The ridiculous way you thought you could bluff your way out of this situation was just laughable. Now here we are, your debt becoming deeper and more humiliating each week. Oh, don't look so surprised, you agreed to this. You offered your ass up as collateral in a desperate bid to keep playing, and now you're just the sweetest loser. Twice a week, I get to indulge in your punishment, claiming what you so willingly bet, your dignity.
Seeing you bent over, waiting for the slick invasion of my strap-on is a pleasure I can't describe. You shudder, you whimper, you beg for mercy even as your body betrays you. You groan as I push inside, feeling the fullness, the stretch, the burning humiliation that your pride bought you. And then comes your release, spilling over yourself, your cum a stark reminder of the lengths you'd go to cover your losses. But, oh no, we're not done. I make you lick your fingers, tasting the remnants of your shameful orgasm, the bitter taste of defeat mingling with your essence. The picture of utter degradation you present is more hard than any high-stakes game. After all, what's poker without a risk... or a reward?