Vegas Secrets

by Jenna Kelly

  "You better believe it, little lady," he responded, his deep voice sounding a little hoarse as she reached behind her to lock the door into the anteroom.

  "Tell me something that'll turn me on more than I am now?" she asked, tugging his zipper downwards, one slow inch after another. "Tell me why we're gonna have some of Samson's girls."

  The big man shifted from one foot to the other. "Can't," he mumbled, gasping as her hand found his hardness.

  "Tell me and I'll blow ya," she smiled, pulling his cock free and sliding to her knees. "Tell me what an action man you are, baby."

  "Can't," he repeated, his large hands finding their way to her head.

  Carrie resisted the hands that attempted to force her mouth onto him. "You're not important at all," she spat, pulling away. "You're all talk—"

  "Yeah?" he growled, his hands gripping her head tighter and holding her beside his thick, veiny, cock. "That's what you think."

  Her tongue licked upwards along the length of his shaft. "Tell me then, Kyle. I want your cock in my mouth as much as you do. "Tell me, baby, I'll keep it to myself, you know that!"

  ***

  Looking around the table, Jessica saw only nervousness. Nerves never affected her. She couldn't afford them. The year in which she'd learned to use poker as a cover for her primary occupation had passed quickly. Yet this was the first occasion she'd experienced the full, unexpurgated thrill that poker had to offer. Even reaching the business end of yesterday's tourney hadn't brought the same sense of anticipation as the Main Event had evoked.

  That's why she'd needed David so badly. Sex was like a drug for her, fuelling her calm when her adrenalin threatened to overrun. Gave her an advantage.

  Despite poker coming a distant second to her main occupation, her competitive instinct drove a desire for her to try and emulate yesterday's unexpected achievement. The likelihood was that she would never play in the Main Event again and she was going to give it her best shot.

  Her starting hand was the worst the game had to offer, but it presented a challenge. In late position, she raised in an attempt to steal the big blind. Unfortunately, both the small and big blinds responded. Damn! Okay, no heroics. See the flop then fold gracefully.

  The cards changed her thinking. Seven-Seven-Two. Full house!

  She checked behind the two blinds, attempting to induce a bet later in the hand. It came after the King on the turn. Small Blind raised the size of the pot and to her astonishment, the Big Blind pushed all-in.

  Jessica sat quietly, attempting to put him on a hand. Pocket Kings would take her out, but that was the only hand that could damage her. If he'd held them, he'd almost certainly have re-raised her pre flop raise. No, he didn't have Kings. Ace-King, perhaps? Or better still—pocket two's?

  "Come on tits," the Big Blind sneered as she pondered. "Show us your balls."

  Jessica ignored the laughter that rippled around the table. "Highly original," she dryly replied, pushing her chips into the middle.

  A buzz of expectation ran around the table, as if the attractive blonde amongst them had been goaded into a silly move. It should have been a straightforward fold for the Small Blind, but somehow the pock-faced young Swede got caught up in the atmosphere.

  "I've got balls, too," he responded, as if macho was the order of the day.

  Play at the surrounding tables ground table stopped as each of the all-ins was announced. The Swede immediately turned over Big Slick, to be met with a disdainful growl from the Big Blind.

  "You're out of your league," the tubby Scotsman snarled as he flicked over his pocket deuces. "You, too, tits," he drawled. "Show us yer set."

  Jessica flipped over her cards. The gasp extended beyond their table.

  "Goddam it," the Scot growled. "You raised pre-flop with that fucking crap?"

  Jessica sat impassively as she waited for the dealer to administer the final coup de Natalie. With no cards in the deck that would help them, her opponents were drawing dead.

  "Fucking ridiculous," the bad tempered Scot eventually snarled at Jessica. "You won't last another five minutes."

  "Maybe not Big Balls," she responded, pulling the chips across the table. "But it'll be five minutes longer than you. Now if you'll excuse me, I've some chips to stack."

  Laughter ran around the nearby vicinity as he grabbed his jacket and turned on his heels, regaling anyone in his vicinity on the injustice of life at the poker table.

  "Okay, boys," Jessica drawled, looking around the table through her dark sunglasses. "You can all see my tits. Let's see your balls!"

  ***

  Whatever it was that Kyle and Carrie had been up to, it was enough to have the red-faced older man short of breath as she pushed past the two of them and into Big Jack's office. "Come in," he said immediately at her first soft knock; he'd been expecting her. But then he'd told her to be prompt.

  "Dress sexily, too," he'd told her before she left his office earlier that morning. "A dress—I just love a woman in a classy dress."

  The skimpy black dress was exactly what he wanted. It was the shortest she had, only just covering the perfect swell of her toned ass. With its low cut front, the silver pendant around her neck settled perfectly in her amply displayed cleavage. She looked a mixture of class and sex, though standing nervously in front of the gangster, one leg cocked to the side, hands by her sides, she felt anything but.

  If she ever laid eyes on Charles again, she'd kill the bastard. This was all his doing. The world of exotic dancing was bad enough, but at least that'd been her decision. The extra step with clients had resulted from Charles's debts, and now his out of control gambling had led her to this embarrassing moment.

  She hated her ex-boyfriend with a passion, and hated this man, too, for forcing her into this. But there were fifty thousand reasons screaming at her, leaving her in no doubt that she had no choice. A private dance would be the first step to reducing her obligations, he'd insisted.

  She couldn't have said no if she'd wanted.

  "Very, very nice," Big Jack appreciatively murmured, sipping from the large, oval glass. Brandy was his favourite drink. "Fix yourself one," he smiled with false warmth as he saw her eyeing his glass.

  Glancing at the wet bar to her left, she reluctantly turned and sauntered over to it. She could feel his eyes on her ass like he was physically groping her. "Very nice!" he said again, enthusiastically. "Love the heels, too. Nice touch."

  Reaching for a switch in his desk, he let the PA system from the club filter in through his high definition speakers. The room was bathed in the driving beat of the techno his girls danced so well to. Before she'd finished pouring her drink, he ordered, "Lose the dress." He smiled as her pouring hand shook, spilling some of the rich bourbon onto the bar top. "Careful, honey, you don't want to owe me anymore than you already do."

  She didn't say anything, setting down the crystal decanter and reluctantly reaching for the zipper at the back. She fumbled in her nervousness. "Do it slowly," his harsh voice barked.

  With a soft gulp, her trembling fingers pulled the zip downwards, revealing first the blackness of her bra, then the swell of her ass barely covered by the skimpy, matching thong.

  "That's good," he encouraged, his voice low and deep, the tone of lustful anticipation. "Turn back and slip out of the dress. Slowly."

  Reagan edged back round, her hands dropping the spaghetti shoulder straps to her waist. She could feel the swell of her freckled breasts heave as they spilt over the plunge bra. She looked anywhere other than his direction as she shimmied the dress over her shapely hips, dropping it across her black high heels.

  "Kick it away," the gangster told her, his piercing eyes glued to her figure. This was going to be so sweet. "Okay," he growled. "Let's see you dance."

  For a second, she froze, her breath caught in her throat. The song on the speakers transitioned; Donna Summer's Hot Stuff began to play. This was surreal; the same song she'd danced with Carrie to?

  Closing her eyes, s
he pretended that she was up on stage, dancing like she had been dancing for the past few months. It worked, at least a little. Her hips began to sway to the music. As long as she kept her eyes closed she could get through this, she told herself.

  "Good, but I don't think you get the concept of a private dance," she heard him growl. "I don't want what I can get by watching you in my club." She faltered, opening her eyes. He'd wheeled out from behind his desk and was lounging in his high-backed leather chair, arms at rest, brandy balanced in one hand. "I want a lap dance, honey…"

  Glancing at the bulge forming in the front of his trousers, she knew what else he wanted. Her heart fluttered nervously. Give him what he wanted. Anything to reduce her debt, although he hadn't indicated how much the private dance was worth—she'd make sure she didn't come cheap.

  Throwing back the glass of brandy she'd poured, she let it sizzle in the back of her throat a moment before sauntering across the room. With each long step, one leg in front of the other, she grew more confident. She'd never done this, but if she had to, she could.

  Big Jack opened his legs wider as she found the rhythm once again, turning her thong-clad ass in his direction. Reaching into her hair, she found the tie of her ponytail and released it, tossing the long, red waves about her shoulders. Bending low at the waist, she presented her plush buttocks to him as she slowly straightened up.

  Same tricks she used on stage, only much closer. Right?

  Head back, her tongue ran across her lips as her hips swayed more sensually to the beat on the speakers. Her hands rose to her neck, and then slowly began their downward journey, across her cleavage, cupping her breasts through the bra. Damn, her nipples were hard already.

  Widening her stance to bend once again at the waist, she swung her hips left and then right. Her hands ran down to her inner thighs, caressing them before locking behind her back, allowing the gangster to see her full, swaying body in all its glory.

  Work it Reagan, she told herself, realising that she was no longer just performing to please the gangster. Three days without sex, her near session with the Englishman, and the recollection of Carrie's leg jammed between her thighs all combined to increase her arousal. Even the fact she was being forced into this situation was somehow a turn on. Damn, she was horny!

  Hot Stuff faded into another song with an equally driving bass. "You're doing well, Reagan, but this is a lapdance." His voice rumbled through her trembling body. Time for something new.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she flicked her tongue across her wet lips and met his eyes. Guys always liked eye contact; liked to think they were the only one that mattered. For Reagan, the illusion wasn't too hard to create—right now, he was the only one that mattered.

  Swinging her hips, she allowed his eyes to feast on her ass. Want it—want this body—want this ass? She backed up between his legs and lowered her near-naked body into his lap. Much to her surprise, his hands stayed on the arms of the chair, as though this were a legitimate lap dance at a legitimate club.

  Bending forward, she grinded her ass against his erection and reached behind to unhook her bra. Tits free, she shifted her weight, draping her topless torso over his powerful chest. Running her fingers across her flat stomach, pinching her diamond belly piercing before cupping her large, freckled breasts. She kneaded the soft swells and met his eyes once again.

  Fuck, she was on fire! She felt his cock throb in the crease of her ass. She did that! She was halfway to an orgasm and she hadn't touched herself yet.

  "You're doing very well, Reagan," Big Jack groaned, his eyes leaving hers for a moment to sweep over her curvy nudity. She arched her back further, digging her shoulder blades into his chest while making quick little rotations with her hips. "I want to see you pinch your nipples."

  "Haaa…" Reagan gasped as she obliged. Her fingers felt like a strangers as they squeezed and twisted her pink nubs. Big Jack's hands moved to her body at last, brushing lightly along her hips, sliding beneath the strap of her thong.

  "Geez, your skin's so soft…" he moaned, meeting her burning green eyes once again. Palming one full tit, she raised the freckled orb to her lips and brushed her tongue along the nipple. "Holy fuck!" Big Jack shuddered, nearly cumming in his pants.

  Reagan smiled wickedly at him and slid off his on-edge body. Hooking her thumbs into her thong, she bent forward as she dragged it down her long legs. She nearly lost the beat when she saw him rubbing himself through his trousers.

  Her rocking hips found the melody once again. She sashayed back between his legs, bending low and tossing her long, copper locks between his thighs. She dragged her tits across his confined cock, up his chest, and across her face. Climbing naked into his lap, she squeezed her breasts around his head as her sex began grinding on that erection again.

  "Fuck, Reagan!" Big Jack exclaimed, pulling his face from her cleavage. "FUCK!" He wasn't mad. Far from it. He hadn't asked for her to go completely nude, although he'd planned on it. He hadn't gotten to the part where he'd order her to fuck him, but seeing that look in her large, green eyes, he wouldn't need to do that, either.

  Her body was perfection. Flawlessly pale skin with a dusting of freckles across those jutting tits. Flat stomach, sexy little navel piercing, and a clean shaven sex that was going to feel so good wrapped around his—

  Reagan slid off him again, this time sliding to her knees as her fingers began unzipping him. This wasn't part of the deal, but Reagan knew what was expected of her. She also needed this as much as he did.

  "Fuuuuck…" he groaned as she frantically took him into her mouth. Her urgency turned him on, they way she'd instantly assumed control. "That's it," he growled, dropping the brandy glass to the floor and ignoring the growing stain on the carpet. What was important was that both his hands were free to grasp her hair and direct her movements.

  An uninhibited moan slipped out of the woman', vibrating around the man-flesh passing in and out of her throat. This was crazy. How could she be so desperate for this bastard who simply wanted to take advantage of her? She was like a crazed animal as her mouth devoured him, but she needed more.

  "I'm close," he growled. She knew exactly what he wanted.

  Slurping off the surprised gangster, she reversed down onto his lap. Reaching between his legs, she dragged his thick cock against her silky furrow and sheathed him, groaning with each of the three passes it took to take him fully inside.

  The gangster's hands were all over her. "Time to get fucked, honey," he grunted, lifting his ass from the chair to jam himself into her. One upward thrust followed another; each throaty growl growing louder.

  The bastard had somehow gained a second wind. Reagan bit her lower lip in an attempt to stifle her moans but it was too much. She came, disgorging layer after layer of sticky syrup around his thick hardness.

  "Oh fuckohfuck!"

  He fucked her through her orgasm, bouncing her on his lap as he closed in on his own nirvana. "Come on baby—" he gasped, "come on!"

  She contracted and expanded her muscles around his hardness, a trick that Charles had never been able to resist. The ripple effect had the same impact on the gangster. "What the fuck—"

  Two more ripples instantly did it for him. Just as he prepared to detonate, she was off him and back down between his legs. The first blast hit the back of her throat even before she was settled. As further bursts followed, her Slade fingers milked his juice-covered cock, teasing out every drop he had.

  When he had nothing left, she released him and he slumped back into the leather chair. "Hey," he said as she gathered her clothes. "I'm going book you down for some of the private parties I cater for. They're going to love you."

  Reagan shivered. She knew only too well about the parties Jack catered for. The girls that did them were full of stories. It wasn't a scene she wanted to get into. Slipping on her bra, she shook her head. "I don't think—"

  "You don't think?" he cut her off. "You owe me fifty grand and you don't think!?! Honey, do you know
what I pay my girls? Double what you earn—two and a half thousand a night! You do twenty five private parties for me and that'll erase your debt."

  "Twenty five?" she gasped, zipping up her dress. She quickly did the math in her head. Was he trying to cheat her again? "But that's way over the fifty thousand figure!"

  The gangster let out a loud guffaw. "Honey, you didn't think you were getting an interest-free loan, did you? Twenty five and we'll call it even."

  She checked her anger and turned towards the door. Was there no end to this? "What about the… dance?" she suddenly asked, swinging back. "You said—"

  "The dance?" he grinned. "That was hot, honey. Let's say I get one of those from time to time just for keeping the loan sharks away.

  ***