Laid Off Then Laid: Her Story

There are only two types of jobs in Las Vegas: jobs that cater to the gamblers and everything else. My job is to keep the gamblers happy so they spend more money. Not just any gamblers, but the whales; men who think nothing of leaving a few hundred thousand behind for a night or perhaps even a million.

I was raised to be a good Chinese girl. My husband John and I weren’t doing too badly with our finances, at least until I was laid off from my waitressing job, along with thousands of other casino employees. After our bank accounts ran dry, the only way to keep our home was for me to go to work for a former coworker, Steve, who works in the valet of a luxury casino. When a whale wants a little personal attention and company, I go to work.

Tonight is Wednesday and I’m meeting a client from Texas who’s in Vegas on business until Saturday. That means packing a small suitcase for everything I’ll need to keep my client entertained. This one even has a special request.

Arriving at the casino by 5pm, Steve greets me in the high roller valet and sends my luggage to the client’s suite. He’s not here to greet me. Since the client is meeting with his business partner, I have a short time to relax in his bedroom after dealing with the insane Las Vegas traffic and to prepare myself.

A sparkling, emerald-green dress clings to my 33c breasts, held up by spaghetti straps that disappear in a back-less design. There is no need for a bra tonight, or panties. But a garter secures the silk stockings that wrap my legs. With my long hair set in flowing curls and a simple necklace of gold, I’m ready to meet the client for dinner.

Deke from Texas is waiting at a secluded and private booth in one of the hotel’s four star restaurants. Like a true gentleman, he rises, gives me a simple kiss on the cheek and guides me to his side. In an instant, cocktails arrive – two Belvedere martinis, stirred, not shaken, with a twist of lemon. Then it’s a light dinner. Of course, a light dinner for a millionaire is an ounce of Iranian caviar with blinis and red onions, followed by a simple salad of greens with seared duck, a main course of wild venison with chanterelle mushrooms in a port wine sauce and desert of fresh goat cheese and black figs. Throughout all of this, Deke is a perfect gentleman, describing his love of sailing and music. He may be a Texan, but he’s no cowboy. Or, at least, he is the most sophisticated cowboy I’ve ever met.

At ten o’clock, it’s time to get down to the real business; gambling. Deke and I walk hand in hand to the high-roller salon. You may think you’ve seen extravagant Las Vegas casinos, but the salon is a completely different world. You can only enter these private doors with a credit line of at least a million dollars. Table bets are $500 a hand. All of the men in here are gamblers. The women are all escorts like myself. Deke’s game is blackjack at $5,000 a game. This kind of work is easy. All I have to do is stand behind him, rug his neck occasionally, keep up a trite little conversation, get excited when he wins, and pout when he loses. It’s a good night, and his winnings are rising. I also feel his hand rising beneath me dress, starting to explore and discover. His fingers rise slowly up my leg, then down again before they reach too high into my thighs. But then, his hand rises outside me dress to my back, finds my zipper and casually brings the metal down. Anything goes in the high-roller suite as long as the customer keeps gambling. So, it’s of little interest to anyone else as my dress falls to the floor. I step from the dress and a female attendant quickly picks it up to be hung in a hidden closet. A few of the other gamblers make quiet comments to their friends or companions as I stand next to Deke in nothing more than a garter belt, stockings and high heels.

I don’t know how anyone can concentrate on their gambling when one hand is holding the cards and the other is caressing a freshly shaved pussy. However, Deke can and he just keeps on winning with his bets rising to $10,000. After three hours, it’s actually getting exhausting standing here nearly nude. A few of the other girls are as exposed as I am. Deke’s luck at the table has run out and he’s down about $120,000. I guess he’s having a hard time concentrating after all.

Taking my hand, Deke and I walk to the private elevator that will take us to his private suite, uninterrupted. An attendant will have my dress cleaned and delivered to the room later. The penthouse suite has its own private deck and pool that looks out over the Strip. Walking into the living room, he casts off his coat, than I help undress him of his tie and shirt, shoes, socks and slacks. I fix us each a drink, then carry the martinis to the private pool where Deke is sitting on the chaise lounge chair. He takes my hand and pulls me down beside him, kissing my lips and roaming his hands over me naked chest. The private deck was designed to hide guests from prying eyes, but it’s a charge to be naked outdoors in the blazing neon lights of Las Vegas.

It doesn’t take long before Deke unfastens my garter belt and slides my stocks down. Then he lays me down on the lounge chair and works his way up until his head rests between my open thighs. Deke’s tongue lightly glides over my cunt lips, then feathers over my clit. My left hand grips the chair while I use my other hand to squeeze my nipples into hard points. It doesn’t take long before I’m grinding my pelvis into his face as waves of passion erupt through me.

After a few minutes, Deke guides me into the heated pool. He lowers his silk boxers and sits on the side, dangling his legs in the water. That puts his 7” cock in perfect position as I start to lick and caress. My head bobs up and down as I try to suck as much of his penis into my mouth, loudly slurping. I know Deke is close to cumming, so I slow down the pace. Rising from the pool, I take Deke’s hand and lay him down on his back. Dripping warm water, I impale myself on his rigid pole, gripping him with my inner muscles and riding up and down until he explodes deep inside my womb.

The hour is late. After cleaning up, we fall asleep naked with his arm wrapped around me and his hand on my naked breast.

Rising in the late morning, Deke is gone; off playing golf to settle his business deal here. That gives me time to prepare for his special request. For this, I’ve brought a special dress. It’s a wedding dress. No, not the typical fluff of white with billowy veils and an endless train. This is a Chinese wedding dress; bright red, hugging every curve with a slit up the side nearly all the way up my thigh, and a dragon design woven into the fabric with a head that starts at my right breast, it’s body wrapping around the dress, and the tail falling beneath my thighs at my vagina. The collar buttons high at my neck, but the satin highlights my pert breasts. This really was my wedding dress. Worn for the banquet after I changed from my white gown used for the church ceremony. My husband John calls it his China Doll dress.

Tonight, I’m playing China Doll for my client Deke. He wants me dressed exotically for a special dinner with his business associate. I apply my makeup to accentuate my narrow eyes and high cheekbones. Once again, I forego the bra and panties. Only my sandals with their 3” heels will adorn my bare legs. My lips, fingernails and toenails are all bright red, to match my dress. Dinner will be in the private suite tonight. The hotel staff is already preparing the table in the dining room. To complete my China Doll image, I sit on a satin cushion in the middle of the open floor with my legs folded beneath me and wait patiently for my customer and his guest to arrive.

To be continued…