>>6499

The door to Marin’s private room flies open and you watch as half a dozen naked patrons file out with their tails between their legs, clutching their clothes and trying to cover themselves up.

Dealers don’t tend to last long at the Golden Block Casino and Snuff Brothel. New prospects submit their applications with this in mind— to them, it’s the central perk of the job. The exception, however, is Marin, the famed ‘Black Bunny.’ With an undefeated streak lasting almost five years, the waiting list for challengers stretches weeks, if not months.

You know that from experience. Finally, it’s your turn.

Once the last of Marin’s previous challengers have left, you step in and shut the door behind you.

There she is. Marin leans against the edge of the poker table, idly twirling a six-barreled revolver between her fingers. It’s hard to know where to look. The establishment’s uniform, the classic playboy bunny suit, struggles to contain her perfect hourglass figure. It seems to have been cut a size or two too small. Her long, slender legs are fully outstretched, clad in fishnet stockings that only highlight her perfect curves.

Marin flicks her ponytail. “You’re the 4 o’clock challenger?”

You nod. “That’s right.”

“Paid for the snuff package, I see. You must be quite the high roller, sir.” Marin greets you with a lusty grin. “I’ve been looking forward to this one all day.”

“It’s not exactly cheap to get a seat at this table,” you say. “I figured I might as well go all the way.”

“Ah, a patron after my own heart. It’s no fun without a little risk, isn’t that right?” She asks. The amount you paid— and what she’s putting on the line— is hardly ‘a little risk,’ but she’s right. This is is exactly what makes it fun. “Strip poker okay? Well, you’ll be stripping. Since you paid up…”

Marin swings her legs over the table and sweeps up the previous round of playing cards, then slides over a scorecard and set of poker chips.

“At the end of six rounds, the winner gets to spend their chips on whatever they want.” Marin taps the scorecard.

Offerings start light, from kisses, lap dances, blowjobs and tittyfucks, and quickly escalate to various ‘souvenirs.’ Fingers and toes are the cheaper prizes. Then arms and legs, and up and up, to debreasting and decunting.

And the grand prize. ‘All in — Russian Roulette x6.’

As you browse, she keeps speaking.

“But keep the spirit of strip poker in mind. You paid for a stronger mix, so if I win, you’ll walk away looking a lot worse than those boys just now.” She points her chin at a glass case adorning the side of the room. It’s full of all the BDSM gear you could ever imagine. “Don’t bet anything you’re not willing to lose.”

“It’s like you think I haven’t gambled before.”

“My apologies, sir.” Marin can no longer contain her excitement, breaking through in a toothy grin. “Shall we begin?”

-

The first few hands are disastrous. Every time you think you have a lead, Marin slips out of your grasp, reading your tells like a hawk. Every time you bluff, she calls without fail. But you manage each loss well. Your blazer, tie pin, necktie, cuff links, and shoes are on the ground in a messy pile. It could be a lot worse.

Marin gathers the cards and prepares to deal the sixth— and final— hand. Her expression has faded back into that mask of professionalism.

You take stock of your remaining resources and slowly realize that, unless you make a big push, she does’t need to win this hand to win the game. There’s only one play you can make to force her on your level.

This round is all or nothing. You toss in your ante.

The card slide across the table. You lean back in your seat and push up the corners. The Ace of Spades and the King of Spades.

A fantastic starting hand. But will it be enough?

“Check,” Marin says.

“Raise.” You push a handful of chips into the center.

Marin’s eyes flick to the scorecard. If she matches and you win, it’s a lap dance. How pedestrian. “Call.”

“Now, I’ll check.”

“Very well.” With a nod, Marin deals the first three communal cards.

Ten of Spades. Four of Hearts. Ten of Diamonds.

“Raise,” Marin says. A handful of chips.

“Call.”

“Re-raise.” The weighty sound of chips falling to the table fills the room.

This is getting in the danger zone. With the amount of clothes you have left to bet, any more chips means you’re risking going home in bondage. But if the Jack and Queen of Spades are in the next two cards, you’ll have a royal strait— it’ll be your game for sure.

“Call.” You match her.

For her part, you haven’t pushed her past the blood threshold yet. But for the first time since the game begun, Marin’s face betrays the slightest expression. She raises an eyebrow and places a hand on her revolver, slowly twirling it once more.

“Check.”

“I’ll do the same.”

Marin flips the next card. Jack of Spades.

“Check.” She looks at you. Her lips curl into a flirty grin. “And you, sir?”

“Raise.” Holding more than half your remaining chips in your hand, you slide them into the pot. This is it. It’s a blood bet now— if slight. If she continues—and loses— she’ll lose a few fingers. Not exactly your aim. But it’s a statement.

You look up. Marin’s breathing is noticeably harsher. Even so, she’s got an excellent poker face, and as a result, it’s a bit hard to tell if she’s blushing.

But you swear she is.

“I’ll call.” Before you can respond, she holds up a finger. “Scratch that. I’ll raise even further.”

A glance at the scorecard. She’s betting an arm. You’ll be betting the full bondage package soon enough. How much do you believe that last card is the Queen of Spades?

“Raise.”

“I’ll call.” It’s up to her legs now. Marin presses her cheek against the barrel of the revolver, savoring the biting cold steel. When her other hand isn’t moving chips, it’s between her legs now. The sheer material of the bunny costume does not disguise her dripping slit at all. But with the way she’s seated, maybe she wants you to see.

“Raise again.”

“I’ll…” Marin’s betting all her limbs now, and she knows it. Your eyes flick to the miniature guillotine stationed against the wall behind her. You can tell she’s imagining the agonizing ecstasy when it comes down on each arm and each leg. She’s wondering what kind of look she’ll have on her face, when she fully submits to the reality of being reduced to a torso, a helpless fucktoy. “Raise.”

“Raise again.”

“Call.” She’s openly masturbating now, staring you in the eye and dragging her tongue along the revolver’s barrel like a dildo. She kisses the tip with her soft, red lips and when she does, a shudder runs through her body and a tiny spray of cum squirts from her pussy.

How far are you willing to go? Marin wants to find out.

“Check.”

“C-check.”

And she flips the last card. There it is. The Queen of Spades.

Your heart can barely contain itself. Marin can barely manage the hand signal to ‘check.’ No, she’s watching you, as she pushes her leotard to the side and penetrates herself with the revolver, barely holding back her voice as she thrusts into it.

Her lusty gaze is trained on you, as your hand hovers over your chips.

“All in.”

Marin cums, moaning and spraying her juices all over the table. She pulls down the corset and frees one of her nipples, pinching and twisting it, as her heavy breasts heave with her labored, shaky breathing. “S-So, sir. You’re telling me you have a royal strait?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Her hands shove the rest of her chips into the center, knocking over the neatly-organized stacks. “Show me what you’ve got.”

She flips her cards over. A Four and a Ten— a full house. And you reveal yours in turn. Indeed, it’s the royal strait. Marin stares in awe, and a big, wide-mouth smile crosses her face. She pulls the revolver out of her cunt and wipes down the barrel on a piece of cloth. With a flick of her finger, Marin pops the cylinder out to show that yes, one of its six chambers is, indeed, loaded, before spinning it and presenting the gun to you.

“Your prize, sir.” Marin parts her bangs and presents her forehead to you. As you press the gun to her, she’s fingering herself again, dripping all over the carpet. You cock back the hammer. Her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth hangs open, moaning loud and proud once more.

You pull the trigger.

Nothing.

But, having worked herself up to a frenzy, this isn’t acceptable to her. Marin leans back on the table and spreads her pussy. “S-Since you’re the first person to beat me, you get a bonus prize. And remember, you get five more shots.”

It’s rude to keep a lady waiting. You impale her on your dick and hammer her down against the table, yanking away her corset and violently groping her chest. As you pound her against the wood, you feel her meaty thighs grip you tight. Once you ready the revolver once more and press it to her temple, her womb holds you like a vice.
You pull back the hammer once more.


“Yes, yes, yes!” Marin cries out between sloppy French kisses. A hazy desperation has taken hold of her. There could be a chance that the next five shots are blanks. But she’s not betting on it, and neither are you.

You pull the trigger. She lives. You pull back the hammer. Marin wraps her arms around you, moaning and whining louder. As you press the gun against her head for the third time, you pin her neck against the table to hold her in place.

“Do it! Make me your toy!” she whines. “My life is your prize, so take it already!”

You’re close. You pound into her, use her faster, and as your own orgasm wells up, you steady your aim.

And then,

Blam.

The bullet blows out her brain and her body goes haywire. Marin’s corpse writhes beneath you, shivering and spasming to milk out every last drop of your cum. Pink mist sprays out the other side of her head as you pump her insides white.

As your own orgasm subsides, Marin’s body slumps down. The final look on her face is one of utter bliss. An unfocused, yet inviting stare. Her hands slip from your shoulders, her legs slip from your waist and spreads her corpse out on the table.

As if welcoming you for round two.


———

For my part, I agree with AshDragon. We've all got our own tastes, and it'd be kind of hypocritical to judge people on their fetishes given the kind of board this is. The nature of the game is that, if the prompt interests people, they'll write it. If it doesn't, nobody's forcing them to.

—-

Name: Faye
Age: 23
Traits: Confident, forward, but slightly unstable. Would probably be a yandere if this relationship lasted.
Setting: It was a boring plane ride, at least until you and the cute flight attendant really hit it off. One thing led to another and she’s sharing your hotel room, ready to accept all your fetishes. She’s not necessarily into snuff per se, but she’s got an open mind and is eager to please.
Preferences: Hanging fuck, but as the grand finale, after she's already been subjected to any number of guro-adjacent near-death experiences.