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Winning Denver
The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for
adults in locations in which it is legal. If it is illegal in your
location, DO NOT read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any
other use strictly prohibited without the express, written permission
of the copyright holder, except may by posted as part of a review or
posted to free-access archive sights.
Copyright 1998 by EzRiter.
Email address: ezriter@hotmail.com
WINNING DENVER
Las Vegas is America's adult amusement park. I try to spend two or
three weeks a year there to gamble and enjoy the other festivities. I
am never a big winner or loser unless you consider $20,000 a trip big.
At thirty-seven, I was in my fifteenth year of Vegas trips, and over
the years, I was actually ahead by more than a hundred thousand.
I always stay at the same place and gamble there most of the time. As
a regular, I get the freebies they offered to generate repeat
business, such as lunches, drinks or tickets to the shows. Each trip I
find a nice to share my bed a few times, which is part of the
Vegas appeal. No street walkers. Call girls. Pretty and clean. My
family says one of my deepest personality traits is the inability to
make a commitment. I have told them I will find the right someone
some day, although I am not looking.
On the first night of a two-week stay, I gambled until five in the
morning. When I called it a night, I was seventy thousand ahead,
which made for sweet dreams someone rudely interrupted by knocking at
my door. As I stumbled to answer, the clock read ten thirty. It was
Dave Walton, the assistant security chief, who I had gotten to know
over the years. A hard-nosed SOB with some Mafia ties, he did a
fine job for the casino, handling all the tough problems while his
pretty boss looked good for the Gaming Commission.
"Having a good trip, Chet?" he asked as I let him in.
"So far, Dave. What the hell do you want at this hour?"
"Planning on utilizing any of the females this time?"
"Like always. Got anybody special in mind?"
"Yeah. I do. You know this is top secret, Chet." That was Dave's code
for telling me if I mouthed this off, my legs got broken.
"Well, let me hear."
Dave told me an exciting story, a I had heard other times but
always believed to be an urban myth. A couple on their honeymoon
got caught up in the gambling and were down a total of $26,000 to
three different casinos who Dave represented. The husband had lost
the money and his new bride was mad as hell at him.
"The woman had agreed to work it off, so to speak." I studied his
face but found nothing there. The term poker face was invented for
Dave and like him.
The idea really intrigued me. Why I don't know. Maybe, because it was
a faux rape since she was being leveraged into doing it. Or, her age
and innocence. Maybe, it was fucking someone else's bride on their
honeymoon, or, just fucking another man's while he watched.
Whatever the reason, I agreed to meet them and went with Dave to his
office.
Her name was Denver, which she explained was because she was born
there, the love child of hippie parents. She was twenty-one. His name
was Toby. Scared to death since Dave and his had more than a few
long talks with them, they knew they were in very deep trouble with
very bad people. The tension in Dave's office was as oppressive as
lava. She had been crying, but now was deathly still and quiet except
for a few involuntary, intermittent shakes. Toby was catatonic.
When I asked to speak to her alone, she followed me to a smaller
office Dave gave us. At first, we just looked at each other. Or,
rather, I looked at her and she glanced at me then turned away in
embarrassment, only to glance at me again.
"Talk to me. Tell me whether you understand what is going on here."
"I will be a whore. I..."
Her voice cracked and she began to sob, tiny, little gasps released
under great pressure as she fought to maintain her composure. I put my
arms around her to comfort her but it increased her anxiety. She
became rigid, shaking slightly. I stepped away to give her the space
she needed. Eventually, she took a huge, deep breath and slowly it
let it out. Still, she did not look at me. She spoke as if relating
a of death in her family.
"I know what I have to do and I will do it. I will be a bride on her
honeymoon, being happy about having wild sex, doing anything my
asks of me, except the will not be my husband." Her voice would
break the heart of a statue, but it was so erotic, I thought I would
be spilt open.
"Anything else?"
"No pain. They promised me no pain . . . no real pain, anyway."
"Agreed. No pain," I said. "Well, do we have a deal, Denver?"
There was a long silence. "I can do this," she said very softly as
if trying to convince herself rather than communicate to me. I hoped
she could do it because the fantasy of her being with me under these
circumstances was quickly growing in me. When she reached the point
where she looked at me openly, I knew she was ready for the next step.
"Let me see you, Denver."
She turned a scarlet and shook her head 'no'. My immutable stare
told her to proceed. A tear came to her eye as she began unbuttoning
her blouse.
There is something very erotic about forcing a woman sexually, about
taking her to or beyond her limits. She seemed unaware her
hesitation, and the slow, rhythmic pace of her undressing increased
its erotic impact, as did the begging in her eyes.
My mind flashed to Gina, a wild Italian I had dated before she hooked
a doctor. Gina loved sex and was a master at building tension, of
making foreplay itself so special and unique. She knew how to make a
man force her: how to maneuver him into making her surrender to him,
take her against her apparent will. She would surrender with elan.
The eroticism that dance with her generated fueled dreams for a
lifetime. Now, Denver was generating that kind of heat, all be it
without intent and with consequences, real or imagined, if she did not
comply.
Had she looked away, or looked angry or disgusted, the spell would
have been broken. But, her eyes continually transmitted their message
of humbling and involuntary submission which the rhythm of her hands
reinforced. It was a slow, desperate dance by one building desire in
another.
Clad now only in a bra and panties, with her hips turned so her leg
blocked my frontal view and her arms covered her modestly, she
finally verbalized what her eyes and body had been saying: "Please,
don't make me . . . "
I said nothing. First, I did not want to "make her." I wanted her to
do it without my insistence. More though, I wanted her to continue at
her own pace . . . a pace I found very exciting. She knew what needed
to be done. Somewhere deep in her mind, she found strength. I could
see her back straighten as a hand slipped behind her to release her
bra. The bra fell loose but not away, trapped against her by
her arm. She looked away and closed her eyes. Slowly, with one hand,
she began to slip the off her hips and down her legs.
She looked like "September Morn," her side to me, body curled to hide
her nudity, protecting herself as best she could with only her hands
and arms, trapped around one trim ankle like a white flag of
surrender. Did she realize how delicious she looked? How helpless,
how feminine, with her ass and legs so perfectly posed to arouse the
animal in a man? Did she realize she was driving me wild with desire?
I let her work her way through it, giving her time to adjust to being
seen naked by a not her husband. Finally, she looked at me. It
was a look I did not expect: a look of sexual desire and a pleading
for tenderness, more than a reflection of humiliation. I spoke as
gently as I could.
"It is time, Denver. Move your hands away and let me see you."
She sobbed audibly and quivered. Tears, absent since we first began,
rolled silently down her face. Her hands clenched, knuckles white,
muscles in her arms corded, as she fought to do what she knew she
must. She turned, like a steel bar being slowly torqued to
straightness, until she faced me, legs together, arms rigid by her
side, eyes clenched shut, her face a grimace.
She was about five seven with a lean, athletic body. Her best feature
was an unbelievable, jutting ass, the kind skaters or cyclists have,
and shapely, long, rock hard legs. She had small but firm and very
pretty with prominent nipples and a six pack stomach. She had
short strawberry and freckles on a delightful face.
"You are magnificent."
It was muted, said very unintentionally, just an honest comment
slipping out when not expected. She gave me a shy smile, and there
was a passive twinkle in her beautiful eyes. I waited until I saw her
relax, her hands fall open by her side, the tension lines in her face
disappear. I walked to her slowly, watching her eyes widen, tension
return to her face as she stared unblinking. With the tip of a finger
under her chin, I guided her head upwards and held it there as I
softly kissed her lips.
"Denver, I know that was hard for you. I..."
"Thank you for being understanding, for being . . . gentle . . .
with me."
"My pleasure. You are welcome to redress."
As she redressed, she made no attempt to keep herself covered.
Rather, the way she moved, held her head and body, sent the clear
message she was redressing to appeal to me, not just clothe her
nakedness. It gave me hope.
Returning to the group, we struck a deal. I got Denver for the
thirteen days remaining in my vacation on a twenty-four hour, no
questions asked, all orders followed happily basis. They got the bad
guys off their back. I paid the $26,000.
As we stood in Dave's office, Denver looked at Toby with distaste and
hatred. "Can I ask you something before I agree?" she said, speaking
to me. Dave answered, his tone leaving little room for compromise.
"What?"
"I want Toby to be with me, Chet. Take him as your valet. He will
agree to be totally obedient just as I have. Won't you, honey?"
"Honey" sounded like a snake's hiss just before it strikes.
Toby had no choice, so he agreed. We modified the deal to have the
casino provide a small bedroom on another floor for Toby if I wanted
him away from us. Before letting us all leave, Dave carefully
explained any problem would be met with great anger by him. Denver
followed me into the suite, Toby behind her.
"Let us get something straight," I said. "Toby, you and Denver may
not talk without receiving permission in advance except what is
necessary as servants to get the job done." I thought for a second
he was going to rebel, but, he nodded agreement.
"The two of you may not touch each other at all." Again, a dirty
look from Toby but no reaction from Denver.
"Chet, may I speak to Toby, as and wife?"
She had been through hell today. But, steel is made with fire. That
lean, attractive, woman was as tough as nails underneath. After
I gave permission, she sat on the couch, patted the seat next to her,
and took his hands in hers when he joined her. Her face showed
determination not love, steel not softness.
"Toby, two days ago I was a brand-new bride on my honeymoon. Today, I
am a whore. We have sold my body to Chet to pay your gambling debts.
I am going to enjoy the rest of these two weeks. I am going to enjoy
being his whore, his woman, for every minute of these thirteen days.
When the time is over, if you want me, I will go back to being your
wife and we can put this whole thing behind us. I never, for the
rest of our life, want to hear anything from you about this. I
do not want it thrown in my face. I did not cause it but I am going to
make the best of it. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Toby was angry. Very angry. It was a very moving exchange,
including the nonverbal part afterwards as they looked into each
other's eyes. Denver released his hands, sat back and looked at me.
I could see in her face acceptance of the reality of her situation.
She had crossed her Rubicon. She was ready and willing . . . perhaps
even excited . . . to begin.
"Denver, let's start by showing me your wardrobe. We will be in the
casino gambling, eating dinner or seeing a show. I want to make sure
you look nice. Toby, you can begin by bringing Denver's clothes out
one by one and helping her do a style show."
I was afraid Toby was going to lose his cool as Denver began
undressing. She was like ice: calm, cool as she stripped to try on the
first dress. There was no hesitancy in her disrobing: there was no
eroticism either, just a woman trying on clothes without regard for
her audience. She treated him as if he really was a servant and me as
if I was a disinterested observer of no concern to her.
She had only two dresses which were marginally suitable for a fine
evening out, so it was a short style show. I gave Toby a hundred and
the key to the other bedroom, told him to get lost until tomorrow and
took her downstairs to a woman's clothing store. Denver was very
pleasantly surprised when I bought her three lovely dresses, with
shoes and accessories to match. She looked like dynamite, which is the
way I wanted her to look when she was with me. More than that, it is
the way she deserved to look.
The shopping had further relaxed the atmosphere between us. She had
accepted her fate and intended to enjoy her time, just as she told
her husband she would. When I took her hand in mine when we left the
clothing store, she squeezed it and smiled up at me. I stopped in the
hall, with people all around us, pulled her to me and kissed her. It
was unplanned, an impulse action by me as I responded to her. For an
instant, she pulled back. Quickly, she relaxed and kissed me warmly
before we broke, each of us smiling from the encounter. She blushed
slightly, probably as a result of the wolf whistle we had heard from a
passerby.
We returned to the room and put the new clothes away. Passing small
talk, sipping on the bourbon and waters I had prepared, we sat in the
living room of the suite, the bed lurking ominously through the open
French doors at one end of our room. A fly on the wall observing us
would have laughed at our little dance, pretending to ignore the bed
when it was the most important piece of furniture in the suite.
We reached the point where we both knew she was ready to do what she
had agreed to do. I was in no hurry, relishing the luxury of the
building tension, enjoying the situation and her. Silence fell. It
was she who broke the ice. She glanced at the bed, then at me, with
her eyebrows raised, asking the question nonverbally.
"When you are ready, Denver. There is no hurry."
"Not going to push me? Force me?"
"No."
She watched me, reading my feelings as I read hers. Slowly, her
expression changed. I was rewarded by a killer smile, the kind of
smile which, when a is lucky enough to get one from a woman, makes
his heart soft and his cock hard.
"You are a wonderful man, Chet, and, I appreciate your being gentle,
but I am ready."
She slipped to me, raising her head to be kissed, which I gladly did,
feeling her softness against me. Her lips were hot, almost eager as
her mouth opened inviting my tongue to make my first penetration of
her. She turned, a twinkle in her eye, her finger tips brushing my
groin suggestively.
"Unbutton me, please."
Have fashions reached the point of diminishing returns, where woman
wear so little the sheer romance and thrill of undressing them is
tepid from overexposure when they are "clothed"? I enjoy undressing a
woman, and, the more there is to remove, the more I enjoy it.
She was wearing a sleeveless, high necked silk blouse with many
buttons in back. With each button I opened, a piece of her was
revealed to me, building my already great desire for her. My hands
stroked and caressed her with each button I touched. When I finished,
she stayed with her back to me. I pushed the blouse over her
shoulders, watching it flutter to the floor like a dove landing in
soft grass. I relished the feel of her naked skin on my hands, the
tingle her heat made in my fingertips, the feel of her skin and
muscles against my palms, the promise her back offered, a promise
which would be fulfilled when she turned around.
She moaned slightly as I kissed the nape of her neck, pushing her ass
back against me, turning her head slightly to increase my access to
those tiny, oft overlooked, erogenous zones from the base of her skull
to the side of her neck where the collarbone disappears into her soft
flesh. She sighed as I unfastened her bra.
She turned in my arms, her hands finding my buttons as her eyes
held mine, burning into me, weakening my resolve, increasing my need.
She pushed the back over my shoulders. She put her head on my
chest as her arms slid around my waist and her nipples burned a
in my chest. I crushed her against me, holding her tightly with my
left arm as my right hand searched for the zipper to her skirt. She
let the skirt fall away, wiggling her hips to help it slip to the
floor, leaving her only in her panties, which were a tiny pair in
white.
"Now, sit, let me finish undressing you," she whispered, pushing me
back on the bed, kneeling to untie my shoes. Shoes and socks gone,
she shimmed my trousers down as I raised my hips, supporting my weight
on the bed with my arms. She hooked her thumbs in the elastic
waistband of my boxers, but, when, I lifted my hips, she stopped and
gazed into my face.
"Do you really think I am beautiful?"
"Yes. Very much so."
"That means a lot to me."
She stood, slipped her thumbs in the elastic waist of her panties. Her
eyes held mine as she started to lower them. She could not stand it
and looked away, a slight blush crossing her cheeks. Naked now, she
leaned against me, pushing me back on the bed with her weight.
She leaned to me, kissing me. As the kiss accelerated and our desires
overcame whatever resistance we may have had, I rolled her over. Her
legs parted, letting me in. She wrapped them around me, locking her
ankles at the small of my back, pulling me tightly to her... so
tightly I could not penetrate her. She had a wild, devilish look as
she rubbed her against me, teasing me.
I had wondered if I was going to have to break through her defenses. I
was not. She was wild and eager, hot, sweating, active. She was
playing with me, keeping me from getting in her, building the desire
in both of us as each movement generated heat and need. Never was
there a question of her willingness. The question was just timing,
which she wished to delay.
Finally, I could stand no more and worked my way into her. She was
sopping from her love juices, her bloated and ready for me. But,
she groaned slightly as she pulled her hips back and rolled me over on
my back.
"I am the paid professional here. Let me do this."
There was no remorse in that statement. It was said with laughter.
She pushed my arms down by my head, her small but powerful fingers
wrapping around my wrists to hold me down, as she slid me up into her
with such slowness, I believed I could feel individual cells of skin
as they caressed my cock as it passed. I was buried in her hot warmth
which was oozing her juices from the several orgasms she had
enjoyed. I had never experienced a with a muscle control Denver
had. She watched my face and adjusted the movement and tension
accordingly. I knew she had no intention of letting me cum. She
wanted to make me last forever.
Shaking, almost sobbing and out of control from the need she built in
me, I flipped her over. She locked those steel cable legs around me
and milked me with her as I pounded her with everything I had.
It was the best orgasm I ever experienced.
We did not leave the room the rest of the day. We fucked against the
wall, in the shower, on the floor, everywhere, fucked until we lay,
spent and happy, in each other's arms.
The following day, Toby was beside himself when we finally exited the
room in mid afternoon. She coolly said, "Hello, Toby" as if he were
indeed a servant. Toby, again, almost lost control at seeing us both
look so happy and well fucked. Again, I gave him a hundred and told
him to get lost. She did not even look at him when he walked away.
We enjoyed a fine restaurant and a show, then gambled late. She was
lucky for me and I was a big winner. Back at the suite, we wore out
ourselves and the furniture. Our second night together was better
than the first, which I would not have believed possible. The next
morning we stayed in the suite again. We ordered room service and
talked.
She was a wonderful woman. Toby was her sixth lover (making me
the lucky seventh) and she spoke openly and warmly of them, talking of
her experiences. From a broken home, she spoke of her and
father, of her and sister, in loving and understanding terms,
showing maturity as well as compassion, strength as well as
tenderness.
She Toby hoping for a to spend her life with, a to
care for, a to give her children. She knew, as I did, the chances
of success in her marriage to Toby had slipped away. She never would
be able to forgive him for what he did to her, and, she was having
trouble forgiving herself for hating him for it.
"Are you enjoying being with me, Denver?" I asked. No sooner had the
words escaped then I wished I could pull them back. It was a stupid
question. She smiled shyly. "You can tell that," she whispered. It
was more positive of an answer than I deserved.
I was touched by how open and honest she was with me, as if she were
there willingly rather than under duress. It was somewhere in that
morning, I realized I was falling for her.
Some stupid and unexplained electron in my brain kept firing, creating
in me the need to not fall for her . . . to resist what was growing
in other regions of my gray matter. I decided we needed to get out of
the suite, so we gambled most of the late afternoon. I made sure Toby
was with us, but, again, Denver ignored him. I invited him to dinner
with us that evening. It was a rather dull affair, ending when Denver
and I returned to the suite and Toby gambled away the funds I had
given him.
The following night the three of us went to a dinner show. Toby sat on
one side, Denver on the other. She was a dream in a tight black, mid
thigh, cocktail dress, which she wore braless so her ripe nipples
showed through the thin material. She was wearing thigh high
and high heels. She had made a point of saying in front of Toby that
she was without panties, which I know he and I both thought about
almost constantly.
She was flirtatious and sexy, ignoring him and playing with me all
evening. He was getting mad as hell. When he went to the rest room, I
pulled her to me.
"You are being a little tough on him. Settle down some." She stared
at me for a long time.
"Please, Chet. Be a bastard to me! Make me hate you! Don't let me
come out of this in love with you! I can't handle that!!"
She began to cry and I folded her in my arms. As Toby reappeared, a
security guard came from nowhere and escorted him out. When Denver was
composed enough to leave, we went back to the room. After putting her
to bed in the bedroom, I went to the living room where I watched
and drank until sleep found me on the couch. Thoughts of her were my
dreams.
In the morning, I was awakened when she lay her naked body on mine and
hugged me, her head buried in my chest, her tears warm and wet on me,
her little sobs faint in my ears. Softly, tenderly, I held and
comforted her. I heard and felt the stages of her sorrow which ended
quietly as she lay next to me, her tears drying on my chest.
"Please, Chet, make love to me," she whispered. At that moment, I
wished I was strong enough to push her away, to resist. I wished I
was cold enough not to fall in love with her.
The next five days were very strange. Always together, I tried to
ignore her and she tried to ignore me, although not necessarily at the
same time, and with the result both of us felt unsettled if the other
was out of sight. Toby was always with us except at night when we
retired to our suite. But, his presence was only an irritant as
neither Denver nor I did more than acknowledge him. The tension was
wearing on all three of us.
At night, together, in the big king-sized bed in the suite, we made
love with enthusiasm and joy until the reality of our situation forced
its way back into our consciousness like a rat encroaching on a
banquet and its darkness spilled over us.
As we ignored each other, as we fought to resist, the love we had
planted was growing inside each of us and nothing would stop it.
Dave called me to his office. "How is it going?" he asked.
I did not even know what to answer. But, Dave had been watching us
and he was shrewd. He began his gentle questioning, pulling answers
out I did not know were in me. However, Dave wished to see a
different ending that I had envisonaged. He suggested I violently
rape Denver while Toby watched, then release them and let them go
home, as a way to end our turmoil.
It was a stupid idea! I knew I did not have the will in me to violate
her, no matter the circumstances. I never did. I knew if she had
never suggested it that very first time, we might never have gone to
bed. She knew it, too, and that knowledge was very important to me.
Do not ask me to explain why a would pay $26,000 for a woman and
then let her decide to come to him. I can not. I jusy know that was
the way it was.
The only way out of my dilemma appeared to be for me to talk with
Toby, which, with Dave as referee, I did. I explained to Toby I had
fallen in love with his and that I wanted her.
I was surprised at his response as if he expected it and had already
reconciled himself to the idea. I would have thought he would have
been angry: angry at me, or her . . . or at himself for causing this
mess. He was resigned to losing her, perhaps, even grateful she was
leaving. Staying together, she would be a constant reminder of their
experience with his gambling losses and his failure to protect her as
both he and she wished.
Then, the weaseling sonofabitch suggested I pay him for Denver which
irritated me so much I almost hit him. Dave was watching me like a
hawk and diffused the situation. "Sounds reasonable," Dave said,
telling me to shut up in his own polite way. Toby and I agreed to a
price for her . . . for his giving her a divorce.
Denver was sitting on the little couch by the big window in the suite
when we arrived. She looked tired as she stood, folding her arms
across the blouse she wore with pants, her feet bare. She joined us
in the sitting area, sitting primly on the edge of the chair, knees
and feet together, arms across her body in a protective pose.
The four of us sat without speaking. I screwed up my courage and
opened my mouth.
"Den . . . "
"Toby," she interrupted. "I want a divorce."
"You bitch! I had worked out a cash payment from Chet for you!"
Dave is a professional use to handling surprise situations. I am fast
on my feet. Denver caught us both off guard as she launched herself
into Toby. It was not a bitch slap. It was a closed fist right cross
that caught him full on the jaw and knocked out a tooth.
It also broke her hand.
Denver sat on the plane next to me on the way home. She was in the
window seat and to my left, so I was holding hands with fingertips and
a cast. She was serene and bubbly, generating the positive and
effervescent heat flow women . . . those special women . . . do
when they are happy and with the they love. She made me happier
than I could ever remember being.
"How are you going to explain me to your family?" she asked, referring
to the brothers and sisters and in my hometown who would be
shocked "Old Dave" finally found a woman he wanted to keep. Her eyes
shined up at me, teasing, loving. I grinned devilishly.
"Tell them the truth. I won you gambling. Wasn't that what happened?"
She stroked my face with her good left hand and kissed me softly.
"Why don't we make up something different to tell them? Only in our
bedroom do I want to be the woman you won in Vegas."