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Joker’s Mistress – ebook



Joker’s Mistress by Jo-Anne Wiley

Winner takes all in this new release from Jo-Anne Wiley
Malibu Beach: The love-babes and trophy wives the men bring to the table are among the most elegant women in the world; the product of the best breeding-stock: pampered, exercised, massaged, and as carefully nourished as any thoroughbred.
They stand behind their men, who gamble for real money. And for the sexual congress the women promise to provide.
With a quarter of a million on the table, Kathrine presides over the most prestigious poker game on the Coast. She manipulates the game as precisely as her dealer manipulates the cards: The stunningly beautiful Ava, known for her rapid-fire card play and who is not above working semi-nude if the game starts to lag.
Only the ultra wealthy come to play. They own the multi-million dollar beach homes, the Italian sports cars, the gleaming tri-decks that line the waterfront, the Armani suits, and the woman: The opportunity to bed a friend’s glamorous wife is more appealing than all the poker chips stacked on the felt. Mr. Ng lays a pair of jacks on the table. It isn’t enough and Mrs. Ng steps to the center of the room and rolls down her pantyhose. Martin laughs. He’s never had a Taiwanese…
But word of the game gets out. What should have been good for business, brings the vultures. The Hells Angels control the gaming on the Coast. And consider Kathrine a renegade. The crime boss wants to take over and states his case. Kathrine retaliates. But sees the error of her ways while eating her own lace panties while seated in his limousine.
But Kathrine isn’t quick to roll over. She boldly outmaneuvers him; a double-cross that nets her more money than she can carry. Now all she has to do is get away with it. Unscathed. Features sexual conniving, exploitation, humiliation, and blackmail.

Artist Credit

Cover Art Image InTheFlesh

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“Gentlemen. My name is Ava and I will be dealing your cards tonight,” she said, smoothly, taking her place at the head of the table.

Kathrine had never seen Ava look so sensual. She was head to toe glittering black sequins, shimmering like an ice-laden evergreen in the moonlight. The dress was loose about the shoulders and the daring neckline cut deep; almost to Ava’s navel. It covered her adequately, but displayed a rich earthy slice of the roundness below each nipple; the under-curve melting seductively into the dusty shadows of the gown.

“If you are ready, we will draw cards for position.”

There was a murmur of approval and Ava fanned the deck, one handed, holding the cards out to the men. They took turns, drawing a card for seating privileges; the highest to sit at Ava’s left.

“The game is five card draw,” Ava continued. “Aces high; no wild cards. And if there’s no objection, I am going to raise the stakes.”

The men watched as Ava lifted her hands to the front of her dress. Kathrine heard the rustle of satin and smiled. Ava parted the opening with a delicate slip of her fingertips and her unhaltered breasts were suddenly bobbing free like twin moonscapes, pale and full; the trumpet-shaped nipples, peaked.

“This sweetens the pot, winner takes all,” Ava said. “Do I heard any objections?” The room went still; a cloying silence.

The men gaped at the sight-of-sway of Ava’s chest. There was uncertainty. What was being offered them? The men weren’t sure they understood. The eyes of the investment banker from Austin were bugged and his hands were trembling with anticipation.

“I will avail myself to the winner following the game, in the bedroom,” Ava said. “No spectators, no oral, no anal. I am safe and clean, and I don’t carry condoms. Any questions?”

Ava looked around the table. Nothing.

“Okay, gentlemen. Let’s play some serious poker. A fresh deck of cards.”


Ava wasn’t naive, Kathrine knew that much. Ava had played the Sidewinder Room, after all; on the lower level of the Adobe where the Casino hosted its by-invitation-only parties: The private parties where the girls who flipped the cards and spun the wheels were required to leave the bottom half of their uniform in the change room locker before striding out onto the gaming floor.

The girls would come in waves, three or four at a time, like lines of catholic schoolgirls; some with arms linked, laughing gleefully. Others, the younger ones, the first-timers, stayed focused on the money. They smiled nervously into the upturned faces of the men; sweaty faces that glimmered with surprise and hope at the sight of their favorite dealers from upstairs; jovial pubic parcels now exposed and rollicking; presented up for their enjoyment. The men would marvel shamelessly at all those rolling hips punctuated with dark swaths of pubic hair; accentuating each and every languid step.


“Gentlemen. Opening bids please,” Ava said.

There was twenty-five grand on the table and the men had yet to sort their cards. Martin was first up and drew only one card. It was a clear indication that he had a strong hand and he bet five-thousand.

Three players balked; folded their cards. Martin looked at his last opponent with renewed interest. He didn’t know the man and the guy’s face revealed little but Martin sensed a bright intensity. Kathrine felt her cell phone vibrate and she read Martin’s text message: “Who’s the dude?”

Kathrine turned from the game and texted: “Pitcher for the Oakland A’s.”

When Kathrine looked back, Martin had shrunk a little; dropped lower into his chair. He recognized a real opponent. The ballplayer slid chips into the center of the table. “I’ll see you and raise you another two-thousand.”

Martin took a breath and tossed more chips onto the pile. “Call,” he said and spread out his cards: Two pair, eights and jacks.

“Sorry, bud.” The ballplayer smiled. He had a straight: Four, five, six, seven, eight.


He took Ava by the elbow. She cocked her head back as she was marched toward the bedroom and gave Kathrine a tight remorseful look. Never before had the two friends been this close. There was just the glimmer of a sad smile on Ava’s lips and then she stepped through and was lost from view.

The ballplayer looked down at her breasts, still saucily protruding from between the folds of her dress, and grinned. She winced but there was nothing for it: She had made the deal; thrown her body onto the table alongside the money. And he was here to cash in.

            No big deal, she tried to convince herself. She thought of the Sidewinder Room, the private parties where she had walked out onto the gaming floor wearing nothing more than her trim little vest with her string-tie dangling about the long column of her bare neck.

It had been okay back then, when she was young. Her husband needed the cash and she had made the sacrifice. It was humiliating, sure, but she had done it. And now here she was again. Not so different she tried to justify her next question: “How do you want to do it?”

He chuckled deeply and reaching out he ran his fingertips down along the outside curve, her left breast arching into the feel of his fingers. It pricked the goose-flesh. “From behind, sweetie,” he said. “I want to watch that lovely ass of yours jiggle as I pound you.”

Ava dully nodded and rolled her shoulders free of the dress. It fell, caught on her hips and she did a snaky little wiggle to shake herself loose from the satin. It parachuted down nude legs and pooled about her ankles. Ava heard his breath catch. If he hadn’t realized she wasn’t wearing underwear, he knew it now. Ava stepped from the confines of her dress, reached down, gathered it loosely and placed it over the back of a chair. She moved to the side of the bed, crawled up, and bending at the waist, she widened her knees. Then Ava lowered her face into the bedspread. With her high-heels dangling off the edge of the bed and her bum propped in the air, it was the pose of absolute, and unconditional, surrender.


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