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[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing. 

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin. 

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club. 

 The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about. 

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met. 

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud. 

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me. 

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home. 

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it. 

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again. 

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

  When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.  

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone. 

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste. 

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time. 

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement. 

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants. 

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges. 

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive. 

“I can too!” 

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?” 

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.” 

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?” 

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.” 

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.” 

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

 “I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated. 

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.” 

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.” 

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle. 

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask,  “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?” 

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours. 

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.” 

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.” 

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream. 

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.   

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.  

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.” 

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years. 

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo. 

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him. 

You 

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night. 

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!” 

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.” 

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.” 

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.” 

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs. 

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?” 

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?” 

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?” 

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind. 

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.” 

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!” 

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes. 

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.  

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops. 

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself. 

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile. 

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo. 

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man. 

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning. 

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.  

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” 

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve. 

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ��Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it. 

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear. 

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.    

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in. 

Spanking, five. 

Whips and Crops, five. 

Paddles, five. 

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point. 

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five. 

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel. 

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied. 

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours. 

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you. 

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call. 

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears. 

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs. 

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller. 

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel. 

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his. 

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault  the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips. 

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you. 

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on. 

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently. 

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives. 

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging. 

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table. 

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms. 

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Leveraged buyouts are not like mortgages

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Here's an open secret: the confusing jargon of finance is not the product of some inherent complexity that requires a whole new vocabulary. Rather, finance-talk is all obfuscation, because if we called finance tactics by their plain-language names, it would be obvious that the sector exists to defraud the public and loot the real economy.

Take "leveraged buyout," a polite name for stealing a whole goddamned company:

Identify a company that owns valuable assets that are required for its continued operation, such as the real-estate occupied by its outlets, or even its lines of credit with suppliers;

Approach lenders (usually banks) and ask for money to buy the company, offering the company itself (which you don't own!) as collateral on the loan;

Offer some of those loaned funds to shareholders of the company and convince a key block of those shareholders (for example, executives with large stock grants, or speculators who've acquired large positions in the company, or people who've inherited shares from early investors but are disengaged from the operation of the firm) to demand that the company be sold to the looters;

Call a vote on selling the company at the promised price, counting on the fact that many investors will not participate in that vote (for example, the big index funds like Vanguard almost never vote on motions like this), which means that a minority of shareholders can force the sale;

Once you own the company, start to strip-mine its assets: sell its real-estate, start stiffing suppliers, fire masses of workers, all in the name of "repaying the debts" that you took on to buy the company.

This process has its own euphemistic jargon, for example, "rightsizing" for layoffs, or "introducing efficiencies" for stiffing suppliers or selling key assets and leasing them back. The looters – usually organized as private equity funds or hedge funds – will extract all the liquid capital – and give it to themselves as a "special dividend." Increasingly, there's also a "divi recap," which is a euphemism for borrowing even more money backed by the company's assets and then handing it to the private equity fund:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

If you're a Sopranos fan, this will all sound familiar, because when the (comparatively honest) mafia does this to a business, it's called a "bust-out":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bust_Out

The mafia destroys businesses on a onesy-twosey, retail scale; but private equity and hedge funds do their plunder wholesale.

It's how they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And it's what they did to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

It's what happened to nursing homes, Armark, private prisons, funeral homes, pet groomers, nursing homes, Toys R Us, The Olive Garden and Pet Smart:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

It's what happened to the housing co-ops of Cooper Village, Texas energy giant TXU, Old Country Buffet, Harrah's and Caesar's:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

And it's what's slated to happen to 2.9m Boomer-owned US businesses employing 32m people, whose owners are nearing retirement:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

Now, you can't demolish that much of the US productive economy without attracting some negative attention, so the looter spin-machine has perfected some talking points to hand-wave away the criticism that borrowing money using something you don't own as collateral in order to buy it and wreck it is obviously a dishonest (and potentially criminal) destructive practice.

The most common one is that borrowing money against an asset you don't own is just like getting a mortgage. This is such a badly flawed analogy that it is really a testament to the efficacy of the baffle-em-with-bullshit gambit to convince us all that we're too stupid to understand how finance works.

Sure: if I put an offer on your house, I will go to my credit union and ask the for a mortgage that uses your house as collateral. But the difference here is that you own your house, and the only way I can buy it – the only way I can actually get that mortgage – is if you agree to sell it to me.

Owner-occupied homes typically have uncomplicated ownership structures. Typically, they're owned by an individual or a couple. Sometimes they're the property of an estate that's divided up among multiple heirs, whose relationship is mediated by a will and a probate court. Title can be contested through a divorce, where disputes are settled by a divorce court. At the outer edge of complexity, you get things like polycules or lifelong roommates who've formed an LLC s they can own a house among several parties, but the LLC will have bylaws, and typically all those co-owners will be fully engaged in any sale process.

Leveraged buyouts don't target companies with simple ownership structures. They depend on firms whose equity is split among many parties, some of whom will be utterly disengaged from the firm's daily operations – say, the kids of an early employee who got a big stock grant but left before the company grew up. The looter needs to convince a few of these "owners" to force a vote on the acquisition, and then rely on the idea that many of the other shareholders will simply abstain from a vote. Asset managers are ubiquitous absentee owners who own large stakes in literally every major firm in the economy. The big funds – Vanguard, Blackrock, State Street – "buy the whole market" (a big share in every top-capitalized firm on a given stock exchange) and then seek to deliver returns equal to the overall performance of the market. If the market goes up by 5%, the index funds need to grow by 5%. If the market goes down by 5%, then so do those funds. The managers of those funds are trying to match the performance of the market, not improve on it (by voting on corporate governance decisions, say), or to beat it (by only buying stocks of companies they judge to be good bets):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/17/shareholder-socialism/#asset-manager-capitalism

Your family home is nothing like one of these companies. It doesn't have a bunch of minority shareholders who can force a vote, or a large block of disengaged "owners" who won't show up when that vote is called. There isn't a class of senior managers – Chief Kitchen Officer! – who have been granted large blocks of options that let them have a say in whether you will become homeless.

Now, there are homes that fit this description, and they're a fucking disaster. These are the "heirs property" homes, generally owned by the Black descendants of enslaved people who were given the proverbial 40 acres and a mule. Many prosperous majority Black settlements in the American South are composed of these kinds of lots.

Given the historical context – illiterate ex-slaves getting property as reparations or as reward for fighting with the Union Army – the titles for these lands are often muddy, with informal transfers from parents to kids sorted out with handshakes and not memorialized by hiring lawyers to update the deeds. This has created an irresistible opportunity for a certain kind of scammer, who will pull the deeds, hire genealogists to map the family trees of the original owners, and locate distant descendants with homeopathically small claims on the property. These descendants don't even know they own these claims, don't even know about these ancestors, and when they're offered a few thousand bucks for their claim, they naturally take it.

Now, armed with a claim on the property, the heirs property scammers force an auction of it, keeping the process under wraps until the last instant. If they're really lucky, they're the only bidder and they can buy the entire property for pennies on the dollar and then evict the family that has lived on it since Reconstruction. Sometimes, the family will get wind of the scam and show up to bid against the scammer, but the scammer has deep capital reserves and can easily win the auction, with the same result:

https://www.propublica.org/series/dispossessed

A similar outrage has been playing out for years in Hawai'i, where indigenous familial claims on ancestral lands have been diffused through descendants who don't even know they're co-owner of a place where their distant cousins have lived since pre-colonial times. These descendants are offered small sums to part with their stakes, which allows the speculator to force a sale and kick the indigenous Hawai'ians off their family lands so they can be turned into condos or hotels. Mark Zuckerberg used this "quiet title and partition" scam to dispossess hundreds of Hawai'ian families:

https://archive.is/g1YZ4

Heirs property and quiet title and partition are a much better analogy to a leveraged buyout than a mortgage is, because they're ways of stealing something valuable from people who depend on it and maintain it, and smashing it and selling it off.

Strip away all the jargon, and private equity is just another scam, albeit one with pretensions to respectability. Its practitioners are ripoff artists. You know the notorious "carried interest loophole" that politicians periodically discover and decry? "Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest on a loan. The "carried interest" rule dates back to 16th century sea-captains, and it refers to the "interest" they had in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Private equity managers are like sea captains in exactly the same way that leveraged buyouts are like mortgages: not at all.

And it's not like private equity is good to its investors: scams like "continuation funds" allow PE looters to steal all the money they made from strip mining valuable companies, so they show no profits on paper when it comes time to pay their investors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

Those investors are just as bamboozled as we are, which is why they keep giving more money to PE funds. Today, the "dry powder" (uninvested money) that PE holds has reached an all-time record high of $2.62 trillion – money from pension funds and rich people and sovereign wealth funds, stockpiled in anticipation of buying and destroying even more profitable, productive, useful businesses:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

The practices of PE are crooked as hell, and it's only the fact that they use euphemisms and deceptive analogies to home mortgages that keeps them from being shut down. The more we strip away the bullshit, the faster we'll be able to kill this cancer, and the more of the real economy we'll be able to preserve.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

[0o-junebug-o0]

Hii can we please get an Emily Prentiss with a fem reader with something to do with strip poker? :)

Love your fics sm!!

Strip Poker

Here you go, my love! And thank you! Also, I learned how to play texas hold 'em from a hermitcraft video haha

genre: fluff

cw: suggestive 16+! kinda fem! kinda gn!reader (reader's gender is not specified but is described as having breasts and wearing a bra), strip poker, getting together, kinda fade to black smut

wordcount: 1.9k

“Wanna play poker?”

You turn to look at Emily. She’s lounging against the arm of her couch and watching you with raised eyebrows and a cheeky smile.

“You better not be like Reid,” you warn.

She laughs. “No, no. Don’t worry. I’m good, but I can’t count cards.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What are you trying to trick me out of? I don’t have any cash.”

“So does that mean you want to play?”

You shrug. “Sure. I don’t know what we would bet though.”

“We could play strip poker,” she says simply, like it’s no big deal at all.

Your eyes widen and you can feel your face warm. “Seriously?”

Emily shrugs. ���We don’t have to, of course,” she says nonchalantly. “But, yeah, seriously.”

You swallow hard as you try to wrap your head around Emily’s proposal. Strip poker. With Emily. With the woman you’ve had a crush on for over a year. The thought seems almost too good to be true. You find yourself nodding and Emily’s eyes light up.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty as she pushes herself off the couch and leaves to grab a deck of cards. But she suggested it. It was her idea. It’s not like this was an elaborate plan on your behalf to see her naked.

Figuring it would be easier to play on a flat surface, you slip off the couch and onto the floor, crossing your legs beneath you and leaning back against the base of the couch. You pick at your fingernails nervously as Emily returns waving a deck of cards triumphantly.

She sits on the floor in front of you, leaving about a foot of space, and slips the cards from the pack. “What kind of poker do you want to play?” she asks, shuffling the cards with an ease you find insanely attractive.

“I only know Texas Hold ‘Em,” you admit nervously.

Emily nods and shuffles the cards again. “We’ll play that then. I’ll teach you another variant some other time.”

You haven’t even started to play, but your cheeks warm at the thought of doing this again. 

“No blinds, obviously,” Emily says.

You nod in agreement.

“We’ll bet an item of clothing and the other person can call to match the amount or raise by adding another item.” she continues. “You lose a hand, you lose the clothes you bet. And that includes folding unless it’s right off the bat.”

You nod again, too flustered to come up with any words.

“Alright,” Emily says, dragging out the word as she deals two cards facedown to herself and you.

You pick up your cards. Queen of spades and two of clubs. Not a great hand, but a queen high isn’t horrible.  “I-I’ll bet my shirt,” you mutter.

Emily nods. “I will as well,” she responds, taking three cards off the top of the deck and laying them out between you. Eight of hearts, eight of clubs, and 3 of spades. 

You glance up to see Emily watching you with an indecipherable expression. You can feel your heart rate pick up and you fight the urge to lower your gaze, staring right into her eyes instead. She smiles. “Do you want to raise?” she asks.

“No, I’m good.”

“You ready for the next card?”

You hum in affirmation and she takes the top card from the deck and sets it next to the others. Two of diamonds. You feel a bit of relief at the thought that you might not be the first to begin undressing.

Emily pauses for a moment to give you a chance to raise, and when you don’t she takes the next card from the deck and sets it down to reveal the six of diamonds. “Ace high,” she says, lowering her hand for you to see.

You smirk at her and flip your cards. “Two pair.”

Emily laughs and tilts her head in acknowledgment. She sets her cards down and curls her fingers under the hem of her shirt. Your breath hitches as she slowly starts to lift her shirt, revealing first her toned stomach and then the black bra that perfectly supports her breasts. Her eyes stay locked on yours the entire time. She finally pulls the shirt over her head and tosses it aside and you have to fight the urge to stare. She’s absolutely gorgeous and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Emily reaches out and rests her hand on your knee, making you jump slightly. “You alright?” she asks sweetly.

You find yourself nodding before you can even properly process her question. She smiles at you and your stomach feels like it does a backflip.

“Ready for the next hand?” she asks, picking up all the cards and shuffling them.

You nod again. It’s like her beauty has rendered you incapable of coherent thought, much less speech. Emily deals the cards and you look to see that you have a six of hearts and a seven of clubs. With some luck, you might end up with a straight and get to see Emily take off another piece of clothing. You blink hard to drag yourself back to reality as Emily says, “I bet my socks.”

You look down at your hand again. “I’ll bet my shirt.”

Emily raises an eyebrow at you and you smile back. Your nerves are quickly starting to shift into excitement. She sets the next three cards down. Ace of hearts, 10 of spades, and jack of clubs.

“I’ll raise my belt,” Emily says. You look up at her to see a cocky expression on her face. The flop gives the chance for a straight, though you doubt she has both a queen and a king, if she already had a straight she’d be raising way more than just her belt. She might have one of them. Or maybe she’s bluffing.

“I’ll match with my belt.”

Emily deals out the turn. A five of diamonds. 

“I raise my pants.”

Your head shoots up and you stare at Emily with wide eyes. Maybe she does have a king and queen. You try to read her, but her expression is the same slight cockiness and self-satisfaction it’s been the whole game. You look back and forth between your hand and the community cards. 

“I fold.”

Emily smiles wide and you hand her your cards face down for her to shuffle back into the deck with the others. You take a deep breath to steady yourself before beginning to unbuckle your belt. Emily’s eyes seem practically glued to your hands as she shuffles the cards. The metal of the buckle clinks as you pull your belt through the loops of your pants and set it off to the side. You lock eyes with Emily as you hook your fingers under your shirt and her hands go still. 

You smirk, pleased to see that you seem to have the same effect on her that she has on you. Taking a leaf from her book, you maintain eye contact as you slowly remove your shirt, and by the time it’s gone and you’re just in your bra, you can see the blush on her cheeks. The realization that she’s enjoying this just as much as you starts a fire burning in your gut and you start to think that maybe Emily wants you too.

She opens and closes her mouth for a moment, before lowering her gaze back to the cards and shuffling them again. “You’re beautiful,” she says softly.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Th-thank you,” you stutter, taken aback. “You are too.”

She lifts her head slightly and smiles at you softly before handing out the cards. Seven of hearts and king of spades. Emily hums as she looks at her cards. 

“I’ll, um, I’ll bet my socks,” you say. Now that you’re both shirtless, you can feel the excitement curling in your chest. You want to see more of her. 

Emily nods. “I’ll bet my belt.”

She lays down a four of clubs, nine of spades, and a king of clubs. You smile confidently. The flop doesn’t lend itself to anything good so you feel you have a good chance with a pair of kings. Even if Emily has a four, as long as another one isn’t played in the turn or river, you’ll win.

“You gonna raise?”

You think for a moment before shrugging. You might as well. “I’ll raise my pants.”

Emily’s face flushes. “I’ll match with my own.”

Neither of you raises the bet as an ace of hearts and eight of clubs are played. When the hand is over, you smirk at her, feeling confident in your victory. You set your cards face up on the floor. Emily laughs and does the same. Your jaw drops. She has a four of spades and a four of hearts.

“You forgot about three of a kind, didn’t you?”

You stare at her in shock. “I—yeah,” you admit. “I thought for sure I had you.”

“That’s what you get for being cocky,” Emily teases with a laugh.

You scowl playfully and stick out your tongue. You quickly tug off your socks and toss them to the side before climbing to your feet. Emily’s gaze follows you as you stand, watching the movement of your fingers as you undo your pants. You can see the way her chest heaves with each breath as she watches you slowly push your jeans off your hips.

You bend over seductively, giving her a good view up your bra as you slide your pants down your legs. You swear you can hear her breath hitch. Once free of your jeans you toss them off to the side and sit back down with your legs crossed in a way that leaves your underwear exposed. 

Emily lowers her gaze and quickly reshuffles and deals the cards. The round passes quickly and you can tell she’s distracted. She jumps straight to betting her pants and you match with your bra, then she loses with a jack high to your pair of threes. She practically jumps to her feet and without removing her belt, pushes her pants down.

The sight of her underwear makes your face burn. They’re a pair of small black boyshorts that hug her ass perfectly as she bends over, forcing you to struggle between choosing to look there or at her breasts. Either way, she’s gorgeous. 

She tosses her pants to the side and, instead of sitting back down where she was, she closes the gap between you and lowers herself to sit on your lap. Your arms shoot up in surprise, your hands hovering over her skin, unsure if you’re allowed to touch. You can hear your pulse rushing in your ears.

Emily drapes her arms around the back of your neck and stares at you for a moment. You stare back with wide eyes and your mouth parted slightly in shock. She brushes her hand over your cheek and you swear your heart skips a beat. 

“You can touch me, sweetheart,” she whispers.

You nod desperately and immediately your hands find her hips. “I-is this really happening?” you breathe, unable to wrap your head around it.

“If you want it to.”

You nod again, just as desperately. “Yes, God, yes. I’ve wanted you for so long,” you gasp weakly.

Emily smiles softly at you. “I have as well.” Her gaze drops from your eyes to your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

You think the way your hand immediately slides into her hair and presses her lips against yours is answer enough.

_____

REQUESTS ARE (temporarily) CLOSED!

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[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | September 23rd-30th 2024

Spooky season is upon us friends! Are y'all buzzing after that premiere? 😅

if you know anyone who's not tagged, please tag them in the comments!

Complete

these hands not fit for holding by justhockey (S8E01: Buzzkill Coda | 3K | Teen): “Can you look at me, please?” Eddie asks so sweetly that Buck doesn’t have the heart to deny him. He turns his head to the side so he’s looking at Eddie, and he lets his eyelids flutter open. He’s instantly met with Eddie’s warm, chestnut gaze, and it soothes some of the panic in Buck’s chest. Eases some of the hurting in his bones. “They you are,” Eddie whispers. “I don’t like it when you hide from me.”

Nothin' But A Little Shut Eye by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Pre-Buddie | 4K | General): Buck and Eddie accidentally nap together. And then keep napping together.

a sweetheart (to hold when i'm alone) by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (S8E01: Buzzkill, Cat Dad Eddie | 4K | Teen): “You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Buck asks, just as Tommy calls out, “Evan, the Uber’s here.” “Go, Buck,” Eddie says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The door closes, and Eddie comes so, so close to running to throw it open again, to calling out after them. To saying please stay. But he doesn’t. He stays on the couch, party hat strapped to his head, laptop closed on the coffee table. He stays, and he stares at nothing, and he wonders whether six thirty is too early to go to sleep. Probably.

Helping Hand by Inell/ @inell (PWP, Established Buddie | 5K | Explicit): When Eddie arrives early for their date, he catches Buck in a compromising position and offers him a helping hand.

🔥 stay here honey (i don't wanna share) by prettybegins (Post-S7, Getting Together | 14K | Mature): “Look,” Chimney’s back to a frantic whisper and Eddie can hear the sound of metal clanking together in the ambulance. “You gotta promise you’re not going to tell anyone I told you this. Promise me, Eddie.” “Tell anyone what?” “Eddie,” he groans into the phone, dropping his voice low. “Buck is going to go with Tommy. To New York.” or, amidst his son leaving for Texas, a sexuality crisis in his 30s, and the possibility of losing his best friend, Eddie can’t seem to catch a break.

🔥 the wayward son by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Post-S7 Spec, Sex Club | 56K | Explicit): Eddie misses his son, grows a mustache, pines after his best friend, and becomes a regular at a gay sex club. That last part is either an indulgence or an inevitable, somewhat self-destructive conclusion to several decades worth of compulsory heterosexuality and catholic guilt. Don’t ask him which.

& such by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (80K | Teen): prompts and spec fics and codas and all the works jumbled mumbled into one place.

(you should totally read the whole thing but I'll recommend a couple of specific chapters!)

Chapter 2: fuck josh russo (Post-S5E11: Outside Looking In | 4K) Chapter 6: diaz parents we fight at dawn (Sick Eddie, Hen POV | 2K) Chapter 7: guess i'm broken by design (Post-S4E04: 9-1-1 What's Your Grievance? | 2,7K) Chapter 9: you can let it go (Adriana POV | 11K) Chapter 11: dumb and dumber (Post-S5E01: Panic | 2K) 🔥Chapter 12: evergreen (Canon Divergent, Buddie Break Up, Shannon Lives, Angst | 13K) 🔥Chapter 13: made of honor au (15K) Chapter 17: let me sit this ASSSSSSS (Post-Poker Date | 3K | Explicit) Chapter 19: not talking fic (S8, Getting Together | 4,5K)

WIP

🔥 how come everybody's dancing but you? by showedupatyourparty (Post-S7 Spec, Eddie Sexuality Crisis | 2/4 | 19K | Mature): Buck feels guilty. Everyone he loves is going through something painful, difficult, or unexpected right now. And Buck is just…bisexual. It’s great that he’s figured it out, and it’s great that everyone has been so supportive, and Tommy is—Tommy is fine. The sex is good, at least. Consistent. When Buck gets a call from Eddie’s phone late on a Tuesday night in June, it’s cause for concern. * Buck unpacks his own feelings about his recently-discovered bisexuality. Eddie gets adopted by drag queens. They're both just trying their best to be happy.

🔥 for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 16/18 | 154K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 136/? | 434K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Podfics

[podfic] I'll be the ship, I'll be the shore by All_I_Ask/@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove //fic by  farfromthstars/ @doeeyeseddie (Canon Divergent, Post-Ladder Truck Bombing, Dad!Buck, Nurse!Eddie | 1/2 | 2-2.5h | Mature): in a world where Buck has a daughter Christopher's age, he first meets Eddie at their kids' school. Things progress from there

[mochie85]

Poker Face

These Wicked Games Collection | Complete Masterlist

Summary: Will you win a game of strip poker against the god of mischief? A/N: A special cameo of my dear friend. Word Count: 1.7K Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Explicit. No details of smut, but heavily implied. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Loki looked around the table trying to stifle his smirk from giving him away. He had a great hand – a winning hand. All he needed to do now was bait you in and he would win.

Rogers and Barnes had shown him how to play Texas Hold’em. They needed a third player as their usual playing mates were out on a mission. Things got more interesting when the women decided to join and turned it into ‘strip poker.’

Loki kept his cards face down on the velvet green table and placed his hands behind his head waiting for everyone else.

You knew that look. That pompous I-have-a-trick-up-my-sleeve look. You knew all his looks. His tired look. His hungry look. His annoyed look. Right now, he thinks he’s going to win.  You watched him stretch, his shirt untucking, riding up to give you a peek at what you could be winning tonight.

Nearly everyone was on their last piece of clothing. Steve and Bucky were now in their boxers, having negotiated that each sock was one piece of clothing. Nat was in a white undershirt that barely hid the dark pink dusting of her nipples underneath.

Vision wasn’t allowed to play because he would count cards and calculate the odds in his head. Instead, he opted to hold Andrea, the new computer engineer Tony hired, in his lap as she happily lost each round. One by one, a piece of her clothing came off and Vision had to hide her body strategically, making you think she was losing on purpose.

You and Loki were the only ones who were fully clothed. You kept your head low and played safe up until now, letting the others lose their bets and hands. Your father would be damn proud of you.

“Geez, Loki. You have a horrible tell. I know you’ve got a winning hand,” Natasha said as she took a gulp of her beer. “I fold.”

“Ya, work on that poker face, buddy,” Bucky groaned. “I fold. I’m not losing my boxers.”

“I fold too,” Steve said.

“I can’t fold,” Drea said, smiling.

“That’s because you have nothing left, darling.” Vision said as his grip on her tightened.

“Well, my dear, that just leaves you and me,” Loki said in a smoldering voice. If you didn’t lose this hand, you would’ve taken off your clothes anyway just by the way he looked at you.  His deep voice caressed you from across the table, making you squeeze your legs tighter together. “What do you say we up the ante? Last play for all your clothes.”

“Don’t you mean all your clothes, Laufeyson? You forget that I have a Las Vegas past.” You fired back, as resounding ‘oohs’ and heckles came from everyone else.

“All right. Bet.” He smiled.

“If I win, you take off all your clothes, Laufeyson. Including the next time we play poker, whether it’s strip poker or not. You will play naked - as the day you were born. No matter who else is playing.” You arrogantly raised your chin, calling out his bluff. His smile grew wide, reaching from ear to ear.

“And If I win, dear pet, not only will you strip down, but then I want you to walk your pretty little arse down the hall to my room and we can continue our own little game.” Gasps and jeers were heard all around the table as Loki finally admitted to some semblance of an attraction towards you. How genuine that attraction was, or how deep those feelings went, was still a mystery.

“Now hold on just a minute, Loki,” Steve said being protective of you.

“No, no. It’s ok, Steve. I accept.” You steeled your nerves and looked into Loki’s swirling eyes. Your body shook visibly, feeling his stare reach past your clothes and stroke your waiting skin underneath.

You looked down at the table where four cards were laid out. They were clubs, a 10, a 9, and an 8. Then there was the queen of diamonds. You had a King and a Jack of clubs. You already had a great hand with a flush, matching the suit to all five cards. But if that last card turned out to be a 7 or a Queen of clubs, you’d win with a straight flush.

But what did Loki have? Would his hand be better than yours? Would that last card help you or condemn you?

“Are you both ready?” Nat asked, burning a card and readying to turn the last card down onto the river. You looked into his eyes, deep and promising as you both nodded. Nat turned the card over and placed it on the table.

It was the queen of clubs.  

You took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. Loki’s eyes turned deadly as he turned his hand face up. An 8 of spades and the queen of hearts. “I believe that I have a full house,” he prodded, misinterpreting your sigh as a sign of defeat. Everyone’s mouth hung open in shock at his assertion.

He leaned back onto his chair and placed his hands behind his head. A proud grin on his face. “Go on love, show everybody what I’ll be playing with later.”

His comment bristled your edges. He was so arrogant. So cocky. You’re going to relish taking him down a notch. Everyone silently watched with shock and awe as you stood up with your poker face still on.

Loki’s eyes changed into pools of desire as you decided to play with his emotions a little bit more. You traced the hem of your shirt, pinching it and scrunching it up in your fist.

His greedy eyes followed the movements of your hands as you reached for your cards and turned them face up. “A king and a jack of clubs. A straight flush. Which beats your full house.” The last part of your sentence was drowned out by the screams and yells of everyone at the table.

Surprised by the turn of events, Steve, Bucky, and Vision couldn’t stop laughing. Drea and Nat just sat there and whistled as they leered at Loki to start taking his clothes off.

Loki’s eyes were full and round- devastated that he had lost. He looked up at you, at your gorgeous playful face. That angelic smile that had him enraptured from the moment he laid his eyes on you, caught his breath. He was stunned.

It wasn’t until Bucky jostled him out of his reverie that he took a lungful of air. “You gotta do it now, man,” Bucky said, laughing at him.

Loki’s smile grew wicked as he stood up and looked straight into your eyes. “My pleasure,” he ground out, making your skin flush at his promise.

He wouldn’t stop staring at you. Not when he pulled his scarf down one side and threw it in your direction. Not when he started to unbutton his shirt, painfully slow. His grin growing wider with every button. You watched as his hands trailed down onto his belt and the sharp clank of metal resounded in your ears.

“Should we leave? I feel like I’m watching something intimate,” Steve whispered to Vision and Drea.

“You can leave if you want to. I’m getting my free show,” Nat said finishing her beer.

Loki had all but taken off his shirt, socks, and shoes. All that was left were his pants. His thumbs hooked into them, watching your reaction as he pushed them down revealing all his godly glory.

A resounding “OHH!” could be heard from everyone else as Loki stood there in front of you naked. His sculpted body was on display as your eyes took in all the details that they could remember. His wide shoulders, his defined abs, and the ‘V’ of his Adonis Belt leading your stare to his semi-erect cock.

“Do you like what you see, pet? Anything I can offer you later?” He asked with a proud smile.

“All right. All right. Put your clothes back on. I think we should all call it a night. I’m done,” Steve said.

“Awe boo, Cap.” Nat leered, getting up and gathering her clothes. Bucky laughed and followed her into the bar as he struggled to get his jeans back on.

Loki flicked his hands. In a flash, all his clothes were back on and put into place, immaculately.

“Why didn’t you just do that in the first place?” you asked, still watching him.

“Because I wanted to give you a show,” he winked, and he strode off down the hallway towards his bedroom.

Not long after, the compound had gotten dark and silent. The remnants of the game you all had played earlier are gone. The table was dismantled, and the cards were put away.

Your soft feet patted down the hallway and stopped in front of Loki’s door. You raised your hand to knock, but the door slightly opened to reveal a sliver of yellow light coming through. You pushed the door open, taking that as an invitation to go in.

Loki was sitting in front of his fireplace, a book in hand that he thumped shut as he took you in shutting his door behind you.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you grace my bedroom?”

“You reneged on our deal.” You said confidently. Loki looked confused as he ran by the terms of the bet earlier.

“I don’t think so, darling. The bet was, that if I lost, I would be the one to strip down naked. And I did.”

“What was the next part, Loki?” you whispered. His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, making him visibly tremble. You held his name on your tongue. Your breath invoking it like a prayer.

“The next caveat was that the next game of poker I played, no matter who I was with, I would have to play stripped as well.” He recited as a gleam in his eyes sparkled at your mischief. You took out a deck of cards from your back pocket and proceeded to shuffle them in your hand.

“Care for a game of poker, my prince?”

He bit his lips at your words. “With pleasure,” he smiled as he got up to unbutton his shirt.

⬅️ These Wicked Games Collection | Chapter 2: The Chase ➡️

@alexs1200 @a-witch-with-words @athalialaufeyson @britishserpent @cakesandtom @crimson25 @el-zef @fictive-sl0th @gigglingtigger @glitterylokislut @goldencherriess @holymultiplefandomsbatman @huntress-artemiss @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @immersed-in-mischief @kellatron55 @kikster606 @kkdvkyya @lokidbadguy @lokiprompts @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @lokischambermaid @lokyxryss @loopsisloops @lucylaufeyson3 @luvlady-writes @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @muddyorbs @nopenottodayson @one-oblivious-nerd @ozymdias @peaches1958 @salempoe @sarahscribbles @sarawr-reads @silverfire475 @springdandelixn @theaudacitytowrite @thedistractedagglomeration @thomase1 @user13cabs @vickie5446 @vbecker10 @wheredafandomat @xorpsbane  

[feathered-serpents]

Okay, someone help me. This is for exactly what you think it is.

There's a poker game. Texas holdem. The river looks like this

Queen of Spades, Five of Hearts, King of Clubs, King of Diamonds, King of Hearts

The hand looks like this

Jack of Hearts, Queen of Hearts

Does that make a pair, or a flush, or something else, and if it's something else, does that beat a four-of-a-kind, all kings

I have managed to hurt myself in my confusion on Google. I just need a straight answer before my head explodes. Thanks!

[vintagelasvegas]

Opening night at Moulin Rouge, May 24, 1955

Guests are in the casino. The ropes mark the entrance to the showroom. Photo by Jay Florian Mitchell.

In uniform is Perry "Gold Dollar" Rose (3/5/09-8/24/89), a champion of the all-black rodeo from '42-'53 and for more than 50 years a confidant, driver, and security team of Benny Binion. Rose came to Las Vegas from Texas with Benny Binion in the late 40s. While Binion was in prison Rose took other work, then returned to work with Horseshoe club after Binion returned, until his final retirement in '78.

[In '60] after a threatened march by the NAACP, club owners agreed to integrate. This represented progress, though modest and spotty, and the Horseshoe was slow to comply. Dr. James McMillan, president of the Las Vegas NAACP, did not press the matter at the Horseshoe because of Gold Dollar, the ex-chauffeur who had gone back to work for Binion. "This guy was six-foot-six inches tall and weighed 300 pounds. A rough, tough, bad cowboy," McMillan said of Gold Dollar. "Him being a security guard there, we felt that we just couldn't challenge Binion at that particular time. We let that alone. Binion took his own time hiring black people, and he took his own time letting black people in." - Doug Swanson. Blood aces: the wild ride of Benny Binion, the Texas gangster who created Vegas poker. Amberley, 2015.

Photo from African American Experience in Las Vegas, UNLV Special Collections; Black rodeo star Perry Rose dies at 80. Review-Journal, 8/29/89.

[acceleracers-baby]

Acceleracers HC’s! Game Night! Metal Maniacs Edition!

Metal Maniacs

(Taro Kitano, Tork Maddox, Monkey McClurg, Porkchop Riggs & Mark Wylde)

+Bonus Round

(Doctor Tezla & Lani Tam)

Metal Maniacs

Taro Kitano - Taro has one of the best poker faces in the world. He’s impossible to read, and on top of that, he always seems to be able to pick up on everyone else’s tells. After an entire lifetime of stoicism, he’s learned that, in most cases, waiting and watching is a much better option than verbally bluffing out a hand. He enjoys Five Card, but his favorite is Texas Hold ‘Em. Other than poker, he’s a big fan of the game Sequence. He likes the mix between strategy and luck.

Tork Maddox - It’s not so much a party game, but Tork seems like the type of guy to really enjoy Pool. He used to make the Maniacs meet at the local dive bar for a couple rounds, but eventually they fixed up an old beat up one that they found at the junkyard. It’s definitely got some character, but now they don’t have to worry about assigning a designated driver. Plus, with all its dents and and scuffs, it fits in more with the Maniacs.

Monkey McClurg - Monkey plays Dungeons & Dragons. I will take no notes. But for real, could you imagine the Maniacs finding out he plays this big nerd game. I feel like they’d give him shit for it for at least a week, but when Monkeys all like ‘don’t knock it till you try it.’ He’s basically daring them to play. Of course, eventually they give in and he makes a big night out of it. Snacks, drinks, lighting, the works. He even helps them all make characters he thinks fit them the best. None of the Maniacs would admit it, but they all had fun that night.

Porkchop Riggs - With all the truck stops and diners he’s been to, Porkchop is a master at Checkers. When he was young, he would actually ask people to play with him while they waited for their food or for a shower room to open up. Because of this, he got really good at it at a decently young age. Y’all ever hear the saying, “they’re playing checkers, I’m playing chess.” That’s Pockchop accept he’s playing Checkers like Chess. Other than that, he also loves playing Go Fish!

Mark Wylde - Mark has a love hate relationship with Uno. There are times where he loves it, and there are times where it makes him want to pick up the chair he’s sitting on and lob it across the room because his dickhead brother just skipped his turn and stacked a plus four so now Mark has to pick up sixteen cards. However, when Kurt gets to Uno and Mark gets to give him the same treatment, he claims that Uno is the best game ever created. It’s a fine line he walks.

Bonus Round

Doctor Tezla - You think Tezla has time for games??? You think this stressed out mf has time for a nice round of checkers??? Who do you think you are????? That being said, Tezla cannot go a week without playing at least one game of Chess. It’s a good stress relief, and it keeps his mind sharp. He really only plays it with Gig, but Lani has since joined their little club too. Eventually, Tezla even asks Karma to join them.

Lani Tam - Despite playing Chess with Doctor Tezla, it’s not her favorite game. She mainly does it to pick his brain and see where his thoughts are for the day. Usually, his game reflects his current state of mind, which unfortunately, is almost always slightly unhinged. I feel like Lani’s favorite game would be Mafia. Specifically when people are getting way too into it and holding fake trials on who they think the Mafia members are. As much as she tries to unite the two teams in the Acceledrome, she loves the fake drama that comes with playing Mafia.

——— Thanks for Reading ———

[abcwordsurge]

so! I just finished with the 1st draft of my Houston / Miami / New Orleans story that I'm writing for @kaz-playz (yes I'm still working on it, even after all these months, it's long and I'm slow, sorry, but I promise I'll get it to you someday)

I usually only edit my stories before posting, but I want nothing but the best for Kaz, so I'll probably do a full rewrite of this one. in the meantime, allow me to share with you some hcs for the trio that I stumbled across while writing the first draft

Miami:

I've already talked about this, but just to establish a baseline, I hc Miami as pan, and using they/she pronouns

they're the biggest flirt ever, of course

they're light sensitive, and I think I've said this before, but just in case those in the back missed it: she wears her sunglasses (a gift from New Orleans) almost everywhere, and can't stand fluorescent lighting

they love the beach and cruises of course (cruise capital of the world, you know)

naturally quite pale, but you wouldn't know it- they're always tanned from so much time in the sun because she forgets sunscreen way too often :( (unless Nora and/or Houston are there to remind her)

she likes to go diving to explore the shipwrecks (but can't convince Nora to go with her)

shockingly, they're a Shakespeare fan. this isn't based on anything except, uh, plot convenience, and I like Shakespeare, so shut up /lh. (also she's a huge believer in "Shakespeare should be watched, not read")

Nora (New Orleans):

she/her, bi

literally the most gorgeous girl you will ever meet

not very flirty, but very kind, and there is often confusion regarding whether she's flirting or just, y'know, being a decent person

notably, has a realistic impression of how serious problems are (Miami has a tendency to be too mellow and not realize that something is a problem, while Houston is prone to dramatics- but not Nora, Nora's ~reasonable~)

not opposed to breaking the rules, and doesn't seem to respect authority figures very much (they're just people, after all, who are they to order her around?)

plays clarinet at a low-key jazz club, and is quite proud of it

very good at poker (Las Vegas is her frenemy)

she practices Vodouism (which, admittedly, I don't know too much about, so I'm hesitant to write a lot about it- I don't want to accidentally resort to stereotypes, y'know?- but it stands to reason that she would)

and finally, the star of the show, our girl!

Houston:

she/her, raging lesbian

very prideful and stubborn, and a lot of people find her attitude "disagreeable," but her confidence and passion is actually quite endearing

gets bored easily, especially during meetings, and starts drama for fun

she thinks she's socially awkward because she has a hard time figuring out what people want from her, but most people don't notice when she feels awkward

also has sensory issues, though she mostly combats hers with being very particular about the clothes she wears, and avoiding crowds

had a bit of a sheltered childhood (cough Texas cough) but part of her rebellious phase was learning more about other cultures and people with different experiences from hers

she's found her place in the LGBTQ+ community (as the L) and likes to throw it in Texas's face during arguments (even though he has technically "accepted" her, he isn't exactly thrilled about it, and she knows it)

admittedly, she doesn't know much about polyamorous relationships (at least, at the start of my story *wink wink*)

so that's what I've got for now. to hold y'all over till I finish up the real story. have a good day :3

[championsclubtexas]

Discover the Thriving Poker Clubs in Houston, the Heart of Texas

Texas is the home of some of the most popular poker clubs in Houston, United States. From Houston to Dallas, there are plenty of places for poker players to enjoy their favorite game. Whether you’re looking for a casual game or a high-stakes tournament, there’s something for everyone in Texas.

Houston is home to some of the best poker clubs in the state, offering both live and online play. From tournaments held at local casinos to private clubs dedicated to hosting games, there are plenty of options available for those looking for a good time playing cards. If you’re looking for an exciting night out with friends or want to join a weekly tournament, then check out one of Houston's many poker clubs. With so many great options available, you’re sure to find something that suits your needs and budget.

[demonsdealings]

don’t mind me just coming with entire fic ideas from the shower —

the mental image of Husk vs Val’s poker tournament for Angel’s soul. They are playing Texas Hold’em and Husk is all in on the royal flush with spades in hand. He only needs the Jack of Spades to win. The card flips and it’s the Jack of Clubs. As soon as Husk sees it, his expression sinks with shock, “Fu—”

Angel’s hand covers his mouth, “Fuuuck yeeah!” Angel chimes, signaling for Husk to play along. Val’s seething because he only sees a blurry black shape on the card. He thinks he’s lost, but in reality it’s because he can’t fucking see that he didn’t 😭

[dfungames1]

World series of poker free chips

World series of poker free chips

How to get free chips on world series of poker?

This weekend I will play poker so I made a point to accommodate you a bewildering which unending you would wish to be aware. That is the means by which to get free chips on World Series of Poker. Regardless, before I reveal to you this odd let me other than ask you that the WSOP game I am taking a gander at is a free to play game for redirection reason.

It is a social poker game application made by Playtika and you can download this free application from the affiliations gave under or from the application stores.

Other than a bit about who has WSOP by then allowed me comparatively to share that WSOP is guaranteed by Caesars Savvy Redirection (CIE), Inc., a partner of Caesars Redirection which is awesome on the web, versatile and social gaming connection focused in on club redirection.

As a Caesars Redirection Property, WSOP.com brings the energy of the World Series of Poker on the web, to qualified visitors and occupants of Nevada where you can see the value in Texas Holdem, Omaha, 7 card stud, and other superb mixes of America's advantage, from the comfort and solace of your home, or any spot your PC could take you, inside the restrictions of the Silver State.

A division of Caesars Redirection, WSOP is strikingly coordinated to offer players the best on the web/offline poker experience. Whether it's an online sit n go, cash game, or satellite to a live event, there's dependably something to satisfy players of various sorts at WSOP.

CIE claims the World Series of Poker; Playtika, a social games creator of remarkable titles including Slotomania and Caesars Club; what's more licenses its brands in truly valid money gaming spaces including the Unified Realm, France and Italy.

[hollandcasinoamstrdm]

Holland Casino Amsterdam

Holland Casino Amsterdam Centrum is een van de meest iconische casino's van Nederland, gelegen in het bruisende hart van Amsterdam. Het biedt een uitgebreide speelervaring met een breed scala aan tafelspellen en gokkasten, allemaal in een moderne en stijlvolle omgeving. Dit casino trekt zowel toeristen als lokale bezoekers, wat zorgt voor een dynamische en internationale sfeer. Als je een liefhebber bent van kansspelen of gewoon een leuke avond wilt beleven, dan is dit de plek voor jou.

🤑🤑 https://t.ly/speel-nu 🤑🤑

Ligging en Toegankelijkheid van Holland Casino Amsterdam Het casino is ideaal gelegen in het centrum van Amsterdam, vlakbij het beroemde Vondelpark en op loopafstand van het Rijksmuseum. Deze centrale ligging maakt het eenvoudig toegankelijk voor zowel toeristen als locals. Voor degenen die met de auto komen, biedt het casino parkeergelegenheden met korting bij nabijgelegen parkeergarages zoals Q-Park Byzantium. Dit maakt je bezoek gemakkelijk en stressvrij, vooral als je van plan bent om later op de avond naar huis te gaan.

Spelaanbod bij Holland Casino Amsterdam Een van de grootste trekpleisters van dit casino is het uitgebreide spelaanbod. Of je nu een fan bent van traditionele tafelspellen zoals Roulette, Blackjack, en Punto Banco, of liever je geluk beproeft op een van de moderne gokkasten, Holland Casino heeft voor ieder wat wils. Bovendien biedt het casino Multi Roulette, waarbij je tegen een live dealer speelt terwijl je inzet via een digitaal systeem, wat een moderne draai geeft aan een klassiek spel.

Tafelspellen en Hun Regels Voor liefhebbers van tafelspellen biedt Holland Casino Amsterdam een uitgebreide selectie. Zo zijn er bijvoorbeeld 12 roulettetafels met enkel-nul wielen, wat de huisvoorsprong minimaliseert. Blackjack spelers zullen genieten van de Europese regels die hier gehanteerd worden, zoals geen hole card voor de dealer, waardoor de spelervaring uniek en uitdagend is. Voor pokerliefhebbers zijn er ook tafels voor Texas Hold'em en Caribbean Stud Poker.

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De Sfeer en Klantenservice Holland Casino Amsterdam staat bekend om zijn uitstekende klantenservice en gastvrije sfeer. Het personeel wordt vaak geprezen om hun vriendelijkheid en behulpzaamheid, en ze zorgen ervoor dat zowel nieuwe als ervaren spelers zich welkom voelen. Dit draagt bij aan een ontspannen en plezierige avond, zelfs voor degenen die misschien niet bekend zijn met de spelregels of het casino-etiket. Of je nu komt voor een snelle gok of een uitgebreid avondje uit, de gastvrijheid maakt elke ervaring onvergetelijk.

Evenementen en Speciale Avonden Naast het reguliere spelaanbod organiseert Holland Casino ook speciale evenementen, zoals live muziekavonden in de Lido Club, die zich op de bovenste verdieping van het casino bevindt. Hier kunnen bezoekers genieten van een combinatie van spelplezier en een bruisend nachtleven, compleet met DJ's en een levendige dansvloer. Dit maakt het casino niet alleen een gokbestemming, maar ook een geweldige plek voor een avondje uit met vrienden.

Eten en Drinken bij Holland Casino Het casino beschikt over een eigen restaurant, Brasserie Taste, waar je kunt genieten van heerlijke maaltijden van 17:00 tot 02:00. De menukaart varieert van lichte snacks tot uitgebreide diners, en het is de perfecte plek om even bij te komen tussen het spelen door. Daarnaast biedt het casino gratis drankjes voor spelers, wat bijdraagt aan een nog betere casino-ervaring.

Dresscode en Toegangseisen Bij Holland Casino Amsterdam geldt een nette dresscode; stijlvolle kleding is vereist. Dit betekent dat sportkleding, slippers en strandkleding niet zijn toegestaan. Ook moet je minimaal 18 jaar oud zijn en een geldig identiteitsbewijs bij je hebben om binnen te komen. Deze regels zorgen ervoor dat het casino een verfijnde en aangename sfeer behoudt.

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Conclusie Holland Casino Amsterdam Centrum biedt een complete casino-ervaring in het hart van een van Europa's meest iconische steden. Met een breed scala aan spellen, uitstekende klantenservice, en speciale evenementen is er voor iedereen wel iets te beleven. Of je nu komt om te spelen of om te genieten van de sfeer, je zult gegarandeerd een onvergetelijke avond hebben in dit stijlvolle casino.

[vintagelasvegas]

Binion residence, 2040 W Bonanza Rd, 1961. Steve Coker family collection.

The Binions bought the home in '47; Benny and Teddy Jane Binion lived here until the 70s. Jack Binion told the Houston Chronicle in '89: "Everything's in there like they'd gone on a trip, but they just never came back." The upper floor was damaged by fire in 5/90. The house has been vacant and boarded since the 90s. It is owned by Becky Binion Behnen.

Asked about the family home in a panel at the Mob Museum in 2024, Jack Binion said, “I haven’t been by. My sister Becky owns the house. It caught fire, it’s unlivable.”

A nearby Pioneer Trail marker says: “Originally built in '42 by service station owner C.A. Morehouse, the home was one of the largest in Las Vegas with three bedrooms, several baths, a large basement, guesthouse and swimming pool. In '46 the home was sold [to Joseph Hooghe] and converted into a "dude ranch" where those seeking a quickie divorce could establish their six-week residency requirements. Benny Binion, a boisterous Texas gambler with a great love for quarter horses, purchased the home in '47. He and his wife, Teddy Jane, raised their family and kept horses here, close to Binion's Horseshoe Club located on Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas.”

“Fire strikes house owned by Binion.” Review-Journal, 5/17/90; G. Leong. “Behnen ‘sentimental’ about Binion house.” Las Vegas Sun, 11/6/2001; D. Swanson. Blood aces: the wild ride of Benny Binion, the gangster who created Vegas poker. Viking, 2014; Sons of the Pioneers: Remembering Las Vegas Legends. The Mob Museum, 5/21/2024.

[bulletscardclub]

Exciting Cash Games in Austin at Bullets Card Club

Are you looking for the best poker action in the city? Look no further than Bullets Card Club, where the cash games in Austin are second to none. Whether you're a seasoned player or just getting started, Bullets Card Club offers the perfect atmosphere to test your skills, meet new players, and win big.

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At Bullets Card Club, variety is the name of the game. Whether you prefer Texas Hold'em, Omaha, or other popular variations, you'll find a seat at the table that suits your style. The club offers multiple tables with different stakes, ensuring that there's always a game that fits your budget and skill level.

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Playing cash games in Austin at Bullets Card Club is more than just a game—it's an experience. The club boasts a comfortable and modern setting, with professional dealers and top-notch amenities that make your time at the table enjoyable. Whether you're in it for the competition or the camaraderie, Bullets Card Club delivers every time.

Ready to join the action? Head over to Bullets Card Club and experience the best cash games Austin has to offer