This is another chapter in Part 2 of a series that began with Life in the Elysium, which you can find here - https://www.literotica.com/series/se/494113320. I strongly suggest you read the first series before starting this one. For those who just skip to the sex scenes, there will be no issue if you pick up here, but if you want to understand and enjoy the plot more fully, please take some time to read the series, as it will make more sense.
Be aware, this series includes a variety of adult situations, including bisexuality, interracial sex, light 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!
------------------------------------------------
Chesterfield Hospitality was one of the oldest of the remaining casino operators in Las Vegas. It had been founded at the end of the Golden Age, back when Vegas was flourishing, the mob was still all over the town, and you could see Dean, Sammy and Frank holding court on the Strip. Elvis had played at one of Chesterfield's casinos on the Strip when it first opened, before moving over to the International, where he stayed until going back on tour, eventually dying on his toilet at age 42.
What a waste.
Winston was the scion of a family of tobacco planters from Virginia who sold their name and their product for more than half a century in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Winston hated smoking, despite both his names being famous brands, and headed west, working for several casino operators in his late teens and early twenties. When his parents died, he took the family money, got the blessing from his bosses who may or may not have been family affiliated, and opened his first casino in 1968, when he was just 29 years old. The old mobsters liked Winston -- he was a breath of fresh air in a town that was growing stale, he knew how to handle himself and he gave them the respect they felt they deserved. Because of that, they were willing to let him get his foot in the door. He eventually outlasted them all.
Coming from southern Virginia, one of the birthplaces of country music, Winston had been an Elvis fan since he was a teenager. When he heard Elvis wanted to go back on tour, he made him an offer he couldn't refuse. For two weeks in 1970, Elvis played Chesterfield's Oasis Casino, to packed crowds that overflowed the Oasis's amphitheater.
Thanks to Elvis, Chesterfield Hospitality got on the map, and the sky was the limit. One of the moguls who helped revitalize the town after it fell out of style in the 1970s, Winston Chesterfield became a legend in Vegas before his fortieth birthday. Today, despite his advanced age -- he had just turned ninety-three on January 2nd -- he was still a force to be reckoned with. Even Vex Romano acknowledged his status, although the two were barely contemporaries. Winston had been in his sixties when Romano had taken over as the leader of the Vegas moguls, and he had been content to let it happen. Winston was of the old school -- he just liked to have a good time, show his friends a good time, and if they made money, they made money. If not? Well, he was rich enough.
This was probably why, after he turned seventy, he had started looking for someone to replace him in the business. His kids wanted nothing to do with Vegas. The search took him ten years, but eventually he found Solomon Sinclair, an up and comer, who had tried to break into Vegas but had abruptly abandoned his plans after his wife died in a tragic plane crash. Winston felt sorry for the boy -- Sol was in his thirties, but to someone in their eighties, he was still a kid -- and took him under his wing. Sol was a whiz at the casino business and had completely turned around Chesterfield's finances and waning properties, building two new hotel casinos on the Strip, on the site one of the older casinos, which he imploded in grand style. They actually made money on the demolition, turning it into a marquee event. The new casinos went up and they were instantly classics. Atlantis was a Greek mythology and water themed casino, and Eastgate was designed as a throwback to the Golden Era days of the 1950s and 60s, focusing on spectacular shows, including an old school showgirl revue that appealed to the nostalgic. The old Oasis, which was a Vegas icon, was still there, but it needed a major rework and renovation if it was going to make any money, and Winston didn't have the energy to deal with it. He counted on Sol to make the business work, and he did, even with the Oasis dragging down their profit margins.
Winston was of the old school, though, and when Sol had pitched him the idea for reworking the Oasis into a sex themed paradise where anything goes, it was too much for the old man. The idea, which would become the Elysium, was just too risqué for his boomer-era sensibilities, and he firmly said no. He'd let the Oasis rot before he turned it into a bordello, he'd told Sol at the time. But he also knew Sol was chafing at being his underling, and so he gave Sol his blessing to leave and chase his dream. That was seven years ago.
Today, Winston was finally starting to feel his age. At 93, he had done just about everything he wanted to do. He had won his crown as the Nevada Association of Resorts and Casinos 'King of the Strip' in 1998 and had been a member of the Board of Directors of the organization for nearly three decades, seats being highly coveted and controlled by the previous holder. His two newer properties were doing very well, well enough to offset the money pit the Oasis had become. His kids were in their sixties and seventies, one of them had already passed, and his grandchildren were having grandchildren. No one in the family loved Vegas like he did, preferring to be home on the old family plantation in Virginia, which was now almost a sprawling town filled with Chesterfields. It was time for him to get out of the business completely, retire finally after a long life, give his kids their inheritance early and wait for the inevitable. His wife had died a few years before, so he was all alone. He knew it was time. He'd miss Vegas, but Virginia wasn't that bad. Except in the winter.
"Sol, I love you like a son," Winston told him. They were in Winston's wood paneled office in the headquarters of Chesterfield Hospitality, on the top floor of Eastgate Casino, sitting in two heavily padded leather armchairs, facing each other, before a roaring fire. The room was full of photos from a life well lived, and there was a shot of a young Winston, his arm around Elvis, signed and dated 1970, in a gilt frame on the wall, next to a massive portrait of Chesterfield himself, alone in front of the strip as it looked in the 1980s, which hung above his desk. "I want you to take care of my properties, but I also want you to know that whatever is going on with you is likely going to get worse when we do this." He took a sip of brandy from a snifter he held in a large, wrinkled hand, covered in age spots. His doctors allowed him a single drink a day, and he cherished it.
"Winnie, I understand," Sol said. "You act like I don't already have a target on my back. Somebody tried to kill me just last week," he said. "I killed two men to stop them from attacking my family. How much worse could it get?"
Winston looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. He was still a good-looking man, even in his 90s. His hair was much longer, totally white, and he had a white goatee around his mouth. His great-granddaughter, also a Winnie, called him "Colonel Sanders." His eyes were dark and set back far in his face, heavy bags underneath them, and his face bore the marks of decades of hard work and hard play, the worry and laugh lines etched equally deep.
"You work in this town long enough, you're likely to get shot at," Winston said, snorting.
"You know that's not true anymore, Winnie," Sol countered. "Nobody's ever taken a shot at you," he added.
"That's just because I'm not worth shooting at," he said, with a laugh. "You, you're a big target. This town hasn't evolved as far as everybody thinks it has. I remember back when I started, Sammy Davis was playing in hotels in town that he couldn't get a room in. Things have changed, but you've still got that attitude in some of the players here. You know who I mean."
