Life in the Elysium

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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Twenty minutes after we dropped Avery off at her apartment, Lionel, Claire and I had returned to the Elysium. We were driving up to the private entrance, below ground, but to do that we had to pass by the entrance to the hotel.

"Wow," Claire said. "Where did THEY all come from?"

The protesting crowd in front of the hotel had more than quadrupled in size. If there had been thirty or forty people yesterday, there were easily two hundred now. Some of them were wearing the sashes I had seen on the guy on Fremont Street. They were almost blocking the entrance to the Hotel. There were a dozen armed Sinclair Group security guards out there, wearing the dark gray uniform of our uniformed security unit. Guards like Lionel and Biggs wore dark suits, but there were even more regular guards to handle all the usual things the Hotel needed. It was about half men and half women, and they looked ready for business. They had set up steel barricades to keep a path to the front of the Hotel open, and were escorting people in and out as needed. The protesters were chanting, jeering at people as they came in and went out of the hotel. There were at least two television crews set up, filming the scene.

"Lionel, let me out here. I want to see what's going on," I said.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jack," Lionel responded, but he slowed the car down.

"I understand. But I'm going it anyway," I told him. "Keep an eye on me if you want, but I want to go see those people," I said. And I did.

I wasn't armed, but the crowd of protesters didn't really seem violent. And there were a dozen guys and gals with guns right there who could back me up if something happened. I wanted to see what this was all about.

Lionel let me out of the car, but Claire opted to stay inside, which meant she's probably way smarter than me. I got out, and worked my way towards the entrance. Instead of heading through the area that was opened by the steel barricades and entering the lobby of the hotel, I tried to mingle in with the protesters. They were an eclectic set, some were dressed like bums, others like they'd just got off from work. The people wearing the sashes looked more professional, with button down shirts and blouses and nice jackets. It was pretty cold, for Vegas, and some people were wearing gloves. I didn't think it was glove weather, but I grew up in New England, and these westerners were more used to the than the cold, even though it did get pretty cold in the desert at night.

I saw all the same placards they had before, along with a few new ones. The "Game of Thrones" one was in the crowd, and a few other funny ones, like "Even the dice are cringing!" and "Double Down on Decency!" Whoever was doing their signs wasn't bad. And these were not amateur signs, made with markers and duct tape. These were professional signs, the kind you would expect to see at a Union picket line.

There was a guy with a bullhorn out front, and he was leading some of the protesters in a chant.

"From the Strip to the Lights, decency is our fight!"

Catchy. Sort of. I grimaced. Didn't these people have jobs? It was lunch time on a Monday.

There was a kid my age in the crowd near me. He looked pretty normal, and he was carrying one of the "Double Down" placards. He was slowly following the rest of the protesters in lazy circles, all under the watchful eyes of our guards. He caught my eye and nodded.

"Glad to see some professionals out here," he said to me. "You guys getting the same rate we are?"

"How much are you getting?" I asked him. I was taken aback - I had no idea what he was talking about, but I figured I'd play along.

"We get $20 an hour if we're holding a placard. $15 for the regulars. And they cover parking back in LA while we're here," he said. "It's not a bad deal. I was up in Seattle a few weeks ago on an environmental protest, and they didn't pay half as good, and we had to provide our own transportation. Gotta love these Vegas guys, they got the dough to make this look good," he said, laughing, rubbing his fingers and thumb together in the age old sign language for cash.

"That's about the same for us," I said, continuing in my role. "Who does the hiring out in LA," I asked. He looked at me weird. "I'm local," I said quickly, hoping that made sense to him.

He nodded. "Yeah, they said they were going to add some local folks for flavor. I've been working through the same guys for a while now, Rent-a-Mob of LA. They're way better than some of the other fly-by-night outfits, and we even get health benefits after a couple years. Not bad for just walking around and annoying people," he laughed. I laughed with him.

"Well, keep up the good work. Maybe I'll see you out here again," I said. I didn't want to push my luck any more because I was starting to get some looks from some of the other protesters, and given that my name and face had been plastered all over the newspaper, I didn't want to get spotted.

No such luck.

The guy with the bullhorn noticed me and broke off in mid-chant.

"Look what we have here folks! A gin-u-wine celebrity! It's the one, the only Jack Fisher! Vegas's most famous motherfucker, right here with us!"

Shit.

The protesters all turned and started jeering at me. The guy I had been talking to with the placard had the decency to look shocked, and the rest of the crowd took their queues from Bullhorn Guy, who was apparently one of the leaders. Maybe he was a true believer or maybe he was just really good at acting, but he just started laying into me, calling me "motherfucker" multiple times, asking me why I couldn't get women who weren't related to me, why I had to infest Vegas with my filth, and all the other stuff you'd expect from a protest leader confronted with the subject of his ire.

It didn't take long before I started getting pelted with trash - protesting generates a lot of empty coffee cups, tissues and napkins, half eaten bagels and the like. Somebody tossed a ketchup packet that hit me right in the cheek, leaving a streak of red on my face that probably looked like blood if you were far away.

I wasn't going to run away from this crowd, and I wasn't scared of them either. They threw shit at me and I just stood there and took it. My suit was soon covered in coffee stains and cream cheese schmeers. After a few seconds of this, I decided I had something to say, so I walked over to Bullhorn Guy. He was far shorter than me, maybe two hands shorter, and as I came up to him, he cringed away from me, as if he expected to be hit. I didn't hit him. I just yanked the bullhorn from his hand.

"I appreciate all of you being here," I said into the bullhorn. "I'm Jack Fisher, a Vice President of the Sinclair Group, and I welcome you all to the Elysium Hotel and Casino. I hope you all are enjoying your protest. I'm sure it's plenty fun. But there's even more fun waiting you inside the Elysium, if you're interested. Because I appreciate everything you all are doing out here in providing free earned media for the hotel, I'm offering to waive all Elysium Club membership fees, that's a $500 value folks, for any of you who'd rather be inside, enjoying all the Hotel can offer, rather than out here in the cold, getting paid 15 bucks an hour - or 20 if you've got a placard. I love that Game of Thrones one, by the way," I said. The crowd just looked at me.

"Anyway, I'm going inside - if you want to take me up on my offer, you can follow me and the guards will let you come in. Otherwise, have fun out here, and thanks again for all you're doing for Las Vegas!"

I tossed the bullhorn back to the Bullhorn Guy.

I walked over and pulled open one of the barricades to make a lane, and I walked into the lobby of the Hotel.

I didn't expect many of the protesters to actually take me up on my offer - I hoped most of them didn't because I certainly didn't have approval to waive the Club membership fees, and I didn't want the CFO to get pissed - and not many of them did. But there were at least a dozen who followed me in.

There were a crowd of people, many Elysium Hotel employees, who were in the lobby watching the crowds and had heard my speech. As I got through the front doors and into the lobby, they let out a raucous cheer, clapping and stamping their feet for me. I smiled, raising my fist in the air. The crowd cheered even louder. Some crowded around and wanted to shake my hand, others would probably have clapped me on the back, but most of them avoided doing that to keep the trash and coffee from getting on their work clothes, especially the women in the white blouses.

I showed the dozen protesters who took me up on my offer to the registration desk to get them processed. One of them was the guy who I had talked to. I clapped him on the back, and he looked at me sheepishly. "This place always looked like fun," he said. "Definitely better than standing out in the cold," he said, as he watched a scantily clad female guest walk past. Placard Guy was good enough looking that I was sure he'd make the cut and get Club status.

"Have a good time, broski, " I told him.

I headed up the elevators and stopped at the 13th floor.

"What the hell happened to you?" Jimmy gasped at me as I got off the elevator.

"Oh, nothing. Just went to chat with the protesters," I said. "Is the staff meeting over?"

"Yeah, they wrapped up more than an hour ago," he said. "Is that blood on your face?"

I wiped a bit of the sauce with my finger and stuck it in my mouth. "Ketchup," I said.

Jim started laughing. I smiled, and walked past down towards my office. Once I got there, I kept going until I got to the security station. The tall Hispanic guy with the neck tattoo was standing at the security desk. He nodded at me.

I held my hand out. "I'm Jack Fisher," I said. "I've seen you around but I don't think we've met."

"I know who you are Mr. Fisher," he said, smiling. "I'm Diego, one of the security staff. I usually work up here on the 13th floor." He held on to my hand just a little longer than he had to.

"Good to know you, Diego," I told him.

"Likewise, Mr. Fisher. If there's anything I can do to be of service to you, please let me know," he said. "Anything."

He reminded me of Claire, this morning, and that led to a very nice anything, indeed. I smirked at him.

"I may have to take you up on that, Diego. Is Sol in his office?" I asked.

"Yes, he and Mrs. Fisher are in the office. I believe they may be indisposed at the moment, however."

I had to see this. "That's fine, they won't mind me," I said, pushing through the door.

They were, indeed, indisposed. Mom was on her knees in front of Sol's chair, her blouse open and her tits on display. Her back was mostly towards me, but I could see a nice outline of her left tit. Sol had his pants around his ankles, his magnificent cock buried in Mom's mouth. She was moaning and reaching underneath her skirt to play with herself while she went down on Sol. He noticed me immediately, and I saw his eyes widen - not because I'd caught them enjoying some afternoon delight, but because I was covered in coffee, cream cheese and ketchup. I waved him down, to let him know I was okay, and didn't want to interrupt. He relaxed, and let himself enjoy the blowjob from Mom. I put my finger up to my lips to tell him not to give away that I was there.

Sol might have been willing to keep quiet seeing me in this state, but Mom would have freaked out. I'd rather watch her enjoy herself.

And she was definitely enjoying herself. The dirty talking was nonstop. She'd pull off Sol's dick, and say something like "Do you like that baby? You like my white mouth on your big black cock? You like it when I stroke your hard dick like that? You like it when I lick all the way up and down your shaft? Come on baby, give me some cream," she purred, going to town on Sol's penis. It was a really sexy display and it certainly made my dick twitch. She started working him faster, fingering her snatch at the same time, and the dirty talk started to mix with moans and then just became all moans. She pulled off Sol's dick for a few seconds and it was clear she'd had an orgasm. As she came down from her high, she redoubled her efforts on Sol's cock, using both hands and her mouth to get him off. He didn't last very long against her sustained attack, and soon he threw his head back and closed his eyes, a groan escaping from his lips. Mom slurped up all the cum and swallowed it. She put her tits back in her blouse and buttoned it, standing up and turning and finally seeing me in the room.

"Jack! What's happened!? Where did you run off to earlier and why are you covered in shit?!" She ran over to me. Sol stood up, pulling up his pants, zipping up and buckling his belt.

"I'm covered in shit because I came in through the front of the Hotel," I said. "That protest is even bigger today than it was yesterday," I told them. I took off my suit jacket, but I didn't want to sit down and get filth all over any of the chairs, so I just held it in my hand. "There's been some pretty big news, so I wanted to tell you guys first before I went go get cleaned up. First, Sol, you are right. These protesters are mostly astroturf - there's a guy down there I spoke to who said he's from LA, hired through a group called 'Rent-a-Mob' and he was bussed out here, apparently. I gave them all a bit of a speech, thanked them for coming and getting us free media - there were some TV cameras outside - and then I offered to wave the membership fee for anybody who wanted to come in and apply."

Sol barked out a laugh, and Mom smiled. "Son, you're a genius. That will look GREAT on the news, if they run it, and those membership fees aren't designed to actually make any money, just deter people from wasting our time with bullshit applications. Did anybody accept?" She asked.

"About a dozen. I left them down at the registration desk to get the process started," I told her.

"That couldn't have been why you ducked out of the staff meeting, though," Sol said. "You ran out of there pretty quickly. What was that all about?"

"Well, that's the biggest news," I told them. "The Tribune Review fired Avery Locke this morning."

"What?!" Mom yelled again. "Are you serious? Why?" Sol and Mom looked at each other, and I could tell Mom was holding back laughter. She was almost giddy.

"For meeting with me last night, apparently. One of the other reporters dogged her and took photos of her talking with me. He apparently dropped a dime on her to her bosses and they said what she did, coming to me privately without permission, and saying that the photos proved we had a 'relationship' and that was some kind of violation of journalistic ethics," I said. I went on to explain how she'd figured out that Milton Schaefer had been the one to tail her, after originally accusing me and Lionel of it.

"I still don't understand why you left the meeting," Mom said. "Where did you go?"

"We went to pick her up. I felt like it was the least I could do, honestly. She'd gotten fired for talking to me, after all," I noted. "Oh, and I'm taking her to dinner tonight, too."

Sol looked at me and his eyebrows went up. Mom looked at him and looked at me, and then she crossed her arms.

"Jack, what the fuck are you thinking?" Whatever relief she felt from her orgasm and from me being okay was bleeding away, now that I mentioned Avery in a non-work context.

Could she be a little jealous?

"What I'm thinking is that Avery Locke is probably our best lead in figuring out who hired Biggs, who is targeting the Hotel with these protesters, who is behind this Anti-Debauchery League, who is pushing the stuff with the Governor and all the other questions that have been swirling around us. We know those protesters are fake, but our patrons don't, and if we don't figure out who is behind this and find a way to shut them down, it's only a matter of time before they cut into business. We've only just started making a profit, we can't afford to lose clientele because somebody is actively fucking with us," I said. "If I can get her to tell us what she knows, we'll be closer to figuring this out."

I conveniently left out the fact that Avery was amazingly beautiful, smart as hell, and I was crushing on her absurdly hard.

Sol looked at Mom, and then he looked at me. He knew what Avery looked like, and I was sure he saw right through my bullshit. Mom, on the other hand, was more than willing to see what she wanted to see, and nodded. "Okay, that makes sense, Jack. Just be careful when you meet with her. She's smart and I don't fully trust her, even if she was fired. I mean, how do we know for sure she was fired at all?"

I froze. That was a good point. I had simply taken her statement at face value - I mean, why would she lie about that? Unless it was some larger scheme to reel us in, but that really didn't seem necessary. With Biggs here, they already had a direct line into the Sinclair Group. Plus, all those journalistic ethics made it clear that using subterfuge was only okay if there was no other way to get the news. She'd be throwing away her career if this was fake and she was just doing the long con.

Sol went to his desk, and punched three digits into his phone. "Chris, We've just heard a rumor that Avery Locke was fired by the Tribune Review. Can you confirm whether this is true? As quickly as you can, please." He hung up. "We'll find out if this is real or fake soon enough. I think we have somebody in Weissman's org that we can rely on."

"How deep is our intel network, Sol?" I asked. This was the second time he'd referred to having somebody in other Vegas organizations.

"It's not that deep - we don't have anybody as high up as Biggs was on our payroll. Usually its just low level people or folks who can give us some insights as to what is going on internally. Many of them are plants who work for us and then were embedded into the other organizations. It never hurts to have too much information in this business," he said. I guess that made sense, and since we'd seen first hand that others did this kind of thing to us, turnabout was fair play.

"When is this dinner, Jack?" Mom asked.

"Tonight. I'm going to pick her up at eight. I was going to take her to Ciel Blue, give her the royal treatment. Maybe I can convince her that we're not evil," I said. "I don't think she's ever actually been in the hotel, so I was going to give her a tour. I know that's kind of the blind leading the blind since I've only been here two weeks myself, but I know the place pretty well now," I told them. I didn't expect anything more to happen with Avery, tonight. She didn't strike me as the type to fuck on the first date, nor did I really want to. I mean, I was crazily attracted to her, but not just in a lust way. I could sate my lusts ten thousand times over in this hotel, and I'd made a pretty good attempt at doing just that. But I felt differently about Avery. And I hoped maybe someday she could feel differently about me.

"That sounds good. Just be careful where you take her, and assume anything she sees could end up on the front page of the paper tomorrow," Mom said. "I don't care if she was fired or not, she's still a reporter and they still love chasing stories. Also, it's in your best interests to clean the pipes before you go out, babe," Mom said, looking at me pointedly.