King: Cocksure

What Stays in Vegas

Chapter XXXIII

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex.  It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events.  It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. The stories have a political slant as you will see. I hope you enjoy them.  New chapters will be published as they are finished.

(Mffffffffff)

The cool breeze swept over us as we rolled down the dark highway toward Las Vegas in my BMW with the retractable roof open.

At my side, the redoubtable Donna sat with her face cast into the wind gulping every fresh breath like she was feeding on the nectar of gods.  The red scarf on her head fluttered wildly nearly slapping the faces of the four women in the back seat:  Claire and Piglet and two of Donnas’ highly trained associates, Yasmin (pronounced Yazmean) and Stoya.   Any one of these women is a wet dream as they never ceased to remind me.

“Poor Mr. SureCock,” Piglet whined. “All of this female pulchritudity  and not one minute to stop for quick quickies.”

As I drove, I noticed the glimmer of silver and gold crosses that had been planted alongside the road by families of poor saps who died along this bloody desert road.  My goal was to avoid that fate for us.

“Piglet, let me assure you I would stop if time permitted and it wasn’t so dangerous, but as I warned, this is a business trip, not a pleasure trip,” I called back to her.

“Brad’s business trips always turn into pleasure trips, Piglet…eventually,” Claire said.  “Be patient.”

“Oh I’ll be patient,” Piglet said. “I am just not so cock sure Mr. SureCock’s cock can sure cock ‘o’ doodle do when it’s time on the clock for his cock to rock ‘o doodle do.”

“Piglet, has he ever disappointed us?” Claire said.

“Well, there was the time he forgot to check if there were pickles on my Big Mac,” Piglet answered.

“But he’s never forgotten to check for the pickle in you?” Claire asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Piglet said. “There have been times when he was chucking his pickle into somebody else I wished was me.”

“You two are as bad as Cilla,” Donna called back.  “Pickle obsessed piggies.”

“Man, that girl has it bad, does she not?” Yasmin said.  “Did you hear how long she begged to come along on this trip with us.”

“She’s devoted her life to protecting  it,” Donna said. “What do you expect?”

“Just like you, Donna?”

“No, Yaz,  I’m focused on protecting the whole man, not just his pickle,” Donna said. “You should be, too.”

“All I can say is that it sure is getting cool back here,” Claire said. “Maybe you should close the roof?”

“Another diva moment you Russian ice cream queen?” Donna called.  “Brad, I don’t mind if you close the roof for those back seat wussies with frigid.”

“No problem,” I said. “I was thinking it was getting kind of cool myself.”

“You’re all a bunch of wussies,” Donna said.  “I think the air tonight is refreshing.”

“Yeh, but we’re coming to the mountains soon and it will get much cooler then,” Piglet said, sniffling as if she had a cold. As she finished speaking, the collapsible roof snapped into place, effectively sealing us in the car.

“I hope you all are happy,” Donna said.

The words were barely out of her mouth when there was a sudden explosion near the front of the car.  I swerved to avoid a powerful mixture of fire and smoke that swept over and past us.  Two more blasts rocked the highway behind us.  Someone was firing rockets at the car with a hand held launcher and they were getting our range locked in.  I floored the accelerator and swerved violently from side to side.  Luckily, no traffic approached from the opposite side of the road at the moment.

One more pillar of fire erupted ahead of us.  Then two more appeared from behind.  My sudden acceleration and swerving had caught our enemy off guard and they were losing their focus.  Soon, we’d put enough distance between us and the missile firers that the blasts stopped.

“That had to open some gaps in the highway back there,” Stoya said.

“Yes, when we get to the next town, we’ve got to stop at the local police station and tell them so they can warn other motorists,” Yazmin said.

“No phone calls,” Donna said.  “They might use the signal to fire a missile right up our asses. And Claire, anytime you feel cold in the future, please tell us once again to close the roof.”

“Yeah, Claire, you’re my hero,” Piglet said, blowing a smooch in her general direction.

“Shut up, you over-sexed dyke,” Claire said.  “That’s what they were trying to do:  Blow another hole in the dyke.”

“They sure came close to frying us for supper,” I said.

“Brad, you are a great driver,” Piglet said.

“Yes, Brad, you are a hero, too,” said Claire. “No Mash Car driver could have done as well.”

“Mash Car?  You mean NASCAR?”

“I always thought it was Mash Car because, you know, the cars all get mashed up,” she giggled.

“Sometimes your knowledge of American culture astounds me, Claire,” I said. “Then it just appalls me.”

“Claire is red-neck retarded,” Piglet says.  “Ask her about anything on television that’s remotely rural.  She’s a dope.”

“She’s demonstrated to me she knows her Andy, Barney and Oppie,” I said.

“Mayberry re-runs are on every day in parts of Russia,” Claire replied.  “I was friends with Putin’s niece and she and I watched Andy and Aunt Bee often, dreaming they represented the American ideal.”

“They did, 30 years ago,” Donna said.

‘Now it represents what the tea party crowd thinks we ought to return to,” Piglet said somberly.

“Only they believe Mayberry should have white’s only drinking fountains and Andy should hang a few a few black men in trees for looking at white women,” I said.

“I thought that was all over,” Claire said. “I mean, look at my friends Seal and Heidi.”

“There are still parts of this country where Seal and Heidi would be hung if they showed up there,” Piglet said.

“Racism on both sides remains a big issue here, despite Obama’s Presidency,” I added.

“Yes, we have similar problems in Russia, but against Jews, Ukrainians, and others,” Claire said. “It’s a sad world.”

“And here we are just driving our butts to Vegas for a security meeting,” Donna says, “and someone tries to take us out with a missile.  It is a sad, sad world.”

“But I wouldn’t want to paint it,” Claire said.

“What does that have to do with the price of eggs?” Piglet said, wrinkling her nose.

“Isn’t that like a joke or something?” Claire said.  “Like the world is so big…”

“And so sad, you don’t want to paint it?” Piglet said.

“Well, if I am sad, I don’t want to paint anything, big or small,” Claire laughed.

“I like painting Easter eggs,” Yazmin said. “That’s what it has to do with the price of eggs.”

“But it’s just past Christmas,” Stoya said.

I had to admit that one of the reasons I enjoyed traveling with these women was because it was impossible to predict what tangent their conversation would take next, especially with Piglet along to stir the pot.  We had been nearly killed moments earlier and already they were kidding one another as if nothing happened.

In Clark County at the Sheriff’s office near Potosi Mountain, we stopped to report what had happened.   The sleepy sergeant on duty seemed more incredulous than actually interested in the missile attack on us.   He promised to send a patrol car to investigate, asked where we would be staying in Vegas in case he needed to contact us and sent us on our way.   It was the last we would hear about the about the attack from any law enforcement authority.

“There are gaping holes in the highway out there just off I-15,” Donna insisted.  “Some poor sap is going to hit them and go off of the road.”

“Like I said, I’ll get somebody out there to check on it,” the sergeant said. “But not much of anybody travels that two-lane stretch of road this time ‘o night.   Thanks for telling me.”

A few hours later, we found ourselves at the Hungry Whore, the brothel I own just north of Vegas.  Vicki Lanson, my manager greeted us at the door flanked by 20 of the loveliest ladies in negligees I’d seen in awhile.

“Brad, the girls all wanted to line up to see you and greet you in person,”  Vicki said.

One by one, I shook the hands of the girls in the receiving line.  A particularly hot buxom teen—perhaps 18—sucked her lower lip and studied me with shameless eyes, a tight curl bouncing just above her right eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”  I asked.

“Yeh, I jus’ wanna know if I kin touch it,’ she said in a too-cute southern drawl.

“Touch what, honey?” I said.

“You know,” she teased with a wicked smile.

“No,  I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” she giggled.  “You know…yer thang.”

Donna stepped up to answer for me.

“I am sorry you shameless piece of white trash,” Donna said emphatically.  “If I let you do that, I’d have to kill you.  And you aren’t worth my time.

I winked at the girl, whom I later learned was named Checkers. 

“Perhaps  I’ll give you the grand tour later,” I told her.  “We can jump one another and see who ends up with the most kings.  Right now, I’m told I have business I need to attend to.”

“Mr. Surecock, you’d screw just about anything with a vagina at the juncture of its legs, wouldn’t you? Piglet opined.

“Don’t get smart, Piglet, or I’ll cross you off the list,” I said.

Óh woe is me,” Piglet laughed.  “I have been denied the heavenly rod.”

“Don’t get too witty, kitty,” Claire frowned.  “We’re friends and he might cross me off the list as well.  Then I’d have to beat your stupid cockless ass.”

Vicky led us to a video conference room and with no ceremonies, punched up a live data feed from my casino on the Vegas strip. 

“I don’t see them on the floor now,” she said.  “But they were there earlier tonight, all four of them, including Buckner.”

“Two Sicilians and a dark-skinned Mexican, right?” Donna said.

“You know who they are?” Vicki asked.

“Three men who by all rights should be sleeping in a bed with dirt covers,” I said.

“Salgalcano and his aid Giuseppe and the Mexican assassin with the clouded face, Negroso.” Donna said, “Collectively, they have a combined age of nearly four centuries.  I can’t believe I am saying this.”

“Donna, I knew I’d convince you before everything was said and done,” I said.

“I’m not saying that I am convinced,” she replied.  “I am just saying that that’s who those three guys resemble.”

“It could be someone trying to scare us with three doppelgangers,”  I suggested,  “except in this case, the unbelievable makes more literal sense.”

“Well, there is no mistaking the fourth man,” Claire said.  “I nearly married the bastard and that guy on the video Vicki sent the other day was most assuredly Buckner.”

“You mean this guy,” Vicki said, punching up a recorded video of the casino floor from earlier in the week.  “I recognized Buckner from the pictures Donna circulated.  As soon as I saw him, that’s when I called you.  What made you sure he’d turn up here?”

“We weren’t sure,” Donna said.  “We circulated the same pictures to all of the clubs and salons.  We figured Buckner would turn up at one of them,  eventually.  It was his smart next move.  He wants to taunt us yet stay out of range.”

I focused on the cunning, handsome face on the video screen.  I could see why a beauty like Claire would fall for him.  An impeccable dresser, Buckner had a youthful cosmopolitan air that smacked of old world money, influence, charm and decadent aristocracy.   The once equally handsome Salgalcano still bore the scars suffered in an encounter with Vlostock and Rashan more than 70 years earlier.  His menacing countenance made Piglet shiver.

“Don’t ever let that character get within a thousand miles of me and my pussy,” she said.  “His face looks like an overly barbecued cheese burger.”

“Well, cheeseburger face and his buddies don’t appear to be gambling now,” Vicki said.  “’Why don’t you folks relax for the time being?   It’s early morning now and they may not turn up until late this evening again, but the floor bosses will alert us when they do.  Then I’ll alert you.”

We were all desperately tired and frazzled.  Vicki showed Claire, Piglet and Donna’s girls to separate bedrooms.  Donna preferred to stay up and study video.  With the killer or killers of her brother this close, she was not about to relax.

“Brad, feel free to avail yourself of the services of this establishment,”  Vicki smiled at me.  “It all belongs to you and I know your traveling companions are tired.  The girls who work here are all fresh as daisies and ready and raring to go.  That little cheeky southern gal who was so forward earlier is a right flexible fuck.  I’d recommend her highly.”

“Oh, I don’t know Vicki,” I said.  “I am horny as hell.  With all that’s been going on the last few days, I haven’t had much time for sex and even Claire is complaining.  Right now, my batteries just seem to be worn down to a nub.”

“Suit yourself but it seems to me a man like you gets re-charged by sticking your nub in as many holes as possible,” Vicki said.

When Vicki left, I stepped back into the lounge area where the women I’d met earlier were seated in various positions around the room.  Soft, incandescent lighting accented occasionally by the flash of neon lights from outside the building set an inviting tableau of female flesh and colorful frills. 

“Which one of us do ya’ want,” Checkers asked me at last.

“How about all of you?” I said.

Twenty broad dazzling smiles erupted around the room.  Two women took me by the hand and led me toward a large back bedroom with assorted strategically placed sex toys.  A troupe of beaming women, including Checkers, followed.

“I thought you was gonna jump my ass, first,” Checkers said as I pumped frantically into her pulsing anus.   She had her legs wrapped completely around the back of her neck, proving decisively that Vicki knew “flexible” when it wrapped itself around something.

Checkers wasn’t fat, but she had a soft indolent non-sun-tanned body that felt luxurious compared to some of the gym-trained hard bodies like Claire, Donna and Piglet that were my more recent bed companions.  There was something to hold on to.

“Checkers, I hated to disappoint but when I saw all the lovely ladies assembled out there,” I said. “I felt it would have been ungentlemanly to play favorites, so I decided to go in alphabetical order.”

“But you did Zoe afore me,” she moaned into her pillow.

“Yes, but I was going by last names, not first names,” I said.

“Ugh,” she cried as I pushed my sausage deeper and deeper into clutching ass cheeks. “But Zoe’s last name is Vermillion and mine’s Chess.”

“You’re name is Checkers Chess?” I questioned.

“No, Chest,” she said. “Checkers Chest, ‘cause of my bosoms are so big.”

I had to admit she had me there.  I was amazed she could wrap her legs around her neck with her those torpedoes of hers partially blocking the way.   But I could not bring myself to tell her that I selected Zoe first because the cute little Jewish pixie had inflamed a mad passion in me when I first studied her nakedness.  I had to have her immediately and she’d proved an excellent first choice.  Her tiny little body rocked like a spinning top as I tossed her around the room, pinning her at one point against a wall and then bodily slamming her on to a metal table top.  If Checkers was like wrastlin’ a bull spitting and snorting to the dirt, Zoe was one of those high flying WWC main events featuring the Flying Wallendas.  

I didn’t think anything could top Zoe, until I partook of Danielle’s sweating, sun-tanned booty.  This was a wrestling match with metal chairs and ladders involved, a cage match with a fierce lioness who nearly enveloped me with her body.

“Come on…you goddamn bastard,” she screamed.   “You can fuck me harder than that.  I’ve seen your movies.”

She had her arms wrapped around my neck pulling me toward her with sweaty intensity. 

“Stick it in my ass, you lazy bastard,” she grunted.  “All of the way in, balls deep.”

I tried relentlessly to keep pace with her but admittedly Danielle had an extra gear I couldn’t quite match.  As soon as she finished wringing out my body, another vixen scrambled aboard.

“My name is Anita,” the Mexican chick with the sopping wet cunt announced herself. “You do me like you do Danielle.”

Eventually after several rounds with all 20 of Vicki’s working girls, I’d worn all of them out.  They were sprawled around the bedroom in various stages of repose with exhausted looks on their sweaty, cum-covered faces.  I was about to retire for the morning when I heard a noise behind me.

“Ahem, not so fast lover boy, “  Claire said. “After that performance, you aren’t going anywhere without stretching our holes.”

Claire, Piglet, Donna, and her two associates were standing directly behind me.  They’d caught the whole proceedings and now were applauding and wanting to partake as well.

“I thought you four were all asleep by now,” I said.

“Brad, I know you are oblivious when you are in the middle of the rut season, but you trying sleeping with nearly  two dozen highly vocal women down the hall screaming and crying out  in pleasure,”  Donna said.

“In other words, your fucking, fucking woke us up, you fucking  fucker,” Piglet said.

“I was already awake, but your fucking, fucking made me horny as a toad, fucker,” Claire said in that light Russian-accented sweet voice of hers that always made horny.

Soon, I had her pinned against the wall pumping her strenuously from behind.  Piglet, Donna and her girls kneeled behind me awaiting their turns, occasionally pulling my cock out of Claire’s anus to suck or lick the fluids off.

“Man ‘o man,” I heard Checkers say. “An’ they call us sluts and whores.”