When Vince Met Crazy

When Vince Met Crazy

~~~~~~~~~~

This is the third installment of the "Met Crazy" series, and the direct sequel to "When Angela Met Crazy." It's a romance/comedy with some kinky stuff thrown in, just to you know.

Acknowledgement as always to my muse RiverMaya, and to JuanaSalsa for her editing.

All participants over 18.

Trigger warnings

: mental health/medication references, creampie eating and male chastity.

~~~~~~~~~

Crazy

For thinking that my love could hold you

I'm crazy for trying

And crazy for crying

And I'm crazy for loving you

- Willie Nelson

~~~~~~~~~~

Late April is one of the best times of year for visiting Las Vegas. Temperatures are rising and the desert is delightfully warm, while still being a couple of months shy of the scorching days of summer. It's also a comfortable time of year for a wedding when the bride is expecting, which Ray Beaumont's fiancée, Angela, most clearly was.

At 33 years old and 3 months along, Angela was proving the old cliché about a woman looking radiant during pregnancy. Maybe it was due to her being happy at how much Ray adored her, but somehow she could have passed for 23. He told me she was divorced, I guess her ex had been a scumbag, but none of that mattered. She and that baby in her were now his, and no other dude better think about even looking at her if he was around. I'd known Ray since we were kids, and he'd always been determined, but when it came to Angela, the man was downright

intense

!

After high school I went to Taft College near Bakersfield and gotten my AA in Automotive Mechanics Technology and become a mechanic, while Ray went into the Army and learned to drive trucks. While he was enlisted he was didn't have any serious relationships; he'd seen far too many fellow servicemen get married right before starting, only to have a new wife cheat on him while they were deployed.

Being on the road for more than 6 years, Ray's social life was non-existent. He was like a truck-driving monk. All he did was drive, first for a trucking company, then after his uncle died and left him a house and some inheritance money, he bought a used rig of his own and went independent. He was seldom home; the only times I saw him was when he brought his rig in for service at Inland Empire Truck Center, where I worked.

Given all that, it took me by surprise when he brought his rig in and told me he was going to Las Vegas next week to marry some hot truck-stop waitress, and oh, by the way, he needed me as his best man!

After I finished the tune-up, checked the brakes and refilled all the fluids on Ray's rig, we went out for dinner where my friend surprised me even more by revealing he was going to be a dad! With that revelation, his emotional dam burst and he told me he was selling his big rig to get a local driving job, so he'd be home every night; apparently his fiancée Angela really lit things up in bed, to the point he couldn't stand being away from her for more than a day.

My usually-taciturn friend was over the moon at the idea of getting off the road and turning his stark, empty house into a real family home. That he'd only known her a couple of weeks before proposing seemed to be of no consequence to Ray, so instead of expressing any concern, I just rolled with it. I'd never seen him be this way about any girl in the years I'd known him, and I was far from being a relationship expert so who the fuck was I to warn him he might be making a mistake?

When I travelled to Las Vegas for the wedding and finally met Angela, I could see the attraction. About 5'6", she was a bigger girl - big rack, thick thighs and a nice booty - with a round pretty face, blonde hair, and deep blue eyes; her personality seemed very sweet and shy. She also smelled nice, like lavender with just a hint of French fries, but then again it could have been my imagination.

What really struck me was the way Angela looked at Ray. Despite there being 1.4 million men within the Las Vegas city limits, as far as she was concerned, there was only the one: Ray Beaumont. Long story short, yeah, I got what Ray saw in her.

Angela's maid of honor, Maribelle Novotny, was my height, 6', in her heels. Her eyes and tightly-curled hair were both brown, her face long and narrow. Her torso seemed somewhat flat, with thin legs and no boobs or ass that I could tell. Still, she had remarkable lips -- not the kind injected with filler, but naturally full -- that seemed perfect for kissing. I found myself thinking that maybe, if I was lucky, I'd sample them first-hand before the day was through. Hey, a man can dream, right?

I also sensed there was a spark to Maribelle, a hyperactive inner energy. It could be that energy came from her being excited about the wedding; Ray mentioned she worked as a truck-stop waitress like Angela, so maybe her energy came from that. As I watched her running around before the wedding attending to details, I began to suspect it ran deeper than that. This was one driven woman!

The wedding itself at the Chapel of the Bells went flawlessly. Neither Ray nor Angela had large families, so it was a small affair. Besides Maribelle and I, there was Ray's father Howard and stepmother Maureen and Angela's parents, Paul and Jane, plus her big brother Steve and his wife Connie. Angela looked fantastic, obviously pregnant but still radiant in her wedding dress. Maribelle looked nice too, in her long turquoise dress with a slit up the skirt that allowed a peek at her long legs.

When the ceremony was over, my buddy Ray had the wife he truly loved, and there were happy tears all around. Not that I'd been to a lot of weddings -- I didn't have that many friends - but this one was by far the sweetest one I'd even seen. For the first time in my life, I actually envisioned myself as a groom.

Of course, in order for that to happen I'd need a girlfriend first, ha-ha. Given I was a truck mechanic who drive a Ford F-250 dually pickup and not a rich business executive who drove a BMW M8, the chances of

that

happening were pretty damned low.

After the ceremony, Angela's parents took us for a celebration dinner at the Top of the World restaurant, which rotated 800 feet above Las Vegas in the Stratosphere Casino Hotel & Tower. The food was amazing, and as the drinks flowed and the night went on, I found myself wondering more and more about Maribelle, more specifically what was under the maid of honor's turquoise dress.

Not long after Ray and Angela said their farewells and headed to their honeymoon suite, I was looking out the window at the Las Vegas lights, formulating possible opening lines to approach Maribelle with. That proved unnecessary when she beat me to the punch.

"Hey, handsome, what are you looking at?"

Failing to come up with any impressive retort, I just told the truth. "Just looking at the lights, thinking."

"Thinking about anything -- or anybody in particular?" I felt her rubbing my bicep, telegraphing her interest. This was indeed a new experience for me!

Realizing this was my chance, I took my shot. "Well, since you asked, yeah. I was thinking about you, actually."

A smirk crossed her face. "Oh, my, nothing bad I hope. I tried to be a good maid of honor today, I didn't fart during the ceremony or anything."

That got a laugh out of me. "Listen, as pretty as you looked, nobody would have noticed if you had."

Have you ever had a moment in your life where you said just the right thing at just the right time? Judging by Maribelle's reaction, this was my moment. Her demeanor instantly transformed from playful to slightly predatory. Pulling her chair closer to mine, she leaned in.

"Why Vincent Fischer, I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me," she suggestively whispered. Suddenly her lips were on mine, giving me a kiss as soft as the silk on expensive panties. Then she breathed in my ear, "Tell me more!"

Now I was on a roll, so a little flattery was in order. "When you walked down the aisle with Angela, you were as graceful as a wildflower, and those lips of yours are perfect."

She shivered in delight. "Ooooh, Vince, I love how you talk!"

The time seemed to be right to lean in and kiss Maribelle, so I did. This time, her arms wrapped around my neck and she responded passionately. For my part, I put my hands on her shoulders and held them in place. Things seemed to be escalating quickly; I could feel an erection growing in my dress pants. Visions of that turquoise dress falling to the floor as we danced the horizontal salsa swam in my head.

"Come on, stud, let's go have fun!" she declared, and pulled me by the hand towards the elevator. My visions of a passionate rendezvous were dashed when we entered the elevator. Instead of pressing the button for the ground floor to go to the hotel, she pressed the 'up' button for the 113th floor. That's when my heart sank.

When the Stratosphere Tower and hotel complex (aka 'The Strat') opened on April 30, 1996, the 1,149 foot tower became the tallest freestanding observation tower in the US. You'd think the builder would be happy at that, but no, this was Las Vegas, so it wasn't enough. The sick bastard had to go put several thrill rides on TOP of the damned thing! When Maribelle pushed that button, this is where we were heading.

See, my dilemma was my intense fear of heights; I was a horny acrophobic with a woman I most definitely wanted to be with, on my way to a place I most definitely did

not

want to be! When I mentioned my fear to Maribelle in the elevator, her response was to lay into me with a passionate kiss, slipping her hand down the front of my slacks and caressing my cock.

Maribelle's eyes had a wild look to them now, and I sensed things were about to get out of control. "I get turned on by a man who likes to take risks, Vincent," she whispered, "don't you want to turn me on?"

Obviously, this was a trick question, there being only one answer. With testosterone now overruling my anxiety, I found myself at the ticket booth, buying two tickets on the third highest thrill ride in the world,

Insanity

.

Aptly named, it's a massive arm that dangles ten riders -- two on each of the five arms - over the edge of the tower and then slowly opens up and spins you around like a centrifuge at approximately forty miles per hour with no ground beneath. The kicker is that as the arms expand outward, the riders are tilted until they reach an angle of 70 degrees -- looking almost straight down at the city below.

In addition to the heights, at this time of night and this high up, the temperature was around 45 degrees - it was already cold and the ride hadn't even started! Another man in my circumstances might have taken one look at the big purple and green mechanism and not even gotten on board, but Maribelle was already in her seat, waiting with a look of pure joy on her face. Much like the Sirens tempted brave Ulysses, I could not resist her. Taking her hand, I got into the seat beside hers. The hydraulics hissed, locking our lap and leg restraints into place, and we were off.

On the plus side, I never felt like I was going to fall out, due to the centrifugal force keeping me pinned to the seat as the ride spun. On the minus side, as the spin speed increased and the five arms expanded outward, there was no getting around the fact there was 900 feet or more between me and South Las Vegas Boulevard below.

About a minute in, panic began to overwhelm me as the wind whipped the thin silk of my tuxedo, and I was having some difficulty breathing. I closed my eyes at first until Maribelle teased, "Come on, Vince, keep your eyes open! This is the fun part! If you don't want to look down, look at me!"

I did as instructed, and our eyes met. "You're doing great," she shouted. Looking at her pretty smiling face took my focus off the height, and I felt my panic lessening a bit. She was right, I was doing great!

For the remaining two-and-a-half minutes I alternated between looking down and looking at Maribelle, and miraculously, I didn't die. When the ride finished and my restraints released me, I walked on shaky legs towards the exit. Boarding the elevator, Maribelle pushed the button for the ground floor, then told me "I'm so proud of you!" before wrapping her arms around me and kissing me non-stop for the 49 seconds it took for the express elevator to descend 113 floors to the lobby.

"It wasn't so bad after all," I lied. In truth, I realized that without Maribelle next to me there's no fucking way I would have been able to make it through that ride without my eyes closed tightly, screaming the whole time. And I recalled how when our eyes met, she was looking at me the way Angela looked at Ray -- like I was the only man in the world. Damn, that felt good!

During the elevator's descent, my hands were certainly not idle. One was pressed against her back, pulling her chest into mine, while my other hand moved through her skirt's slit and caressed her thigh, the moved up to cup her ass cheeks. They may have not been overly large, but they were delightfully squeezable, and I proceeded to do just that.

She leaned her head down and whispered in my ear, "You realize they have security cameras in these elevators, right?"

I chuckled, "Let them watch. They'll be jealous I have the hottest woman in Las Vegas with me!" My saying that must have triggered something in her, because she lifted her skirt, slid her crotch along my thigh, and ever-so-slightly began to hump it as my hand grasped her ass cheek. Whatever chill left in my bones from our

Insanity

ride was vanquished, replaced by my burning to get Maribelle into bed.

When we felt the elevator stop we disentangled, but I wasn't quick enough to get my hand out of her skirt before the elevator opened. I got several chuckles and admiring looks from some of the men waiting with their female companions to go up. Grinning, I shrugged and said, "Vegas, baby!"

I was feeling pretty good; with my confidence renewed and the hot woman on my arm admiring me, Vince the truck mechanic was, at least for the moment, Vince the stud. We began walking across the casino floor towards the hotel lobby elevators.

We walked past the rows and rows of slot machines, aka 'one-armed bandits'. The clank of payouts from coin slots are long gone, replaced by bells since these days all you needed was your casino card. I'd picked one up and loaded it with $500 just before the wedding, expecting that after the reception I'd come down and do a little gambling. I had no way of knowing that this tall wild beauty leading me by the hand would be scaring the shit out of me and rocking my world instead.

We walked by the nickel slots and the dollar slots; just before we reached the hotel lobby doors, Maribelle pulled up short in front of a giant slot machine, 'Easy Street'. Easily 12 feet tall and 8 feet wide with five reels and a 6-foot long pull arm, this was a high-stakes machine; depending on what you wagered, you could win up to $999,999. The machine's minimum was $50 per pull, but accepted wagers of $100, $200, $500, or $1,000 as well.

Maribelle turned to me, and eyes had that same wild look as when she'd gotten me to get on the

Insanity

ride. "Play for me, Vince," she purred, "you like to take risks, right?" She pulled me to her and kissed me deeply, her hands grasping my ass and pulling me into her. By this point logic had abandoned me, my hard cock taking over as the shot-caller.

She released me and I turned to the machine, taking the casino card in my pocket and slipping it in to the slot. Pressing the $50 wager button, I pulled the big machine's spin arm down, bypassing the flashing blue 'SPIN' button because pushing that would have just been lazy. I was a truck mechanic who worked with my hands, I'd be damned if I'd settled for pushing a button!

The five big reels started spinning, and a few seconds later they landed on the pay line as shamrock, bell, cherries, cowboy boot, and a shamrock. Not a combination that won anything, of course, so I was now down $50. Maribelle whispered in my ear, "That was just a warm-up, sweetie, do it again!"

After losing that $50, Vince Fischer the mechanic would have simply walked away, horrified at how he'd thrown perfectly good money into the pockets of the casino owners. However, that Vince was no longer at the helm of my brain; instead, it was Vince Fischer, the guy hoping to get Maribelle Novotny naked before the night was over.

Pressing the $200 wager button, I slid my card through then pulled the huge spin arm again. This time the five reels landed on the pay line with 'rooster', 'free spin', shamrock, 'free spin', and 'free spin'.

While I was now out $250, the 3 matching 'free spin' symbols on the pay line meant I got another pull at the same $200 wager payoff level. Once again, I yanked the big spin arm and the reels began to spin. This time they fell on the pay line as shamrock, cherries, shamrock, shamrock, and shamrock

. Four out of five!

Suddenly two yellow rotating lights on top of the machine lit up and a bell began ringing. The payout screen was flashing $75,000 in big letters. If all 5 dials had landed on shamrocks, my $200 wager would have won me $199,999, but no way was I complaining, no sir!

Leaping to my feet, I took Maribelle in my arms and kissed her. I'd been about to walk away $50 in the hole, but thanks to her urging, I'd hit on $75,000. It had been a crazy night, and my emotions were in a whirl. This woman's craziness had lured me into doing things I would have never done, if left to my own devices. I'd faced my biggest fear, then risked $250 of my hard-earned money; in both cases, I ended up being glad I did! And the night wasn't even over.

Two security people arrived and led Maribelle and I into a little office to sign the IRS winnings forms, which sucked, but I still walked out of the casino with close to $38,000 in cash. I felt the strong urge to go play something else, but two things dissuaded me: the certainty that the house would win it back, and the overpowering desire to get naked with this lady in the turquoise dress.

In the hotel elevator on the way to Maribelle's room, we resumed our earlier lascivious activity; between the kissing and rubbing, I managed to murmur, "You realize you're my new good-luck charm and I can't let you go now, right?"

She murmured right back, "Maybe I don't want to be let go."

"Well, then, I guess I'll have to go buy some handcuffs and lock you right up!"

We got off on the fifth floor, and Maribelle led me to room 538. I took the card key from her and unlocked it, then picked her up in my arms and carried her in. She was delighted, giggling the whole time. It was a suite, with a main area and a separate bedroom.

Although my lover was tall, she was thin enough that she didn't weigh that much. For a guy who regularly carried 110 pound truck tires without breaking a sweat, she was nothing! I laid her on the couch and slipped her shoes off, rubbing her feet. She groaned in pleasure.

"Oh, I haven't taken my shoes off all day, that feels so good!"

I chuckled, and told her, "Making you feel good makes me feel good! What do you think about that?"

"I think I like it." She looked me in the eye as she said this, and her expression reminded me of the way Angela looked at Ray -- pure adoration. My heart beat a little faster as I asked myself

what have I gotten myself into?

Maribelle was seated on one end of the couch, I seated myself on the other, her feet in my lap. I picked her left foot up and inspected it; there were angry red marks on the ball of her foot and just on the bottom of her foot just behind her toes.