Who would've thought one could walk into a fantasy?
Not me, before this very moment. Casino Gomorrah certainly fit the bill, though. The huge tower put the Luxor in Vegas to shame! Gomorrah offered its patrons every sort of wicked indulgence. Nothing was considered sacrosanct. Good thing too, since to delve into vice remained my sole purpose for coming. I came to gamble, but not by participating in the cheesy parlour games like the other drones. I played for higher stakes - my very future. I'd come to fuck a couple of men for money. Lots of it, too. Not only that, but my husband had insisted on it.
The elevator took forever to reach the penthouse level. I exited quickly, my heels clacking on the white marble flags of the hallway. Thick ebony veins ran through the white tile like inky rivers. The floor seemed ripped whole from a Hellenic temple. With a name like Gomorrah, I'd expected brimstone and basalt for the decor. On second thought, perhaps the salt-white stone did belong here.
I shook my head to clear the idle thoughts that flickered inside. Ah, Eve. Reddish blonde hair didn't make someone genetically stupid. No time to space out now. Courage, girl! I had too much riding on this gambit. Bill wanted me to screw two men, Evan Summers and Adam DeWinter. These guys owned Phobos, a firm that needed American made high-tech weapons systems and small-arms for a concern out of Southeast Asia. They'd been in touch with Deimos, my husband's employer, for months now, and had flown here to sign the requisite papers.
The $3 billion deal would provide my retirement fund. That is, it would once they signed their names in the right places! Bill's cut would amount to almost $4 million, mine half of that. But before they signed anything, Summers and DeWinter insisted on entertainment in the style they'd become accustomed to while living overseas. Apparently, back home, people sealed big money deals with more than a gentleman's handshake. Provided that the evening's entertainment satisfied them, they agreed that the deal would go through tonight. If not, then not. I carried the contract in a slim leather document pouch.
I hadn't cared about Bill's and Deimos' problem with entertaining the Phobos reps until he told me about their list of requirements for the evening's amusement. The woman had to be depilatoried, 5 feet 6 inches tall, 110 to 120 pounds in weight, and have natural red hair and green eyes. She needed to possess a toned body and a large, sensuous mouth with full lips. I froze when I heard the description. If they had added a Tigger tattoo on the left hip bone, that would've described me right down to my clean-shaved snatch. Bill saw my hesitation, and played his trump card before I could even voice an objection.
He knew I had slept around behind his back last year but had, I thought, forgiven me for my indiscretion. I hadn't loved Eric, I had loved the excitement gleaned from doing naughty things with him. And Bill had gone away on business for almost three months! Didn't I have needs to satisfy? Bill had forgiven, but apparently he hadn't forgotten. Now he threw the episode back into my face. If I could fuck around on him, he maintained, I could certainly fuck around for him. My protests fell on deaf ears. What could I say, really? To him, I had proved myself to be a faithless whore. No, not just a whore. An incredibly stupid whore. Smart ones at least got paid for spreading their legs. Only dumb cunts like me would give up the ass for free.
My entire future lay tucked under my arm, swaddled in a couple of pounds of black calfskin.
I stopped in front of the gleaming oak door, using its high-polished surface as a mirror to adjust my hair and clothes. I wore black strappy sandals, leopardskin print Capri pants, a silvery-white, midriff revealing halter with a high neck, and a smile. No panties, no bra, and no jewellery of any kind. I didn't want to be hindered by undergarments, nor did I want to be robbed. Funny, worrying about a few hundred dollars worth of jewellery when you stood to make a couple mil, but there you have it. I didn't know these men. Who knew what they could do? Except for a pen and the contract, only a cell phone lay nestled in the doc case. Bill had insisted that I carry it, but really, would I have time in an emergency to get it out and use it? Doubtful. Bill didn't care one way or the other. I guess his disgust with me finally outweighed his love for me.
Steeling my courage and pushing up my large tits so they looked their best, I rapped loudly on the door.
Nothing.
Hadn't they arrived? I'd been instructed to come up at eight pm sharp. I took a deep breath as I used the card key Bill had given me on the electronic lock, twisted the door handle and let myself into the palatial suite.
Never before had I seen a room as luxurious as this one. Rich woods and brass decorated everything. The walls hung with tasteful oil paintings. The place had the feel of an Edwardian manor. Ancient Greek decor on the outside, English elegance in the rooms. Inconsistent, but who cared? I ducked my head into every open doorway I found. The place stretched on forever! It took almost five minutes to search the rooms. I found no one. While going through the parlour, I spied an open door leading outside. I darted through it and onto the penthouse roof.
The roof looked as extravagant as the rooms had. This time, the decor was Amazon Basin, perhaps Lacandon Jungle. Thick, heavy vines climbed trellises on either side of the pathway, their twining strands creating a barrier more solid than walls. Large red clay urns held flowering plants with blooms as large as my head, some as tall as me, too. The well-kept garden looked unusual to say the least, but quite beautiful. I followed the stone walkway, my steps illuminated by the running lights angled low at the ground. I finally reached a clearing, half expecting to see a pond or some such thing. I wasn't disappointed. Two people lounged around an artificial lagoon. A black man sat on a wrought iron divan with black leather cushions, exuding casual arrogance while he sipped on a goblet of water. At his feet sat a nicely tanned, beautiful woman, stroking his left leg with a delicate touch while she held a flute glass of champagne. She looked resplendent in her golden cocktail dress and gold, Grecian laced high heeled sandals. Already deep in conversation, they ignored my approach.
I hadn't realized that there'd be another woman in attendance this evening. I guess this was a good thing as she could concentrate on one of the men, and I could concentrate on the other. Where was the other guy, anyway? I wondered what she was being paid. I'm sure not as much as I'd get if I pulled this off! Something bothered me about her, though. She didn't look like pussy-for-hire to me. She stroked that leg with a proprietary air. It was also the first time I'd ever seen a woman sitting on the ground still look like a queen. Elizabeth II on her throne couldn't look more regal.
The man was no slouch in the looks department, either! His well defined body set my pulse racing the moment I laid eyes on him. He dressed in light grey slacks, black leather boots and a black golf shirt. The short sleeved shirt showed off his arms, though they looked like the work of a drunken, brilliant sculptor. For every graceful line of muscle and sinew on display, he had at least two scars crossing his arms as if the master craftsman had often slipped when chiselling him from a block of Desert Ironwood. He didn't look like a CEO of a company. He looked more like a Marine to me, with his short, skin-faded hair and his no-nonsense demeanour.
