Vegas Secrets

by Jenna Kelly

  Why did he feel he was letting down the poker fraternity?

  ***

  Girls being girls, it had taken Marissa a good couple of hours of trying each outfit, several times, before she and Natalie were satisfied with her appearance. Staring into the tall mirror in the Agency's bright reception area, they knew they'd made the right choice.

  The bright red halter dress was perfect. Short and tight without being too obvious. And red was her favourite colour. She was unsure whether she'd have to strip, but the burgundy bra and matching thong were sexy.

  Bring it on!

  The striking looking woman who answered a few minutes after they'd rang the bell on the empty desk, smiled broadly. The sisters couldn't help but stare as she walked across the floor towards them. Every single part of her—from the short, raven coloured hair, piercing dark eyes and Slade figure—looked chic.

  "I'm Kaitlyn Kristen. Please call me Kaitlyn," she smiled in a warm but definitely superior way. "This is Daryl." The photographer behind her nodded pleasantly. "You don't mind waiting a while do you? Daryl and I are just checking through some details. We won't be long."

  With another smile, she'd swept back the way she'd come, photographer in heel. The two sisters glanced a nervous glance at one another while they waited. The butterflies had prevented that. But now, ten minutes later, Marissa's puzzled face spoke volumes.

  Had Kaitlyn Kristen disliked her? Maybe she wasn't what they were searching for? Perhaps her audition about to reach an abrupt and unwelcome end even before it had started?

  ***

  If this were the last time she'd get to fuck Samson for a while, Carrie was determined to make it one to remember.

  Imprisoning the African American's saliva covered cock between her firm breasts, the way her hands manipulated her fleshy tunnel as she eased herself back and forward made him growl like a cougar sensing a kill.

  Kneeling across his lap in the dark leather chair, she had the perfect angle to slide his erection between her soft swells. His head went back, only for the spiky haired woman to dig her fingers into his wiry, dark hair and jerk his face towards her. She knew what her soft kisses along his neck did for him.

  Masturbating his cock, tongue flicking along his skin, she could feel the rhythmic thump-thump of his heart. Having such control over the powerful man was like someone feeding her an aphrodisiac. She'd 'controlled' many sex and women with her sexual wiles. But none as important as this one.

  Leaning back, she permitted his aching erection to bounce free. Her narrowed eyes made sure she had full contact with his as she lowered her pink, glossy lips to his throbbing manhood. They were both aware of her unspoken command. Watch, baby, she was telling him.

  He rewarded her with a sudden intake of breath. The way her expert tongue went to work frequently brought that sort of reaction.

  Samson alternated between throwing his head back and jerking it forward, watching as she went through her full repertoire. Lips, tongue, fast pace, slower, cock, balls -- she didn't miss a trick.

  "Damn, girl," he groaned a few minutes later as she pulled away. His shuddering told her he was close.

  Her kiss stilled his objection. "No, baby, It's too early to cum," she teasingly whispered as she flung a shapely leg across his lap, lowering nut to bolt. "Let Carrie fuck you there—"

  The chair made a whoopee cushion sound under their combined weights. For a brief second they laughed, then their combined lust took over again. Samson gripped her tanned hips as she sank exquisitely down, slowly engulfing his long black length into her tight body.

  Leaning backwards, her hands slid up her toned body, trailing them across her soft breasts before locking them behind her neck. For a moment it looked as if she was hypnotised, eyes closed, soft growls, her upper body swaying back and forward.

  Her sex drew circles on his cock. She sheathed and almost unsheathed it. "Tell me, Samson," she sexily whispered, leaning forward and pulling his head against her tits. "How much do you enjoy this?"

  Starting at the tip of his shaft, she contracted and expanded her internal muscles around him. The ripple effect shot all the way down his manhood. Caught totally off guard, his fingernails dug into her thighs. His hiss was as if someone had pricked a balloon.

  Carrie purred like a cat, delighting in the way his eyes glazed. She took his face between her hands and smiled. As his glazed eyes stared back, she did the pussy ripple again. A low growl indicated the fifty year old was clinging on to his sanity. This would teach him to send her away on a mission. He could think about her until she returned.

  Knowing he was close, she began to focus on getting herself there, too. He owed her that. Easing up until just his dark cockhead was inside her, she jerked back down. The friction as his shaft dragged across her clit took her a step closer. That was too good!

  She repeated her movement, moving unhurriedly up and down. This was her time. "Hold on, Samson," she gasped. "Hold on, baby."

  The whoopee noise grew louder with each downward thrust. This time they didn't laugh, they groaned. The noise almost matched Samson's whimpering. The fifty year-old was on the fringe of his orgasm, denied only his willpower and the way Carrie eased off when one more step would have taken him over the edge.

  Her arms wrapped around his sweating neck. Her eyes were glazed slits of passion. Her low growls grew in intensity. "I'm close, baby."

  The spiky haired woman moved rhythmically. She wanted this to continue but knew she wouldn't last much longer. Time to build up the pace. The speed of her down-thrusts increased as she fucked him hard. The smooth flanks of her inner thighs were aching, but didn't falter as they pistoned relentlessly back and forth.

  "Squeeze 'em," she gasped.

  His hands found her swinging breasts. Her nipples were deliciously hard against his palms, but the speed of her movements was such that he was unable to keep hold of them. It made no difference. The straining hands behind his aching neck tightened. Her body came to a shuddering stop.

  Then someone pressed the detonator button.

  The intense silence was filled with a long wail, starting low and finishing loud. Every part of her body gripped him as she trembled. The thickset man took it as his cue. For the first time, he was in control, even if it was only for a few seconds. His grip on her shuddering hips tightened.

  He began to pile drive the sexy woman in his lap. He went from zero-to-sixty in half a second, his hands slamming her down against his heavily sweating legs. Her growls began to reverberate around the room. Maybe she'd reach another orgasm before his arrived? Neither was far away.

  The sweat dripped from Samson's forehead. His eyes began to roll. Carrie grabbed back the initiative, flexing her legs and moving with all the energy of her twenty-two years.

  "Come on baby," her vibrating voice chanted, over and over again. "Come on… cum for Carrie—"

  Samson lost himself. He gave every ounce of effort his fifty years allowed. His heart worked overtime. Then he exploded.

  Carrie's sex twitched with each burst of his hot cum inside her sucking body. Her slick muscles tightened each time she sucked another rope of manjuice. The club owner couldn't stop, his hips twitching with each explosion as she gratefully accepted each further explosion.

  "That's it, Samson," she whispered, tightening her hands around his neck. "I want you to remember that until I return—"

  ***

  The good looking young women distributing flutes of cheap champagne were dressed in skimpy South American carnival costumes. The redhead that approached him was the most attractive of them all.

  "Back again?" she asked, her sparkling green eyes shining at him

  "Excuse me?"

  "You arrived half an hour ago," she explained, her smile broadening as she handed a champagne flute to him. "But you didn't stay."

  He took the flute, raising it as if toasting her. "Well, you people certainly know your business. To tell the truth, I felt a little self-conscious with so few people around. Not
to mention overdressed!"

  The attractive redhead laughed again. Those sparking eyes stayed on his. "Just so we're clear, I'm not one of 'you people'. And the reason I noticed you back then was because you did look so smart. And handsome!"

  His face coloured instantly. "I'm sorry..."

  "No reason to apologise," she shrugged, her amused smile not leaving his eyes. "So then, what do you think of my outfit?" She took a small step backwards, allowing his eyes to feast.

  David tried to keep his gaze on either the skirt, or her headpiece with fruit. He was successful until she arched her back. The deliciously freckled, up-thrusting breasts called out to him as they spilt over her low cut carnival style bra. He was lost in a lustful sea of admiration.

  "I see you like," she teased, with a deliciously, throaty laugh. "And just so you know, I'm impressed by what I see, too."

  Before he could respond, the cough an older man in a Practically Poker suit gave into the microphone grabbed their attention. "Looks like you're about to get started," she told him, flashing him a smile over her shoulder as she sashayed away.

  The suave, experienced, grey haired Executive had begun his spiel when David dragged his gaze away. That was quite an ass, too!

  After a brief introduction, the aging Executive gave a sweep across his handlebar moustache and got to the heart of it. If any of their qualifiers made it to the final table, they'd be paid a bonus of two hundred thousand dollars. Half a million would be paid to anyone making it to second or third place, with twice that much for the winner.

  A cheer, and then a babble of excited chatter followed the audible gasp at the news. Naturally enough, he explained, the requirement to sign the Terms & Conditions would ensure each person displayed the Practically Poker logo throughout the Main Event. The travel bag filled with Practically Poker clothing and other goodies was their immediate reward.

  Formalities over, the drink flowed. Poker stories abounded.

  The Practically Poker people focused on ensuring their name received maximum publicity. The players each had their own qualifying story to tell. And those who had been there before were determined to regale anyone who would listen with their previous experiences.

  Eventually, David had had enough. Shortly after the loud cowboy in sleeveless tee shirt and white Stetson joined his group, he edged away. The guy'd had more than enough to drink, and alternated between ogling the waitresses and telling increasingly absurd tales of his status on 'the circuit'.

  Time to return to his hotel. Maybe Natalie and her sister would be back there by now? Time to find out how Marissa's audition had gone.

  ***

  Kaitlyn Kristen's confident return to the reception area was as impressive as her first entry. "Okay, Marissa," she announced, flouncing back to the centre of the long, rectangular area. "Walk to the opposite end of the room, turn around, stand there, and walk back."

  It was a command, not a request. It was also Marissa's territory.

  She worked her body to maximum effect as she strutted to the far end of the room, stopping beside the large portrait of Kaitlyn on the cream wall. Swinging around, she wondered if the dramatic pause was a few seconds too long, but put everything into the walk back across the room.

  "Very good, Marissa. I like the style," the Agency Head enthused, gracefully perching herself on the thick arm of the chunky, leather couch. She appeared oblivious to the way the opening in her pleated skirt displayed the lacy top of her black stockings.

  "Thanks," the nervous young woman beamed back.

  Kaitlyn nodded, as if her compliment had needed no response. "Marissa, you come with a wonderful recommendation. I regard Nikolai' view very highly. A fine judge of talent. He sent some of your work to us. Seeing you in the flesh, I'm even more convinced."

  The younger sister was so happy she felt she could cry. Steady girl! This was neither the time nor the place.

  "I've a job you're perfect for," the Agency Head continued, her piercing eyes focused on the potential model as if studying every reaction. "We're helping launch a new magazine, Marissa, and need a face for the cover—one that hasn't been seen before. We're looking for a series of face and body shots, for the inside pages. Interested?"

  Marissa didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Her mouth dropped open.

  Kaitlyn Kristen gave a soft chuckle. It was a warm noise. This girl was perfect. Sexy. Innocent. Attractive. Naïve. And that video that Nikolai had sent through. She'd enjoy tasting this girl herself. Maybe she'd fuck Nikolai, too? He might be worth looking up next time she was in England.

  "The publishers are hard task masters," she continued. "They're looking for someone fresh, young and inexperienced. Everything we've sent them so far has been rejected."

  "They won't reject you." It was Daryl's voice from the side of the room.

  Kaitlyn's smile filled her face. "We're pretty sure they'll be knocked out by your looks. And your body. We need some photographs now to show the publishers you're what they're looking for. Any questions?"

  ***

  "Hi," the redhead said, stepping in front of him. "Going so soon?" Her smiling green eyes focused on his, as if searching for something.

  Her inspection made David's cock lurch and he desperately tried to keep his eyes on her freckled face, rather than drop to her impressive breasts. They didn't follow instructions.

  Reagan smiled, she liked the shyness. This guy was so different from the majority she came across, on and off duty. With an inward giggle, she arched her back in that way of hers that made her tits seem like they were trying to burst out of her bra. "Want to sample them?" she teased.

  "Wh… what?"

  "The canopies!" she innocently added. "You haven't had anything to eat."

  His sigh was either relief or disappointment. "No," he smiled, his eyes telling her he was unsure if he was being played with. "I'm fine."

  For a few seconds, she allowed the silence to build. Her raised eyebrow told him she was waiting for him to take the initiative.

  "You work for Practically Poker?" he asked.

  "Off and on," she replied. "My main job is a dancer at one of the clubs. Midnight Hot."

  David nodded. "Dancer?"

  Reagan smiled. "Yes, I'm a hottie…" She smiled to herself at the confused look on his face. And there was that blush again. So adorable! "That's what they call us. Midnight Hot—the dancers are hotties!"

  He nodded slowly, he'd have to brush his ideas up if he was going to spar with this one. "The name fits," he grinned. "Been in Vegas long?"

  Not the most original question she'd heard, but it would do for starters. "I've been out here for a couple of months. Seeking fame and fortune," she confided, making sure her breasts brushed against his arm as she leant closer. "I graduated last year. Thought Vegas might be the start of making a better life."

  David nodded. "And—"

  This time, her smile was wistful. "Early days," she sighed. "Early days."

  The person stumbling into his back interrupted their conversation. He turned to see that Stetson was more drunk than ever. The man lurched against David again, almost toppling the two of them. David caught him by the arm and balanced him upright.

  Reagan would have let him fall. She'd seen his type before.

  "Hello, sexy," he slurred, leering at her. "Doin' anything later tonight?"

  She fixed her challenging gaze on David. "I'm hoping so," she responded. Ignoring their drunken friend, she placed a Slade hand on David's arm. "Would you like me to show you around the hotel?"

  "Er… I'm staying here," he told her. "Just arrived today."

  "Good," she responded, linking his arm as she guided him out of the door. "A guided tour would be perfect, then. I'm Reagan, by the way."

  He knew it was a way of getting her away from the drunk. She linked his arm as she guided him out of the door. "I'm Reagan, by the way."

  "David," he smiled. Yes, he should be getting back to Natalie, but somehow he didn't want to leave the redhead just yet
.

  She gave him that smile again. "David!" she repeated. "From England. I just love the English accent. Tell me about yourself, Englishman."

  ***

  As Kaitlyn explained the poses required, she picked up a small container from the table beside her. Flicking it open, she scooped a small amount of the white powder and held it towards Marissa's nose.

  The shocked young woman's eyes widened to saucers. Coke? Surely not! But it was. Offered to her as if it was candy. The Agency owner leant forward and almost conspiratorially whispered, "This will help, Marissa. I assume you want to be successful?"

  "Yes… yes, I do want to be successful," Marissa hesitantly responded. She didn't want to damage her chances, but there was no way she wanted to get into drugs. "But I'll pass if that's okay?" she timidly added.