Vegas Weeend

Summary: mind control, Mf, some ff, incest, some preg Aahh, time to head with the family to Vegas for an exciting weekend, to sink into the pits of sin with the one-armed bandits and the slut machines there, finally emerging as shiny, freshly-minted whores and cuckolds to carry a little more sexy joy back to the mundane world. Compliments from Vegas.

See No Evil: Contains sexually explicit and politically incorrect material. If you shouldn't be reading this, or if it might offend you, simply stop now.

Legalese: All actors and actresses are over the age of consent. Proof of age is on file. Any similarity of any character, event or place to any actual person, event or place, is purely coincidental. This is all fantasy, and the actors are all professionals -- do not try any of this at home.

Archiving: You are welcome to discreetly repost or archive this, just do not change it, steal from it or claim credit for it.

Author's Ramblings: A novel-length story in six parts (Prolog, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Epilog), posted one per week. And you guys say I take too long to post my stories ....

Raw sex without a whole lot of that tedious character development stuff to get in the way. Hopefully, there's enough wordplay, humor, irony and foreshadowing for the literary-minded of you out there.

Live well.

Prolog ------

Or You'll Be Sleeping With the Tunas, See?

-- ------ -- -------- ---- --- ------ ----

(Eight and a half months before the main story)

Two men, both wearing dark suits, strode purposefully through the lobby of the casino. One was six foot six and had a shaved head; he went by the name of Bruno. The other was six foot four, with dark close-cropped curly locks; he went by the name of Guido.

"I get to say the line this time," Guido said out of the side of his mouth as the men marched towards their destination.

"No, you don't," Bruno said in a bass voice.

"Yes, I do. You got to say it last time. Don't be a pig."

"Crybaby."

"I get to say it."

The two men slowed as they approached a roulette table. A man stood there, tie loosened, hair disheveled, a slouch that said that he had just lost again, and eyes that were already starting to get a little wild as he noticed the two men focus on him.

"Mr. Watkins requests the pleasure of your company," Bruno said in a voice so deep that the disheveled man felt his ribs resonate.

"Uhm ... I, uh ..."

"I suggest that you come now," Guido told him in a voice that seemed nowhere near deep enough to be coming out of that big chest.

"I-- "

The two men stepped to either side of the disheveled man and each took an arm. "Just walk with us, Mr. Stanford."

"How do you know-- I-- please ...." As the two men escorted him through the lobby, he called toward the Avocado room for his wife, "Rhonda! Rhonda!"

"Sir, please don't make a scene," Bruno told him quietly. "I would hate to have to crush your larynx."

"Nnng!" the disheveled man muffled his gasp.

They led him to the elevator, then Guido pressed the "up" button. As they waited, three dancers from the casino show walked up. The elevator arrived, then Bruno held the door open for them.

"Ladies," he said, smiling, and they stepped inside, giggling. "We'll take the next one. You ladies have a nice day."

"Look-- look at that nice couple," the disheveled man said, pointing toward a man and woman standing by another elevator, "You should let them go ahead of us too. They seem like nice people."

"Shut up," Bruno told him quietly.

"Nnnnggg!"

"Don't you wet your pants, Mr. Stanford," Guido warned him. "We wouldn't like that."

"Nnnngg!"

The elevator opened finally, and the trio stepped inside. Bruno pressed the penthouse button, and the doors closed.

"Mr. Watkins is concerned about your ability to make good on your debt," Guido started. Bruno gave his partner a glare and discreetly shook his head "no", but Guido ignored him. "You're not looking to shortchange him, are you?"

"Don't," Bruno warned Guido.

"N-no! I wouldn't! Not ever!"

"Good, 'cause if you ever do something like that-- "

"Don't," Bruno warned again.

"-- if you ever do, you'll be sleepin' with the tunas, see?"

Bruno rolled his eyes, then scowled at Guido.

"No, no, I wouldn't do that! I just need to get to the bank, and I can get the money for Mr. Watkins. Yeah, I can GET the money! I just didn't realize that he was waiting." Charlie Stanford nodded enthusiastically. He might just be able to wriggle out of this yet.

"Mr. Stanford, do not lie to us," Bruno told him, attempting to salvage some of the man's anxiety.

"I'm not lying! I just didn't know!"

Bruno changed topics. "Mr. Stanford, how much do you value your kneecaps?"

"My! Kneecaps!?"

"I have this collection, you see ..."

"Please! No! I can GET the money!"

The elevator arrived, and the three men stepped out.

"Please! Really! I can GET the money!"

"You'll need to convince Mr. Watkins of that, sir. Please, this way."

"Nooooo!" The man whined.

"Don't MAKE me pick your ass up and carry you in!" Guido snapped.

"Noooo!"

"Mr. Stanford," Bruno spoke reasonably, "This is your opportunity to convince Mr. Watkins that you are good for your debt. And to keep the ability to kneel, if you know what I mean."

"Please!" Stanford whined, but came along with the two.

Bruno knocked on the door, waited a couple moments, then opened it. "Mr. Watkins, Mr. Stanford is here to see you."

"Thank you, Bruno. Bring him in, please."

"Please!" Stanford whined as Guido pushed him in. "You DON'T have to take my kneecaps! I can GET the money!"

"Bruno, did you threaten Charlie?"

"I just mentioned my collection, sir. As one professional to another."

"Charlie, Charlie. They were just roughing you up. I don't want you kneecaps. Egads! What would I do with the things?!"

Charlie Stanford gave a nervous little giggle.

"Well, besides giving them to Bruno here as a job perk."

Another nervous giggle: please don't possibly mean that.

"Did you know that Mr. Stanford and I went to school together, Bruno?"

"No, sir." Bruno and Guido both assumed semi-attention stances.

"Yeah. Charlie here was quarterback. He married the prom queen. Trite little tale if you ask me."

A small sobbing sound erupted from Charlie's throat.

"It gets worse from there. I was called a slacker back then. Folks like Charlie and his wife considered me an untouchable. They wouldn't even be seen speaking to me. But, alas ... You know that if you do well in high school, you're gonna be a miserable failure in life. Now Charlie's a 250 slab o' flab. And he's got this gambling problem, you see. He's in debt for a seven digit figure to me. Me -- the slacker that now manages this casino that does business in the billions. What do you think of that, Bruno?"

"Ironic story, sir."

"Yeah, pretty damn ironic. Don't YOU think, Charlie?"

"PLEASE! I can do better! I can GET you the-- "

"Bruno, Guido, could you wait right outside while Charlie and I discuss the terms of his debt?"

"Yes, sir."

The two men stepped outside, closed the door and waited at semi-attention on either side of the doorway, like two medieval suits of armor in a modern day castle.

"That's why I don't let you say the lines. You blow them," Bruno said quietly out of the side of his mouth.

"I didn't blow the line."

"You wasted it." Bruno twisted up his face and put on a high-pitched mock voice, "Or you'll be sleepin' with the tunas, see?"

"I DIDN'T waste it."

"When you give that line properly, the Joe wets his britches. This guy wasn't even trembling."

"I didn't blow the line," Guido pouted.

"Did so."

"Did not."

The Pretentiousness of the High School Reunion --- --------------- -- --- ---- ------ -------

Frank Watkins pressed an intercom button. "Mary, bring us in some coffee, please, sweetcheeks?" He looked at the nervous Mr. Stanford. "Charlie, how the FUCK did you ever get into this mess?"

"I don't KNOW!" A sob burst its way out of the man's throat.

"HOW are you ever going to get out of it?"

"I will FIND a way! I will find a way, sir."

"You know, I have a feeling you might, Charlie."

Charlie looked up hopefully and blotted his eyes.

A pretty brunette assistant entered, wearing a navy micro-miniskirt and a sheer black blouse through which her hard nipples were obvious. She handed a cup of coffee to Mr. Watkins, then another cup to Charlie, then stood to the side, never meeting Charlie's eyes. Charlie frowned. Actually, she looked a great deal like--

"Life just has a way, don't you think, Charlie?"

"How-- how do you mean?"

"Well, you and Rhonda wouldn't be caught dead speaking to me back in high school. Now look at you. You're ready to shit your pants begging me to be merciful with you."

Another sob burst out of Charlie's throat.

Frank changed the subject. "Do you remember that beautiful honors student back in high school, Charlie?"

Nervous silence.

"Charlie?"

"Yeah! Yeah."

"Where do you think that promising young lady is today? Running a corporation? Interviewing celebrities? Counseling stock investments? What do you think?"

"I have ... no idea, Mr. Watkins." He glanced again at the assistant. She DID look remarkably like--

"I like that. 'Mr. Watkins.' Keep that up, Charlie. It buys you points. What would you say if I told you that that pretty little honor student is somewhere wasting all that intelligence, wasting all that potential, wasting all that promise, that she's somewhere half-nude, serving coffee for some big cock of the walk?"

Charlie stared at the assistant. There was no way. She LOOKED like Mary, but there was just no possible way that--

"What WAS that girl's name, Charlie?"

"It was Mary," the woman spoke. "Mary Hillford."

Frank sat forward. "It WAS, wasn't it. Mary Hillford. Half-naked, serving coffee for some big prick in Vegas. Who woulda thunk it?"

"You-- you can't be-- " Charlie jabbered at the woman.

Her chest as well as her face blushing, she spoke. "Believe it, Charlie."

"I just have a way with people, Charlie," Frank said, standing and walking over to Mary, then standing behind her to cup a breast and elicit a sigh.

"You-- you have a gambling problem too?" Charlie asked Mary.

"No, Charlie," she said, reaching her arms back behind her head and around Frank's neck and pushing her chest forward into his hands. "I just really, really need this." She arched her back to rub her ass against Frank's crotch. "Oh Frank!"

"Now, Charlie," Frank groped Mary's breasts through the sheer fabric, "I want you to follow my directions very closely. Your kneecaps depend on this, you might say. Mary, go strip Charlie."

"Hungh?" Charlie's voice cracked.

"Mary is going to strip you naked. Your first task is to not ejaculate on this beautiful body yet."

"But-- "

Mary walked over to Charlie, not only meeting his eyes, but staring him down now.. "Charlie, I am going to do this because Frank told me to. But if you touch me with your creepy little pecker, I am going to bite the crawly fucking thing off. Understood?"

"Mary, be polite," Frank scolded her.

Mary began removing Charlie's shirt while he sat timidly. Next came his shoes and socks. Then she had him stand, unbelted him and pulled down his pants, then his boxers.

"Charlie, you're nothing but a limp noodle down there. What's wrong? Doesn't Mary turn you on?"

"I used to dream about Mary ..." Charlie said, his voice trembling. "I would have done anything if ... if only she would have ..."

"Mary, help Charlie out, will you? Strip for him, please."

Mary stood, then pushed Charlie back into his chair. "C'mon, Charlie, get HARD for me, will you?" She slid off her blouse, then peeled out of her microskirt, leaving her in just a garter belt, hose and high heels.

She looked in disgust at his bored organ. "CHARLIE?! Don't I even make you STIFF?!"

Charlie shrugged dumbly, astonished at his own prick's laziness and disinterest.

"You're not even really a man, are you, Charlie? Not like Frank! He's ALWAYS hard! You little jello-schlonged coward!" She walked over to Frank, unzipped him, then knelt and took his rod in her mouth.

Charlie looked at his lap. Not even pretty Mary Hilford's head bobbing up and down at a man's crotch was getting him hard! What was suddenly WRONG with him?!

"Mary," Frank sighed finally, "Our little Charlie over there is going to need a little help."

"Oh, NO, Frank. DON'T make me do that!"

"Go help him get it up, will you sugar-tits?"

Mary stood and marched over to Charlie. "Charlie, you sick fucking pig!" she hissed. "You goddam get that stinking pecker of yours up. Now!"

Not even a twitch.

"Charlie, goddam you, you soft pussy! Get that thing up! Do NOT make me do this!"

"I-- I'm sorry ... Mary ... I don't know ... what ... I just ...."

"You sick fuck! You just want me to SUCK it, DON'T you! You never could get me back in high school and now you are just being a perverse limp dick to weasel me into sucking your little cock! HOW are you keeping from getting hard, you stinking shit?!"

"I-- I don't-- "

"Well, fuck (schlupp!) you, Charlie (schlupp)." Mary's head bobbed on Charlie's soft penis. "Get it (schlup) up, Charlie! (slurp) You goddam fucking pig (shshshslump)!"

"Nothing, Charlie?" Frank asked. "Just soggy oatmeal?"

Horrified, Charlie nodded vehemently.

"You're going to hurt poor Mary's feelings. Not to mention giving her a sore jaw from trying to wake the dead."

"But it's not ..."

"Tell you what, Charlie. If you can get an erection right now ... I will forgive your whole debt. On the spot. Clean and clear, the entire thing. What do you say, buddy?"

Charlie's horrified eyes went down to meet Mary's furious glaring eyes. She spit out his pecker. "Charlie! You fucking get that thing up! Now!"

Desperate, Charlie reached down and began groping at it with his own hand. "Pleeeeease!" he whined to it. "Come on, pleeease ..."

"Anything? Charlie?"

Charlie looked up silently at Frank and vigorously shook his head no, a horrified expression still on his face.

"You make me SICK!" Mary told him.

Frank shook his head sadly. "Well, that's just ..."

"No! I can get it up! I CAN!" His hand was working vigorously in his lap.

"Give it up, Charlie," Mary said, embarrassed for him now. "It's nothing more than a slack rubber band down there."

"No! It's coming! I can FEEL it!"

"Mary?"

"He's not even as stiff as mashed potatoes, Frank."

"Charlie," Frank sighed. "You disappoint me."

"But-- I don't mean-- "

"Mary."

"NO! Frank! I will NOT!"

"Mary, we need to try to help our little Charlie in any way that we can."

"NO, Frank! Not again!"

"Charlie, Mary is going to try again to help you do the impossible and get a stiffie."

"But, I can-- if you just-- "

"No, Charlie. We can safely conclude that you'll never get it up by yourself. So sad. So pathetic. Mary."

"Charlie, you PIG! I DESPISE you!" Her head went to his lap again.

Frank sat down at his desk chair and leaned back, then stared at the ceiling about two minutes. "Anything Charlie?"

"No! Not yet! But it's coming!" he said, his voice cracking.

"Charlie, think of Mary's jaw. And her tongue will get sore. Hell, you may give her chapped lips after this fiasco. What do you think? Can you get it up for Mary?"

"I'm TRYING! It was OKAY just a couple nights ago!"

Marriage Counseling

-------- ----------

Frank leaned forward and pressed one of the buttons on the intercom. "Let's proceed." He looked at the pathetic man. "Charlie, you little pudding prick, my offer holds until that door opens. If you can get it up, your slate is clean. Give it a try, eh, old chap? One for the Gipper? Do it for the team?"

Charlie's face bunched up in flexed concentration.

Frank almost believed that Charlie could move matter with that look of concentration ... but apparently he could not stiffen his penis.

There was a light rapping at the door, then a couple moments later, a third man in a dark suit leaned his head in. "I have your other visitor, Mr. Watkins."

"Excellent. Charlie, our little deal ceases at this point-- "

"NOOOOOO! I can DO IT! Just give me a minute!" He grabbed the back of Mary's head and began moving it faster at his lap.

"No, Charlie, you can't. And even if you do, it won't matter now. The deal is off. Tony, please bring our other guest in now."

Tony opened the door the rest of the way and led a very pretty strawberry blonde woman in. She was perhaps in her early forties, still with very pretty eyes and pert breasts.

"RHONDA!!" Charlie said, jerking Mary's head back from his lap and pushing her away.

Rhonda's handbag dropped to the floor in shock. "CHARLIE!! What are you doing NAKED?! With that WOMAN?!"

"I can assure you, Mrs Stanford," Frank spoke calmly, "Absolutely nothing."

"CHARLIE?!"

Charlie's whole body blushed as he tried to cover his crotch with both hands. Mary stood, wiped her mouth and walked over to the side of the room, still naked except for her stockings and heels.

"Mrs Stanford -- may I call you Rhonda?" Frank stood and walked around to the woman, picking up and handing her her purse. "Rhonda, please, have a seat over here."

Rhonda allowed herself to be led and took a seat on a sofa across from her naked husband.

"Rhonda, your husband owes me a great deal of money."

Rhonda scowled at Charlie. "Exactly how MUCH money?"

"More than the two of you combined are expected to make during the rest of your lives. Needless to say, I'm not yet convinced that you two are good for the debt."

"We ... uhm ..."

"I'm also not convinced that Charlie is sincere in wanting to relieve himself of that debt."

"Why-- why is that?"

"Well, I told him that if he could just get it up, I would clear his debt entirely. I even had beautiful Mary there try to help him by sucking his cock. But ..." Frank spread his hands and sighed.

"CHARLIE?! How COULD you?!"

"Rhonda! I'm sorry! He ordered me to strip, and he ordered her to put it in her mouth. I didn't want to, but-- "

"I don't CARE about that! You wouldn't GET IT UP? Not even to clear your DEBT?! You miserable LOSER!"

"I TRIED!"

"Well, not hard enough, Charlie!"

"Pun unintended," Frank muttered.

"But--!"

"Hush, Charles," Frank told him as he walked to the far side of the sofa Rhonda was sitting on and sat down himself. "You had YOUR chance." He looked at Rhonda. "You still look fine, Rhonnie. The years since high school haven't worn away your looks at all. You're still a fine looking vixen."

She remembered Frank Watkins, remembered the drug-dealing rumors about him, the rumors about him knocking up high school sluts and then not marrying them. He had been the lowest of the low, the slimiest of the slimy. "Thank-- thank you, Frank."

Frank leaned back and crossed his legs. "What was the name of that movie? The one that had Demi Moore in it. And Robert Redford. And that Cheers guy."

"Ted Danson?" Charlie asked, and Frank scowled at him.

"I-- I remember that movie," Rhonda said quietly.

"Yeah, and Redford gave the girl, like, a million dollars, wasn't it? And she would fuck him."

Rhonda swallowed hard.

Charlie felt very vulnerable, sitting naked with his scared little shriveled penis in the castle of the enemy, the enemy troops right outside the door, the enemy devil playing sick mind games with his pretty wife.

"Yeah, that always seemed like a pragmatic way to do business," Frank said. "What did you think of it, Rhonda?"

"It-- it, uhm ..."

"Well, you had to like Robert Redford. All the women like him. Don't you, Rhonda?"

"Yes-- yes, he's an attractive man."

"Attractive? Because of his pretty bleached locks? Or because of his fat-assed wallet?"