so happens your boy's in a shitload of trouble already, you understand? Now, you want to come upstairs and talk about it? Or do you want me to go upstairs in a bad mood and make a phone call?"

The bluff left me shaking, but it worked, It shut her up, and in her moment of confusion I took her by the arm and led her to the elevator. The elevator came down like the shadow of doom and I pulled the door open and pushed her in. My heart was hammering in my chest.

"Bogdan fucked with the wrong people this time." I said. "I don’t bother with small-timers like this but he was asking for it, and now he’s into me for twenty-five hundred E’s, his shitty little boat and his wife.”

She was nervous now, and she looked very small against the black iron of the elevator. “What are you going to do to him?”

We stopped with a heavy clang on the third floor and I opened the wrought iron door for her and held it. “Well now, that's entirely up to you, isn't it?.”

It was a nice-sized little apartment, totally redone. There were French doors that looked out over the harbor, and another set that gave out onto the courtyard with the orange trees. There was also a TV and a courtesy bar.

I left her standing by the door and went to the phone and dialed the hotel I was calling from, the only phone number I knew. I blocked the phone with my body and put my finger down on the cradle before anyone picked up.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said into the dead phone. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I want you to have that prick followed. You know where he lives. Over on Aragosta Street.”—I remembered the name Bogdan had mentioned—“No. Only if and when I say so. Yeah. No, Right. I’ll let you know.”

I hung up the phone. Alena hadn’t moved. She looked like she was cold.

“You’re serious,” she said.

I didn’t lie. I just didn’t say anything.

"You're an animal," she said. "You're as bad as he is."

"Good. Then you're used to it."

I saw her nostrils flare like a bull's before it charges, but she got herself under control. I filed it away. It's always good to have a hook.

I went to the bar and opened a bottle of the local brandy. I needed a drink. Bluffing at cards was one thing. The stakes were much higher here. I really wanted this girl. I didn’t know how else to get her, but this tough guy act was getting hard to maintain..

She followed me into the living room with sudden nonchalance. "So what do you intend to do? Rape me? Because that's the only way it's going to happen."

"I'd thought about it." I splashed brandy into a glass. No ice. There was never any ice. "I was hoping we could come to a more amenable solution."

She watched me like a cat, nothing moving but her eyes. That feeling of erotic tension was back, that feeling of having known each other before, and she was taking my measure, trying to get a handle on me. She was interested—maybe not willing, but interested. Otherwise she would have left, threat or no threat..

"This is how it's going to work," I said. "I won a night with you, and that's what I expect, whether I fuck you or not. I can't let you go, because that'll make me look like an idiot who lets people stiff him, and then everyone'll start stiffing me. And it'll also mean that Bogdan doesn't pay his debts, and that'll ruin his reputation. I know how much his reputation means to you.”

I let that one sink in as I took another drink. It was truly vile stuff, made of peach pits or something.

“Also, Grecco won't like it when he finds who Bogdan's been screwing with. No telling what he’ll do, even if I don’t do anything. So you see, you're stuck here for twenty-four hours whether you like it or not."

Alena was expressionless.

"I'm not a bad guy" I said, changing tone. "I know I cleaned him out—cleaned you out too, didn't I? Down to the fucking rent money. So tomorrow morning, twenty-four hours from now, I'll give you your money—half of what I took from Bogdan, less my fee for trouble and aggravation—and you're free to go. Agreed?"

"And the boat?"

I smiled. "You can have the boat too. I don't want a boat. So what do you say?"

No answer. She was going to give me the icy beauty business, stalling for time, and suddenly I got mad.

"Don’t fuck with me, Alena. If you don’t like it, turn and walk out that door and stop wasting my time. See what happens."

She didn't move. She took a quick drink from her glass. I took off my wrinkled jacket, rumpled it up and threw it in a chair. I sat down and put my feet up on the table.

"Tell me," I said. "How did you end up with a man like him anyhow?"

I yanked that hook and her anger flared, just like magic. "That's really none of your business."

"Are you happy with him?"

She put her drink down. "What are you? Some sort of marriage counselor? Is that what this is about?"

I was willing to bet she’d rather get fucked than talk about her husband, so I let her stew for a moment as I took a drink. Then I lenaed forward, lowered my voice and said. “Take off your dress.”

The silence was thick and immediate. I could see her swallow. She didn't move except to stiffen her back.

My stomach was fluttering as I stood up and walked over to her. I was beat, exhausted, still angry and shaking with fear, but she'd been working on me since I first laid eyes on her, and now I stood up and walked over to her and stood as close to her as I wanted. Alena lowered her eyes.

I stood behind her, reached up and my fingers were shaking like I had the DT’s. I pushed her hair out of the way and got a whiff of fresh warm female. I fumbled with the knot oat the back of her neck and got it untied and threw the two ends down over her chest. Her hands came up and she grabbed the dress just as it fell, trapping it against her chest. The back slipped down to the top of her ass, and I was looking at the most gorgeous human back I’ve ever seen.

“I didn’t take that bet lightly,” I said. “It was almost twelve hundred euros. And you know what? It was a bargain.”

She turned her head as if to look at me, but I didn’t want to be seen. I took hold of her shoulders and pressed my lips to the back of her neck and just held them there. I meant to do it only for an instant, just to see what it felt like, but it was like grabbing hold of the third rail of a subway. I couldn’t let go

She gave a little inward gasp and arched away from me, but I held her shoulders—her bare, naked shoulders—and I kept her there. My eyes were closed, and for a moment my brain just shut off. I kept my lips pressed lightly to the back of her neck and stood there, tasting her. I ran my lips from the back of her neck along the soft ridge of her trapezius to the dome of her shoulder, where I stopped. I kept my eyes closed, afraid if I opened them she’d be gone.

I opened my eyes and she was still there.

I closed my eyes again and brought my lips back to her neck, this time opening them so I could feel her skin against my teeth, the way you run a pearl across your teeth to find out whether it’s real or artificial. She was real. She was so real she had goose bumps.

My mouth followed the sweet indent of her spine down her back. I put my tongue out and licked her as I held her still, not caring what she thought. She was sweet and salty like fruit in the sun and there was something mysterious and intoxicating about that taste. I swerved off to one shoulder blade and tasted her there, then the other. I grew bolder and bit her, that soft skin between my teeth. She whimpered and I held her tighter. I held her so tight my hands hurt.

I trailed lower, bending down as I did. I had to let go of her shoulders, and I put my hands on her hips as I got on my knees.

“Don’t,” she said at last. “Please…”

I don't know how long I held her, kneeling behind her like an altar boy. Too long, because I suddenly felt foolish and stood up.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just always wanted to know what it would be like to have a woman like you.”

Alena was looking at me over her shoulder. That hardness in her eyes was gone, replaced by a kind of sadness.

"Is this what you really want?" she asked.

"You don't know how much."

She looked away and seemed to be thinking. Befoe I could find anything else to say, she said, “Close the curtains.”

I wasn’t shaking anymore. Since I had tasted her it was like a deep peace had descended over me. I got up and pulled the curtains closed over the French doors, steeping the room in the illicit light of morning shade.

I heard her dress rustle to the floor behind me, and when I looked she was standing with her hands on her shoulders, her arms shielding her breasts, clad only in her panties.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

I had no idea. I walked over to her and stood in front of her. “Just put your hands around my neck. Just stand there.”

She reached up, exposing her breasts with a diffidence I didn't expect, and put her hands on my shoulders.

I should have known she wouldn't kiss me, but I wasn't thinking clearly and so I tried. She kept her eyes closed as I kissed her passive lips. They were parted and expectant but they needed to be coaxed and convinced, as if she’d forgotten how they worked. I was in no hurry now. I slid my hands down her back and cupped them around her ass, vegetable-slick in her silk panties. I pulled her hips against me.

Maybe it was the feel of my hard cock against her stomach. Maybe it was the feel of my shirt against her beautiful breasts, or my hands on her ass, or maybe her lips got tired of doing nothing, but she kissed me then, and she kissed me with the fervor of a woman who hasn’t been kissed in a very long time, demanding and frightened and bold and shy all at the same time.

Her hands tightened on my neck as she reached for my mouth. Her nipples bit into my chest and I seemed to grow and tower over her till I loomed over her and bent her backwards. She wasn’t just as good as I’d imagined, she was better. My cock reached for her through my pants like a blind man trying to escape a burning room.

No, I thought. No. This one’s too good to fuck. This one has to be loved.

I felt her buttocks clench as she instinctively pushed her pussy at me and at that all thought evaporated. Maybe it was just reflex on her part, but she ground those tight hips against me and I felt the muscles in her ass tighten and it just drove me wild.

We broke the kiss—we had to breathe—and then she put my hands on my chest and tried to push.

No,” she said. “No, I can’t.”

I bent down and picked her up. Without even thinking about it I bent down and picked her up like a groom picks up his bride. She tried to twist away but I held her close and again I got that thrill of using my strength against her, against those frail womanly arms. I held her tight and carried her into the bedroom. staggering just a bit because my legs weren’t working properly.

(continued below)

 

[dr_mabeuse]

A Game of Chance, Part 2

Another man’s wife. That’s what she was and I couldn’t forget it. The knowledge made me desperate.

I dropped her on the bed and she said, “No,” again but I could smell her now and my arms were still full of her warmth, my mouth full of her kiss. I wanted to eat her. I wanted to devour her and drink her down but that was impossible. I’d settle for eating her though, for worshipping her with my mouth and licking her and sticking my tongue in her and making her come, making her give herself up to me. But when I went down there she grabbed my hair and pulled. “No! Don’t! I can’t stand that! It’s too much!”

I crawled back up the bed and took her in my arms and she put her arms around me and kissed me hard, as if making up for denying me the pleasure of her sex. She kissed me and then she closed her eyes and raised her face to be bathed in kisses, like you turn your face to the sun after a long time in darkness.

I was all over her. Her breasts were small but exquisite in their shape and sensitivity, and when I sucked her nipples she cradled my head as if she were feeding me. She was just so gorgeous she made me ache.

I stood up and started tearing off my clothes, and she lay there breathing hard, her eyes closed, waiting. I knew the clock was ticking, that I only had so much time. The morning light was coming through the shutters in bars, striping her body like a prisoner, and I could tell she was already feeling remorse.

I got naked and got onto the bed next to her and took her in my arms, but she turned her face away.

"Jeffrey, I can't." Her voice was excited, breathless. "Let me use my mouth on you. I can do that. I can make it good."

"No," I said. "No. It's you I want. Not your mouth. You, all of you."

"Please," she tried to push me away again but now I'd had enough.

She was another man's wife. Another man's luck and good fortune, his love at one time, and his life. Another man's, and it was always like that. Never mine. Never my women, my life.

I grew frantic and grabbed her wrists. I pressed them down into the bed on either side of the pillow and loomed over her, looked into her eyes and saw them flare with sudden hunger and excitement.

"This is rape," she said. "If you hold me like this, it's rape. Is that what you want?"

I was stupid with lust. It took me a minute to realize what she was telling me, and then I tightened my grip on her wrists.

"I'll take it," I said. "I'll take you any way I can get you."

She still struggled, but something had gone out of the fight. Her body had already relaxed into the bed, only her arms still resisted. She balled her hands into fists and tried to escape, tried to free her wrists, but I was so much stronger, it was easy to hold her down. She pushed against my hands, arching her back and testing my strength, wanting to know I was really holding her. Then she gave up, closed her eyes and turned her face to the side. Her chest was heaving. I could see the pulse beating fast in the side of her neck.

I transferred both her wrists to one hand and still easily held her down. I trailed my other hand over her body, taking whatever I wanted: her breasts, her nipples, the tight stomach and the soft warm bulge in her panties. She wouldn’t turn her face to me so I kissed her body, her throat, sucked her nipples into my mouth and pressed my fingers to her swollen flesh and made her groan. Being held down had done something to her. I could feel her moisture through her panties.

Her panties. I slid my hand up through the leg hole, curled my fingers over the top and yanked, pulling her ass off the bed. She yelped in alarm. The panties held so I pushed my finger tips against the open fabric and punched up. The fabric was sheer and my fingers broke through, and then it was easy to just shred them. I tore at them like a terrier with a rat..

"Oh God!" she moaned. "Oh God, no!"

With her panties in tatters I rolled between her legs. I held her wrists down hard and my
cock searched for her as she raised her hips in an effort to push me off, but all the time her eyes were looking at my hands holding her wrists, first at one and then the other, like she couldn't believe it. I laid my weight on her, driving her ass down against the bed and my cock found her and sunk into that tight, swollen pussy.

It was holding her that did it, the feel of my hands on her wrists, and once I had opened her she thrust her hips up at me to take me deep, and she started grinding against me in hot, hungry circles. She wasn't as weak as I'd thought, not as far as her hips and legs and belly went, and she planted her feet on the mattress and fucked up at me like a cock-starved whore.

"Beautiful bitch!" I gasped down at her. "This is what you need, isn't it? To be held down and fucked hard."

She whined in her throat but her hips never stopped. "No," she whispered. "No, you're raping me. There's nothing I can do! You're too strong…holding me down…making me do it!"

It was some sick game but I didn't care. If she wanted to play rape, that was fine with me. I was riding her hard, no finesse, no tricks or fancy moves, just bone-jarring fucking while she writhed beneath me, sometimes digging her ass into the mattress as if trying to escape, other times pushing up at me as if she couldn't get enough.

We fucked in silence, the room so quiet you could hear the slick sound of my prick working inside her, my growls of hunger and Alena's whimpers of protest and sudden moans of shameful pleasure as I hit a sensitive spot. The look of lust on her that regal face was more than I could stand. She was heaven above the waist and hell below, and we were like two animals, two people with nothing left to lose who had only this conjunction of flesh in flesh to sustain them. That, and the burst of svage pleasure that was thundering down towards us like a herd of wild horses.

"Damn you!" she cried, and now she was engaged in a different fight. She wanted it. There was no doubt in my mind anymore. She wanted it but she wasn't going to let me see that, and so she fought with herself, trying to refuse her own body's desires, but it was no use.

A biref shudder on her part as my cock seemed to grow another inch in size and she gave up. She threw herself into it, not caring what either of us thought of her anymore. There was a lot of strength in that exquisite body, and it all seemed to be designed for sex. I marveled again at what an astonishing idiot Bogdan must be.

"Fuck me!" she gasped. "Fuck me hard!"

I held her wrists and made her take it, punched my cock into her until she yielded, the strength going out of her legs so that her knees fell open on the bed. I looked down into that angelic face twisted into a mask of pleasure and heard her squeal in shock as her orgasm took her, and then my own come rose up over me like a wall of brilliant black water and came crashing down. I fucked her so deep that my toes dug into the blanket as I pushed and at the last minute I let go of her wrists and grabbed her ass, pulling her pussy up against me and holding her hips like a bowl against the spitting fountain of my cock. My come jetted into her like water from a hose.

"Oh fuck! Bitch! I'm coming! Coming in you! Take it! Take it all!"

Alena keened with excitement and seemed to flower open for me, spreading her legs wider, becoming softer somehow, reaching for me in some way I can’t rexplain but that drove me wild. I shot into her, shot all my fear and tension and hunger; shot again and again and again into her welcoming, accepting body. Her arms wrapped around my back. Her nails dug in and she clung to me, holding me close, pressing me against her trembling body, close, close...


$ $ $

She lay there with my come seeping from between her legs, staring up at the ceiling, unmoving. I got out of bed, sweat drying on my skin, and lit a cigarette. I offered her one but she shook her head.

There was not much we could say after that performance, but I knew what was going through her head: hatred of me probably, and hatred of herself, and shame and wonder at the way she'd responded. Because she had responded; responded like an avalanche, like a dam bursting. She knew it, and she knew I knew it, but now there was nothing to say about it. We'd both let our guards down and now they were back up. You could almost hear us nailing them back into place, and as mine went back up I got an uneasy feeling that maybe this had been too easy.

"Wait here," I said.

I got out of bed and slipped my shorts back on, closed the bedroom door behind me and took the cordless phone out in the other room where she wouldn’t hear me. I called Josh's suite and woke him up. I told him what had happened and who I was with.

"Jeffrey, that was exceedingly stupid, to bring his wife here. You know what I'm thinking."

"Some sort of badger game. Yeah, I wouldn't worry about it. I've got it covered."

"You do? What are you going to do with her?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"You're not." It was a statement. "You don't want to get the wrong people angry with us, Jeffrey. And the money?"

"That's covered too," I said. "I'm on top of it."

Josh is a big Buddha of a man with a ponytail and a very soft, dangerous voice. He's very smart and just about the coldest person I know under pressure. That's why I liked working with him, even though I always ended up doing all the heavy lifting.

"Well, all right," he said after a long pause. "But everyone knows everything in a town like this and last night was bad. It's only a matter of time before it all comes down. I suggest you finish your business and clear out as soon as possible. There's a three o'clock Alitalia to Athens."

"I can't make it. I'm staying over night. I'll meet you tomorrow."

"Is it her?"

"Yeah." Why lie?

I could hear him thinking. He told me once that his mind worked like a pool table and he saw everything in terms of angles and combinations. He must have been considering various shots now, weighing what he knew about Bogdan and his friends and their connections.

"Well, if you've got things under control, there's no point in my staying. I'll go on to Athens. We'll meet where we planned. I'll see you there."

"Right."

"Be careful, Jeffrey. Don't fuck things up."

"Right again."

I put the phone down, went to the front door and made sure it was locked, then I slipped my Travel-lock over the deadbolt and locked that on too. I glanced at the bedroom door and then slid the key under the rug, locking us in.

The phone was cordless and I was just unscrewing the back when the bedroom door opened and Alena came out, her arms folded modestly over her breasts.

She leaned wearily against the door frame, watching me. "You don't have to do that," she said. "I'm not going to call him."

So she knew what I was thinking. "How many times have you run this game before, Alena?"

"Would you believe me if I said 'never'?"

I got the battery out of the phone and slipped into my pocket. "Give me your cell."

"It's in my bag."

I got her phone from her purse and while I was in there I poked around. Nothing but a wallet and some tissues and lipstick and her BC pills. Trusting soul to let me in her purse. She had 4 euros and change.

I went to my big Samsonite suitcase and opened it, threw the battery and the cell phones in there and dug out my toy bag. I pawed through the vibes and collars and took out my Smith & Wesson handcuffs and a length of choke chain. I locked the suitcase and spun the tumblers

"So the whole bet was rigged?" I asked. "I was supposed to win?"

She smiled wanly. "Don’t give him so much credit. He just wanted me to come on to you, that's all. I didn't know anything about the bet. He wanted me to screw you and then call him while you were sleeping. He's tried to get me to do something like this before: I find out where the guy's staying and they come over and take care of him and get their money back and his too. He's probably waiting for the call right now."

"You didn't go along with it?"

"I'm not his whore," she said. "I stay out of his filthy games. I wasn't going to come with you at all. I was just angry and wanted to get away from him, but then you frightened me with that Grecco talk. I believed it when you said Grecco worked for you. He doesn't, does he? You don't even know who he is."

I didn’t lie. I didn't say anything. She smiled a weary, knowing smile. "I knew it. You don't fuck like a thug. You don’t fuck like anyone I've ever met."

Even with her hair all messed and fresh from being fucked she was still beautiful. She had it in her bone-deep, but I could see now that it was the kind of beauty that would cause her nothing but trouble. That didn't make her any less beautiful though. Just the opposite

She hugged herself, still hiding her breasts. "He's stealing from Grecco you know. And Grecco's stealing from Ozalan. They all steal from each other. It's all fucked up."

"None of my business," I said. "Anyhow, it's time for bed. Give me your hand."

She held out her hands and I clipped the cuff to her right wrist. There was an unmistakable flicker of excitement in her eye when I tightened the bail and I felt an answering response in my groin. Chrome and female flesh just do it to me. But I was totally shot now. I led her into the bedroom.

I removed anything she could use as a weapon and used the chain to fasten her right hand to the headboard. She could still move around but she wasn't going anywhere.

I checked that the chain was secure and was just about to leave when she said, "Stay with me?"

I'm not a trusting soul by nature, but if she was a con then I was so stupid I didn't deserve to live. I'd been heading for the living room sofa but now I walked over.

"If that's what you want," I said. "But don't blame me if I snore."

I pulled back the sheets and we both got in. She rolled around till she got comfortable with her handcuff, punched up a pillow under her cheek and lay there staring at the wall. I tried to keep an eye on her but I was exhausted and couldn't keep my eyes open. I was asleep within seconds.

$ $ $

[Text omitted] (There's another sex scene her, starting in the shower and leading to pretty hot sex in handcuffs on the bed. She loves it and he does too. Their mutual affection deepens. They're beginning to fall in love and Marija wants to leave Bogdan.)

$ $ $

Another man's wife, but she was mine now too. Her cell phone didn't ring again until late that night.

By that time we were lying naked in bed talking. She kept the handcuffs on, so everything she did, she did with both hands. I lay with my head on her stomach s and she played with my hair and told me about the little girl from the strict family who'd run with the fast crowd after college, of how she'd met Bogdan and how exciting he'd seemed at the time, how marriage had seemed like the only way to get back at her parents, and how her parents had entirely disowned her since then. She told me how it was now, with no place to turn, how the fact that everyone was waiting her to leave Bogdan was the only thing that made her stay.

We dressed—Alena wearing her blue dress with no underwear—and ordered dinner. I took her cuffs off and we ate in companiable silence. I had them put a rose on her plate, and at this point I was totally in love with her. She blushed when she saw it and set it in her water glass.

"And what about you?" she asked me as we finished our meal. "You know all about me now. What about you? Who are you really?"

"No one much," I said. "Nothing to brag about. I run some dope. Freelance. Mind my own business, usually."

"Where are you from?"

"Originally? Chicago." Thinking about it made me sad, but I shrugged it off.

"Are you going back there?"

"I don’t know. I have a few more things I have to do, then I don't know. I might like to go somewhere cool for a while. Amsterdam maybe, or Paris. Or maybe I'll just go back to Chicago."

I looked at her and gave it a try: "Would you come with me?"

"To Chicago?"

"Anywhere. If I asked you, would you come with me?"

"I'm bad luck." She smiled. "You wouldn't want me."

There was no sense trying to convince her otherwise, so I didn't.

I led her back into the bedroom and had her take her dress off. The sight of her body still set me off. I put the cuffs back on her, both of them this time, and chained her wrists around the big pipe in the headboard so she had to lie on her side with her cheek on her hands.

"Do you always carry handcuffs with you when you travel?" she asked me.

I smiled. "They come in handy."

I stretched out on my back on the bed next to her and put my arm over my eyes. I heard her clanking around in the cuffs, trying to get comfortable.

"Do you want them off?" I asked her.

"No."

I rolled over so I was facing her. Her eyes were open, a clear, profound, brown, deep and peaceful. Her hair was like spun gold around her face, a beautiful, angelic face, the lips softly parted.

She was chained naked to my bed, a fact that hit me with sudden, unexpected erotic force. She was helpless by decision and therefore almost certainly willing. She was giving herself to me.

The realization must have shown on my face, because I saw a change in her eyes—a confirmation, an eager trust with just a tinge of fear. She searched my face, trying to read my thoughts.

I put out my hand and caressed her cheek and she closed her eyes. From her cheek I went to her shoulder, my hand sliding along the smooth, baby-like skin, down her side, up the swell of her hip and over, down to her thigh, fresh-shaved and smooth as marble.

She really was mine, for now at least. I could do whatever I wanted to her and she couldn't escape, couldn't defend herself. The thought sunk into me like a shot of liquor and must have showed in the way I caressed her, for she felt it too.She closed her eyes and sighed and pressed herself into the bed.

I got up on my elbow and looked down at her. Her eyes told me to go ahead: whatever I wanted.

I got off the bed, walked around to her side and grabbed hold of her ankles. She gave an involuntary gasp as I pulled her bodily down the bed, cave-man style, stretching her arms up over her head and making the chain clank. She didn’t weigh anything at all.

I lay down next to her, took her hair in my hand and turned her to face me. "You like being tied up like this, don’t you Alena? You and me, we’re both the same. You like to be tied, I like to tie you. I love how you look like this.”

There was no way she could deny it. Her lips were parted, her eyes were glazed with lust and excitement at my sudden violence. Her arms over her head brought her breasts up and into prominence. She squeezed her knees together, but that wouldn't help her now. I took a breast in my hand and squeezed it It was soft and warm and heavy. The nipple was so hard it tickled my palm like a raisin.

She tried to say something but I silenced her with my mouth, grabbed her hair and held her still. She didn’t try to struggle this time—what was the use? We both knew what we were and were far past lying about what we wanted,

I fell on her tits like a man possessed and Alena whined and tried to protect herself by closing her elbows, but her elbows were up by her head and all she did was make herself easier to get to. The chain pulled tight against the headboard as I ate her breasts, biting and sucking them, leaving teeth prints on them, and soon Alena was arching her back and rolling gently from side to side, presenting first one then the other to me, her head thrown back, little moans and whimpers of urgent excitement escaping her lips.

I started kissing her, tracing my way down her body—from the prominence of her breasts along her arched rib cage. I licked my way down the soft rolls of her abs and felt the muscles spasm under my seeking tongue. It still rankled me that she had stopped me from going down on her before, saying she was too sensitive. Well I had her now, had her defenseless. I headed south.

"No! Oh no, don't!" she moaned, pulling at the chain as my tongue slid back and forth along the saddle of her lower belly. She had her legs clamped together, but Nature made those muscles weak for a reason, and it was nothing to force them apart. I pressed her knees open and began licking the insides of her thighs, from just above her knee all the way up to just short of where her valley began. It was delicious to feel those legs tremble in my hands

I could feel her worried eyes on me, feel the tensiuon in her body as she gripped the chain. She knew what I was going to do and she was terrified. My mouth was on that super-soft band of skin between leg and labia, nuzzling her, licking her with all the tenderness that a mother cat uses on her newborn. She was waxed, bare as a baby’s and twice as soft, and I inhaled her clean scent. She smelled like the sea.

Once she found that I wasn’t going to glom onto her pussy like a wild boar or try and bite her clit or ram my tongue into her, she started to relax. I opened my mouth and brushed my lips against her labia, so softly I could barely feel her, just feel that sexual aura that comes from being so close to that divine mystery.

Alena sighed. She hummed. She mewled with pleasure. I began to dab my tongue gently along against her crease as if I were sponging sweat from her brow, and I marveled that any human being could be that soft and heartbreakingly sensitive. I didn’t have to hold her legs apart any more, and I slid my hands under her ass to hold her up to where I could get to that voluptuous slit.

“Oh, Jeffrey, that’s good!” she moaned in wonder. “That’s so good!”

I knew what her touble was. No one had ever taken the time to make love to her like this. She’d been mauled, chomped on, mishandled, but now I gave her a lesson in tenderness, a tenderness that nonetheless pursued her and wouldn’t let her escape, that grew less tender as we proceeded and as she began to lubricate and flower, writhing on the bed, her gasps and breathless sighs getting louder and louder, till every breath was an exhaled “Ohhhh…”

I could look up at her, at this woman whose pleasure I held between my lips, and I marveled that such a delicate body could contain this kind of emotional power. Alena hung on to the chains with both hands and began to run her naked foot across my back to encourage me as I kissed and sucked her pussy.

Another man's wife, another man's lover. I couldn't help but think of Bogdan out there somehwere fuming, drinking, cursing the night, and it made her all the sweeter. The clock was ticking, the moon was rising over the hills to the east of town. I ate her like I kissed her, using my tongue and my shoulders, even my chest and my belly to urge her on and find the sweetness in my mouth. Just let her come, I thought. Just let her feel one tenth of what I feel for her. Just let her feel my love.

She pulled harder on the chains now. I could see her arms and belly trembling, her thighs shaking. She stared down at me and my mouth was her world, my mouth was everything she knew, everything she cared about, and I wished I could keep her there like that forever.

I parted her labia and found the sweet pink flesh within, her secret self, primitive and biological, and even here she was beautiful.

"Oh God! Oh Jeffrey! Oh God what are you doing to me, lover? You're going to make me come! You're gong to… Oh! Oh yes! Yes!"

Beautiful bitch! Her head fell back and I saw her eyes roll up under her lids and her mouth go slack as the insides of her thighs twitched in an earthquake of impending release.

"Do it!" I said into her cunt as I dug my fingers into her ass and held her like a chalice to my mouth. "Come in my mouth, bitch! Give me your slutty come!"

She growled out the next sounds, screamed them as her body jerked out of control and once again a splash of juice ejaculated from between her legs followied by a great, rolling, soul-obliterating orgasm as she came in the chains, her body buffeted by her spasming muscles.

I kept my face buried in her pussy, letting the froth of her remarkable release drip down my nose and lips, spill down her ass and over my fingers, hot from the heat of her body.

I couldn't stand it. I lurched up the bed and took her still-shuddering form in my arms and held her close, that delicate body, so much stronger than mine. I buried my face in her hair and crushed her to me, my arms shaking with the strain.

It was later, after I'd taken the cuffs off so she sould hold me back that she said, "I could learn to love you, Jeffrey, if you wanted it. I don’t think it would be very hard at all. If you still want me to come with you, there's no place else I'd rather be."

$ $ $

We slept, we woke up, we made love again. We couldn't go back to sleep because we'd agreed now she was coming with me, and we lay there through the early hours making plans. Chicago, Amsterdam, Paris, it didn't matter. First we'd be going to Athens anyhow where Josh was holding my money. The cash I'd taken from Bogdan would see us that far in great style.

Finally we got up at six in the morning and ordered room service. I was ravenous and ate two pork chops and half a loaf of fresh bread.

"Paris would be nice," she said, holding my hand across the table. "I have a cousin there, and we were great friends. But it's so expensive. Is Chicago expensive?"

"Everyplace is expensive. You don't know how good you have it here."

She smiled. She couldn’t stop smiling. "It would be worth it. I could work. I'd do anything. I could be a waitress. I'd even shine shoes."

"No one shines shoes anymore. Everyone wears athletic shoes."

"Still…"

She was like that as we packed. We still hadn’t decided how we would get her things out of Bogdan's house, but I didn’t worry about it.

"Let's get out of here," I said. I got what I needed out of my suitcase and snapped the locks closed. "I want to see that little park you told me about. The one by the harbor."

"You do? Why?"

"It sounded like such a nice, quiet place. We can sit there and figure things out."

Now that it was time to go, we were both reluctant to leave. It had been a remarkable twenty-two hours here. I wasn't eager to return to the regular world.

We checked out and I got my passport back, and we retraced our steps from yesterday, We made a game of looking at people's shoes, looking for ones to shine. We didn’t see many.

She still carried her rose. I had my suitcase in one hand and she took my arm like a lady. The weight in my jacket wore me down. The sun was hardly up and already it was very hot.

When we reached the park it was still early and the place was deserted. The morning breeze stirred the tops of the trees as we walked along, stopping by a bench in front of a little wild spot choked with weeds and young trees. We sat on the bench, and I couldn't put it off any longer.

She didn't feel a thing. I just got up to go to the bushes, came back with the gun in my hand, put it behind her ear and fired. I aimed it so the bullet wouldn't ruin that face. I laid her on the bench and walked away. I left her the rose.

I went back to the café and called Bogdan on my cell.

"There's something for you at the little park on Tramonte street," I said. "It's a message from Turgay Ozalan. He knows what you and Grecco have been doing, and he wants you to stop."

I was sorry to do it. I really loved her, and she was so good in bed. But you know, it comes to us all sooner or later, and at least she didn't suffer.

Sometimes you cut the cards, you get an ace. Sometimes you get a deuce. Usually it's something in between, something that makes you think you have a chance, but you don't, not really. In the end we all get the same hand. In the end you're sitting there without a penny to bet and with shit in your hand, and you know it's all up for you. It's a fucked up world

I went back to the café but I didn't feel like hanging around. The games of cards and backgammon were starting up again, and I watched for a while but I didn't feel like playing anymore. The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth.

I went and threw the gun in the harbor, then I caught a cab for the airport.

Fuck it, I thought. Just fuck it all.

--END--

 

[wishfulthinking]

That wasn't nice. Great story up until that point. Do you feel the story really needs it? If so, then you have to do it. But, as a reader I would be asking, if the guy is willing to barter his wife, would the message really hit home? It would probably pull him into line for a while, but wouldn't the favourite dog or mistress or mother do? Couldn't J change his plan of attack when he put the G to her and asks himself if he could do it? I suppose he could also think that he wouldn't ask his buddy to do something he couldn't. Also, wouldn't there be some mention of an unspoken rule of not getting to know the person first, because it only makes it harder? I'm not saying I want a happy ending, perhaps he could walk away from her, knowing that if he saw her again, he would have to do it?

There are a couple of other things I want to briefly mention, before I go away and think on it a bit more:

* B is waiting for her call to find out which hotel they are at: as you mentioned before, everyone knows everyone elses business, so I have a hard time believing they wouldn't find them in 22 hours. I would think B would be thinking she had run off with him or something, and if he didn't care enough to find out, then again, would the message hit home, or was J doing him a favour? Or was B that brainless a thug?

*calling B a slime - sounds a bit highschool

*$ $ $ - corny but good!

* "Wait a minute," I said. "You forget. I won you. You're mine for the night." -
a very fast turn around from being absurd to I won this bet. Is he teasing her at this point, and when she reacts as she does, then he becomes serious, or what? Not clear.

*He reads her emotions and feelings too easily eg. Once she found that I wasn’t going to glom onto her pussy like a wild boar or try and bite her clit or ram my tongue into her, she started to relax. - up until then she was no, don't do that - how did he instinctively know that sensitivity was the problem, or is he that good But even earlier, when they first me, this sort of made me think. Is he supposed to be a sensitive new age killer?

* "the fact that everyone was waiting her to leave Bogdan was the only thing that made her stay" - B's a drug running thug. She could just walk away and he wouldn't mind? again, what does that say about the message, and her?

* "I'm bad luck." She smiled. - are her eyes sad, or does she really find this funny?

*- marija - alena?

* "Well, if you've got things under control, there's no point in my staying
- I would have thought it would be more of a “it’s your funeral” approach

* I think the swing back and forth between the "I was all over her" to "she was a goddess in need of worshipping" feelings was a bit bumpy, but no doubt this is because you chopped a lot.

You're imagery is incredible, and I really enjoy your style, but some things pulled me up that may need a bit of smoothing around the edges, for eg:

* vegetable-slick - I'm not even going to ask what that means

* hands on her shoulders, her arms shielding her breasts, clad only in her panties.
- rough example: small hands cupping her shoulder, her arms pressed against her breasts, making them look fuller.
- I personally hate the word clad, and I always think of it in the context of stockings. I would prefer something like his eyes drifted down to the wisp of panties. panties should tell him a lot about her - are they simple? feminine, peekaboo - wouldn't this also tell him a bit about whether she was indeed on the con if she went all out seductive?

* A biref shudder on her part - doesn't work for me

* - but I held her shoulders—her bare, naked shoulders—and
- warm soft silky, fingers splayed over her skin
- did she wear perfume? Is it sophisticated or summery or mysterious or what?

* fresh-shaved and smooth as marble - was this done in the shower? Otherwise do I want to know? Is he describing a statute or a woman?

Some reactions didn't seem right:

*- She reached up, exposing her breasts with a diffidence I didn't expect, and put her hands on my shoulders. - she shows her breasts, and he doesn’t look twice? Perhaps at least acknowledge them

* Then she gave up, closed her eyes and turned her face to the side. - I would have preferred it if she looked him straight on.

But I'm just fussy. Overall, top notch. Really, even if you keep it exactly as it is

 

[Penelope Street]

Note: I read the full version of the story including the omitted shower and second handcuff scene.

Color me dense, I read it and I'm not sure what the question is you want answered. I thought the card game was well done, as was the first erotic moment. After that the sex kinda wore on for me- especially in the scene(s) omitted from the above posted version. I was thinking, "Yeah, yeah, Get on with it, what's gonna happen?"

When it did happen, I confess I had not foreseen that outcome, but I was not really shocked or saddened. I already thought he was scum and I never figured out what made her tick, so I wasn't really attached to either of them.

Would I be wrong in guessing you have a happy ending also and want to know if this one is better? Is that the question? I like happy endings, but I think the dark one is the right one for this story. It fits the mood and the style and the characters- he is scum, after all; he deserves to be miserable.

Take Care,
Penny

P.S.
If I guessed the wrong question, well, that's what you get for not asking one, isn't it?

 

[Pure]

after a fast read, i confess i see no problem with the present length. there's nothing wrong with implying things, rather than having a camera follow a character's every move for X many hours. there's plenty of minutely detailed sex for Box and other horny devils. more later.

 

[angelicminx]

Well! I admit that I am a sucker for romance, so the ending threw me for a loop. I'm not saying it was bad, just not something I was expecting.

Looking at it as a whole, I have to say I loved it. I like your writing style and I like the idea, but I want MORE. I hope that you do have more in mind.

I found that I identified with her. It was believable to me, as far as any fiction can be. I would like to see this piece with the removed sections put back in.

Nit picky thing here:

Beautiful bitch! Her head fell back and I saw her eyes roll up under her lids and her mouth go slack as the insides of her thighs twitched in an earthquake of impending release.

I didn't care for him mentally calling her a bitch, he's suppose to love her and this was outside the realm of that. Using it aloud played into her desires, so I liked the use there, just not here.

Curious to know if Bogdan DID get the point or if he'll just say, "Oh, well, shit happens. At least I don't have to deal with her bitching anymore." That's what I expect him to say. The story continues with the unnecessary loss of a life. (not unnecessary to the story, however.)

Anyway, good story. Great connection for me, as it kept me riveted to the screen for the duration.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I'm here. I'm watching this one pretty intently, but I don't want to say anything yet, not till we get a few more opinions. But yes, mainly it was the edning that concerns me.

Just a note to Minx— Yeah, I get in trouible for using the 'b' word a lot. It's because it’s not an insult to me. When I use it, a 'bitch' is a sexually potent and dangerous woman. I have a hard time convincig other women that's what I mean though.

Same with "slut", which to me is the female counterpart of the stud—a woman who loves sex and is good at it. Seems like most women don't believe that's what I mean though.

 

[Pure]

Some comments.

It reads as pretty polished. Very nicely done. Good sentences, the odd typo.

As to the "success" of the whole (abridged) thing. I'd say, in writing, it succeeds; and in plotting and believability, at present, it's near to succeeding.

In a nutshell they both come across as too romantic, and this is a special problem for him if he's to turn stone killer.

Yes, he plays a mean card game, and knows about cons and robberies and maybe about organized crime. But he presents as starved and idealistic. Why, for instance, could he never have shared a woman--ie. had some slut handed to him. Why does he keep saying he's falling in love, without qualification, like "I was falling in love, but I'd crawled in that gutter before." Further it would help motivate the killing if somewhere he had a thought of 'love's' inconvenience; e.g., that it almost cost him his life in such-such situation.

Of course the male lead is narrating, and it appears reliably. I think you missed a chance, given the first person is the other (man), to make the woman a bit more enigmatic, not simply 'falling in love' and 'i'll go with you wherever'. I.e., he might think, "yeah, she talks of love; like a two dollar hooker wanting repeat business."
He mostly appears to 'buy' her talk, except around money and her associates' schemes.

Given this Mickey Spillane schtick, the problem of the central premise comes out strongly. Strangers (one of them, forced) through great sex (primarily a function of male technique) and giant O's, come to love. (This is the premise of all male oriented, male written porn: cockmanship will bring me love, through her shattering O.)


It could work partly if his naivete was convincing (more detail of his failures are getting laid, except for hard cash-- let's say, because he's an alky).

It doesn't work particularly well for her, I'm afraid. This isn't "Bridges of Madison County" with a sex/love starved (essentially virginal) wife and oafish husband. Even if it were, you'd have to proceed more slowly, as that author did: meeting of minds and hearts before sex (the way 'bitches' operate, by and large).

From her 'coming' like a freight train, to "I'll follow you wherever" is not quite believable, OR you fail to give any clue (I can see) as to the narrator's not buying it.

If you've ever seen the movie "Bound" with Meg Tilly as the moll, seduced by Gina Gershon, it's believable, in part because it's lesbian. Second, there's lots of mind fuck and seduction. I simply do not 'buy' that orgasms lead to love in such a woman as Alena. She should more say (at least to herself) "That was a fine smash; too bad it was with such a jerk. Probably thinks he's the first to be good at sucking clit." Her words, imo, should at least hint at some reservation, or, if not, his thoughts should be "Yeah, 'love' all right; just as she says to her dildo when Bogdan's not up to it."

Anyway, it's a fine read, and the above is stated as too black-and-white, as well as undiplomatic. In fact, the problem is subtle, and 5-10 insertions, and a few deletions of 'lovey dove' stuff could fix it, imh(lay)o;
It's a well thought out and well crafted piece.

As to ending, given the above revisions, I'd be ok. Else I'd consider something like the ending of the first Blade Runner movie. He doesn't know about her, but is going to give it a shot (qualifiedly optimistic).

 

[shereads]

My first reaction was a sense that I'd been betrayed, because I didn't get what I expected.

That's when I knew it was brilliant.

I found the ending so disturbing, I cried after the first reading. I told Dr. M that I felt like a kid who'd been pushed off a cliff by Walt Disney. D/s stories like Dr. M's are my amusement park rides. Space Mountain, front car, front seat. I never get enough.

When I thought about my first reaction to Game of Chance, I realized that I bring a set of needs and expectations to my reading of erotica, and tend to stop reading as soon as I realize that a story that won't meet my Literotica checklist: D/s with a strong male character whose cruelty or coldness is tempered by his love of women.

Dr. M is one of the few male writers whose D/s stories I never hesitate to read. His inherent respect for women, and his curiosity about how a woman feels when she submits to domination, make it a safe bet that my romance-craving inner trollop will get an ending she can live with, or even celebrate.

This time, there was no safe word.

I know the issues I bring to reading about sex, and this story hit a nerve. (No, I haven't been shot by a lover. But like a lot of women, I've been bewildered to learn that sexual intimacy can be an illusion. Being shot can't hurt much more than having the afterglow disrupted by the sight of Mr. Romance transformed into Mr. Thanks-For-The-Sex, See-Ya.)

The second time I read Game of Chance, I decided to approach it as a work of literature, like something I might find in an anthology like Herotica - instead of a new entree on the menu of my favorite dirty stories. I came away admiring Dr. Mabeuse for taking a risk, and suffering through a story that has to have been as painful to write as it is to read - and as rewarding, I hope.

This isn't something I would read for fun; I don't read challenging fiction for fun. I choose challenges when I need to be shaken up a little and made to think, particularly about my own reaction to what I've read. I wouldn't take The Unconsoled or The Remains of the Day to read at the beach with Pina Coladas. They disturb me, and leave me feeling emotionally drained. I recommend them to friends. I re-read them. I'm grateful for them.

If Game of Chance is an example of what an author can do when he turns off the voice of fans who come to the concert wanting to hear his greatest hits - fans like me - then there ought to be a way to reward authors for taking the risk. The ending isn't the only element that will bring down this story's scores. The "hero" has too many vices to be palatable to those of us who read erotica seeking romance. It would be easy to clean him up a little, give the story a less traumatic ending, make us romantica fans deliriously happy, and add a point or two.

That would be a damn shame.

Any other ending would reduce this story to a sexy noir, worth it's "H," nothing more. I'd love it. As it is, Game of Chance is some of Dr. M's best work, as well as his bravest.

I hate it. It's brilliant.


~ ~ ~


[threadjack]

I wish Literotica had a way to showcase stories whose authors went out of bounds, knowing their faithful readers wouldn't be happy about it. Singularity suggested in another forum that authors be allowed to designate their own favorite work with an "A." It wouldn't bring the scores up, but it might make readers consider those stories as a departure from the usual and treat them accordingly.

[/threadjack]

 

[Penelope Street]

Of course the male lead is narrating, and it appears reliably.

I didn't find the narrator reliable. He's shady to begin with, but when he tells me repeatedly what she's feeling? Well, I'm not buying it. He might believe it, but I don't. Then, he says his opponent is a poor card player for staying in to the last card trying and make a straight, but he wins the final hand doing the same thing and pats himself on the back for it? There are a host of things within his telling that don't quite add up, the entire falling in love part being high on that list. I'm not saying the narrator is lying, per se, I just think he's full of himself. The thing I was least willing to believe was his interpretation of her character, which made it almost impossible for me to really get in touch with her. That said, I believe it adds to the realism and suspense that the narrator's character and words are both suspect.

Take Care,
Penny

 

[dr_mabeuse]

In defense of his card playing (which I tried to be pretty careful about), I assumed that Bogdan chased his straight in the face of stronger cards on board - a classic sucker's move (he can't let the 4-card straight go even when he's looking at better cards in his opponent's hand).

On Jeffery's winning hand, he mentions that nothing was showing. After 6 cards he had a small pair and that was it. The betting was high precisely because no one had a clear advantage, and so playing a 4-card straight is justified.

At this point I'll say that in the first run through of the story, Jeffrey was a bad-boy hero. The story was nothing more that a bad-boy-takes-girl reluctance story. It grieves me that he came across as especially scummy.

But then, some of my friends ran dope too.

I want to hold off on discussing what I was trying to do for another day or two because I don't want to influence any readers.

 

[Pure]

Good points, Penny, well stated.

Penelope said, in part,'

PSThere are a host of things within his telling that don't quite add up, the entire falling in love part being high on that list. I'm not saying the narrator is lying, per se, I just think he's full of himself. The thing I was least willing to believe was his interpretation of her character, which made it almost impossible for me to really get in touch with her.
----

I'm not sure if the first sentence refers to a) his thinking he's falling in love; or b) his thinking she's falling for him.

Then we have the question of the accuracy of a) and/or b). Well, a) turns out NOT to be accurate, but I see no signs that we should realize he's fooling himself. I don't see a sign of a realization on his part.

b) is left somewhat undecided; she doesn't say so; we have his reading of her body; I see no signs of such doubt ("she was giving herself to me") till he finishes her off. OR (better), her 'love' turns out not to be the issue for him; she'd be inconvenient, money is the issue and she is more useful dead, 'sending a message' to the bad guys (don't come after me).

I agree we might well question his interpretation of her character; many a male has deluded himself that a sexually responsive partner has 'fallen for him.' This is hard for the reader to evaluate. My impression and memory is that I don't see clues as to this delusion; otoh, I see him reading her responses and no indications of scepticism as in 'this kind of bitch will talk of love at the death of the old protector and arrival of the new.' Indeed she says she could 'learn to love.'

It's cheating, but the author says they're falling in love, and apparently had a sex scene to underscore this point (too bad, in retrospect).

It is a fine story, as shereads says. Very imaginative and daring. I simply have the personal opinion that a) a few lines are too mushy if meant that way, or b) the reader does not see anything to make him or her doubt the fellow's assessment of her responses and feelings).

I see only one clue in a statement about her beauty being a danger.


----
Some relevant excerpts:

There was not much we could say after that performance, but I knew what was going through her head: hatred of me probably, and hatred of herself, and shame and wonder at the way she'd responded. Because she had responded; responded like an avalanche, like a dam bursting. She knew it, and she knew I knew it, but now there was nothing to say about it. We'd both let our guards down and now they were back up.
-------
Author's summary: Their mutual affection deepens. They're beginning to fall in love and Marija wants to leave Bogdan.
------
I took her cuffs off and we ate in companiable silence. I had them put a rose on her plate, and at this point I was totally in love with her.

-----
She was chained naked to my bed, a fact that hit me with sudden, unexpected erotic force. She was helpless by decision and therefore almost certainly willing. She was giving herself to me.

The realization must have shown on my face, because I saw a change in her eyes—a confirmation, an eager trust with just a tinge of fear.

----
Just let her come, I thought. Just let her feel one tenth of what I feel for her. Just let her feel my love.

----

 

[Bacteriophage68]

,,,

http://brawl-hall.com/gallery/data/media/5/snaps_larry_hagman_media.jpg

 

[Penelope Street]

It wasn't until he lost a big pot—staying in again chasing a straight when he should have folded—that she ventured a look at me.

On a hand Bogdan dealt I pulled a straight on the seventh card. It had been tight hand with nothing showing but my small pair, and there was a big pot. I figured Bogdan for two pair or three of a kind because he kept on raising my bets. It was perfect.

In defense of his card playing (which I tried to be pretty careful about), I assumed that Bogdan chased his straight in the face of stronger cards on board - a classic sucker's move (he can't let the 4-card straight go even when he's looking at better cards in his opponent's hand).

On Jeffery's winning hand, he mentions that nothing was showing. After 6 cards he had a small pair and that was it. The betting was high precisely because no one had a clear advantage, and so playing a 4-card straight is justified.

Ok, I admit it, I don't even know for sure what beats what. I thought a straight was all five cards too, not just four, so maybe I'm way off here.
To me, this is the bottom line: In both games depicted, if the man seeking the straight doesn't get it, he loses. Right? They both play on, hoping to get their straight, expecting to lose if they don't. Is not then the same strategy used by both men? One gets lucky and draws his card, the other one doesn't. What am I missing? Is it something that's easy to explain or is it going to be more confusing than the previous explanation and I should just take your word for it?

Regardless, I should deduce from the nature of the response that the two games are meant to show the narrator as a card shark rather than a blowhard. Yes?

Amid my confusion regarding card strategy, please don't lose sight of this:
[QOUTE=me] I thought the card game was well done, as was the first erotic moment. [/quote]

 

[Penelope Street]

There are a host of things within his telling that don't quite add up, the entire falling in love part being high on that list.

I'm not sure if the first sentence refers to a) his thinking he's falling in love; or b) his thinking she's falling for him.

The way I read it, both of them are at least mistaken about being in love. Their relationship is all about lust, not love. Many of us have been there a time or two, no?

a) turns out NOT to be accurate ... b) is left somewhat undecided; she doesn't say so;

I also believe (a) is inaccurate, but not because he kills her. Even after he kills her, he still claims he loved her:

I was sorry to do it. I really loved her, and she was so good in bed. But you know, it comes to us all sooner or later, and at least she didn't suffer.

The 'she was so good in bed' part is precious. Hello?- Lust.

As for whether she thinks she's in love or is just saying she is to use him, maybe as a way to get away from her husband, well, I don't know; but I never believed she was in love either, except maybe with the handcuffs.

Take Care,
Penny

 

[dr_mabeuse]

It didn't occur to me how essential a knowledge of poker is to understanding this story and Jeffrey's nature. I see now that it is, and poker, probably more than any other game, is a game of character. You're usually trying to make your opponent believe something that isn't true: that you have cards when you don't, that you're cowardly or brave when you're not, that you're worse or better than you are, that you're someone you're not. That's the central metaphor of the story, and it's established in the cardplay in the first scene.

Bogdan's play in this game shows him to be the one who's full of himself. The first thing you have to know in poker is when to quit. Competent players know it's a game and they know when they're in over their heads. Tyro's don't, and they stay in hoping that luck will save them. It does sometimes, but very, very rarely. A man who trusts to his luck in poker is a fool.

I intended Jeffrey not to be a shark, but a competent and, above all, sober player. Bogdan's a loud, bullying player. I didn't make that too obvious, but when I say he went down chasing a stright, poker players know exactly what kind of man he is. He's probably got something like 4,5,7,8 in his first 4 cards - the old inside straight - and is so enticed by the possibility that he'll get a 6 that he'll refuse to fold even when he can see that Jeffrey has 2 or 3 of a kind showing and is betting in an obvious way so as to suck him in. Playing an inside straight is the ne plus ultra of sucker moves. It's a bull-headed, stupid play by Bogdan, the kind that makes poker players look away in embarrassment. You never bet into a stronger hand unless you think you have God on your side, and you never count on filling an inside straight.

Bogdan also cheats in a very high-school fashion, doing dummy shuffles and bending cards to mark them. You don't have to be a shark to know when someone's cheating like that, or when their friends are looking over your shoulder and clearing their throats, or sitting at the table and tryng to distract you and crap like that.

Jeffrey's not a shark. He plays at about my level, and I'm far from being an expert. I do, though, know the odds, and know when to quit, and know the feeling of playing with someone who knows neither. You alternate between wanting to take the dumb MF to the cleaners, and self-loathing for taking advantage of an idiot.

It's easy to clean players like Bogdan out, but it's never pleasant. It's like boxing with a six year-old, and if you're a decent person, it gives you a certain feeling of disgust. You know what you're doing, and they don't, so it's no contest. The gentleman offers to end the game and the wise man accepts. Jeffrey's tried, but Bogdan won't quit. He clings to Jeffrey's leg like a horny puppy. Jeffrey hates what he's doing, but he has no choice. The only way to end the game is to clean Bogdan out, down to his last euro.

I really can't imagine what this story must read like if you don't know all this from the start. I guess it's the chance I took in using such a laconic style, but the scene is designed to show you a loud-mouthed oaf (Bogdan) being terribly rude to what's apparently a reasonable and decent guy (Jeffrey), forcing him to so something he doesn't want to do. That's what motivates Jeffrey to take him up on his bet, and sets the premise for the whole story.

If you believe that Jeffrey's a hustler who cleans out a hapless Bogdan and then steals his woman, I could see why he'd come across as so distasteful. It would be an entirely different story. Maybe I should make the poker scen clearer?

 

[Pure]

hey,

we don't privilege the author, around here



well, unless he's a better poker player than we are....

doc, for when you respond. The 'nice guy' approach you intend would seem to lead toward the famous 'acte gratuit' of Gide.

http://www.andregide.org/studies/vatfow.html

 

[dr_mabeuse]

we don't privilege the author, around here



well, unless he's a better poker player than we are....

doc, for when you respond. The 'nice guy' approach you intend would seem to lead toward the famous 'acte gratuit' of Gide.

http://www.andregide.org/studies/vatfow.html

From the article: "Whenever he does something in contradiction to his nature, an act which might endanger his freedom of choice, he stabs his thigh with a knife. The familiar Gidian pattern of alternating moods: of wild impulse (reminiscent of Michel) and of self-control (reminiscent of Alissa) is in Lafcadio. He has traits of the earliest Gidian hero, Narcisse, in his eagerness for self-knowledge."

That's why I thought of Jeffrey as a psychopath. He really thinks he's in love with her, but - hey - business is business.

Okay. I'd might as well post the whole essay:

 

[dr_mabeuse]

As I mentioned, this story started out as a typical reluctance story. A guy “wins” a bad-guy’s wife in a poker game and they fall in love through the magical powers of hot sex—typical Literotica stuff. It didn’t even have an ending when I started.

By the time I got to the ending, I had Bogdan and his henchmen finally finding Jeffrey (Alena was out) and approaching him with murder in their hearts. Jeffrey pulls out a gun and does his line: “Turgay Ozalan knows you’ve been ripping him off. He sends you this.” And J shoots Bogdan between the eyes, leaving Ivor and Dimmy cowering in fear (remember, B and his bunch are very small-timers), and goes out to meet Alena whre they'll fly to Paris and live happily ever after. (Or as happy as the reader thinks until A realizes that Jeffrey klilled her husband, which she would have to do as soon as B's body was found in J's room). This is the “Happy Ending”, and I still think I might use this when I post the story to Lit.

The current ending, the “evil” ending, came to me one night and just seemed so right and at the same time so disturbing, that it wouldn’t leave me alone. I hated it, because I loved these characters—both of them—and because it just made a mockery of all the love and sex that went before. I thought it would make the reader feel creepy for even getting off on the sex scenes, knowing know that all that time she’d been making love to the psycho who was going to murder her. It turns all that sex into a dance of death, and is that what your average porn-reader wants to read?

(BTW, there is too much sex in the story. That's because it started out being a "24 hours of sex" story.)

So far it seems that no one but Shereads had the same visceral reaction to the murder as I did, so I have to think that I didn’t communicate the shock as well as I’d hoped. It bothered me for days and days. I’ve never had a story obsess me so much. That was my main question: was the ending too disturbing?

The other thing I was concerned about was whether you could tell what was going on. There were deceptions in deceptions in here, and I wasn’t sure how well the reader would be able to follow them.

When Jeffrey tells Alena he knows Grecco and works for Ozalan, the reader’s supposed to assume he’s bluffing. He’s a small-time dope runner who really wants a shot with this girl so he’ll say and do anything. Alena doesn’t believe him. Then just when we think that they’re going to leave together, we discover that he wasn’t lying at all. He really did work for Ozalan and he was sent to kill Bogdan or send a message to him. Unfortunately, Bogdan didn’t know anything about this and sruck up a “friendship” with Jeffrey that made it impossible for Josh and Jeffrey to send their message, and so poor Alena gets killed.

It was realy difficult to walk the line between implication and truth in this. I had to have Jeffrey mention something about knowing Bogdan at the start, but he couldn’t say that he was here to kill him, so he says something about how they could have “taken care of” him. In the context of the scene, the reader's supposed to think “take care of” means to ditch him, to get Bogdan to stop following them around.

I couldn’t see any way to get Jeffrey and Alena into bed together and keep the bet premise without writing hours of dialog and have them fall in love first, so I had to make it a half-rape, half-blackmail thing. I tried to imply a fatal attraction between them, but that’s a lot harder to do than I expected. Damned if I know how to explain or even describe that zinger moment when you lock eyes with a certain person and the chemistry kicks in, but it was supposed to be like that: a heart-on. In an earlier version he just about came out and said he knew they were going to sleep together, he just didn’t know when.

Personally, I thought that back-licking scene was beautiful. Erotic and kind of sickening at the same time.

As to the falling in love… Again, I don’t think I know how to describe two people falling in love in this situation without adding hours of dialog. I’d settle for them being infatuated with each other, and each looking for something the other has. Jeffrey’s her ticket out, and she’s his princess, the girl he always wanted on his arm. That’s not love, but it’s close enough for a lot of people.

As for Bogdan finding them sooner, I just assumed that after the game Bogdan went home and crashed for ten hours or so. He’s a small time wanna-be. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to go from hotel to hotel playing private eye, and he doesn’t really care that much. He only cares about Alena as a bargaining chip or a player in his sleazy badger game. The way I see him, he would have gone home and thrown all her clothes into the street and passed out.

I’m sorry to hear that Jeffrey came across as scummy, as I said. One of the motivators behind this story was that I was encouraged to write more first person stuff by some readers who said they like hearing my seducer’s point of view, so a lot - not all, but a lot - of Jeffrey's thoughts and reactions are my own. He's got a lot more balls than I do though. And of course, he's psychotic.

Anyhow, I thank all of you you who did and still will take the time and trouble to read and leave comments. It was a very tough story o write, and very disturbing, at least for me.

 

[shereads]

The current ending, the “evil” ending, came to me one night and just seemed so right and at the same time so disturbing, that it wouldn’t leave me alone. I hated it, because I loved these characters—both of them—and because it just made a mockery of all the love and sex that went before. I thought it would make the reader feel creepy for even getting off on the sex scenes, knowing know that all that time she’d been making love to the psycho who was going to murder her.

Exactly. How many times have you read about a woman murdered by her husband or lover - Laci Petersen - and wondered whether she ever saw it coming? Did she think he loved her, right up until the end? Did he think so too? How many people are that wrong about a lover and never find out, because there's never a reason to kill?

I remember wondering when the Petersen case was first in the news, and there were all those adorable pictures of the happy couple, whether there was ever a moment of genuine affection on his part, or if he was just good at playing the role.

We choose the people we trust, and to what extent, based on our instincts and wishes more than their actions. Add the element of bondage play, as in your story, and the murder contaminates everything that preceded it. This woman let herself be handcuffed by a psycho killer. The ultimate D/s nightmare.

It's interesting that you have him kill her when she's free, and not when she's bound and helpless. I wonder if your killer is aware of the irony. As a bondage afficianado, he'd have to be aware that being tied up by a sexy stranger means setting aside the fear that he'll turn out to be dangerous. Is the fact that he doesn't violate her trust at the obvious time sort of a private joke with him? Or would he not even have considered killing her when she was tied up?

(BTW, there is too much sex in the story.

I don't think so. If they're in love, or believe they are, it's because of their sexual compatibility. That's how they communicate. The sex scenes are how the narrator becomes convinced that he has feelings for her.

I agree with some of the other posters that her being in love with him isn't quite credible yet. A school girl might think she's in love because a man makes her feel good in bed. This woman has to have developed some self-protective instincts. She's cynical enough to label these feelings as an infatuation. For female readers to believe that she's in love - and not kicking herself for it - there needs to be a moment when she sees him as other than he appears to be. A glimpse of vulnerability or selflessness.

Maybe he keeps a picture of a cocker spaniel puppy in his wallet. She doesn't need to know it came with a frame he bought at the gift shop downstairs.



Chicks love a man who hides his tender side.

 

[angelicminx]

I'm here. I'm watching this one pretty intently, but I don't want to say anything yet, not till we get a few more opinions. But yes, mainly it was the edning that concerns me.

Just a note to Minx— Yeah, I get in trouible for using the 'b' word a lot. It's because it’s not an insult to me. When I use it, a 'bitch' is a sexually potent and dangerous woman. I have a hard time convincig other women that's what I mean though.

Same with "slut", which to me is the female counterpart of the stud—a woman who loves sex and is good at it. Seems like most women don't believe that's what I mean though.

Okay, I understand your point of view now, with that in mind it works. Dr. M, I do think you have a winner here. This story, as well as the writing skill, was on par with the best selling novels that I hold dear, albeit with A LOT of hot sex. I'd love to see it expanded into a novel and published.

 

[angelicminx]

In defense of his card playing (which I tried to be pretty careful about), I assumed that Bogdan chased his straight in the face of stronger cards on board - a classic sucker's move (he can't let the 4-card straight go even when he's looking at better cards in his opponent's hand).

On Jeffery's winning hand, he mentions that nothing was showing. After 6 cards he had a small pair and that was it. The betting was high precisely because no one had a clear advantage, and so playing a 4-card straight is justified.

At this point I'll say that in the first run through of the story, Jeffrey was a bad-boy hero. The story was nothing more that a bad-boy-takes-girl reluctance story. It grieves me that he came across as especially scummy.

But then, some of my friends ran dope too.

I want to hold off on discussing what I was trying to do for another day or two because I don't want to influence any readers.

I didn't get the idea that he was scummy at all. My impression was of a somewhat romantic man with a job to do.

I understand poker very well, it's one of my favorite past times, so I WAS left with the impression that the two hands were different. My husband is Bogdan in his card playing ability, or should I say lack of ability . He will chase an inside straight draw even when he's looking at a possible full house or flush and the betting indicates it's happened. Maybe it would be a good idea to make it a little more clear to the non-poker playing world. It shouldn't take much, just the addition of a line or two.

 

[Penelope Street]

Inside Straights

Btw, I still want an answer: Did Jefferey expect to lose the last game if he didn't draw the card to make his straight?

Maybe I should make the poker scene clearer?

No! Regardless of my interpretation of the events, I think you should leave it just as it is: lean, laconic if you want to call it that. In spite of not really knowing or particularly caring about poker, I heard pretty much what you meant for the narrator to relate regarding the game, but I took it all with a grain of salt. Ok, maybe I took it with the whole salt shaker.

In a third-person story, I take what the narrator says to be near-gospel. In a first-person story the relating is by its nature subjective and I consider it good storytelling for the narrator to have a voice and thereby slant the story. Men brag about, well, everything. Their favorite subjects are, in no particular order, women, money, women, cars, women, sports, women... etc. Why should I believe what some self-proclaimed drug runner tells me about women, poker, and money? Plus, what did Pure call it, the Mickey Spillane schtick? Jefferey's words practically swagger off the page he's so full of himself. That's a compliment, really. I think he's a great character and an awful person all at the same time.

Back to the card game. I don't see that cheating by looking into the reflection of someone's glass is any more or less honorable than cheating by bending the cards. They both try and cheat; one of them succeeds. They both hope for luck at one point; one of them succeeds. They both agree to play for the favors of a woman, without her consent. Of course, one of them wins. I think they are both pompous pigs; that one is a little luckier and smarter just makes him a fortunate, intelligent pig.

Lest we forget, I still want an answer: Did Jefferey expect to lose the last game if he didn't draw the card to make his straight?

Take Care,
Penny

 

[angelicminx]

By the time I got to the ending, I had Bogdan and his henchmen finally finding Jeffrey (Alena was out) and approaching him with murder in their hearts. Jeffrey pulls out a gun and does his line: “Turgay Ozalan knows you’ve been ripping him off. He sends you this.” And J shoots Bogdan between the eyes, leaving Ivor and Dimmy cowering in fear (remember, B and his bunch are very small-timers), and goes out to meet Alena whre they'll fly to Paris and live happily ever after. (Or as happy as the reader thinks until A realizes that Jeffrey klilled her husband, which she would have to do as soon as B's body was found in J's room). This is the “Happy Ending”, and I still think I might use this when I post the story to Lit.

I think the "evil" ending is better. JMO. This "happy ending", to me, is tired. I read a lot of crime, murder... shock-novels, and I liked this story based on those.

The current ending, the “evil” ending, came to me one night and just seemed so right and at the same time so disturbing, that it wouldn’t leave me alone. I hated it, because I loved these characters—both of them—and because it just made a mockery of all the love and sex that went before. I thought it would make the reader feel creepy for even getting off on the sex scenes, knowing know that all that time she’d been making love to the psycho who was going to murder her. It turns all that sex into a dance of death, and is that what your average porn-reader wants to read?

(BTW, there is too much sex in the story. That's because it started out being a "24 hours of sex" story.)

You are right, the "evil" ending IS the right one for this story. Do average porn readers want to read that? No, I don't think so, but IMO "average" porn readers don't want much of a plot either.

Looking at it from a mainstream point of view, change the sex scene details to innuendo and I think you have a best-seller on your hands.

So far it seems that no one but Shereads had the same visceral reaction to the murder as I did, so I have to think that I didn’t communicate the shock as well as I’d hoped. It bothered me for days and days. I’ve never had a story obsess me so much. That was my main question: was the ending too disturbing?

Let me tell you what was happening as I read this story, because I didn't get into detail on my reaction. I was leaning my head on my hand, my elbow resting on my desk, as I read. My eyes were riveted to the screen from the second paragraph. As the story developed, my eyes moved faster; I couldn't read it fast enough. When I got to the park (death) scene, I jumped, my head came flying off my hand and I said aloud, "Oh my God!"

I had to wipe tears from my face before I could type my reply. I am a romantic, and I identified with Alena because I am a lot like her. She could see the "good" in him, and his attention to her responses, his care in executing his desires, came through for me loud and clear, therefore the "love", imo, is believable. Is the ending "too disturbing"? I don't think so.

The other thing I was concerned about was whether you could tell what was going on. There were deceptions in deceptions in here, and I wasn’t sure how well the reader would be able to follow them.

I followed quite well, thank you. I think you did an excellent job with them.

When Jeffrey tells Alena he knows Grecco and works for Ozalan, the reader’s supposed to assume he’s bluffing. He’s a small-time dope runner who really wants a shot with this girl so he’ll say and do anything. Alena doesn’t believe him. Then just when we think that they’re going to leave together, we discover that he wasn’t lying at all. He really did work for Ozalan and he was sent to kill Bogdan or send a message to him. Unfortunately, Bogdan didn’t know anything about this and sruck up a “friendship” with Jeffrey that made it impossible for Josh and Jeffrey to send their message, and so poor Alena gets killed.

Assumption made. I didn't look at this as a story to "pick apart", as you stated in your opening that you didn't need that, I looked at it as only a reader. The twists and turns were great!

It was realy difficult to walk the line between implication and truth in this. I had to have Jeffrey mention something about knowing Bogdan at the start, but he couldn’t say that he was here to kill him, so he says something about how they could have “taken care of” him. In the context of the scene, the reader's supposed to think “take care of” means to ditch him, to get Bogdan to stop following them around.

Exactly what I did think, that Bogdan was to be ditched.

I couldn’t see any way to get Jeffrey and Alena into bed together and keep the bet premise without writing hours of dialog and have them fall in love first, so I had to make it a half-rape, half-blackmail thing. I tried to imply a fatal attraction between them, but that’s a lot harder to do than I expected. Damned if I know how to explain or even describe that zinger moment when you lock eyes with a certain person and the chemistry kicks in, but it was supposed to be like that: a heart-on. In an earlier version he just about came out and said he knew they were going to sleep together, he just didn’t know when.

I thought you did a fine job of getting that across, Dr. M. I am glad that you nixed the earlier version, this one worked fine for me.

Personally, I thought that back-licking scene was beautiful. Erotic and kind of sickening at the same time.

Beautiful, sensual... loving. Sickening? In what sense? I enjoyed it tremendously.

As to the falling in love… Again, I don’t think I know how to describe two people falling in love in this situation without adding hours of dialog. I’d settle for them being infatuated with each other, and each looking for something the other has. Jeffrey’s her ticket out, and she’s his princess, the girl he always wanted on his arm. That’s not love, but it’s close enough for a lot of people.

Please don't settle for infatuation, you'll lose a lot of the story if you do that.

As for Bogdan finding them sooner, I just assumed that after the game Bogdan went home and crashed for ten hours or so. He’s a small time wanna-be. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to go from hotel to hotel playing private eye, and he doesn’t really care that much. He only cares about Alena as a bargaining chip or a player in his sleazy badger game. The way I see him, he would have gone home and thrown all her clothes into the street and passed out.

To be honest, I would have been quite surprised if he HAD been able to find them. He struck me as an idiot that didn't give a shit.

I’m sorry to hear that Jeffrey came across as scummy, as I said. One of the motivators behind this story was that I was encouraged to write more first person stuff by some readers who said they like hearing my seducer’s point of view, so a lot - not all, but a lot - of Jeffrey's thoughts and reactions are my own. He's got a lot more balls than I do though. And of course, he's psychotic.

And as I said, I didn't find him scummy at all. Romantic with a streak of steel maybe. From my knowledge of mafia relations, the job comes before feelings. He had a job to do and did it.

Anyhow, I thank all of you you who did and still will take the time and trouble to read and leave comments. It was a very tough story o write, and very disturbing, at least for me.

Quite welcome.

I am passionate about this story in ways that I haven't been about many on Lit. This one has great potential, and as I said, I can see it topping the best seller list. I do think you need to develop it.

To quote Jude Deveraux's "Wild Orchids":
Quoting a speech given by a best selling author: "You can't choose what you write. No one comes down to you, sitting on a pink cloud, and says, 'I'm going to give you the ability to write. So which talent do you want? The Jane Austen model that lives forever, or the kind that makes you lots of money while you're alive but dies when you do?' No one gives you that choice. You just take whatever talent you're given and thank God four times a day for giving you any talent at all."

I agree. This story seemed to grab ahold of you and lead you where you would not have gone alone. It wants to be written and I think it should be. Don't fight it, just let it flow however it likes.