Chapter 8: Las Vegas

The next few years merged into one big sexual blur.

Dawn became the official entertainment for the weekly card game. Each of the players had his own surrogate wife, but none of them were as young as Dawn and none cared to spread her legs for the entire group. In addition, Dawn wanted the work badly, planning to use the money to finance her college education. She treated each man, and most of the wives, with the attention they would have gotten had she spent the night alone with each individually. She never renegotiated the fees, but the tips kept climbing steadily.

At the mansion, she grew closer and closer to Will, though she was always ready to join Melody and Alan whenever they wished to hold her to their understanding. They hadn't bothered Rosa again, and Dawn felt satisfied that they never would. The kids were starting to use the L word with each other, and the other boys in school knew not to bother hitting on Dawn, that Will Dean already had her heart. (Each of course had permission from the other to fuck whomever and whenever he or she chose; they just never used that privilege, and that in itself meant something.) In reality, the usage that Melody and Alan made of Dawn's body dwindled as the Deans recognized that the two children were falling in love, and they didn't want to intrude on their son's happiness. She had gone in their eyes from house cunt to potential daughter-in-law; they would resume their debauchery with her once she and Will were married, if ever that came to pass. Dawn's bedroom was kept for the occasional girl friend who might visit; she spent every night sleeping in Will's bed, even those evenings when his parents could not overcome the urge and she did a twosome or threesome with one or both of them — or with one of them and Will. The other reason was that Melody, possibly out of necessity, had taken a liking to Kathleen, Alan's secretary, and the older girl serviced the Deans more and more of the time.

On rare occasions, Dawn and Kathleen would put on a lesbian show for Alan and/or Will, when Melody spent the evening with Coach. The secretary had been doing Alan for quite some time, and she knew how he liked it. He had taught her things, though she had not been cherry for years, just as he had taught Dawn. Kathleen had given Alan all of her openings, and she had given Dawn some tips on how to make the anal more comfortable. Having grown up as a flaming heterosexual, Kathleen knew very little about eating pussy properly, so Dawn happily reciprocated with those lessons.

Will and Dawn graduated high school and went off to college together, to Alan's alma mater. Alan covered the deficiency in tuition that Dawn's bankroll couldn't meet, though it actually cost him very little, her earnings having been so good. His vast contributions to the school gave him the clout to arrange that Will and Dawn could live off campus together, in violation of the usual rules for freshmen and sophomores. It didn't hurt that both were excellent students. They called their apartment the Love Nest, and the major portion of their time outside the classroom or library was spent between each other's legs. Since Dawn had banked so much money from the card games, she no longer had to play 'entertainer' at them whenever she was home from college. The men grumbled a bit but they recognized her relationship with Will. In fact, they knew Dawn and Will would probably marry even before Will made the proposal. With the rare exception of a night at home with Melody or Alan, Will and Dawn had become monogamous. Will did pop the question at the end of their sophomore year, but Dawn hesitated. She was reserving her body for him, but that was voluntary; in her mind, once they were married, she would no longer be able to fuck anyone else (except his parents and grandfather, of course.) It seemed to her that Will's keeping her clit happy was a tenuous condition for marriage.

During one winter vacation, their junior year, Melody and Alan took Dawn and Will to Las Vegas for a week of shows and fun. Alan, though not afraid to lose money at the tables, was too smart to be a 'whale', one of those ultra-high rollers for whom the top floor suites are reserved. However, he paid his own money for a two-bedroom suite in one of the top hotels, for which he could have asked to be comped, but he chose not to obligate himself to play beyond his desires.

Nevertheless, when he did get to the tables, Alan played with black chips, and occasionally even the pink, and the casino personnel knew who he was. He never played with the 'chocolate chips', though he could well afford to do so. When he played, a nubile waitress, tits pouring out of her gown, stood behind him, awaiting his every order. When he ordered a drink, it came from the top shelf, not the well. Alan tipped lavishly; the dealers, straight and gay both, would gladly have sucked his cock just to be at the table when he tipped. Whores and boy toys were available for Alan and Melody at a snap of the fingers. From time to time, both Deans availed themselves of those services, but always paid out of their own pockets.

During the day, the four of them often walked the Strip, looking at the sights, the people who couldn't afford what they could. As they walked, unshaven down and out street people shoved cards and magazines in their hands, trying to earn enough for the next bottle of cheap rotgut. Those cards and magazines were full of pictures of buxom girls and phone numbers, offering companionship, i.e. sex, zipless sex for as much as they thought the johns would pay. The Dean party politely took those paper offerings and then, like good citizens, waited to find a waste basket before throwing them away. None of the pictured whores came near to Melody and Dawn in beauty, but the bums earned their whiskey money.

Despite the winter dates, the weather generally allowed the balance of the daylight hours to be spent beside the hotel pool. In deference to the surrounding unwashed masses, Dawn and Melody kept their bikinis on. Still, they could feel the eyes of men — and some of the women, and all of the boys - around the pool, devouring them, banking the images of the two women for use later in the day, when it would be time to couple with their mates or to masturbate, as the case might be, in each instance aided by the memory of these two incredibly beautiful and edible cunts.

Showtime might be spent watching one of the big time comedians or singers, or possibly one of the production shows. Those shows generally featured topless dancing by tall leggy blondes, fresh from the stardom of Cornpone Iowa and still on the cusp between stardom in Vegas and call girl whoredom in Vegas. Bare tit was no novelty for any of the four; it would have taken bare cunt to get their attention to the showgirls. That too was something that Melody and Alan could have had for the asking, but didn't bother to.

One night, after dinner and a show at another hotel, the foursome returned to home base. Alan played craps for about a half hour, winning a decent amount of money. Not until after one a.m. did three of them get to the elevator bank for the ride to bed. Will had gone up to the suite after the show, suffering from a slight headache. The elevators were at the core of the building; at each floor, they emptied into a lobby from which guests could walk down one of four corridors to their rooms.

Just before they reached the elevators, they were passed by an older man wearing a dark jacket, blue slacks and a blue beret. His hair was jet black, as was his beard; his eyes were hidden behind sun glasses, a not-surprising addendum for the poker player he appeared to be. A handsome man, the black hair would be rinsed blond before he went to bed that night, and the beard would go back into a drawer. The glasses, beret and jacket would go into a dumpster on his way home.

Keith Morgan made his living sticking his handgun in people's faces and taking their money. Calling himself, to his girlfriend C.C., a 'gentleman robber', Keith's gun was never loaded. He knew that he ran the risk of being shot during a robbery, but he considered that less of a risk than what would happen to him if he wound up shooting someone else, in frustration or by accident. Keith picked his victims carefully, being sure not to waste a disguise on a victim who had lost all his money. He didn't repeat in any one hotel, Vegas, Reno or Laughlin, more than once a year. When he felt that his luck might change in Nevada, he would travel to Biloxi or to Atlantic City, but he hated to be away from C.C. for too long. Expert at his trade, he had never left a fingerprint, and his activities were never linked. He earned just as much working once a week as did his girlfriend, who worked three and a half weeks a month on her back and knees, servicing guests with all of her points of entry at the better hotels in town. In a small world sort of way, C.C.'s face and barely covered nipples graced one of the cards that Alan had so carefully thrown into the garbage earlier that day.

When the elevator to the thirty-sixth floor arrived, Keith was able to enter the car first without seeming to be discourteous. He didn't touch a button; he had no idea where his three marks intended to get off. As they entered the car, Keith was able to see their faces — and bodies. His cock twitched; C.C. had been out of circulation for over a week, bedded down in the penthouse of that very hotel, with a high roller from Hong Kong, and Keith felt incredibly horny. His pride forbade masturbation except in extreme emergencies. Until he saw Melody and Dawn, he had felt an emergency coming on. No longer, he thought, for he saw the solution facing him. A mother and daughter, he thought, might make for a very satisfying evening. Unless the young one was a whore; Keith thought that she might be. She looked like C.C. had looked at the beginning of her career — is that the right word for a call girl — before her eyes had hardened. Either way, his decision was made. Alan pushed the button, the doors slid closed and up they went.