This is my first time writing erotic fiction. I hope you enjoy it, as these scenarios have been floating around in my head for a while. Be aware, this series will include a variety of adult situations, including bisexuality, interracial sex, incest, group sex and other taboo subjects that not everybody may be into. If any of these subjects bother you, there's an entire site here filled with things you may prefer more. In any event, thanks for reading.
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It was Christmas Eve, and I was alone. Well, I was as alone as somebody in a large casino hotel in Vegas could be. I knew that, right now, there were people laughing and talking, betting thousands on the spin of a wheel, the turn of a card or the toss of some dice. There were people eating, drinking, reveling. And, because this was the Elysium, there were going to be people fucking, sucking and fondling. Just about all the earthly pleasures one could partake in were being partaken in (partook?) below my feet.
I wouldn't say that I was miserable, but I was feeling about as low as I had in a long time. I should have been elated. My new family was wonderful. I was having more sex, checking off items on my sexual fantasy bucket list nearly every day, and I didn't have to worry about school or sports for another couple of weeks. But there were clouds on the horizon, and more immediate issues to worry about closer to home.
Avery Locke. As I sat in my living room, looking out at the city of Las Vegas and the gentle curve of the Elysium - it was too bright to be able to see into Mom's rooms - i wondered what was motivating her to come after my family. She was a reporter, and every reporter wanted to chase a story. And ever since Woodward and Bernstein took down Richard Nixon, every reporter wanted to make their name immortal by claiming the scalp of some senior politician, business mogul or A list celebrity. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was just ambitious, finding the largest targets she could to take down. The Governor wasn't the largest of targets, but he was big enough in Nevada. Solomon Sinclair wasn't the biggest of the casino owners in Las Vegas, but he was slowly moving up the ladder. Maybe there was a completely innocuous explanation for why she was dogging us.
But the more I learned about my new family, the more I wondered if there couldn't be more to it than that. Avery Locke was a late twenty-something reporter. Could she really be doing this all on her own? Were her editors pulling the strings? Was there some other hand at work here we couldn't see?
My mind kept coming back to Lena Sinclair's murder. I was probably one of a handful of people - outside whoever pulled the metaphorical trigger - who knew that she HAD been murdered. To the rest of the world, it looked like another one of those tragic Alaskan airplane crashes, all too common in an area where so many people have private planes because the distances to travel anywhere are huge and the roads not always reliable. Nyla's revelation explained so many things I'd seen since I'd gotten to the Elysium, not the least of which was Solomon Sinclair's emphasis on security. I appreciated that he had walked a fine line - most of the security measures in the hotel were understated and inobtrusive, and every Vegas hotel casino put a premium on reducing losses to theft and cheating, using techniques that would have made the KGB look like a mom and pop operation. But the Elysium took it farther than I had ever known was possible - granted, my experience was pretty limited. Maybe things like armed guards, personal security, cameras galore, and two different security nerve centers that reviled the NSA for complexity and thoroughness were standard in Vegas. But I didn't think so, at least not to this extent. It had to be a serious drain on his resources, because these were costs that would never be recouped, unlike most of the other casino operations that were all tied to some kind of revenue generating source.
Maybe Avery was acting alone, or maybe she was just a cat's paw. Maybe she was motivated by ambition, or maybe there was something else, something personal driving this crusade. I had no way of knowing, at the time, that my thoughts were trending in the right direction.
And I had a more immediate problem. What was I going to do about Sol and Mom's Christmas gift? I had gotten things for everybody else, even down to the handful of staffers I had gotten to know. But the two most important people to me, I would be leaving empty handed. I ran my hands through my hair roughly, tugging and then let out a loud exasperated yell. It was late afternoon, and I was running out of time. The Sinclairs liked to do dinner and family time on Christmas Eve late, so that the clock would tick over to Christmas Day, and they could open their gifts in the wee hours after midnight. Dinner was scheduled to start at 10 pm. I felt bad for the kitchen staff and the servers who would be stuck working tonight for our fun, but everything I had seen had shown me that Sol was a pretty good employer, and I expected he was taking good care of the staff for being here to cater to our family, rather than being at home with theirs.
I had worn a comfy robe up from the men's gym after my earlier sexcapades. I had showered with Miles so I was clean. I knew I needed to relax, and honestly, my legs were a bit sore from all of the up and downs, kneeling and standing, and humping and pumping I had been doing. I decided to get in the tub, maybe watch some TV, and let the heat sooth my nerves and my sore muscles.
The tub filled, and I sat in the near scalding waters, an audible sigh escaping from me as I settled in. The tub was large enough that I was covered up to mid chest with hot water, and a dark stained bamboo tray lay across its top, with enough room for a cup of coffee or a glass of wine to rest in the slot built for a beverage. There was a spot for a TV remote control, and a folding book holder that could handle a tablet, an e-reader or a regular book, if you were so inclined. My tablet was in front of me, and a bottle of water. With the remote, I turned on the TV and flipped to the local channel. The evening news was just starting. I wanted to see if there were any updates on the Governor's story.
There were the usual local news - a big fire that had consumed two houses and a warehouse in Summerlin, a story about a local high school's football season, and an investigative report on tax evasion by strippers, which apparently was running rampant. I snorted. An all cash business had tax evasion issues? That was almost a "dog bites man" story.
The lead political story that night was, indeed, about the Governor's on-going incest scandal, but it was from a different angle. Despite Mom's claims, and the Governor's, that was a non-story that should blow over after the holidays, it seemed to still be going strong. The latest news was that one of the City's oldest and most powerful casino moguls had essentially called on the Governor to step down.
"Las Vegas has been trying to shake the Sin City label for a decade," said Vincent 'Vex' Romano, the owner of Empire Luxe Holdings, a massive conglomerate of some of the older and more venerable properties in the city. Everybody knew Vex Romano, and there were buildings named for him and by him all over town, from a hospital to a dorm at UNLV to the new stadium the Athletics were playing in, Luxe Field. "We've spent countless dollars cleaning up this town, bringing in the NFL and baseball, getting rid of obvious signs of decay, curbing smoking and trying to get rid of the constant smell of weed that made going outside a sensory nightmare. We've added family friendly resorts so that Las Vegas doesn't just have to be synonymous with sex and greed. The Governor's private life is his private life, sure, but when what he's doing makes everybody look bad, it sends the wrong signal to people about what this state and this city are all about. After all, he has lived his whole life here and served on our city council. He can have his sister or he can have his job. He can't have both. It's up to him to decide," Vex finished.
I looked at him closely. He was an older gentleman, dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt with pencil thin stipes that ran across his collar and were mirrored lengthwise down the front. He wore a dark tie, and had a red rose pinned to his lapel. The rose was synonymous with Romano and the Empire Luxe properties, the symbol they used for everything, and no matter what hotel brand, it incorporated that red rose somewhere in their logo. It was his calling card. He had a square shaped face, black hair that was going gray at the wings over his ears, and age lines were just starting to become more prominent. He had the slightest dimple in his chin. His skin was a healthy olive, with just the lightest of tans. If pressed, I'd have said he was of some kind of Mediterranean background, Italian, Greek, French or some admixture of them, and he looked like a man who was quietly confident of the power he wielded and was used to wielding it.
The news cut to the weather, and I changed the channel, tuning it to a comedy network and muting it. They were doing a Saturday Night Live marathon. Maybe that would lighten my mood.
