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Archive name: alan11.txt (MF, mc)
Authors name: Julian Coreto (juliancoreto@hotmail.com)
Story title : Alan - Part 11
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Alan - 11 (MF, mc)
by Julian Coreto (juliancoreto@hotmail.com)
***
Quiet Time
Alan was lying on his in a hammock reading a novel,
"Aura" by Carlos Fuentes. Pauline was dozing next to him,
on her side and half curled up into a ball, her back
pressed into the side of his body.
It was the first really warm day of spring and they were
taking advantage of it, trying to spend as much time
outside as they could get. A half hour ago they finished
lunch on the deck, and Pauline's parents had returned
inside the house. Pauline had suggested the hammock, and
they had both taken books; however the big lunch had
taken its toll on her, causing her to nod off almost
immediately.
By the time Alan finished reading the book, a novella
really, not long enough to be a novel, he too dozed off.
The afternoon turned overcast and chilled; Alan was
awakened by Pauline shivering through her sleep beside
him on the hammock. Her long brown hair was on him
because in their slumber she had nuzzled her head in his
armpit, and he was amused by it, absorbed by its sheer
volume; it smelled of chamomile. It completely obscured
his shoulder, and stray bits of it had worked their way
up under his neck, tickling him pleasantly. He lifted his
arms above his head, stretching out, and let out a hearty
yawn.
Mr. Van Devanter, who was about fifteen yards away and
watering his vegetable patch turned and waved. Alan
hoisted himself out of the hammock, casing her to stir.
"When did it get so cold?" she asked him sleepily.
"Not sure. We both drifted off into dreamland." She
sighed contentedly.
"Umm," she purred, stretching out on the now roomier
hammock, "I'm far too wiped out to move, but much to cold
to stay out here." She stretched again. "Help me up?"
He pulled her up and out of the hammock and gave her a
little kiss on the lips, and was about to follow her back
into her house, but her dad called him over.
They chatted for a little while, mostly about growing
vegetables, a topic which interested Alan not at all.
"Come inside with me, we should talk," he said to Alan, a
wicker basket of radishes under his arm.
"Uh oh, this doesn't sound good," he chuckled, and Mr.
Van Devanter assured him there was nothing to fear.
They went into the kitchen, finding Pauline's mom at the
sink filling just-washed clay flowerpots from a huge bag
of store-bought soil. She smiled at him as they came in.
"First off, who told you, you could sleep with my baby?"
Mr. Van Devanter asked. It was such a shocking opening,
and not only to Alan. Pauline's mom dropped a flowerpot
into the sink, smashing it.
"What?" she screeched.
"Relax. Relax. I was just kidding, Helen. The two of them
were out back in the hammock reading, and they both
nodded off. Jesus, can't anyone here take a joke?"
"Oh," her mom said clutching her heart, her tone of voice
suggesting that the weight of the world had just been
lifted off her chest. Mr. Van Devanter gave her a
meaningful look, and soon she left them alone in the
kitchen.
"You know of course that we--Pauline's mom and I--think
you're a great guy. We couldn't be more happy with this
situation, with you an our baby girl dating."
"Thanks."
"Oy, I've been dreading this day for years."
"I don't follow," Alan replied.
"You'll understand when you have a daughter."
"Oh," Alan said, grinning at Mr. Van Devanter, "That."
"I not just because she's my daughter. She's my baby, you
understand. When she's forty she'll still be my baby.
It's just hard, though you being the person I'm having
this conversation makes it all the more easy."
"I think I know what you're trying to say."
"Good, then I'll be brief: Don't hurt her. Got it?"
"You bet."
"Whew," Mr. Van Devanter exhaled, "That was easier than I
thought it would be."
* * *
Alan hung around the house a while longer. Pauline was up
in her room having a nap, and he and her dad watched some
early season baseball in the den. Mr. Van Devanter had
invited him into the den and cracked open two beers, a
surprise.
"I am sure you've had this before, eh."
"Yeah. My dad and I sometimes have a beer together."
"Well, I'm glad I'm not leading you down the path to
perdition."
After a few innings Kate came home; she had been out with
friends and was surprised at seeing Alan still at her
house. Alan and her dad greeted her, and her heart
started racing when she saw Alan rise and follow her up
the stairs to her bedroom. She could feel his presence
behind as she walked across the upstairs hall, and she
realized with a start that her pussy was dripping.
"My parents are downstairs," she whispered as he closed
her bedroom door behind them. "Pauline is home."
"Get undressed," he ordered. She did while looking at him
with look that mixed her belief that this was ill advised
with one of high lust.
He approached her as she was finishing and gave her a
gentle push onto the bed. "I thought you understood,
slut. You are mine. Property." She began to nod in
agreement. "I use you when I want, where I want."
"Please," she half-squeaked, half-whispered, "Master,
please. Use your slut. I will never for a moment doubt
you again. I will never for a moment even hesitate when
you command me." Alan was slowly running is fingers up
and down her bare slit, and Kate could no longer continue
her begging, consumed as she was by the feelings he was
drawing out of her body.
"Hmm, your pussy is very wet, my slut."
Through her gasps she answered him, "No, Master, ahhhhh,
it's your pussy." Their eyes met and she smiled at him.
"Nice answer." He put his mouth against her labia and
snaked his tongue into her moist depths.
"Oh my god!" she squealed. "Yessssssssss!" Alan licked
her pussy vigorously, his right hand twisting and tugging
at her butt plug, his left pulling at her nipple rings
causing her breasts to stretch away from her body. Kate
came explosively at this treatment, her body shaking and
twitching, her hips bucking at his face. He moved up,
pressing his body on top of hers so that they were face
to face. Kate licked her own juices off his face, gasping
and moaning with the after effects of her prodigious
orgasm. "Please fuck me," she panted. "Please, put you
dick in my--I mean, your--cunt. It's soooooo wet. Wet for
Master's cock, my Master's big cock. Please?"
Alan slowly entered her, and the sensation, the feeling
of being used by him, took her breath away. "You like
that, slut?" She moaned contentedly as he slowly pumped
in an out of her. The plug in her ass came alive,
vibrating inside of her. She was incoherent with lust,
and just as she had bucked her pussy into his face, she
was now thrusting her hips up at him, desirous of more of
his cock in her. She looked down at their joining and saw
he was burying himself in her to the full, but she wanted
more.
She wanted a harder fucking, wanted to feel him piston in
and out of her so that their bodies came together with
slapping force. Alan increased his pace. "More," she
moaned. "Harder, yes, faster, fuck me, Master, use your
slut. I want you to feel this hot cunt squeeze you big
cock." As she felt herself crescendo towards a monstrous
climax she began to twist her nipples by the rings.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Kate,
sweetie, are you in there?" her mom asked from the other
side of the door. Not waiting for an answer she turned
the know and entered. Alan took charge of the situation.
He used his power to project an image into Mrs. Van
Devanter's mind that she was not seeing Alan fuck her
middle child, but rather she saw the two of them demurely
conversing. "Oh, hi Katie. I wasn't sure you had come
home yet."
Kate mind was exploding, and not just from the heroic
fucking Alan was throwing her way. "Ugh, ugh, yeah Mom, I
just got back a-a-aaaaaaaaaaaa little while ago," she
managed to speak through her climax. She didn't
understand her mother's calm reaction at seeing her fuck
Pauline's boyfriend, who had not even paused his rutting
when the door had opened.
"Oh, Alan, I didn't see you there! I just got off the
phone with your mom. Were all going to go out for dinner
tonight. I insisted because your mom had barely been out
of the house since you grandfather died, and she needs a
good night out." As she was leaving she turned and added,
addressing Kate" I'm so happy to see you and Alan getting
along so well. It'll make Pauline so happy to know."
Right after she left Kate's orgasm hit her like a runaway
freight train, her shrieks echoing off her plaster walls.
It was Alan coming inside of her that set her off, and it
took more than a few minutes for her to becalm herself
enough so she could speak. She was about to ask him,
"What just happened?" but thought better of it. There
were still a great many things she didn't comprehend, but
she did know that she was Alan's property, and slaves
don't ask impertinent questions of their masters.
Whatever Alan did to her, she accepted.
* * *
"I just saw Alan and Kate upstairs getting along like a
house on fire," Mrs. Van Devanter told her husband.
"Good. I know last time it was Kate who caused them to
stop dating." He bit down on his pipe. He had stopped
smoking it years ago, but still kept a few around anyway.
"Good," he said again, unaware of any double meanings in
his wife's report.
Alan appeared downstairs a few minutes later. Mrs. Van
Devanter and the girls were upstairs getting ready for
dinner and Alan and Mr. Van Devanter were passing the
time at the backgammon set. Alan was experimenting with
his powers by manipulating the dice, giving himself bad
or mediocre rolls at the start of games, and then
gradually improving them. He found that he could double
Mr. Van Devanter midway through the game and then win two
points every time, sometimes four, if he was doubled
back.
"Wow, that's some game you have there," his opponent
said. "You should come to the club on poker nights and
hustle some of the guys who play this instead. You'd make
a fortune at twenty dollars a point!"
Alan thought this was an excellent idea, but was didn't
tell that to him. He was contemplating a trip to Atlantic
City or one of the Indian casinos in Connecticut, and a
good night of backgammon at the country club would
provide a needed bankroll.
* * *
Two weeks later Alan was driving to Atlantic City alone
in a rented car. He had considered taking someone with
him, either Chloe the au pair next door, or Megan and
Leila, but thought better of it. He had more than five
thousand dollars in his pocket, won from the stockbrokers
and high-powered lawyers at his country club last
Wednesday night. He might have won more, but after a few
hours nobody would play him. His dad and Mr. Van Devanter
even managed to win a few hundred from side bets on the
games he played.
It was nearing dusk when he reached the casino. He had
stopped in New York for two Italian suits, some fancy
dress shirts and silk ties, a new pair of black shoes
(also Italian), and a hundred dollar haircut. "I should
have sprung for a fancy watch," he thought to himself as
he handed the car keys to the valet. He tinkered with his
appearance on the way down, making himself look about ten
years older than his eighteen-year-old self, matching his
new papers.
He had contacted Jack through the Swiss Bank, FedEx'ing a
letter and writing of his plans to make some money at the
casino. Jack had telephoned back and told him to see a
man in Manhattan first. This man was an "employee" of
Jack's, and he provided him with a fake set of identity
papers (birth certificate, drivers license, passport), a
social security number, a nice credit history, and an
American Express card (platinum) under his new false
name.
A few hours later he was up twenty thousand dollars. He
was playing blackjack, and using his power her could read
the hole card of the dealer. Actually he had two methods;
either he read the mind of the dealer, or he focused on
the card itself, reading through it to see the concealed
value. He was also careful not to arouse suspicion. He
didn't set out to win every hand, and even mad some
intentional mistakes, doubling down at the wrong times.
He was at a $1,000 max table, and he never varied his
bet, always putting down just five hundred for each hand.
"Hi, mind of I join you?" A pretty young thing sat down
next to him, not waiting for his response. "I'm Lisa."
She flashed him a dazzling smile. She had a tight body
capped with a drop-dead gorgeous face. Alan stood and
pulled out a seat for her. "You seem to have the touch
tonight. I hope some of your luck will rub off on me."
She leaned into him at this, her arm brushing against his
as if to illustrate her point.
"Hi, I'm Carl Sutherland, nice to meet you," giving her
the name on his false papers. He scanned her mind. Her
name was not Lisa, it was Anne-Marie, and she wasn't a
random gambler, she was from casino security. She was
there at his table to see if he was cheating.
Anne-Marie Nicoletti had been with the hotel for about a
year, and was well schooled in the various ways players
try to con the casino. She had recently been promoted
after exposing a ring of slot machine cheats. The ring
had recruited little old ladies to play machines they had
first modified after breaking into them. The old women
had aroused little suspicion even after a month of big
takes, but she had been the one to see the emerging
pattern, and the credit for the bust was hers.
She watched her target play. She had been roaming the
floor when her supervisor had radioed her to check out
table nineteen. In the jargon of this particular casino
Alan was a "mustang," an unknown player who was doing
"too well." She watched him even more closely; if he was
cheating he was very good at it.
She looked around as he played, checking to see if there
was a partner somewhere on the floor who was signaling to
him what the dealer's hole card was. Nope. She watched
his hands as he bet, looking for the telltale signs of a
computer in his suit. Nope. She watched the dealer for a
while, checking if he was weak in some way. Strike three.
Alan chatted with Lisa/Anne-Marie as she did her job.
Since she had sat down Alan had lost, intentionally, five
thousand dollars. "Sorry," she said to him, "I seem to
have brought you bad luck."
"It comes, it goes," he said as he grinned at her. Alan
decided that since she had just seen him lose $5,000 it
was time to start winning again. He upped his bets to a
thousand per hand, and in less then a half an hour was up
more than $75,000. "You turned out to be lucky after
all," he said to her smiling. Alan looked at his watch,
and seeing it was only about 10pm asked her to dinner.
"Are you staying here?" she asked him, hoping for the
chance to search his room.
"No, I'm not staying the night." She was disappointed.
Alan called one of the pit workers over to take care of
his winnings. He was informed that the floor manager
wished to speak to him in the office. Anne-Marie watched
Alan go to the rear of the casino, and she knew that if
he did have some sort of cheating device on him the
scanners in the doorway leading to the office would
betray him. As she watched him disappear into the back
she went to the phone and called her supervisor.
"Did you see anything?" he asked her quickly.
"Zip. What did the overheads get?" she asked him,
referring to the ceiling-mounted cameras which watched
all that transpired in the gambling den.
"Like you said, Zip. Bupkes. Less than Zip. He's coming.
Gotta go."
* * *
Alan had a brief conversation with the floor manager. He
was invited to the back where a cashier would count his
chip and cash him out. Alan was suspicious; he had seen
the Scorsese movie "Casino" a few years back, and the
scene with the cattle prod and the bal peen hammer came
forward in his consciousness. The man led him to his
office and began to tote up the chips. Alan scanned his
mind, relieved that his motive was not to do violence,
but to simple keep him in the casino, in the hopes that
Alan would lose back his money to the house.
Alan gave the manager the information required to have
his winnings transferred to his Swiss bank account, and
he saw the man's eyes widen at this, the fact of Alan's
status as a "player" becoming ever more clear. This eased
his tensions, and he was about to tell the floor manager
that he had to leave, but the man told him that if he
wanted to spend the night his room would be comped. He
also told Alan that anytime he came back her would be
allowed into the VIP room.
Alan accepted his offer, and told the man that he was
thinking about dinner, and then perhaps another trip to
the tables. The man lifted the phone on his desk and got
Alan a table at the hotel's best restaurant. As he went
back out into the casino he saw "Lisa" and again invited
her to join him for dinner.
They sat down at the table and talked while waiting for
their drinks. Anne-Marie gave him her cover story, that
she was visiting the casino with her rich father, a real
estate developer from Ohio who was playing high-stakes
poker in a private room. Alan gave her his cover story,
that he was an international business consultant based in
Geneva and New York, spending a day or two in Atlantic
City because he had a few days off between one engagement
in Philadelphia and another in New York.
They ate and drank well. The casino management had a
bottle of wine brought up from the cellar. "Lisa" excused
herself and called her boss for instructions.
"He's not in any if the black books," Peter Milburn told
her. This meant they had no good reason to ban him from
the tables.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked him.
"Code 14."
It was now Anne-Marie's task to get Carl back to the
tables. Statistics had shown that the more a player
played, the worse his odds got. Keeping him at the table
was the paramount task then.
"It's still early," she told Alan as they rose from the
dinner table. She noticed that he had left a five hundred
dollar tip, cash, but tried not to stare. "I'm going to
keep playing. Want to join me?" she asked flirtatiously.
Alan knew what she was doing, and played along. As he
returned to the casino, a pit boss led him and Anne-Marie
to the VIP Room, a smaller and quieter chamber right off
the main floor. It was like a smaller version of the main
casino, but without the loud noises caused by the slot
machines. Alan sat down at the table and signed for
$25,000 in chips, all in hundreds, and the room manager
went to the cashier and drew them.
There were no limits at the tables in here, and Alan bet
either one or two thousand per hand. On hands he knew he
was going to win he bet two grand about two-thirds of the
time. On hands he knew he was going to lose her bet one
grand almost every time. Soon he was up more than
$200,000, and he increased his bets to either five or ten
thousand. Anne-Marie and the rest of the casino staff
watched with increasing dismay. As Alan passed the half a
million mark she feigned fatigue and told him she was
done for the evening.
As the dealer set to counting Alan's chips the pair
chatted off to the side. "So, what's your secret?" she
asked him. The scanner in the doorjamb of the floor
manager's office showed nothing, but she wasn't 100% sure
he wasn't concealing some sort of gear on him.
As he played in the VIP room she watched his hands to see
if they were entering data on a miniature computer. One
of the advantages of the room was that cell phones and
other radio transmitters could not penetrate its walls,
so had he been using a partner on the outside and been
receiving signals he would have been cut off. But he kept
on winning. She had to find out how he managed to do it.
"Secret? What do you mean?" he answered her feigning
innocence. He smiled at her as he said this, and for the
first time that night Anne-Marie looked at him as a
person, not as quarry; she really hadn't noticed before
how handsome he was.
"You just won hundreds of thousands of dollars tonight.
Do you have a system?"
"Well, in a way I do. Come, let's go to the bar and I'll
explain it all to you."
She could barely contain her excitement; if he was
counting cards or using some sort of device she would
soon know, and perhaps get another raise if she exposed
him. She took his arm and they walked back out into the
main room. Alan asked the pit boss the way to the bar.
Anne-Marie said nothing, not wanting him to know she knew
her way around the hotel and casino like the back of her
hand. Just as the reached the lobby he paused.
"You know," he began, "I might not be too comfortable
spilling my secrets in an open bar. Let's go up to my
room and have drink up there." She agreed. Alan went to
the front desk and check in to his room. They had set him
up in a suite on one of the upper floors of the towering
hotel. When he pulled out his credit card the clerk told
him it wasn't required, and Alan asked him to have his
car brought up and his overnight bag delivered to the
room.
* * *
Alan and Anne-Marie rode up in the elevator in silence,
his eyes fixed on the floor indicator, hers on him,
studying him closely. She was excited; it was the thrill
of the hunt. He would, she was sure, willingly tell him
how he managed to cheat the casino--her casino--out of
more than half a million. She was anticipating the scene;
after he had spilled the beans she would press the red
button on her pager to alert the security office that he
had confessed, then she would pull her badge and detain
him until the backup arrived.
She didn't know two important details: one, the money
Alan won was already safe in Switzerland because he had
used his power of influence to override the manager's
better judgment and had it immediately transferred; once
money is wired to a Swiss bank almost no force on earth
could dislodge it, and anyway, the instructions on Alan's
account caused the money to be almost immediately
transferred to another bank, this one in the Bahamas.
Usually in cases of suspected cheating no monies left the
casino until the investigation was closed, and Anne-Marie
was under the impression that this one was. That was her
second misconception: Alan had used his powers again to
evaporate the suspicion of the manager. Even if she
pressed her panic button on the pager clipped to her
waist no one would come; in any event, he wouldn't let
her get that far.
Alan poured her a drink, bourbon on ice, and one for
himself and sat down next to her on the couch. Her legs
were curled under her, and her skirt had ridden up just
above the knee.
"Well, Carl, We're alone at last," she said jokingly.
"Yes we are, Lisa," he agreed. "What was that you wanted
to talk about? Oh yes, I remember now. My secret method."
She pricked up her ears. Her left hand moved
unconsciously to her waistband, coming near to her pager.
"Please," she grinned at him, a look of triumph glowing
on her eyes, "Do tell."
"It's rather simple really." He paused. Anne-Marie's
mouth was dry with anxiety and anticipation. "I simply go
to a casino, and win gobs of money at the blackjack
table. At some point in the evening I will be invariably
joined by a pretty woman such as yourself, and then I
invite her up to my room so she can ask me how I do so
well at the tables. Then I take her to bed."
"What the hell are you talking about. I just want to know
how you won all that money. I have no interest in
sleeping with you! Just tell me how you did it."
He reached over and put his hand on her thigh before
answering her. "You have a lot of questions."
"Yes Goddamnit, I do. Come on tell me!"
"Why do you want to know. I mean, we spent almost this
whole evening together and you barely gambled, so it
couldn't be tips you're looking for, could it be? Perhaps
you have some other motive."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed. His
hand on her thigh was bothering her, but for some reason
she neither recoiled from his touch, nor asked him to
remove it.
"May I ask you a question, Lisa?"
"What?" she replied somewhat petulantly.
"How long have you worked in casino security?"
She tried not to flinch, but was unsuccessful. "How," she
whispered to him. "How did you know." Her eyes widened
with a bit of terror. Nothing in her training had
prepared her for this.
"It doesn't matter, does it, Anne-Marie?"
"Who told you that name? M-my name is Lisa."
"Yes, yes, yes, your name is Lisa from Cincinnati, and
you are the personal assistant to your father the real
estate king of the Ohio Valley. You name is Lisa, not
Anne-Marie Nicoletti from Pleasantville, New Jersey."
"What the fuck is going on here?" she replied archly.
"This is it for me. I'm out of here RIGHT NOW." But she
made no move to get up, and no effort to remove his hand
from her thigh.
"I don't think you're going anywhere," he told her as his
hand began moving up and down her thigh. He pulled her
pager off the waistband of her skirt and placed it on the
side table next to the couch.
"I'm, I'm warning you. I'm armed."
He leaned over to her, his mouth scant inches from her
ear, "No, Anne-Marie, you're not." His hand slipped under
her skirt and made its way to her stocking tops.
"Please stop this. I don't want this. Please."
"You're free to go. Just get up and leave." She couldn't
move. Suddenly his hands began having an effect on her.
She felt her nipples harden underneath her bra, and the
skin-to-skin contact between her thigh and his hand
started stirring delicious feelings inside her.
"Oh," she gasped, "That feels so nice. But I don't want
to do this. Mmmmm, please stop that."
"Are you sure?" he asked her, punctuating the question by
licking her ear.
She groaned briefly, but then got her wits about her.
"Yes. Stop, please. Take your hands off of me."
He stopped, his hand leaving her bare flesh, and she
instantly she regretted it. All of the pleasant
sensations ceased, leaving her feeling numb and empty
inside. On the plus side she found herself able to stand
up from the couch. He walked her to the door; feelings of
desire flooding her with every step.
* * *
Back in the elevator she was somewhat relieved to be out
of there. It was very unprofessional of her to be in such
a situation with a suspected cheat.
Peter was still in his office when she got downstairs.
"Nothing," she told him, "He revealed nothing. I still
don't know how he did it, and it's driving me crazy."
"What are you talking about?"
"The guy. You know, Carl? He wouldn't let on how he did
it."
"Carl? Carl Sutherland? Oh, don't keep worrying about
him. I check him out on the computer. He's not in the
banned players database, and his credit report says he's
very rich, so we doubt he's a con man."
"Well Jesus Fucking Christ, Pete! Why couldn't you tell
me that before I went up to his room? He had his damn
hands, I mean, he, uh, tried to get his hands under my
skirt."
"Why in the hell did you go up to his room? Don't start
making risky plays to get yourself more attention and
promotions. Please, we already think you're great, with a
big future in the company. And if you're going to go up
to a mark's room at least let somebody down here know
about it so we can have backup ready."
"But I did tell you, damnit! Don't you remember? We
discussed it right here in this office not an hour ago.
Please, Pete, please don't tell me that I was up there
all alone." He didn't answer, just nodded his head, and
Anne-Marie suddenly realized that the thought of being
alone in a room with the handsome Carl Sutherland,
without backup waiting right outside was not an
unappealing one.
Her shift over, Anne-Marie went to her car in the
employee's lot, but try as she might she couldn't bring
her self to start it up. There was something magnetic
about Carl. Sure, he came on a bit strong, but she
remembered the way she felt when he was touching her, and
she was torn between wanting that feeling again, and her
desire to be as far away from him as possible.
She was back in the lobby waiting for an elevator, and
was startled when she heard the chime go off and saw the
doors come open before her. She had no memory of getting
out of her car and returning to the hotel. Her mind had
instead been busy spinning rationalizations: since Carl
was no longer a target of investigation she could go back
to his room without jeopardizing her position.
* * *
"Well, I'm surprised to see you again after what happened
just now," he said to her in the doorway, leaning
casually against the jamb.
"Uh," she was embarrassed, "Can I come in?"
"Is this business or personal, Anne-Marie?" he asked with
a smirk.
"Personal," she answered meekly. He stepped aside and let
her back in. He had taken off his jacket and loosened his
tie, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbow. The
television in the sitting room was on, tuned to CNN, and
she could see the bottle of whiskey on the table, both
glasses still next to it.
"Why did you come back?" he asked her as he poured two
more drinks, then sat next to her.
Taking it, she gulped half of it down. Dutch courage, she
thought to herself. "I wanted to come back to apologize."
"Why the fuck did I say that?" she thought bitterly. "I
was just doing my job."
"Apologize? Why? You were just doing your job. I
understand completely." That relaxed her. She really
wanted to ask him how he knew she was who she was, but
she figured that by doing it she would appear to be weak.
"I lied to you."
"Yes, I know that. You told me your name was Lisa."
"Well, yes, that was a lie, too.
"'Too'?"
"You know, when you asked me a that question before?"
"Which question?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper and she was sure she was
never more red-faced in her life as she went on. "'Are
you sure?' When you asked me 'Are you sure?' and I told
you to take you hand off my leg. I lied to you. I wasn't
sure." She took his hand and placed it on her thigh
again, and the feelings returned. "No that's not right
either. I was sure--sure that I wanted you to touch me
more." She began to purr as he got under her skirt, and
yelped when his fingertip reached her bare pussy.
"That's strange," she thought through her arousal. "When
did I take off my panties?" But she chose not to dwell on
it because the sensations coming from her moistening slit
were much more pleasant to concentrate on instead. He
fingered her, his thumb resting on her clit, massaging
it.
"The feels so nice, Carl. Ugh, don't stop, please." He
had removed his hand from her pussy and had started on
her blouse. His mouth was on her breasts, and she felt as
if she was being fed an electrical current. "Oh!" she
gasped when he gently bit down on her left nipple. Her
hands frantically shot to his chest, mad with desire, and
she soon had his shirt off. His chest was magnificent,
and she pushed him off of her so she could grope it
properly, first running her hands over it, and then her
tongue; when he moaned back in response she felt
extremely proud of herself.
He took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. As
she followed him she reached behind her with her free
hand and unzipped her skirt, and when it fell to her feet
she stepped out of it, never losing pace with him.
Closing the door behind them he turned to face her, and
they kissed, their tongues wrestling furiously. She
dropped to her knees and opened his pants, then pulled
down his shorts. Instantly her mouth was around his
erection. He groaned again, and she was again flooded
with prideful glee. Vigorously she blew him, ecstatic
when he came in her mouth.
He pulled her up to him so she was standing, and then he
backed her up to the bed and laid her down on it before
burying his face in her snatch. His tongue was amazing,
penetrating her, then licking her clit, then licking
around her labia, before starting the cycle again by
penetrating her. She realized she had never been sucked
this well before as she trashed wildly on the bed, her
moans filling the room.
"Oh Sweet JESUS, that's so fu-fu-fucking good!" she
screamed, her pussy shoved into his face, her hands
clutching his head against her sex. Before she had even
begun to recover from her immense climax he had placed
the head of his cock against her slit. He looked in her
eyes, and she nodded back, staring with unbelieving eyes
at the amount of pussy juice--her juices--smeared on his
face. He thrust in her and she gasped loudly, "Yesssss!
Ohmigod, YES!" He built up speed, intending to do so
slowly but she convinced him otherwise.
"Faster. Faster! Fuck. Yes. Harder. Please, FUCK ME
HARDER!" Her body was bouncing up and down off the
mattress, her pale skin deeply flushed, and her light
brown hair flying every which way.
"I'm glad you decided to come back," he said to her
evenly, a malevolent smile on his face, but she didn't
see it because her eyelids were clamped down in pleasure.
"OH! MY! GOD! I'm going to COOOOOME!" she hollered, her
body convulsing in orgasm, her arms and legs moving about
without control. She was amazed and certainly delighted
when he did not come inside her clamping pussy but
continued to fuck her with the same hard strokes, and
mere minutes after her first, she came violently once
again. This time she could not speak, just grunt in
passion. After that he slowed down some, and she loved it
just as much that way.
"Your cock feels so good," she groaned. "I've never felt
anything like this. Fuck me, yes, fuck my pussy. It's so
wet. Never been this wet. Can you hear it? Can you hear
the squishing sounds you cock is making in my pussy? I
LOVE IT," she screamed as her pussy clamped down around
his erection yet again. "A machine, you're a fucking
machine. A fucking fucking machine. Get it?" she giggled
despite her intense feelings arousal.
"Good one," he said through a laugh.
"Not as good as you. You're so fucking good that I'm
gonna come again if you keep that up. Ugh, ugh Yeah!" As
her pussy walls tightened around his dick again he shot
off his load and she howled in delight.
They fucked two more times before the sun rose, sleeping
between encounters, and then he took her to the caf‚ in
the hotel for breakfast. She suggested it, telling him
that if they stayed in the room they would only fuck
more, not eat, and they were, she argued, both hungry
from the evening's exertions. After breakfast they went
back to the room and fucked again.
He told her he would call her, and promised to come back
to the casino soon, and for some reason, despite her past
experience, she believed him. He gave her his business
card (another creation of Dr. Massimo's man in Manhattan.
The number on it was to that office in New York,
automatically programmed to either bounce to Alan's cell
phone or take a message, the outgoing announcement
informing the caller, "You have reached the offices of
Sutherland Consulting..."), but told her he spent a great
deal of time traveling, mostly in Europe and the Pacific
Rim, so it might take some time for him to get back to
her. He chuckled when she slipped the card into her bra.
It was still fairly early on Saturday morning when Alan
drove out of the casino driveway. He had to get the car
back to the agency in New York, and then drive back in
his car to Westchester. He was returning home $500,000
richer than when he had left. Life was good.
Next Chapter: Graduation (Summertime, and the Livin' is
Easy)
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 17