by TJ Dallas
“You talk too much,” she grumbled, raising her leg and setting her foot on the cistern behind me, pressing her pussy against my mouth. I stopped talking.
I grabbed her arse, hauling her closer. She moaned as my tongue savoured the wetness between her thighs, and she bent her knee, leaning towards me.
Gripping the back of my head, she dropped her head back as my tongue found her clitoris, still swollen and pulsing. Her leg started to shake as the orgasm began building, and she groaned low in her throat. I felt my own clit swelling, wetness gathering between my legs. Squeezing her arse cheeks, I dipped my tongue inside her entrance before nursing her clit between my lips.
I pushed a finger inside her, pressing upward, and I knew she was close when she gasped, her stomach tensing. I continued to flick her clit from side to side, and soon she was on the brink, her fists tangled in my hair.
She screamed again. I kept her upright as her body sought to take her to the floor, and she rode out her second climax in ten minutes. How frustrated is she?
Eventually, she slowed, breathing heavily. She withdrew her foot from behind me, and stood unaided, straightening her dress. “Nothing else to say?” she sneered, and I shook my head.
She didn’t even smile as she opened the door. I remained motionless with shock while she corrected her appearance in the mirror, winking as she disappeared. What a tease, I thought. Whoever the fuck she was.
I sighed, taking a deep breath to try and calm the arousal, alive and kicking within me. I’ll need to alleviate that when I return to the Cardinal.
I was still for a moment longer before reaching into my pocket and pulling out the delicate white gold chain of her diamond necklace. My mouth watered again as I examined the pendant, a wide grin appearing on my face. It was at least 18 carats, minimum.
Jackpot.
By the time I returned to the Cardinal, I was dripping wet. I could still taste the mystery woman on my tongue, and adrenaline was firing through my chest.
I made my way towards my flat, unlocking my front door. Once inside, I slipped off my dress and unbuckled my boots, kicking them aside. I sighed as I slumped onto the bed. I was drained, and it took a few moments before I could bring myself to move. I’d been on my feet all day, and I could already feel the ache in my arches dissipating after a few short minutes.
Rolling over, I reached into the top drawer of my bedside table for the remote. The TV opposite my bed started up, and I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes until the Scottish Grand National.
I pulled out the daily racing form, skimming through the list of horses. There were up to forty horses named, but I focused on the numbers. I always got agitated when people chose a horse based on an amusing name or a name that resembled something in their personal lives. Amateurs, I thought bitterly. If you don’t know what you’re doing, don’t bother. Stop wasting money.
I whittled the list down to nine horses and glanced at my watch again. Seven minutes. I knew the distance of the track and the number of hurdles, and using the projections, I crossed off another four. Weather? Hmm, cloudy with the high probability of rain. I chewed the inside of my cheek, crossing off two more. They do better in dry conditions.
I had three male horses left, aged between eight and ten, and I started to struggle. I couldn’t narrow it down. Taking into account track-bias, previous post positions, odds, jockey experience … I couldn’t call it. I absent-mindedly fingered the new pendant at my neck.
I pulled out my phone, loaded up my preferred betting app, and placed my bet. I decided on a trifecta; I needed the three horses to win first, second, and third respectively. It was a risky gamble, but I felt lucky. The mystery woman and the diamond necklace currently nestled in my cleavage saw to that. I had a feeling that the necklace was going to be a lucky charm.
Most gamblers, myself included, were superstitious. Some only placed bets with their left hand, or others voiced their disapproval of a new dealer after they’d sat for hours, stopping play and walking away with the appearance of a new face. The majority steered well clear of the number thirteen. Besides my new diamond necklace, I always wore red underwear. The colour red’s association with luck and prosperity dated back to ancient China, and it was rare that I’d bet on black in roulette. Once in a blue moon maybe, but rarely. As long as I had my favourite red panties on, I was OK.
I placed five thousand pounds on the horses and checked my watch again. Two minutes.
I switched the TV to the correct channel and reached into the bottom drawer of the bedside table, pulling out my vibrator. I grinned, slipping my underwear off and settling back against the pillows. My clit pulsed. The race was starting.
I switched the vibrator on, a low setting to begin, resting it on my clit as the horses lined up. I spotted my chosen three, each jockey wearing their own distinct colours; one in purple and black, another in green, and the last in yellow, pink, and red.
The starting gun fired, and they were off. I pressed the vibrator down, letting out a soft moan and spreading my legs wider. Two of my horses cleared the first hurdle in pole positions, the third a few behind. I doubled the tempo on the toy, circling my entrance.
The vibrator massaged my clit while my eyes fixated on the screen. My heart was hammering in my chest by the halfway point; another thirteen hurdles to go, and all three of my horses were in the top five.
I slipped the vibrator inside me, my chest heaving as I started to push it in and out. A low groan escaped my throat, and my pussy tightened. The toy slid inside me, my juices coating the smooth pink rubber.
My first horse shot to the head of the pack, and my leg twitched. Arousal flooded through me as I pushed deeper, rubbing my clitoris with my spare hand. I arched my back, never taking my eyes away from the race.
With four hurdles left to jump, my heart was pounding in my chest. I thrust the vibrator harder, my groans getting louder, the orgasm starting to build. I rubbed my clit faster, sending sparks through my core.
Three hurdles left, and my first- and second-placed horses were in the right position. I growled. My third couldn’t overtake and was stuck in fourth.
Two hurdles, and my five thousand pounds, along with my orgasm, was hanging in the balance. Come on!
The last jump, and my heart soared. The third-position horse fell, the jockey curling up in the foetal position behind the hedge, as my final jockey took his place. I let out a guttural groan, perched on the edge of an earth-shattering climax. I needed to see them cross the finish line first.
One of my horses stumbled, and my heart leapt into my throat. He caught his footing, and the jockey whipped harder, tugging on the reins like a madman.
The oxytocin started trickling through me, my climax ready to rupture. I thrust deeper and rubbed faster, sweat forming on my forehead. One ... Two …
I roared as the orgasm took over, and I threw my head back, squeezing my eyes shut. Wetness flooded between my legs, my stomach tensing and my clit swelling underneath my fingertips. I lifted my feet from the bed, fucking myself harder, deep moans resonating from my chest, and it was several minutes before I shuddered to a stop, switching the vibrator off and panting hard.
Keep it down, Bella. Some of us are trying to sleep, Riley grumbled in the back of my mind, and I couldn’t suppress a laugh, even as I struggled to catch a breath. Her flat was right below mine.
It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, I thought.
I couldn’t care less. She tried to stifle a yawn.
Don’t you guys do a sweepstake for the race? I asked, sitting up and pulling the duvet over my legs.
Yeah. Noah brought the damn sheet around this morning, and he wouldn’t leave me alone until I chose a horse. I had two quid on— She yawned again. —Siesta Night Shadow. Where did that one come in?
I rolled my eyes. A female horse, five years old, with an inexperienced jockey and sky-high odds. That ho
rse stood no chance, Riley; it went down after the third jump. Why did you bother?
I liked the name.
I groaned exasperatedly.
Plus, and I appreciate you won’t understand this, but I really don’t care.
I shook my head. Well, tell Noah to fuck off next time and keep your money. You might as well give it to me if you’re just going to waste it.
I’ll bear that in mind. She broke the connection.
I pulled up the betting app on my phone, withdrew the heart-swelling total of eighty thousand pounds, and deposited it into a high-yielding investment account. The interest from that money alone was enough to feed an average family for six months.
I sighed contentedly and took a leaf out of Riley’s book. I snuggled deeper under the duvet. It’s been a hard day’s work.
8
Bella
The following day, I relaxed at my desk, rolling my thumb over a gold bar. It was worth over two hundred and fifty thousand pounds and weighed over six kilograms. I’d won it a few decades ago during one very intense game of poker; my opponent had persuaded himself that his unlucky streak would end, and I smirked as I remembered patting him on the back, powerless to conceal the patronising tone in my voice as he handed the gold bar over.
The more money I had, the better. Money made the world go round, and I wanted every penny. People say money doesn’t make you happy, but that’s a lie.
I had many ways of ensuring a steady cash flow that I’d honed over generations. Gambling, betting, scamming, hustling, investments, stockbroking, fake sob stories on GoFundMe accounts. I often got a lot of hassle from the others for the latter, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was easy money for the sake of a crudely written tale of an elderly grandmother, whose dying wish was to swim with dolphins. Or some other absolute crap.
And sometimes, on rare occasions, an honest wage. There were websites where you could fill out surveys, and if you were lucky, you could get a few pounds for each response. I’ve lost count of how many fictitious opinions I’ve given on everything from shampoos to screwdrivers. You name it; if you can make money from it, it was my forte.
Card games were a particular favourite, and my maths skills were second to none, but I enjoyed the fruit machines, horse racing, and roulette as well. I also had a guilty pleasure for those 2p machines at the arcades, where you slide the coin in, and if you were lucky, it would ease out a bigger heap of coins. Whenever we visited Blackpool Pride, the other managers would leave me alone to play those machines for hours; I’d be too enthralled to care about the actual parade. They’d have to come and drag me away when closing time neared, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’d get snippy if I was even so much as 10p short of what I went in with.
I replaced the gold ingot back in its metal lock case, sliding it to the back of my desk drawer and pocketing the key. Standing up, I stretched my arms above my head, and my jumper untucked itself from the waistband of my skirt.
I wore a blue woollen jumper, tucked into a long skirt, and brown ankle-high boots. It was quite a bohemian style; Madison often struggled to withhold her distaste at my outfits, but I liked it. I was comfy, and my dreadlocks only added to my less-than-standard appearance, anyway. And of course, I wore my lucky red underwear.
I secured the door as I left my office. Looking around, I smiled, butterflies rising in my stomach. I’d built my casino from the ground up, having had the final say over everything from the carpet design, to the distribution of fruit machines, to what alcohol we stocked behind the bar.
Harry had tried to intervene with the cocktail menu, but I’d put my foot down. The most popular cocktails included the Three-Dollar Hooker, the Money Shot, and the Fast Buck. She’d hinted that the money-themed idea was tacky, but I’d brought her back to earth with the suggestion that she should purge herself of the rainbow-coloured Pride cocktails she treasured so much. She’d grit her teeth, but I’d heard nothing more about it.
There was a spacious seating area in one corner, with TVs showing different sports. There were so many sports that it was tough to keep track of the bigger games, so I utilised Emilia’s help for that. She loved sports, everything from rugby to golf, cricket to boxing, and she gave me a list every morning of what to show on the TVs that day. The horse racing was always on, but the rest differed depending on what was showing or what teams were taking part.
Today, there was American football, basketball, and baseball. I knew a few baseball teams, and I was a devoted supporter of the Toronto Blue Jays; they were the only professional Canadian team to play in the American League. I considered them an underdog, but they were far from it. I’d developed a soft spot for them and often cheered them on, even if I hadn’t placed a wager on the game. Althea and Riley had visited Toronto a decade ago for a vacation, and they’d brought me back a T-shirt. I still wore it to bed.
The casino was busy, even though it was a Monday morning. Most people in attendance were wealthy; those who made a career from gambling; and other addicted souls who would squander the last of their government support payment, hoping to hit the jackpot. They seldom did, and I knew they’d have to go home and justify to their children why they weren’t eating hot food that day. Without a doubt, I’d see them again the following week, once their new cheque cleared.
I spun at the sound of one of the fruit machine alarms blaring, and I narrowed my eyes. An elderly intoxicated man was rocking the machine, getting increasingly agitated, and I growled.
“Stop rocking it,” I snapped, reaching down the back of the machine to unplug it and silence the alarm. One of my security guards appeared behind me.
“The machines are fucking rigged,” the man spat.
“OK, let’s go,” the security guard said, leading the man towards the exit. I scowled as I watched them walk away, waiting the standard thirty seconds before plugging the machine back in again.
The machines weren’t rigged. Sometimes, I wished they were, but I had a standard to keep. I had to hold various licences to run the casino, and while the thought of other people winning payouts caused a knot to form in my stomach, the thought of the Licensing Board closing my casino was far worse. They could come in at any time and check the settings on any machine they chose. Failure to follow even a simple request could land me in prison.
I watched as the lights fired up on the machine, the reels spinning as it reset itself. It was soon ready to go again, and I nodded, heading towards the bar. I pulled myself up onto a bar stool.
“Morning, Bella,” Jess said with a wide smile.
Jessica was my favourite waitress, with ample breasts and gorgeous blue eyes, but she wasn’t gay. I had to admire her from afar, treading carefully so I didn’t scare her away.
“Hi, Jess,” I said. “Just a cup of tea, please.”
She nodded and disappeared, coming back a few minutes later with a large mug.
“Thanks. How’s it going?” I asked, taking a sip.
“Yeah, fine. Oh, that’s a stunning necklace.” She leaned forward, and my breath hitched as she leaned closer to my cleavage. She fingered the diamond pendant at my throat, murmuring approvingly.
“Thanks. I got it at the weekend.” I grinned, my heart fluttering again at the thought of that blue dress, hiked up around my mystery woman’s waist.
“It’s beautiful.” Jess pulled away, and I felt my cheeks reddening. I wonder how much luck this pendant could bring me?
“Sam and I were at the Grand National on Saturday,” Jess went on. “I’m surprised you weren’t there.” She tilted her head and looked at me curiously.
I usually attended, but the blackjack tournament at the casino in Glasgow had won my affections. “I’ll be there next year,” I replied, taking another shallow sip of my tea.
“What’s your plans for today?”
“I haven’t thought past the next hour, to be honest. I know I’m going to
Georgia’s for lunch, but that’s it.”
“Will you bring me a bacon roll when you come back? I’m starving, but my lunch break isn’t until two o’clock.”
“Of course.”
We made pleasant conversation for a few more minutes, and I finally gulped the remnants of my tea. “Right, I’m off before I waste away. I’ll see you soon.”
Jess nodded, standing up straighter and looking around the bar. “Don’t forget my roll,” she added as I walked towards the lift.
I made my way to the fourth floor. Georgia sat at her usual table, watching Ambrosia make a mess as she nibbled on an apple chuck, the juice dribbling over her chin.
“Hi.” Georgia smiled as I approached, and I took the empty seat opposite her.
“Hey.”
Ambrosia giggled, reaching out with a chubby little hand to grab my hair. I waggled a finger at her and stuck out my tongue.
“What are you having today?” Elle appeared beside me, holding out her pen and paper.
“Toast and scrambled eggs, and a cup of tea please.”
She nodded and spun on her heel, grabbing a clean fork and dropping it off at another table on her path to the kitchen.
Ambrosia suddenly squealed, and an apple chunk whizzed past my head at high speed. Georgia groaned.
“Right, little miss, you need to stop wasting food. We’ve been over this.” She rolled her eyes. “Here.”
She handed Ambrosia another apple chunk, and the infant took it, peering around the restaurant and chewing slowly, examining the waiter at the next table with renewed interest.
“She’s a handful, eh?” I said, chuckling.
“Yep. Althea’s a tremendous help, though. She visits all the time and takes her for a few hours so I can have a nap. I think she’s broody.”
“Oh, dear.” I smirked. Harry would freak out if she heard that. Harry wasn’t maternal, and while she loved Ambrosia with all her heart, she loved giving her back to Georgia at the end of the day.
