Casino Blues
- 3 years ago
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Casino Sex free porn video
The blinking neon signs drew me near, like a Siren in Greek mythology. She called to me in a loud flash. CASINO, RACEBOOK, 99% SLOTS, BUFFET.
I ignored the sign that said Valet and drove slowly into Free Self Parking, looking for just the right spot. I passed a number of close spaces until I found what I was looking for: a crowded area near the rear entrance, a spot I could back into, a run with minimal turns to the exit without a traffic light, right turn only. There was nothing in the car to identify me save my fingerprints; those I didn't worry about, since the car was titled in my name anyway.
I examined myself in the mirror. Dyed hair, tinted contact lenses, a different mustache for every gig, I wouldn't have recognized myself, except for the perpetually innocent face I presented to the world.
The car was filthy, deliberately. Checking to be sure that I was alone, I took a handful of mud from the bucket beside me and smeared the license plate, slapping my hands clean of the loose dirt. I would wash them first thing once I got inside. I locked the car; no one would possibly steal it, but I don't gamble about such things.
I washed my hands, then made sure I remembered how to get from each bank of elevators to the rear door without having to stop and read signs. The place was crowded, as planned, and I absorbed the sights, the sounds, the smell as I ambled toward the Card Room. Every table was filled, also as hoped for. My eyes were at the podium before my body got there, trying to read which list had the most uncrossed-out names on it.
"How long for Seven Card High-Low?"
"About a half hour." Perfect!
"That long? All right, I'm Lou."
"I'll call your name when a seat is open, Lou."
"Thanks."
Now I just needed to find a horny guy with a fat wallet. I've been doing this for a long time; I can usually find the right guy on my first try, usually meaning at least half the time. This one was easy. He was wearing a blue blazer, white shirt and tie; obviously he was attending the convention. His watch was a Rolex, the ring on his right hand had diamonds. His left hand was bare. All that was left was to make sure that his libido qualified.
He looked up at me as I approached the empty chair next to him. We nodded and I sat down without speaking. After a few seconds, I said, "Hi, I'm Lou." Might as well stick with the same name.
"Sam."
"Pleased to meet you. You here for the convention?"
"Yeah. Its boring as hell, but my boss is paying."
"Where's your wife?"
He held out his bare hand. "Haven't seen her in a year; don't care if I never see her again."
"Getting any since you've been here?"
"Not yet."
I sighed and sat back. Let him think his own thoughts for a minute or two.
Finally, I whispered, "Wow!"
He looked at me. "What is it?"
"Look at the rack on that redhead at table three."
"Ooh yeah, that's nice stuff."
Here goes nothing, Frank, oops, I mean 'Lou'. Frank was my name yesterday. "Something like that would almost make me want to go straight."
Sam's head spun toward me. I looked at him sheepishly. "Hey, when there's no girl available, what's a guy to do? Pay for it?"
He stared at me, saying nothing.
"Do you have any scotch in your room, Sam?"
"In the service bar, I guess."
I stood up. "What are we waiting for?"
Sam stood up slowly, hesitatingly. I took his elbow and led him for two steps toward the elevator before releasing it; no sense in putting on a show.
He looked toward the podium. "Shouldn't we tell them to cross our names off the waiting list?"
I whispered, "Let's not draw attention to ourselves, Sam." This guy was definitely sailing into uncharted territory, and his mind was spinning. As we waited for the elevator, I glanced down at his three piece set, now showing a bump in his slacks. I thought that maybe I wouldn't mind sucking that cock after all.
In the elevator, he was quiet, pensive. At his floor, he led the way to his room, my eyes picking out the exit doors and stairwells. He took out his key card and opened the door, leading me inside the room. It was a typical hotel room, bath near the door, bed in the middle, with a bench at the foot of the bed. I put the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle and closed the door, ignoring the chain.
Sam hung up his jacket in the closet, then turned to me. "I don't know..."
"Relax, Sam. Lie down on the bed and let me do all the work."
As he did so, right on top of the covers, I glanced around. The tables and furniture tops were clear. That meant that any valuables were in his pants, his jacket pockets or the dresser drawers, and I would have no time to go through the drawers. Sitting at the foot of the bed, I took off his right shoe, then his left, and sat them both on the cover as I removed his socks and stuck them into the shoes. Then I set the shoes on the floor and quietly shoved them as far as possible under the bed.
I moved up alongside him and began to remove his tie. Hmm, Hermes, top quality. I folded it carefully, giving it the treatment it deserved. I thought about turning on the radio for some music, to make him more relaxed, but I didn't know what he liked and I didn't want to break the mood he was already in, so I passed.
"Nice tie, Sam. Why don't you take off your glasses?" He grunted, put them on the night table, along with the watch-what a stupid fuck. I laid the tie gently next to them, but knocked his glasses off behind the table. "Oops, sorry. I'll get those later."
No way they could get fingerprints off of clothing, even if they bothered to try. I began to unbutton his shirt and he raised his back off the bed to allow me to get it off him; he had no undershirt on. I folded that also, running my hands over it to be sure that there was nothing but lint in the shirt pocket. The shirt went onto the bench by the foot of the bed.
I glanced down; his cock was pressing against his zipper, tenting his slacks. I opened his belt slowly; just as slowly, I began to pull down the zipper. When his cock popped out, I could see that he wore no under-shorts.
"Aha. You knew you were going to get lucky today, didn't you, Sam?"
"I didn't know it was going to be with a guy, Lou."
"That makes you double lucky, Sam."
He smiled, weakly. I glanced down to see a healthy looking cock, maybe seven inches, cut, firm and ready, veins pulsing with anticipation. I was glad that only my mouth would have to handle it; I sure didn't want it poking me up the ass. I reached to undo the one remaining barrier, the button at his waist.
"Lift up your ass, Sam. Let me get these pants off without ruining them." He did so, and I slid them off, leaving Sam as naked as the day he came out of his mother's cunt. Standing, I carefully folded his slacks, feeling the wallet in there as I put them alongside his shirt.
At this point, it was clear sailing ahead. I could grab the watch, slacks and jacket and be gone before he knew what hit him, except that he would be pissed as hell and would definitely call the cops. But if I cleaned out his pipes for him first, he would take longer to realize what I had done and also he would have been embarrassed, less likely to call the police and have to tell them that he had just gotten a blow job from some guy. And he wouldn't have been able to hide it, because cops are not dumb. He could say it was some broad, but they would know he was lying, at least as soon as they checked at the Card Room.
But most important, I hadn't had a good mouthful of cum in a few days, and I missed that taste. Pussy juice is fine, but nice creamy cum swirling around in my mouth before I swallow is a special treat.
I approached him from the side, kneeling on the bed by his waist. I pushed him away from me so that I could bend and take his meat into my mouth without breaking my back. With one hand holding his cock, I bent to kiss the purple crown, meanwhile kneading or feathering his nipples. My first touch had caused him to inhale and hold his breath; when I rose from the first kiss, he exhaled and closed his eyes. My left hand stayed on his chest, rubbing, while my right hand played with his nuts; my mouth sucked, unassisted. Sam's right hand held the back of my head, more to hold it in place than to push it farther onto his cock.
Unlike a seduction, or a date with my regular guy-I had a regular lady that I lived with and fucked often, and a regular guy that I got it on with once in a while-unlike my usual slow pace, when I'm blowing a victim, I move my head as fast as possible. I want his fuck sauce, not just for my own pleasure but to delay any call to the police, so speed is a plus. That, together with fondling his balls, can usually get a guy off quickly.
Sam's breath quickened to a panting; he was close and I knew it. I let him feel just a touch of my teeth on his crown and at the same time gave him another squeeze of his balls. He grunted and began to spurt his sperm into my mouth, again and again and again. Shit, Sam, how long has it been for you? Don't you know how to jerk off? Sure, that's all I had to do was to ask those questions out loud; he'd sit bolt upright and I'd never get a dime. Instead, I moaned, as though I loved sucking cock and swallowing; easy, because it's true.
It was time. With my mouth still full of his cum, I said, "I've got to go to the bathroom, Sam." The point of no return was at hand. I stood up, picked up his Rolex and slacks, headed for the door, reached into the open closet and grabbed his jacket. It had been so long since I'd been in this hotel that I didn't remember the sound of the room door. I hoped that it sounded like the bathroom door.
I opened the door to the hallway. I was fully committed; no matter who was out there in the hall, I had to keep walking. Walking and swirling cum around in my mouth and then swallowing it. And if Sam realized what was happening and started yelling, I could have been in a lot of trouble if anyone was within earshot.
The whole purpose of getting them naked is to slow down any chase. That's also why I knocked his glasses behind the night table. Some guys start screaming immediately, while others just don't realize it until I'm long gone. Still, all he needs for modesty to run down the hall is a pair of jeans or shorts.
I passed the nearest stairs and took the next group, walking, running down one flight. Then I headed away from the elevator we had taken to Sam's room and instead went toward the bank of elevators closest to the rear entrance. Those moments of waiting are the most dangerous and terrifying of the whole scheme. I put on Sam's blue blazer and shoved the slacks under it; they showed a bump but there was nothing I could do about that.
The elevator came, all clear. I rode down trembling, as always, and headed for the rear entrance and the security of my dirty car, walking slowly so as not to attract attention. Once in the car, I drove law-abidingly to my usual gas station, the one with the coin-operated car wash attached. I dropped in the token and sat in the car as the machinery moved back and forth, cleaning a car that Sam had never seen and cleaning the license plate so that the police would not stop me.
As the soap and water sprayed around me, I took off the jacket and searched the pockets. Nothing worthwhile. Then it was time for the pants, and particularly the wallet. I closed my eyes and thought about prior jobs. The take had ranged from a high of four thousand to a low of thirty dollars. Who the fuck sits down at a poker table with only thirty dollars? My lifetime average was about three hundred; not a great living, but I do have other scams. And this scam gives me the added bonus of lots of cum.
Nine... ten... eleven... twelve... thirteen hundred and... eighty three. Not a bad day after all. I took out my cell phone. "Sally?... Herb.,, five minutes." As per usual, she was downstairs in front of our building, waiting for my delivery.
The slacks and jacket would go into a used clothing bin set out by some church; it was the closest I ever came to making a charitable donation. She'd be there in five minutes. Another five minutes would get her to a certain pawn shop, where she would haggle with the owner over the value of freshly stolen credit cards and ID. We never got enough for those, but they did have a limited shelf life. The wallet would go into a dumpster, thence to a landfill somewhere, never to be seen again. Meanwhile, I would go another casino and use my player's card at a nickel slot machine, establishing a weak but straight face alibi.
Then, after about two hours, I would go back to the apartment and fuck Sally blind. After all, my little episode with Sam had done nothing to clean out my own pipes. Like me, Sally also sucks cocks for a living, but she does it at night, when the tourists are most horny. Sally never asked me about money until after we fuck, but she could tell I was in a good mood.
"Good day today, honey?"
"Close to nine hundred, plus, what for the cards?" I saw no need to tell her about the other five hundred, nor the watch. I would fence that when she was working. What the fuck, a guy needs walking around money with all the snatch in this town.
"I only got two hundred."
"That fuck! We take all the risks and he makes all the profit."
"I've got an idea, Herbie. Why don't we use the cards ourselves?"
"How? Most of the time they're probably cancelled before you even get your hands on them."
"Well, think of something."
"I will, Sally, I will."
The something that I thought of was directly related to the fact that Sally was sitting opposite me, her peignoir doing nothing to cover her exposed twat. That and the fact that she was idly stroking her clit as we spoke; idly as in not even realizing what she was doing. Of course, making her living flat on her back, or her knees, she knew how to tease, how to excite, but with me, I wasn't a customer, I was a live-in lover. She wasn't trying to entice me or get me off quickly so that she could move on to another customer; she was just playing with herself.
I moved to her and kissed her. After the briefest of protests about my changing the subject from money to sex, her tongue was in my mouth. She had made it clear to me that as a whore, she never kissed anyone but me, and that my cock was the only one ever inside her without a rubber. I in return swore faithfully to her that I never blew any of my victims unless he was wearing a condom. I can't help it; I hate the feel of latex when I've got my mouth wrapped around a guy's fuck stick, and I love the slippery feel of real cum when a guy blasts it into my mouth and it slides down my gullet. If I ever catch anything and give it to Sally, I hope I can get out of town before she kills me.
Fuck it, they're all cunts. Even Sally.
Her money-making tongue explored the inside of my mouth, shining my fillings, diving toward my tonsils, sucking out my saliva. "Did you make him use a rubber, Herbie?" After two hours of nickel slots and a waitress delivering bottles of free beer, there would be no evidence in my mouth.
"Of course, baby, you know that."
Sally leaned back, her legs spreading to welcome me. Bitch, I thought she would undress me. I stood up to strip, dropping my pants to show her the white knitted thong she had bought for me in a sex shop. At that point, she moved forward, pulled down the thong and gobbled up my prick. I was still horny from having blown that guy Sam and not gotten off myself, and after two or three sucks I was ready to shoot my load down Sally's throat.
I grabbed her face, pulled it slowly off my cock and moved it to her snatch. Her pussy lips were pink and shiny with moisture, taking me in without a hint of resistance. Sally had walked many a casino parking lot in her time and sucked a lot of cock, but parking lots were not conducive to straight fucking. So it was a treat for her to have a cock inside, especially raw, to give her an orgasm without fingers and without rubber. I knew what my little whore wanted and I meant to give it to her.
But I had to pay a price for the pleasure of fucking her. Those long, garish fingernails, designed to attract customers, were also able to inflict pain and Sally loved to rake my naked back with them or dig them into my ass cheeks. Sometimes, in a rough case, when a guy was pumping away, she would use one of her nails to stab his prostate; that would certainly get his attention. Only the job she did on my back left scratches that made it very rare for me to be able to take off my shirt in bed with a guy, besides making it more difficult for me to make a quick getaway.
Still, her cunt was experienced, and we both loved it when she worked her muscles to grab and release my meat without any other motions. After a while, though, her hands on my ass began to pull me toward her, encouraging the stroke that symbolizes a good fuck. I like to think that my Sally, who can fake an orgasm as part of her job, never faked one with me. I can only hope that I'm right, because it didn't take long for her "AAAAIIIIIEEEEEE." Her juice was pouring out of her snatch; that part was real for sure.
And as I slid back and forth inside her wetness, I was right behind her, string after string of my creamy cum shooting unseen into her cunt. "NNGGHHH, NNGGHHH, NNGGHHH."
Three days later, I presented Sally with my plan. It wasn't finalized, but I wanted her critique.
"Here's my idea. Instead of looking for a guy who's willing to try a cock for a change, I go after a plain, unattached woman and do an all-nighter with her."
"But how are you going to get her credit cards to me? And how much could I buy before the credit card company gets suspicious and cancels the card on its own?" Well, at least she didn't care if I fucked some other woman.
"I'll think of something." But I couldn't figure how to get the cards out of the room while staying with the mark so the cards could be used. Unless... unless I just fucked her so hard that she fell asleep. Even if it didn't work, I'd have a good night's worth of fucking, unless the woman was plain ugly.
We finally worked out a decent routine, polishing up all the details of cell phones on buzz, Sally staying near whatever hotel I was working, wigs and makeup for the store cameras, what stuff to buy, checking out return policies without sales slips, all the shit a good thief needs to plan for to make a living without becoming a guest of the county.
Picking up the woman was the easiest part of the gig. I'm not too bad looking, and I've developed a bunch of pick up lines since long before I became a thief. Let's just say that I never jerked off as much as the other guys and I never had to pay for it.
A woman who's looking to be picked up in a casino will either sit at a low-stakes blackjack table or more likely sit alone at a small cocktail table in the lounge area, so that's where I went. Bingo! I looked her over before I approached the table. She looked about five foot six, plain but not ugly, slim, a low cut cocktail dress partially exposing a pretty flat chest. She was staring at the orchestra, idly stirring her wide mouthed glass with the obligatory umbrella. She wasn't good looking enough to be either a whore or an undercover cop. It would be a shame if she were a cop, because I didn't intend to commit any crimes until after I had fucked her, and with a cop I'd never get that far.
I walked to the table, stood between her and the orchestra and began to shake my head slowly. The good looking ones have heard all the lines and you have to be extremely lucky to succeed with a pickup line on a premium chick. But the so-so ones were eager for the right line, wanted to believe it, wanted to feel attractive.
She looked up. "Why are you shaking your head?"
"I came over here to get myself invited to join you but all of a sudden I don't remember what line I was going to use."
She laughed. "Well, sit down anyway and let's try to think of one."
Kaylin
- 23.08.2020
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