Lucky Bunny

by Eva Luxe

  I look over at the woman and come to the realization that I have no idea who’s Helena, who’s Brandi, and who’s Hailey. The three of them are interchangeable. Blonde, big titted bitches.

  “Whatever. Let’s all just do everything we can to make him happy”, I say in hopes that no more questions will be asked. I’m given a reprieve from the women’s nonsense until Natsumi clears her throat preceding a question.

  “Caaan we get paid for this”, she asks.

  “Sure, fine. We can figure it out later”, I shout.

  The ladies then start to argue. I try phasing it out but some of it breaks through. I’m no whore. We should be getting paid. What does it matter. What if he’s a super crusty old guy? You don’t have to get paid. I didn’t know there’d be another guy, I don’t want to get gangbanged. Blah, blah, blah, holy shit, can’t they just shut up and get fucked.

  “I’m out of here”, one of the blondes announces. “I actually have self respect. I’m not going to whore out my body for money.”

  Brandi, or Hailey, or who-fucking-ever starts changing back into her street clothes and walks out without saying another word. That’s fine. There are still four other women for Itsuki to fuck. And finally, a message from him.

  I’m downstairs. Come down.

  “Alright, he’s here. Feel free to start feeling each other up, or uh… whatever, get wet, because he is going to bust down this door dick first. I’ll be right back”, I announce.

  Downstairs, I meet Itsuki who is waiting outside of a black SUV.

  “This is a hotel, Mr. Copley”, he states in a monotone voice.

  “Please, call me Ben. And yes, is that a problem?”

  “I suppose it was wrong of me to assume, but I was led to believe that we’d be going to a brothel. Or whorehouse. I’m not sure what the proper term for it would be.”

  I’m a bit baffled by his tone of disappointment. “I’ll ask again, is that a problem?”

  “Not necessarily. Where did you pick up the prostitutes”, he asks.

  Still baffled, I explain that I didn’t pick up a single prostitute and instead just gathered a group of women I had in my contacts list.

  “I see”, he says rubbing his chin. “Then a problem may have arisen. The women— these friends of yours. They’re American.”

  “Yes.”

  “Insufficient then. Please take me to a brothel. I want to be with women who will allow me to do anything I want to them”, he explains further. “American women, those who are not prostitutes, they’ll only complain. They’ll whine. Call the police. Fight back.”

  “Jesus Christ, what are you planning to do with these women”, I ask.

  “As I said, whatever I want.”

  He walks around his menacing SUV and steps in through the driver’s side. “So will you take me to a brothel, or is my presence no longer wanted?”

  Hell goddamn no your presence isn’t wanted anymore. I may not treat women with the utmost respect admittedly, but I sure as hell don’t abuse them. He’s staring at me through the passenger’s window expectantly.

  “Of course. I’ll take you to the best brothel in town. Or outside of town, that’s where the really good ones are”, I nervously reply, completely unaware of where I would even find a legally run brothel.

  I hop in Itsuki’s car and am driven away from what could have been a nice night with Imani, Natsumi, and two blondes. I send them a text apologizing for having wasted their time, but since they don’t reply, I get the feeling that they’re having a good time on their own. I’m the one who should be getting an apology from my psychotic chauffeur.

  Prostitution is a great way to make an honest living in Vegas, but it’s never been the type of scene I was interested in.

  Sure, some of the more expensive women can be beautiful beyond belief, but there’s no challenge in sleeping with someone you can just pay to fuck you. If I’m going to have sex with someone, it has to be because they crave me. I have more than enough money to afford a night with a prostitute for every night of my life, but I instead go for women who are cock hungry, not money hungry. That, and I’m not a rich psycho who wants to hurt the women I have sex with like some sort of Japanese Patrick Bateman.

  When I promised myself I’d play ball with Dad’s plan to get me to act more responsibly, driving a sociopath to a brothel wasn’t quite the picture I had in mind. Still, I have to go through with this.

  I act as Itsuki’s GSP as I direct him to the outskirts of the city to find the only neary brothel I could easily find on Google. It doesn’t look high-end, and it’s not in a particularly well-off part of town but this only seems to pique Itsuki’s interest as I notice a Grinch-like smile forming on his face.

  Upon arrival, he stepped out of the car but stopped to ask me if I’d be joining him.

  “No thanks, I’ll just wait out here. I’ll keep the car warm”, I tell him, trying to keep a cool composure.

  The wait for his return feels neverending. Save from a few lost tourists, I find myself more alone than I’ve ever felt. In more ways than one. I’m sitting in a disgustingly hot car by myself in a desert that is only a few miles from falling under the category of “the middle of nowhere”. But I’m also alone in another sense. One that may have roots in Dad’s lecture from earlier.

  I’m in an uncomfortable situation that may seem humorous to someone who isn’t in my shoes. If I had someone to text about this situation, I could at least have a distraction from it. Or someone to give me advice. But I don’t have anyone. What I told Itsuki about not having friends wasn’t a lie.

  I don’t have friends. I have acquaintances from work. I have people I see often. I have employees who like me. A brother who hates me.

  But not a single person I could talk to. Really talk to.

  Instead of being upset by thinking about what it’d be like to be poor or less fortunate, I’m left upset thinking about how alone I am in the world. Were it not for my dad and the women I meet, I would have little to no interaction with other people.

  My dad’s evaluation of me may have been a bit more spot on that I gave him credit for.

  Where there’s smoke there’s fire, I suppose.

  Chapter 6

  Ben

  “—which is why I think it would be best to schedule another meeting with your father sometime this week. A meeting I hope you attend this time.”

  I’m completely drained of any energy I had when my night begun but I muster up some fake excitement for his reconsideration. “I will definitely be there. Thank you for coming around, Mr. Okata. I’m sure my father will be delighted to hear the news.”

  “Please, call me Itsuki”, he says patting me on the back. “I look forward to seeing you again, Ben. Thank you for tonight.”

  I hop out of the SUV and turn back to get one last look at the ghastly man before walking into my home. I notice that there is some fresh blood on his fingertips as he waves goodbye. What a monster of a man he is. I can’t wait to absorb his company and leave the fucker hanging out to dry. Eagerly, I phone my dad and give him the good news.

  “Wha— But— I have to admit, I’m astounded. Ben, you… I don’t even want to know what you did to get Mr. Okata to change his mind but I’m glad you did it. Thank you, son. This won’t go unnoticed, this is a step in the right direction for you. Keep at it”, he says, without letting me getting a single other word in.

  Dad hangs up and leaves me alone. Alone, again. Alone with my thoughts. Thoughts of Itsuki doing unspeakable things to helpless women. Thoughts of missing out on an orgy with some babes. Thoughts of being alone.

  Following that train of thought, I’m left to think of the kind of person I’d want to come home to. The kind of person I’d considering being in a relationship with and maybe even marrying, as my Dad hopes for. Someone who would greet me with open arms and a myriad of questions about how my day with the maniacal Okata went. She’d give me a kiss on the cheek, and lead me over to the bedroom where she would undress me and c
omfort me with a backrub.

  She’d have to look the part, too. Great, smackable ass. Perfect tits. A small frame. She’d have to be unlike any woman I’ve been with in the past. Someone who has a brain. Someone who gives a shit about others. And she’d have one thing in common with all of my greatest crushes in life. Red hair. Lucille Ball, Misty from Pokemon, Gillian Anderson as Dana Scully, Julianne Moore in Boogie Nights, Emma Stone. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had a soft spot and a hard spot for redheads.

  Nobody on my list of contacts fits this description. Sure, it’s a very strict criteria but there are over 6 billion people on Earth, surely I should be able to find one woman who would check off all of these items. None of the women I’ve met here in Vegas are marriage material, even if it’s a fake marriage. They’re all 20-something party girls with no depth to them. I need a real woman to be with.

  A woman who could, for example, help me forget about the day I’ve had with some love. And some loving.

  I messily undress and collapse on my bed. I run my hands down my body and tightly hold my flaccid cock with both hands. More thoughts of this fantasy woman run through my mind. She’d be the one making my cock grow, not me. She’d start out by giving the head of my penis some timid licks until I was fully erect. Then, her shyness would melt away and be replaced by an animalistic hunger for dick. She’d slap my cock against her fact harder and harder to test it, and make sure it was hard enough to ride. But before riding, she’d make sure the initial thrust was smooth by taking the entire length of my cock in her mouth and down her throat.

  “Choke me with that monster”, she’d say. As I imagine her saying these words, I instead choke my monster with both of my hands and start to give myself some slow strokes.

  I would shove my veiny piece further and further down her throat until her lips reach the base of my cock, and she has tears of happiness (and lack of oxygen) streaming down her face. She’d make sure that every last bit of my cock was covered in her lubricating saliva. She would work her jaw on me until she was satisfied with its level of lubrication and would climb on top of me to get to please me like no other woman could.

  At least she’d try.

  My dream lady would climb on top of me in an attempt to take the reigns only to be thrown on the bed faced down and pinned by my weight. I’d wrap my fingers around her wrists and hold her down while I force my cock between her thighs.

  “Don’t you want to struggle a little”, I’d ask.

  She’d giggle and try to fruitlessly fight me off while I make my way inside her. Inch by inch, I’d bury my thickness deeper into her while she tries her hardest to hide how much pleasure she’s feeling. We both tremble in ecstasy as I slam my member into her repeatedly. She moans and tells me that she’s in pain. When I ask her if I should stop, she laughs and insists I hurt her more.

  I release her wrists and instead force my hands under her chest and hold on tightly to her tits. Big, but not too big. Just the perfect size. I play with her nipples while I make her whole body shake with each impact of my pelvis against her round behind. She begs for more as I ramp up to my explosive ending.

  If only what was happening in my mind could happen in reality.

  I’m left cleaning up my spilled over cum from my hands instead of having a gorgeous lady take care of it for me with her tongue. It’s a shame that all of this cum has to go to waste. Same with these emotions.

  The more time I spend alone, the more I’m starting to realize that my father is right. After he divorced my mom, he spent his life in solitude and all he has to show for it is a company he doesn’t have any passion to continue being in charge of. Now that I have this time to think introspectively, I’m coming to the conclusion that my father may just want me to avoid ending up like him. Rich, but miserably alone.

  The life I’ve lived thus far has resulted in me adopting some misogynistic habits and beliefs. I try to convince myself that I only need women for sex, but my heart craves something more now. All it took was some time alone to realize this. But I do want to be with someone. Not just anyone.

  A really special someone.

  Chapter 7

  Tessa

  It’s been a month since the fire. Not much has changed, save for my hopes for saving the school. They’ve dropped. As has immediate interest in Devyn, the kids, and myself.

  Despite the generous donations we’ve received from people, it doesn’t seem like I’ll be able to be in charge of a school again. I’ve had pro bono lawyers call me, trying to help me only to end our conversations with parting words along the lines of, “and I hope you have a backup plan” or “if you need a job in the meantime, we’re looking for a secretary”.

  Seems like the world is against me on this.

  Everything and everyone, except Devyn.

  “So what’s the next step of the plan”, she asks with a mouthful of a Cubano sandwich. “All we’ve done is eat and I have to go soon. You have to fill me in, Tessa. What’s going on under that red bedhead of yours?”

  The hoarseness of her voice hasn’t gone down much. It seems like the damage done to her throat by the smoke inhalation is more permanent than we were both hoping. Hearing her clear her throat after every other sentence hurts. It’s painful to see my best friend suffer because I chose to leave her behind in a smoke-filled room.

  “Devyn, you don’t… you don’t resent me, do you?”

  All of the character fades from her as she puts down her sandwich and clears her throat to answer me. “That does not sound like the next step of the plan”, she groans.

  I beg her, “please, Devyn. No jokes for just a second. I have to know.”

  She closes her eyes and shrugs. “I wouldn’t have known that you saved Jamie instead of me, if you hadn’t spent so much time talking to the nurses watching over me, you know that right?” She sighs. “Tessa, I don’t resent you. I don’t hate you. Not even a little. As a matter of fact, I would hate you forever if you had saved me instead of an unconscious, developmentally disabled child. That’d have been heartless. You did the right thing and I will never resent you for that”, she assures me.

  Devyn scoots her chair to be next to mine. “Don’t forget what you told me when I got out of the hospital. Uh, something like, ‘we could have done a whole lot of other things we didn’t do, but we didn’t. And we just have to live with it’, right?”

  I nod my head in agreement and thank her for her honesty.

  “So… Come on. What’s the next step?”

  The next step is giving up. It’s the last thing I want to do but with each passing day, it seems like the only viable option. Even if the money we raise through GoFundMe is enough to rebuild the school, that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be given the certifications or permits to run the school after the media frenzy this has become. “Terrible Tessa’s Terrifying Tragedy”, I remember a headline calling it with an unflattering candid picture of me bawling over the loss of years of work.

  “I’m not sure yet. I think we should keep the GoFundMe going for a little bit longer and see what are options are then”, I lie.

  Finishing her sandwich, Devyn hastily wipes her mouth and stands up from her chair. “It’s not a great plan. But it’s better than nothing. I’ll catch ya later. Call me if you— well, hm. Send me a message on Facebook, I’ve been using my cousin’s iPad to stay informed with the outside world.”

  I give her an unenthusiastic thumbs up and watch her leave. Once she’s fully out of sight, I allow myself to cave into my emotions and have a good, hard cry. I let the tears flow from the depths of my soul and embarrassingly weep in full view of the other customers at this cafe. I can confidently say that I’ve done all that I can and it just hasn’t worked out. Optimist or not, sooner or later Devyn is going to have to face reality and realize that we’re screwed. I’ve tried to stay positive for both of our sakes, but I don’t see a single endgame where things go back to normal.

  My phone rings.

  I quickly wipe the tear
s from my face and blow my nose before answering the call. It’s not a number I’ve gotten calls from before. It’s a Nevada number.

  “Hello?”

  “Good afternoon, is this Tessa Chambers?” It’s an old man. An old man from Nevada who knows my name. A journalist, maybe?

  “Yes, this is she”, I say strongly.

  “Wonderful”, he chortles. “Ms. Chambers, my name is Clyde. It’s a true pleasure to meet you. Now it is to my understanding that you’ve fallen on some hard times, is that right?”

  This is bizarre. I look around the cafe, scanning the faces of every patron to make sure I’m not being prank called from just a few feet away. No suspects as of yet.

  “That’s right… Clyde.”

  “Of course it’s right! You’re in quite an interesting position, Ms. Chambers. You see, you are in need of help, and I am in the business of helping women such as yourself out of situations in which they are in need of help. Are you interested?”

  “In what exactly”, I ask, suspicious of this strange old man’s intentions. I can’t tell if he’s trying to sell me something or not.

  He laughs heartily. “Now, now, Ms. Chambers. All necessary information will be disclosed to you in due time. But first, I need a yes or a no.”

  “Yes or no to what? Hold on, how’d you get my phone number? And how do you know who I am”, I ask in quick succession, growing more and more anxious and losing my patience.

  The old man’s cheerful, almost senile demeanor was dropped a cold, robotic tone. “Ms. Chambers, please calm yourself. Your phone number was posted publicly on the GoFundMe page you set up. As for knowing who you are, you’re quite the celebrity, wouldn’t you say?”

  Damn it.

  “So what is it you want”, I ask firmly, hoping to end this conversation soon.

  “No, no, no. You misunderstand. It’s not about what I want. Rather it’s about what you need. Money. Lots of it from the looks of things. Now, I do need to know if you’ll be able to fly out to Reno this fast approaching weekend. You won’t have to pay for a thing. Just give me some of your time and you can decide whether or not you’ll want to move forward from that point.”