It would be over soon, Brent realized. After the wheel had come up on Red, when he'd bet on Black ... oohhh! Again! He was losing chips hand over fist! There went his stimulus rebate check, and his mortgage payment ... ouch!
"I can turn it around..." he hissed, gripping the rim of the table expectantly, amidst the glitz and glitter of the casino floor.
And the girls. Two of them. Brent knew they were the 'good- time' party-girl gold-diggers his mom had always warned him about but ... they were still being friendly, still treating him like a high-roller but ... really Brent couldn't pretend to be — even before he'd started losing his shirt, he wasn't the type who could plop down a million bucks in Vegas! Yet there were these two girls rubbing up to him, dressed in sequined red cocktail dresses that seemed to hoist up their generous boobs into spectacular display. Like true gamble-holics everywhere, Brent put down more chips than he could ever afford to lose, knowing that just one more spin would turn his luck around!
"31 ... black!" announced the gaming attendant.
"NOOOO!!! "A vein pulsed in Brent's forehead as the implications hit him, and his chips were scooped away. How onerous the sparkling lights and cheerful beeps and tinkles were now, now that he'd blown so much needed cash! It was an insult now, the slot machines, the blackjack. Brent stood there stunned, only able to muster a sneer of jealousy as he heard a slot machine behind ringing and buzzing as it showered coins onto a plump, sputtering old biddie.
"Ohhhh ... I think that was everything." Cooed one of the good-time girls behind him. 'Well, that's the last I'll see of them... ' Brent thought. The last thing he could have expected was the feel of a pair of nipples pressing into his back.
"So frustrating, when the game turns against you like that." Mewed the twin sister.
They were sparkling, platinum-blond goddesses, with a shock of white-gold hair covering their left eye for a flavor of supreme sultriness, and they were identical. To look at them was to be torn between dazzlingly glamorous faces and jutting boobs that seemed to rise up threateningly from below. On the male chauvinistic 1-10 scale of female attractiveness, each of them was a 12.
"I think you're in need of some serious comfort." said the other twin, er ... her name might have been Sally. And the two uber-babes hooked arms and really dragged Brent off the floor of the casino with an unfathomable urgency!
"It's kinda good that you finally lost..." said her twin ... er ... Brent wasn't sure of her name.
"Yes, if you'd kept on winning, we might have been out there for hours." moped Sally, as she rubbed Brent's shoulders. As the pair stumbled through the hallway, Brent caught of glimpse of the three of them in an ornate, decorative mirror on the way to the guest hotel in this colossal, resort-casino-hotel-entertainment palace as only Vegas could do properly. The mirror showed a pudgy, hairy-armed bald forty-year-old with a phony Hawaiian T-shirt desperately trying to hold on to his youth. And he was
surrounded by two toned and busty goddesses that could only be gold-diggers. But he'd lost all his money. They knew he'd lost all his money. Brent's mind struggled for an answer. He'd been seeing a lot of these impossibly gorgeous babes running around more and more lately, but he didn't approach them — babes like this ... had to be out of his league! And yet, here they were!
Could they be planning to slip him a Mickey and steal his wallet? But they know that he lost his money. Maybe they wanted to have sex with him, take compromising photos, and then blackmail him? But Brent was divorced twice, not married now. Nothing to pay Blackmail with.
The only possibility he came up with was that these gals wanted to knock him out, put him naked in a bathtub full of ice and harvest his kidneys — but that seemed so unlikely he decided to just roll with it and risk it. But it wasn't his kidneys, it was his cock they wanted. Inside a lavish, multi-thousand dollar suite, platinum -blond models thrashed atop his rampant dick. It was like a dream, a giggling, soft-skinned, silky-haired dream with ginormous tits, and a grip around his rod like wet velvet. And Brent was cumming! Cumming like never before! He didn't care anymore! Didn't care what the cost was, the price ... blasting his seed into these busomy supermodels seemed worth any risk. For a moment, the loss of all that money seemed a small price to pay.
Brent's face hurt. From Smiling. Apparently he'd drifted off locked in a rictus of pleasure. He arose from the silky, king-sized bed, and moaned. His cock! So huge, hard! His eight-inches of rigid meat poked through his bathrobe and throbbed with male potential. Not since he was a teenager had he felt this way! He knew that he ... he must have cum two -three times last night. Yet, it didn't seem to matter; Brent was even hornier than last night!
"Ooh ... you got any plans for that cock Mister?" It was Sally. Naked. Dripping wet. She seemed to have just emerged from the shower. Brent had the distinct insight that it was not necessarily because she needed cleaning — she simply wanted to look wet and shiny. For him. Blatantly, she postured herself. With a throaty moan she ran a hand between her ample, jutting breasts that glistened as though sprinkled with diamond dust. She was thrusting her womanly assets and her naked sex towards him, arching her back to present Brent with a nude paradise of female treasures to explore. She was panting, glaring at him the way he should have been glaring at them — sex objects, fuckmeat. Brent's breath caught in his throat. It was universal arousal. Every part of her tanned body exuded raw femininity in a way that was almost surreal. Her face — even her face seemed pornographic, plump lips, smoldering eyes, upswept, pointed eyebrows with a sharp, savage beauty. Every part of her flesh was sexy — For Brent, even her kneecaps seemed fuck-worthy.
"B-but wh- I don't understand; you girls know that I lost big at the tables last night! And you're still here? I just ... are you hooker- I mean, working girls? What is it that you-"
But she cut him off.
"I know men love to analyze and understand, but there's no need for that. No need to understand. You are going to fuck me. Me and my sister. You will grab me, force me to the bed, and impale me with you cock." She waved her cantaloupe-sized tits at him. "That is all that matters; you are male, I am female — and you will fuck me deep." And then the smell hit him. The musky, pungent animal-scent assailed Brent — the scent that he had never smelled before, yet he knew the odor, the deepest corners of his primal brain knew the scent. The scent of sex and breeding. The select molecules muffled Brent's higher brain functions, and questions began to die out as he groaned his desire. Her identical sister caressed him from behind, nibbled his ear, and bombarded him with a similar mating musk. Roaring his masculinity, the bathrobe slid from his shoulders as the two hotties slid to either side of him, and his cock throbbed with pleasure as a sex -rage filled him. It was difficult to remember, as his rational mind slipped away under a tide of predatory lust.
Two Months Later -
Another perk of being Master of a Shifter Harem was the effort the girls made to reconstruct and refurbish their man's surroundings into something most soothing, pleasant, and arousing from their man's perspective. While Brent would never achieve his dream of getting filthy rich and retiring to Hawaii, his girls had spent a lot of money and effort to bring the dream to him. Brent spent his days in a lush, marble- floored atrium with tropical- looking plants, a skylight, and a variety of Jacuzzis built into the floor. Dimly, he was aware that the cost of all this must have been astronomical, but they had accomplished it all without discussing it with him, and his queries were answered by milk-dripping breasts in his face, sultry mouths kissing his massive cock, and the insistence that he - "Lie back, and don't worry about things like that."
Indeed, all Brent had to do was cum. And that he did with explosive relish. His girls would seduce him wearing flowers in the hair, and Tropical Lais around their shoulders, and milky-tits, sultry, exotic eyes and mango-ripe lips. Something else Brent became convinced of — they must know — they must have a way to read or ... calculate his desires. It was last week he was thinking of how nice a Pina Colada would be, and a minute later a redhead with lush hips carrying a silver platter appeared and presented him with the drink requested — yet he hadn't requested it! He just desired it, dreamed of it! And they knew. He'd taken that redhead into his jaccuzzi, and was compelled to give her an hour of gratitude fucks amidst her gurgles of joy. He was certainly astute enough to know that his girls craved sperm for its own sake. But then, he'd thought that his Jaccuzzi water was too cool, with not enough bubbles. He'd just been about to open his mouth when a rush of heat and tingling bubbles caressed his skin.
"How's that Master? Better?" Asked a coppery-tanned shifter girl with the complexion not unlike that of an Island Native, but with jutting boobs far larger than normal. Brent gurgled in bliss — and of course, that meant that she too had to be given gratitude fucks for the next hour. And as he lounged in bliss in his bubbling pool, surrounded by luscious, lovely shape-shifters, he suddenly remembered what he'd been thinking of before the gratitude sex with the redhead.
"Ohhh ... please bring, whoever cooked me that Fettuccine Alfredo, so delicate and refined ... taste extraordinary."
.... There is more of this story ...