(C) Copyright 2003, revised 2013 by frog, all rights reserved, except those described below. Permission is granted to download, archive, and repost provided that the contents are not altered, including the disclaimers, copyrights and limitations on use and provided that no fee is charged for access. This story is erotic fiction intended for adult entertainment. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse the behavior described in this story. All persons and events in this story are completely fictitious and ANY similarity to persons living or dead or to actual events is purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
Alex Adams, newly wed for only three days, stood on a brightly lit, circular platform in the middle of a cavernous gambling casino as rivulets of sweat slowly trickled down his spine. A large noisy crowd had assembled about him. Alex wore a heavy, floor-length black velvet cape. Underneath, he was completely naked!
A woman whom Alex had never met sat in a chair beside him giggling in anticipation, her face in her hands. Two other men, similarly dressed, each bathed in blinding theatrical lights, stood on platforms on either side of Alex. The sea of faces that undulated around them appeared almost surreal.
Bells of countless slot machines droned in Alex's ears. A feeling similar to seasickness gripped him; his knees trembled; his hands were clammy. Strangely in all the hubbub, noise, and excitement, Alex was peculiarly aware of a single droplet of sweat that had collected first on his forehead, then had eased slowly down his brow, and now was poised to drop from the tip of his nose. This heightened awareness fascinated him in an oddly irrelevant way despite the fact that, in a moment, he would be required to remove the cape...and stand nude in front of everyone.
In the crowd gathering at Alex's feet stood his new bride, Julie. She stared up at him, hand over her mouth, head shaking back and forth in disbelief. In any other place or time, such a situation would have been inconceivable, especially to Julie Adams. But, at the
Casino du Roturier
, such a scene was almost normal. Alex and his cohorts simply had lost "special" bets against the house. Now it was time to pay!
*****
Across the casino floor, Beverly Morgan, a striking middle-aged beauty with dark auburn hair and a voluptuous figure, sat pondering a bet at a usually quiet, calm $5 Blackjack table. A bright red light flashed above her dealer's head. A moment earlier, the second card dealt her from the dealer's shoe had been emblazoned with a large red star on its back. The front of the card had read, "The holder of this card is entitled to play
Revelation
, a house game worth $1,000. Ask your dealer for details."
The dealer had explained that, as a result of drawing the red star card, the house was willing to bet $1,000 against Beverly's bra! House rules were, one, that she had to decide whether or not play without seeing her second card, and two, if she lost she had to remove the bra while standing at the table and present it to the dealer.
"A 'Blackjack,' of course, doubles the payoff," reminded the dealer. "Do you want to play?"
Beverly, a housewife from Atlanta on a dream vacation with her husband, George, stared at her first card, the Ace of Clubs. The more she contemplated winning a couple of thousand dollars, the more her hands shook. The flashing red light overhead signaled that a "special" game was underway at this table, but Beverly was oblivious to the crowd slowly beginning to assemble behind her.
A couple thousand dollars will pay for our plane fares,
thought Beverly.
But, if I lose...oh, my...I'll have to show my tits in order to get my bra completely off. No man but George has ever seen my breasts.
I have almost a one-in-three chance at a Blackjack...God, where is George when I need him? I have an ace under...I can win this hand! But... I'll die of embarrassment if I lose!
*****
Outside the casino, a taxi, actually a golf cart with a light on top, wheeled up to the casino's entrance carrying a heavy load—Mr. Jefferson "JJ" Johnson, long-time professional football player and well-known personality. Crowded into the seat beside him with no room to spare was his petite wife, Ingrid, a would-be model with long flowing blond hair and a head-turning, mind boggling figure.
JJ had heard from his teammates that gorgeous women were all over this island and all of them were in a party mood. JJ Johnson lived his entire existence in a party mood. He moved in life's fast lane and he wanted everyone around him to recognize that fact.
JJ flashed his million-dollar smile, complete with bright gold tooth, at the doorman. The doorman, who happened to be white, sprang forward to help Ingrid out of the taxi. JJ drank in the stunning scenery that surrounded the casino, along with the doorman's subservient behavior.
He thought to himself,
JJ, my man, you have come a long way from Menden, Mississippi. If you had stayed there, you would be the one carrying the bags and holding the door.
Indeed, he had come a long way. The grandson of a sharecropper growing up African American in the Deep South normally would not have had a chance in hell, but JJ Johnson had made his own chances and his dreams had come true. Now he had money, respect, and a gorgeous, sexy, white wife. After a grueling football season, his ninth as a pro, he was ready to have a little rest and healing relaxation, a lot of exciting gambling, and, perhaps, a little strange pussy, if the opportunity presented itself.
Just as JJ and Ingrid stepped out of the taxi, a completely naked young woman sauntered out of the casino. Her soft breasts, brown nipples pointing skyward, jiggled and bounced as she quickly made her way into the now vacant golf cart taxi. JJ and Ingrid stood spellbound.
"ClubMed, please, as fast as you can," she shouted to the driver and off they went.
I can tell that I am gonna love this motherfucking place, yes sirree,
thought JJ.
"What the hell was that?" gasped Ingrid.
"Looked like a naked woman to me," laughed JJ.
*****
John Cord grinned as he watched Alex and the two other robed men as well as Beverly Morgan via several closed-circuit televisions in his
La Domaine Riche
(The Room for the Rich) high atop the casino.
La Domaine Riche
was a gaming area reserved by invitation only for John's wealthiest, regular clients. Though
Casino du Roturier
was famous for its "special" wagering games, only the opulent few knew about
La Domaine Riche
, the place where the really serious gambling took place.
"If only those guys in the robes knew what was coming next," laughed Cord to himself. Then in a loud voice he proclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, gather around, please. Betting on the next game is about to begin. By the way, free champagne is available at the bar or from one of our lovely wait staff."
*****
Except for the complimentary conch fritters that the cocktail waitresses served along with drinks, the
Casino du Roturier
was like any other gambling joint—endless rows of slot machines and endless ways to lose your money. John Cord had "discovered" this casino years earlier on a Caribbean vacation the purpose of which was to take stock in his life and his future. He had been a very successful Dallas lawyer and real estate investor whose big ideas were transformed into big buildings and big money. But, John had grown tired of the rat race and was excruciatingly bored with his life at the time.
The island, St. Jehan, was one of the countless obscure chunks of sand and coral in the Caribbean surrounded by breathtaking multicolored water. The island's amazing natural beauty obscured the fact that for centuries the natives had barely scratched out a living in this isolated, economically desolate place. The more commonplace cruise ship and tourist destinations were one hundred miles or more away from this tiny speck in the ocean. Nonetheless, the island retained some degree of fame as one of the better diving and fishing destinations in the world.
At the height of John Cord's mid-life crisis, a real estate crony had told him that an investment group was about to build a small resort on this comparatively cheap island property. The resort was to have the term, hedonism, somewhere in its name and a national advertising campaign was planned featuring topless models frolicking in a hot tub. Armed with this insider information, John decided to see for himself the island that would soon be marketed using lots of exposed flesh.
One look at the fledgling combination casino and grocery store on the island had convinced John that he had come across the perfect place for young, adventurous, hedonistic resort clients to leave their money. And, the perfect place for him to make his life style change. A million plus renovation dollars later and John's dream became a successful reality.
Soon after John had begun to remodel the casino, both ClubMed and Playboy International also determined that sun, sand, and naked breasts might lure wealthy young professionals to this out of the way destination. The clients at those resorts, along with the original hedonists, created an even larger potential population for John's little casino operation. Yet, he desperately needed a hook that would lure vacationers in from the volleyball games, hot tubs, golf, singles bars, and nightlife at the largely self-contained resorts.
The hook dawned on him suddenly one night while he stroked his own cock. He was reading a story called "Pure Strip Poker" by MikeCA via the Internet when the whole new concept became immediately clear!
With
greed
as the primary motive, you give ordinary people a reason to do simple, sexual things that otherwise they would never do. You include a lot of nakedness in the process. Then you bring in a bunch of rich bored people, just like John had been, to bet on the highly unpredictable nature of the
roturier,
the common folk. As MikeCA's strip poker stroke story began to produce the desired results—John's masturbatory ejaculation—the idea that would set the
Casino du Roturier
apart from all other gambling enterprises on earth sprang to full glory within John's fertile mind.
That seemed so long ago now.
At present, corporate and private jets, along with commercial air service from Miami, brought a host of common and uncommon folks daily to the island, none of whom could pass up the chance to play and pay in John's very naughty casino. Some came only to see if the ribald stories that they had heard back home were true. Others came for the extraordinary thrill of wagering immense amounts of money on human beings' wildest behaviors. Still others, many with blue-tinted hair, came simply to sit in a beautiful, noisy tropical paradise and put quarters in the slot machines.
All came to give John Cord some of their money.
