Vegas Hot Tub Bang

"Vegas Hot Tub Bang"

by J.D. Savanyu

I'm cruising down the Vegas Strip in a stretch limo, clutching a champagne glass and giggling with four other Maids of Honor and my soon-to-be sister-in-law, enroute to her bachelorette party. Just like every stupid comedy movie I ever saw with a bunch of idiots hanging out in Sin City. My brother became a Big Tech billionaire literally overnight, and it didn't take long for some bitch-ass gold-digging blonde to sink her fangs into him. (I'm trying like hell not to call Allison Pearce a bitch-ass gold-digging blonde right to her face.)

That blushing bride stands up in the middle of the limo as it passes under the seizure-inducing neon marquis of the Flamingo casino. Poking her head out of an open moonroof and singing along to an Alanis Morisette "classic" on the high-powered stereo system.

"It's like raay-eee-aaaain on your wedding day! It's a freee riiiiiide, when you've already paid! It's the good adviiiiiiice that you just didn't take! And who would have thought? It fig-urrrrrs!"

"It hardly ever rains in Las Vegas, so you're probably safe from

that

irony," I remark as Allison sinks back down onto a silky smooth leather bench.

"Hell yeah, Katie. My fairy tale marriage will have a happy ending, no fucking doubt."

"Yeah, totally," I murmur uncertainly, knowing Darren's raging libido and wanderlust from first-hand experience.

Incestuous

experience, which nobody else knows about thankfully. (I hate that creepy biblical term "incest." It always makes me think of

Incesticide

, our parent's favorite Nirvana album. Kurt Cobain was definitely the type of guy who would screw his sister during a heroin bender.)

Allison giggles some more, and takes another swig of Dom Perignon right from the bottle. "I went down on Darren in a theater last week, like that other song from

Jagged Little Pill

. And then he returned the favor! Have you ever had

that

much fun with a hot fucking guy?"

"I sure haven't," I lie through my teeth, recalling my incredible tantric adventure with her future fiancé. "But I got one hand in my pocket, and the other one is giving a high-five."

"Fuck yeah, blondie!" Allison cheers, high-fiving me enthusiastically. "Time to hit the strip club, my Bitches of Honor."

We all sing along to that annoying 90's pseudo-alt Alanis anthem. The limo driver swings westward on Sahara Avenue; leaving the harsh limelight of billion dollar casinos and entering the dimmer, sleazier part of town. He stops in front of Déjà Vu, an "Adult Entertainment Lounge" with a pretentious

chic

name. We step out to a lukewarm winter evening in a concrete desert oasis, eager to stare at some long dongs and cheese-grater abs, forgetting about our real lives. Meanwhile, my brother and his Best Men are having their own wild bachelor party ten blocks away at Crazy Horse; makin' it rain for a bunch of stacked titty-shaking broads.

The Déjà Vu DJ is blasting out "Ladies' Night" by Kool and The Gang, quite predictably. We order some hearty Canadian beers and watch a well-hung nude ginger dude with the stage name of Axel Falcon, wiggling his tight ass to 70's disco inferno. All the other girls cheer their brains out, as if male genitalia is the best damn thing in the world. I just sit there with a morose expression, depressed about my stuck-in-the-mud love life. I haven't gotten laid in nearly six months, ever since I fucked Darren fifteen times at his awesome Frank Lloyd Wright-ish retreat in the Washington state wilderness.

Axel Falcon's ripped sweaty muscles remind me of my brother's well-sculpted physique, ramming against my sweaty slender body in a luxurious hot tub on the edge of a cliff by a waterfall. I can almost feel his big cock stretching my tight little pussy, and feel his strong hands spanking my wet ass over and over. We committed biblical incest virtually non-stop for a solid weekend... and then I reluctantly went back to being a mild-mannered English professor at Washington U.

I still can't believe that illegal shit really happened, yet I'm starving for another fix of the rough sex he's been giving to Allison. Power and wealth are potent aphrodisiacs... and my aquaphile fetish added plenty of fuel to the fire. Living out my old immature teenage

Twilight

fantasies in foggy redwood country.

Five more beefcakes strut and fret their three minutes upon the stage, full of machismo and fury, signifying nothing. Allison and her Maids of Honor soon get bored with cockwatching. They strut over to the "Velvet Boudoir" room and pay forty bucks apiece for lap dances from five male strippers with clever pseudonyms: Rod Diesel, Dick Valentino, Josh Montana, Ebony Phoenix, and Bruce Wang Chung.

I loiter in the main showroom, daydreaming about

Lolita

by Vladimir Nabokov, a dead white author I'm teaching an MFA seminar class about at Wa-U. Meanwhile, I hear the playful sqealing of those crazy rich bitches as they get dry-humped on plush velvet love chairs. Hardly my idea of a good time (pun intended.)

I wish I could go back to Darren's kick-ass mansion for another epic fuckfest. He made me feel like a natural woman, leaving me in a delirious state of rapture, tired and sore. Barely able to walk downhill to my cheap-ass Hyundai, next to his $250,000 Lamborghini Huracán. I also miss his awesome collection of retro 1980's arcade cabinet games. Mister Drake loves "kickin' it old-school" at home after developing creepy AI technology at NorthMax. (Deepfake revenge porn is getting deeper every day, thanks to their tireless efforts.)

Twenty minutes later, I follow the Maids of Honor back out to the limo, lightheaded from champagne and heavy-hearted with repressed lust.

"Why so glum, chum?" Cara Jackson asks.

"Wouldn't

you

be glum if your rich brother was about to get married to a blonde bombshell, while you still had a low-paying English professor job, and your love life was D.O.A.?" I grumble in the back seat.

"Aww, poor baby," Allison replies condescendingly, patting me on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Katie. You're just as cute and blonde as I am, but you're a lot smarter. I'm sure you'll snag a nice guy real soon."

"Yeah, probably," I mutter. "I've got a few trump cards up my sleeve. Just like Marla Maples, Ivana-whatever, and that Slovenian skank."

We cruise through the neon saturated Strip and soon arrive at the Luxor casino. A giant glass and steel homage to the Great Pyramid of Giza. I don't feel like going back up to my hotel room all by myself, masturbating bitterly while picturing my brother pussy-pounding that airhead receptionist from NorthMax headquarters. So I steer the wedding crew toward the gaming floor to indulge in more mind-numbing gambling. I wisely avoid the "sucker" games of blackjack and roulette, laying my chips down at a craps table next to a ten foot high sphinx. Staying the hell away from the "sucker" hardways bets, sticking with the reliable Pass/Don't Pass and Come/Don't Come grids. I put two 20 chips on Pass, then I blow on the dice and roll seven, winning eighty dollars.

"Wooo, fuck yeaaaah!" I cheer stupidly.

"Eighty for Katie!" Jane beams. I place a 100 chip on Come, and win two hundred bucks with an eleven roll. Whooping and thrashing about like those

comedienne

chicks I so despise.

"Make it rain, Miss Drake!" Claire cheers. Three more rolls win me five hundred dollars, to my tipsy astonishment. The high-pitched squealing of the wedding crew attracts a crowd of tourists from the vicinity.

"An English major strikes gold. Who woulda thunk it?" Allison giggles.

"Press your luck, baby!" Mary urges. "When you're hot, you're hot!"

"Well... "

My moment of awkward indecision is interrupted by a vibrating sensation against my left hip. I pull out my phone to see who the message is from... and my jaw drops open.

Darren

: Hey Katie. Come on up for a drink with me in swanky suite 3003. (winking face emoji)

Oh my god. That winking yellow cartoon blob can only mean one thing. My brother wants one more booty call with his sister before he ties the knot! My vagina flares up with raging desire, with my mind going way south.

"Place your bet, ma'am," the clearly lesbian croupier announces in a droll professional tone.

"Yeah, bitch. Shake your money maker!" Allison urges.

"Uh... I better not. It's been a long day, so I'll just climb up to the top of Khufu's pyramid and hit the hay," I murmur distractedly. Stepping away from the felt table with a giddy rush of arousal. The ladies all groan in disappointment.

"Smart college girl," Cara snickers. "Always knowing the best time to finish a chapter."

"See you at my wedding tomorrow!" Allison beams. I stroll away from the gaming floor in a thick erotic haze, recalling that magical weekend with Darren in the misty Cascades. I pause underneath five identical statues of Ramses II, replying semi-automatically:

Katie

: Sure bro. I feel like chasing waterfalls! (winking face emoji)

Darren

: Me 2 sis. I love old school TLC, and I miss your sweet luvin. (grinning devil emoji)

Holy shit. He's just as buzzed and horny as me, after drinking in all those random silicon-enhanced strippers. Getting cold feet about tying the knot, and getting hot under the collar for his smokin' sister. Allison insisted that they stay in separate rooms on separate floors before getting hitched, to make their wedding night more "special" (after humping like rabbits on birth control for the past six months.) My rational mind warns me to stay the hell away from him and avoid a potential catastrophic family disaster... but a flood of estrogen guides my high-heeled feet into a glass elevator, and guides my right index finger to the 30 button. Twenty floors above my far less swanky hotel room.

The elevator rockets diagonally along the northern wall of the pyramid, with Frank Sinatra's "Come Fly With Me" playing overhead. Like the mythical raft of Osiris, carrying me across the Nile for a glorious escapade, far from the madding crowd.

The elevator soon arrives at the pinnacle of the pyramid. I step out to a much shorter hallway than the one I embarked from. The peace and quiet is deafening after the sensory overload of the gaming floor, focusing my buzzed mind on carnal lust. The gilded door of room 3003 is just twenty feet away. "For Whom the Bell Tolls" tolls loudly within.

I take a deep breath to gather my courage, ignoring that nagging voice of reason and knocking loudly on a picture of Hathor, the Egyptian goddess of love. Darren turns off that heavy metal anthem and hustles across his penthouse suite, opening the door quite eagerly. That cute 26 year-old "Washington Wunderkind" grins from ear to ear at my pretty face, with a Heffner-esque smoking jacket wrapped around his lean muscular body. His suite has an amazing bird's eye view of the Vegas Strip through an inwardly sloping wall of windows.

"Hey, Kay-Kay," Darren utters suavely.

"Hey, Dare-Dare," I utter back, grinning sleazily and tossing my lustrous blonde bangs.

"How was the bachelorette party?"

"It really sucked, of course."

"So did my bachelor party. Crazy Horse smelled like puke, and I could have stared at fake boobs for free on my 'smart' phone."

"How are those places even surviving? Phone booths have disappeared, and strip clubs are hanging by a thread."

"They should hire more natural hotties like you, sis."

I giggle sweetly, with the buzzing between my legs getting unbearably strong.

"Let's have a

better

bachelor party, right here in the Pharaoh's harem chamber," I reply sexily. Snickering at the utter insanity of this whole idea.

"Naughty Katie. Risking the wrath of mighty Cleopatra, right before our royal wedding."

"Fuck your gold-digging bimbo fiance. I'm a much better blonde than her, and you

know

it."

"Hell yeah, bitch," he groans, with his penis swelling to a full eight inches against the bottom of his Heff jacket. "Those crazy Pharaohs committed incest all the time."

"Keeping their royal bloodlines 'pure'," I reply sarcastically. "Come on, Mister Wunderkind. Let's walk like Egyptians, and bang like The Bangles."

Darren laughs incredulously, just like he did on that magical night six months ago, when I seduced him in a hot bubbling tub at the edge of a waterfall.

"Fuck yeah, girl. I love how you talk dirty and nerdy at the same time."

I leap into my brother's burly arms and kiss him in a blinding flurry of passion. My clit throbs intensely against his six-pack abs, and my pussy gets so wet with anticipation beneath my blue cocktail dress. He spins me around on the welcome mat, squeezing my ass with both hands. I notice a king size heart-shaped bed on one side of his penthouse suite, and a big steaming jacuzzi on the other.

"I wanna fuck you like hell in that hot tub, with a rubber duckie."

"Oh my god,

yeah

. I've been picturing you every time I bang Allison in my hot tub back home."

"Take off that stupid Playboy jacket, boy!" I growl playfully.

"Yes ma'am," he snickers. "You're hotter than Crystal Harris... and much classier than Kamala Harris."

I giggle louder as he unties a shiny purple silk sash, revealing his huge twitching pink cock. I yank that smoking jacket all the way down to the purple shag carpeting. Nothing underneath. I gasp in awe at his Grecian alpha male body. The complete opposite of a cliché lanky pimply Mamma's Boy tech mogul.

"God damn, that dick is even longer than I remember!"

"A full inch longer, after Allison gave me some guarana pills."

"That's the only good idea that conniving harpie ever had."

I grab that monster rod with my dainty hands, stroking it slowly from his hairy balls to the fat mushroom tip. Then I drop to my knees on the thick purple rug and shove Darren's dick deep in my mouth, gagging delightfully.

"Holy

fuuuck

," he groans toward the ceiling. I twist my head from side to side while bobbing my neck back and forth rapidly, humming loudly in erotic abandon.

"Just as good as I remember, sis. Much better than Allison's BJ's."

I pull my head back, ejecting his cock with a loud funny

poof

!

"That little twat blew half the computer geeks at NorthMax... and

I

blew half the book geeks at Washington U."

"Reading is Fundamental, bitch!"

Darren grabs my blonde head and shoves his schlong back into my mouth. Face-fucking me aggressively, growling like those hypermasculine porn stars I've binge-watched ever since our wild weekend. It feels so good getting deep-throated one more time by my billionaire brother. The twin aphrodisiacs of power and cash combine with the insane sense of danger, thrilling me like never before. Soaking my panties right through. A minute later, I yank free of his grasp and wag my finger up at his face with a stern expression, just like our mother always did.

"Ah-ah, not so fast, cowboy. I wanna make this bachelor party

last

."

"Fuck yeah, cowgirl. Take off that little blue Monica Lewinsky dress, and get your hot ass in my hot tub."

"Yes sir, Admiral Drake!" I giggle sweetly, giving that Hugh Heffner wannabe a mock navy salute. I get naked as fast as I possibly can, tossing my classy bachelorette party outfit onto a gleaming replica of King Tut's golden throne. Darren sighs deeply, admiring my pale perky d-cup tits and shiny blonde crotch.

"I'm gonna carry you across the threshold, like the bride I

really

want."

He scoops me up in his arms with ease, and I laugh triumphantly as he hustles me across the playboy penthouse. All the chairs, tables and wall decorations have an authentic Egyptian theme, clashing with the neon green MGM Grand across the street. He carries me up three steps and down three more into the steaming jacuzzi. I sigh luxuriantly as that hot soothing water envelops my lean yoga-toned body.

Darren turns on the jets and sits down next to me in the bubbling cauldron. I straddle his lap, wrapping my arms around and kissing him some more, feeling his big dick twitching against my body in the shifting currents, from my pussy all the way up to my belly button. The Luxor casino disappears in my mind, and the scene shifts to a very creative hot tub, nestled precariously on a rocky cliff next to a waterfall. I can almost hear wolves (werewolves?) howling in the distance beyond my brother's postmodern Fallingwater-inspired mansion.

"I have a very indecent proposal for you, Mister Drake."

"Pray tell, Miss Drake."

"I want you to give me a million dollars, tax-free under the table, in exchange for one hour of savagely erotic infidelity. Before you get henpecked by that busty harridan."

"It's a

deal

, blondie. Another back-door Big Tech power move."

I giggle triumphantly. He grabs my ass and stabs his sword deep in my vagina in the hot bubbling water.

"Oh my

gaaaaahd

," I groan harshly, with thousands of nerve endings bursting into flame. I grab his shoulders for support and bounce up and down like a pogo stick.

"Fuck yeah, cowgirl! Ride that dick like a broncin' buc!"

He spanks my ass hard a dozen times as it rises in and out of the water. A good sweet sting, racing right down to my clit. I never felt this good during our wild weekend six months ago. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the twat grow desperate. I can't believe I'm doinking my own brother on the night before his wedding!

"That skank-ass receptionist will never fuck you

this

good, bro," I growl proudly, making little tidal waves in the Vegas hot tub.

"Allison's a nice girl, you stuck-up bitch," he growls back playfully. "You don't know shit about her."

He smacks my big wet tits just as hard, over and over. Jiggling them like speedball boxing bags.

"

Ohhh

yeah, punish my big fucking tits, boy! You always loved playing rough," I moan in masochistic ecstasy. He keeps smacking my boobies for a solid minute. At the first inkling of orgasm, I slow down and flash him a devious grin. "Come on, Big Boss Man. Step in the ring for another Friday Night Smackdown with Chyna."

I dismount my brother's "saddle" and stand up in the middle of the tub, assuming the combative pose of my favorite WWE star back in our grade school glory days.

"You're on, bitch," Darren chuckles. He sizes up his opponent with a theatrical snarl, like his favorite early 2000's wrestler. I lunge right at him, grabbing his hips and shoulders and trying to pull him down. But he's a foot and a half taller than me, and over a hundred pounds heavier with solid muscle, so it's the very definition of a losing battle. Like all those poor girls who have to play soccer and volleyball against beefy "transitioning" boys who like wearing skirts. Getting their sports dreams crushed by liberal insanity.

He grabs my shoulders and holds me at arm's length, creating the illusion of a fair fight by moving his feet around in the circular "ring." I growl angrily as we rassle much faker than the fake professionals, getting even hornier in the process. I'm one of those freaky chicks who love watching sex wrestling videos on Pornhub.

"Come on, girly-girl. Stop acting like a pussy, and pin me down!"

"Fuck you, you clueless Silicon Valley douchebag."

"Fuck

you

, you whiny woke cunt!"

He grabs me by the shoulders and hips, hoisting my lithe body high in the air above the hot tub. Twirling me around in the rising steam.

"Can you smell what the Big Boss Man is cooking?" he growls like vintage Rock.

"Smells like incest, and corporate fraud."

"I am not a crook, bitch!"

He slams my body down into the bubbling water, completely enveloping me in soothing heat and murky bubbly white noise. I burst out of the water, gasping for air and laughing simultaneously. He grabs my shoulders, shoves me against the side wall of the hot tub, and slams his dick balls-deep in my pussy.