Vegas Secrets

by Jenna Kelly

Natalie's low laugh told her sister there was something up. Her words confirmed it. "Lindsay Wellson is gay, too."

  For a second, Marissa didn't catch on. When she did, her eyes widened. "Natalie—"

  "Well, not gay," Natalie confided, her almond coloured eyes gleaming at her sister. "She's bi."

  Marissa's mouth half opened in shock. "Natalie! You didn't! Not with another woman?"

  Her older sister leered at her, playfully running a finger along Marissa's exposed thigh. That black skirt really was too short. "Better be careful, little sis," she teased. "It looks like your sister is bi, too!"

  Marissa slumped back in her seat, in shock. Sex—with a woman! She felt moist at the revelation. The seeds had been sown.

  ***

  The smoke from his fat cigar filled the air. Samson Smith was pleased with himself. Swinging around in the ridiculously large leather chair in his sumptuous office at the back of the club, he plonked both feet on his oversized desk.

  Samson Smith's had just made its first million in a single year. That excluded all the extra circular activities that brought in millions more. Extra circular activities! He laughed at the thought. He'd built up the biggest vice operation in Vegas, and despite the attempts of Big Jack to muscle in on his market; he'd pretty much established himself as the dominant force.

  Yes, Big Jack had caused him a headache when the low life gangster opened Midnight Hot, a rival club located just off the Strip. But despite the undoubted success of that new nightclub cum brothel, it hadn't impacted on Samson Smith's profits.

  The so-called turf war he'd feared hadn't been a war at all. More like a minor skirmish.

  In fact, not only had Samson Smith's nightclub remained the leading attraction in Vegas, his expansion into the escort business had proven immensely successful. Once his son returned to Vegas, he'd groom him as his successor. For now, Joshua was broadening his horizons in Europe. In less than a year, he'd be home again. Samson couldn't wait.

  He picked up the phone and tapped in a number, congratulating himself that everything in his garden was rosy.

  Carrie answered. The spiky, black haired woman knew instantly it was her employer. "Hello, baby," she breathed into the phone.

  "I'm waiting," he simply said.

  "Not for long," she mumbled, with that always present hint of mischievousness in her voice.

  It took her less than a minute to make her way from the club floor. Samson's slacks and white boxers were already resting around his knees. There was no subtlety with the club owner. Never had been.

  Belying his fifty years, the stocky club owner was invariably ready for action. His impressive black cock was already erect, rising majestically from the thick expanse of thick, curly hair.

  The young woman smiled and tugged up her white tank top, exposing her unfettered breasts. Samson returned the smile as his hungry gaze devoured them. They both knew how turned on her full, pear like swells made the Vegas renowned businessman.

  "Don't have much time," he mumbled, nodding at his cock.

  His dark eyes glowed as her shapely leg straddled him. Leaning forward, he couldn't resist taking an erect, deep pink nipple into his mouth. Young flesh was what kept him young. And there was never a shortage in his profession.

  His mouth moved back and forth between each breast, turned on by her moans as his teeth pulled on each hard bud in turn. She may have been able to get off from just having her breasts sucked, but he needed to hurry the process.

  His black hand dropped between her legs, rubbing her through her tight jeans. It took no time. Her moans signalled the onset of her climax and her shuddering body confirmed it had arrived. He continued to suck her tits as she came on his working fingers, loving the way her hips continued to hump his hand as she crested her summit.

  Immediately, Carrie knew what was expected. He hadn't summoned her just to give her pleasure. That was a bonus. She pushed his hands away and lowered her head, taking his black erection between her soft lips. Samson placed one large hand on the back of her head as he moaned, tightening it in her spiky black locks as she began to mouth-fuck him.

  Damn, this girl was good. Every bit as good as any he'd ever had. He'd miss her when he sent her undercover. But those instructions could wait until she'd satisfied his need. His body was already succumbing to her working mouth.

  His shaft pushed against her throat as she slid her pink lips all the way down to the base. He grunted as she took him to boiling point. Her eyes danced upwards into his, daring him to try not to cum. They were in their own private battle. The spiky haired woman was racing him towards his orgasm whilst he tried to last. There was only one winner.

  She left his black shaft with a slurp, but his groan of disappointment turned into one of pleasure as she widened her mouth around each testicle. She sucked gently from one to the other as his grip in her hair tightened. He fucking loved the way she never held anything back.

  Then she was on the move again, never still. Her lips and tongue gently ran around his purple crown. Her soft hazel eyes grinned up into his as his breath caught in his throat. The spiky haired woman plunged back onto his ramrod stiffness, deep-throating him again.

  In an instant, they both knew he was there. "Going to cum for Carrie, baby?" she teased, a string of saliva dangling between her lips and the tip of his hardness. She stroked his pulsating shaft with her hands as she spoke, working the spit into the soft skin.

  She took just the head between her lips as her fingers stroked his glistening length with short jerking movements, just the way he liked it. It was enough. He'd taught her well. His body jerked as his thick seed surged into her greedy mouth. Her soft lips took every last burst, her head pumping on his shaft until he had nothing left to give.

  Only then did she look up, grinning as she slowly licked and cleaned the African American's diminishing manhood.

  ***

  Natalie and Marissa were like two eager children, their excitement spilling over during the twenty-five dollar cab ride from the airport.

  Cruising along the Strip, they'd stared out of the frighteningly clean cab windows at the sky scraping Manhattan landmarks atop the New York, New York hotel; the large Eiffel Tower above Paris hotel; and the quite magnificent Bellagio and, next door, Caesar's Palace.

  Even the long registration queue at the Rio hadn't fazed them. After checking in their luggage, they'd decided to stroll along the Strip to take in the sights. The raw heat was mitigated as they called into the cool air conditioning in hotel after hotel along the way.

  Even the down to earth David was impressed by the gondola ride the girls insisted on experiencing in the Venetian, despite their laughing off his assertion they'd soon run out of money if this were an example of how much things cost.

  "Can't we change hotels to this one?" they chorused, with heady giggles.

  He understood their enthusiasm. The Grand Canal Shoppes; the Venetian Living Statues, and the small, string orchestra performing in St. Mark's Square left them all spellbound.

  The Forum shops in Caesar's Palace were next on the sister's agenda. If the Venetian was expensive, the impressive shops gave them no respite. They'd already spent the best part of an hour contemplating the rhinestone-studded shoes at Stuart Weitzman.

  David's intention after their late flight had been to make up for the lack of sleep with a short nap prior to that evening's Practically Poker pre tournament introductory party. He wanted to be in good shape for tomorrow's pre Main Event tournament.

  With Marissa's modelling audition scheduled for later that evening, he'd made the same suggestion to the tow sisters. When they laughed at him, he left them to it. They'd return when they were ready.

  ***

  Big Jack flipped over his cards. "If you can beat two pair, then you've got me," he announced.

  The kid across the green felt practically shook with nervous excitement. Jack smiled. Reagan's boyfriend's tells were so obvious he might have been playing with his cards face up.


  "Three kings," Charles announced sheepishly, turning over his pocket pair.

  Big Jack sat back in his chair and softly clapped his hands. He was known for his outbursts and the wide-eyed kid seemed to be prepared for one. Instead, the gangster pushed the stack of chips into the pot and congratulated him. "You played well, Charles. I'm impressed."

  "That's… that's it?"

  "That's it. The five grand is yours. You won it, fair and square. Now go settle that little debt of yours."

  Charles licked his lips, hesitating one more moment as though he expected to walk from this unbelievable dream. When it didn't dissipate, he quickly began loading his chips into a plastic rack. This would repay his entire debt to the loan sharks who were putting so much pressure on him.

  Or maybe he could repay half the debt. With Reagan turning tricks at the Midnight Hot club, they were earning good money now. Perhaps he could keep half the money back and use it to fund more gambling. He was sure he could make good money; he just needed a little luck.

  ***

  Carrie sighed happily as she licked around his spent cock. Looking after Samson was investing in her future. She'd lived in various parts of America at different times, but Vegas suited her down to the ground. Each time she'd moved on, it had been to better herself. Or escape from the damage she'd done. Her last boyfriend had called her a psycho bitch. He was right.

  Her natural talent was for manipulating people, men and women. Sex had brought her everything she had. Her body was her weapon and her instrument. The sleazier side of life was her territory. She'd manipulate her own mother if it got her what she wanted. It hadn't been necessary. Not yet.

  The spiky haired woman had also learned that the way ahead in life was to foster relationships with the people that mattered. Foster relationships? Her insides shook with laughter. Fuck them silly was a more accurate description. Fuck them so well, that they couldn't do without you.

  That's why she'd spent some time wheedling her way into Samson Smith's affections. She wasn't stupid enough to think that the older man would ever marry her. But he would take care of her financially. He was her gold mine.

  Leaning back down, she continued to clean around the fifty year-old's cockhead until she was satisfied she'd cleaned every last drop. Only then did she sit back.

  Her soft hazel eyes stared into his as she lit a joint and inhaled the contagious aroma. When she passed it to Samson, he lazily stroked her naked breasts as he took a long pull.

  "Damn, Carrie, you're amazing," the African American murmured.

  She chuckled. "Best you ever had?"

  Samson loved her confidence. "You're up there baby," he responded, unwilling to give her that ultimate complement. Keep them in their place. "No doubt about that!"

  He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. There was something on his mind. "What?" she asked.

  "I want you to do something for me," he softly said, tweaking a nipple.

  She flinched as she pulled on the joint again. "I want that, too, baby. I'll give you ten minutes to recover and then we can fuck again."

  He smiled but ignored the comment. "I want you to get a job at Midnight Hot."

  Her eyes widened as her mouth fell open. He'd surprised her and she didn't surprise easily. "Of course. But… can I ask why?"

  Samson smiled. Deference. He liked that! "It's competition. My sources tell me Big Jack's up to something. I need someone on the inside, just to keep their eyes and ears open."

  They both knew what she was thinking as she stared at him. She belonged here, with Samson.

  "I know that, baby," he answered her unspoken question. "But I need someone there. Some insurance."

  She knew there was no option. His dark, searching eyes confirmed that. "Okay," she complied. She'd find a way of turning this to her advantage.

  "Good girl. I'll take care of you when you get back. But I need someone to find out what's on his mind. Big Jack likes his broads, and I can trust you, Carrie. You're just what I need."

  She smiled sweetly. It disguised the feelings swilling around her insides. Too fucking right, she was just what he needed. "I will," she whispered, handing him the joint as she dropped her head to lick down his hard, black stomach. She smiled to herself as her lips began to nuzzle his testicles and her hand stroked his hardening cock. Take care of her? She'd strike a hard bargain!

  "Oh, fuck," he moaned as she rolled his heavy globes in her mouth.

  "Ten minutes are up...." she smiled, looking up into his eyes.

  ***

  There wasn't anything that anyone could teach Big Jack about gambling. The son of a classy gambler who epitomized the world of Old Vegas, he'd inherited his father's money when the automobile accident tragically took him a couple of years ago. He'd inherited his nouse, too.

  Having spent most of his time being a young and spoiled rich kid in Europe, he'd moved to Vegas to take over his father's club. He lacked the integrity of his father yet had still been successful, and this young kid would never be a match for him if he lived to be a hundred.

  What had attracted him to the youngster was his association with Reagan. He knew everything about the girls at his club, had fucked some of them, too. The redhead was an exception. The young woman had a heart of gold and was about as different to his other girls as she could get.

  He'd been amazed when she'd asked to turn tricks—until he'd worked out why. Her good for nothing boyfriend was in debt, big debt. And rather than take responsibility like a man, he'd whined at Reagan until she'd eventually given in. But that suited Big Jack fine. He wanted Reagan, and if he had to remove Charles from the picture to get to the sassy young redhead, then he had no problem with that, either.

  "Tell me, Charles, do you enjoy playing poker?" he asked as they shared a quick drink in one of the side rooms at Big Jack's club.

  The stocky young man hesitated. It was clear that he enjoyed it, but it had also gotten him into a lot of trouble. Jack also knew that he'd vowed to Reagan that he'd stay away from the casinos. It had taken the gangster a lot of convincing to set this up. "It's fun," he eventually responded.

  "I think you like it more than you let on," Big Jack suggested. "And you're good at it." He sat back in his chair and pretended to think. "If I set you up with a stake, would you be interested in making more money than that?" He nodded at the rack of chips in Charles's hand.

  "I... you know, I can't." Reagan's boyfriend was saying no, but it was pretty clear to anyone watching that he didn't mean it.

  "Reagan doesn't have to know. You could make a lot of money..." Charles licked his lips. "Tell you what. Don't make up your mind right now." He reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card with the address of a poker lounge on it. "If you're interested, go to this address tonight, around 10. There'll be fifty thousand in chips set aside for you. We split the winnings. Sound fair?"

  Charles's eyes blinked at the size of the stake. "You'd spot me fifty thou?"

  "I believe in you," Big Jack nodded. Being good at lying was useful for more than just poker. Charles took the card and stared at it. "Think about it," the gangster encouraged. "No pressure."

  "Thanks… thanks very much!"

  "Good luck."

  ***

  Naturally enough, The Practically Poker introductory party was being held at their hotel. That's where all their qualifiers were being housed.

  Harrah's, the world's largest gaming company that owned the Rio had bought out the rundown Binion's Horseshoe in 2005. In one stroke, the World Series of Poker's image had moved upmarket and the rich, blue and red Rio became the new host to world poker's most prestigious event.

  David followed the bright internal signage to the Practically Poker suite. It took only seconds to realise that he was one of the early arrivals and that, even in his smart casual attire, he was overdressed. The small number of badly dressed individuals epitomised the approach of most poker devotees and rather than appear too conspicuous, he decided to wait until more po
ker hopefuls arrived.

  Retracing his steps, he passed time by taking in a show in the main casino area. The series of floats suspended from the ceiling were spectacular, as were the performers, clad in exotic masks and brilliant costumes. David watched entranced as the procession slowly made its way around the casino floor. But one part of him wondered what he was doing there.

  A London lad, caught up in the greatest poker event the world had to offer. Self-doubt crept in. Was he up to it? Pull yourself together, he told himself as he pulled himself away from the colourful spectacle and made his way back to the suite.

  The numbers had dramatically increased in the half an hour he'd been away. The dress sense hadn't. Dirty, well-worn jeans and an assortment of tee shirts and baseball tops appeared to be the order of the day. His black jeans and crisp, red, short-sleeved shirt stood him out.