From the title, one might think that this is a Biblical story. Wrong!! One connection is that our heroine, Joanie, that's me, practices the oldest profession, the one mentioned in said Bible. Nor is our Whale that Biblical sea creature who swallows a sinner and spits him out when he repents. Here, you might say that Whale and sinner swallow each other.

Most people are aware that the word Whale in the casino business refers to an extraordinarily wealthy person, usually male, who wagers ridiculously large sums of money on any card, spin, roll, whatever, at a casino, amounts on each bet often more than equal to the yearly wages of most everyone else in the casino. They are treated like royalty by the casino, and often they are royalty, and comped (given complimentary) for any and all of their extravagant expenses in the hotel. And don't worry, the House always comes out ahead.

We were in Marco's office, a wood-paneled luxury suite on the Executive Floor of one of the newest and gaudiest casino-hotels on the Strip in Las Vegas. His tuxedo jacket hung neatly on a caddy alongside his desk, his polished black shoes next to the jacket. The shirt collar was open, the bow tie hanging loosely from the collar. His shiny black silk covered feet were on his desk. Also on the desk was a wooden thingy that announced him as Director of Client Relations, matching the embossed sign screwed into the other side of the oak door.

I sat near the doorway, in the supplicant's chair, listening to the last of his phone call. "OK, Mr. Foster, Joanie will be at the Presidential Suite at 9:00 P.M sharp. She will receive the usual fee. She's very discrete. She's been with us since we opened and she's amenable to anything you desire ... I mean Anything ... Yes, blonde, five foot even, extremely well endowed ... Yes, she'll accompany you for as long as you wish. I believe you said three days? Enjoy your stay."

He looked at me casually. "You've got a really high roller for three nights. You'd better keep him happy; anything he wants, you give him. The tip should be good. OK, Joanie, time for you to practice."

I stood and kicked off my shoes. I pulled my sweater off over my head and unbuttoned my jeans, letting them drop to the floor. Left with just my bra, 38D, and my panties, I walked behind his desk and stepped over one of his legs, kneeling down between them. My fingers went to his belt and I began to pull down his pants. He stood so that the pants would slide off and then sat again. Next to go were his underpants, revealing a solid seven inches of cock and a set of hairy balls.

"Suck me hard, Joanie. My balls are really loaded."

"Shit, Marco, you insist on me sucking your cock or something else every time you set up one of these dates for me. And then you take half of my money too. You know damn well that I can give the best blow job you'll ever have."

"Shut up, cunt. You know that no girl works this hotel without my OK, so if you want to keep getting the jobs, you have to pay. And putting out for me is just a part of the price. You can go to some cheap dive any time you want, I'll even give you a reference but you know you won't be getting big spenders and big tippers like you get here."

I wondered if I'd ever get up the nerve to bite his fucking cock off. Probably not. The whales are heavy gamblers and damn big tippers. I make a lot of money peddling my pussy here and truth be told, if I wasn't doing this for money, I wouldn't mind cleaning Marco's pipes for free. As long as I didn't have to look at him or listen to him.

-oOo-

The very first day that I arrived in a place I'd never been, Las Vegas, or rather that evening, I had put on a cocktail dress and walked into one of the fancier hotel-casinos – or is it casino-hotels? – and wandered around the high-roller tables. Born and bred in Kansas City, a place where whores are not particularly welcome, I had been chomping at the bit to get away. My assets, cultivated at home by a soul-less Daddy, consisted mainly of three bodily orifices – and a pretty face. While I had grown to enjoy men giving me money to diddle with those openings, K.C. was not the place to get rich.

After moving from table to table for only five minutes, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A well dressed man asked me if I would be so kind as to follow him into his office. Oh shit, I thought, I've barely hit town and already I'm being thrown out. Well, I thought, there are plenty of other places in town to peddle my ass. Still, I followed him quietly. When he closed his office door, he asked me my name, referring to me as young lady, " ... and where are you from?"

"Joanie. Kansas City." Fuck it, I thought. Just throw me out and I'll go quietly. This place isn't the only casino in town. It'll be easy enough to find some guy willing to pay to fuck me.

"I am Marco Polokosis. Don't you ever dare to call me Marco Polo."

What the fuck is going on, I wondered. I'm never gonna see you again, Mr. Marco Polo, and if I do, I'll call you whatever I want.

"I'm the Assistant Director of Client Relations here, Miss Joanie from Kansas City. No whore works this casino without my permission. I take half of your fee and I fuck you whenever and wherever I want. Just let me see your Driver's License. We don't allow jail bait."

"Half?" I exclaimed.

"I'm only the deputy here. I don't get to keep it all."

"What do you mean by wherever?"

"My name is Greek, but I don't have time for your ass right now. You're my cunt now. On your knees."

-oOo-

It was two years later. Marco had moved to this new casino and gotten a promotion. It was the night that I first met Mr. Foster.

I opened my mouth and bent forward to swallow Marco's dong. He didn't need any foreplay, he never does; he just wanted to fuck my face quickly. As my lips covered his meat, his right hand grabbed the back of my head, pulling my face tight against his groin. His crown hit the back of my mouth, effectively forcing me to breathe through my nose.

It usually took him virtually no time to shoot a load of cum down my throat, but I wanted to speed him up anyway. I used one hand to play with his hairy balls, jiggling his nuts. He gave a soft moan. Then he said the same thing he said every time I blew him. As the other girls told me later, it was his mantra.

"Finger me, bitch."

Oh shit, I hate that stuff. It's bad enough when some guy fucks my ass, but for me to have to stick my finger up inside him, he's rarely clean, it disgusts me. For a while, we all thought that he might have some gay tendencies, but beyond a finger, he's never given any hint that he'd like a cock up there. For sure he's never asked any of us to use a strap-on to fuck his ass.

Anyway, I shoved my middle finger up there to rub his prostate, and the second that I touched it, he always began to shoot off. Although the amount of the cum was usually larger than most such deliveries from johns, I'd had lots of experience swallowing and I never lost a drop.

Once the spurting stopped, his hand grasped my head even tighter, his signal, no, dammit, his command, for me to lick any excess cum from his cock and to dry it off with suction. Damn you, Marco, one of these days...

I walked to the wet-bar, washed my offended finger, retrieved my clothing and left his office.

-oOo-

In my really younger day, when I gave away the use of my pussy without charge, timing was never a consideration. Young men were so horny that they would wait any amount of time, suffer any amount of cock-teasing, acting patiently but truly impatient, going crazy until my legs or mouth were open and available. They didn't change as they grew older, even when they were paying for it, because they knew that even a whore like me will reject a man if they don't like his attitude.

Whales are different from other people. They have enough money so that they can buy just about anything they wish. That includes the use of some female body parts – and sometimes even ownership, for all practical purposes. And they are demanding, as people with excess funds often act. The appointment was for 9:00 sharp. So while with most men I can mosey in sometime between 8:00 and 10:00 and get away with it, this man was both a Whale and a stranger.

If I got there too early, he might say 'I said 9:00' and throw me out, never to return, my purse unfulfilled. The same might be true if I arrived late. I could imagine the Whale calling Marco at exactly 9:00 and screaming, "Your cunt is late. Call her off and send someone else here in ten minutes. I don't care if you have to send your daughter." Only in the case where there might be a second date could I have any instinct about his penchant for timeliness.

And so it was exactly two minutes before 9:00 that I stood in front of the door to the Presidential Suite. I was wearing a pale yellow cocktail dress, matching purse and shoes, the latter with simple two inch heels. Next to me was a rolling suitcase, large enough for the three days I expected to be entertaining Mr. Foster. When I had checked myself in the mirror before leaving my apartment, I decided that I looked reasonably virginal. My finger gave one light push on the doorbell. I counted silently. 'One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four... '

"You are Joanie?"

He was built like Santa Claus, though the twinkle in his eyes did not speak of Christmas Cheer, but more like naked lust. His huge paw reached out and squeezed my left tit, evidently testing Marco's promise of 'extremely well endowed'. I observed the Santa-like belly and the meaty hands and quickly dreaded the possibility that he might fall asleep on top of me. Judging by his thin white hair and wrinkled face, I thought that he was between 60 and 80, closer to the latter. However he got his money, he looked like a Chairman of the Board 'emeritus' but still in control, a major stockholder.

Mr. Foster wore a large sized fuzzy white bathrobe, embossed with the name and logo of the casino. In addition, the same slippers on his feet. My guess was that he wore nothing else under the robe.

Without waiting for me to nod or speak my identity, he said, "I am Angelo. Please come in."

He closed the door behind me. Pulling one end of the belt, the robe opened and he shrugged it off his shoulders. As expected, nothing but skin, one portion of which was fully engorged. The view stopped me cold. I couldn't recall ever having fucked a man who had no pubic hair. He saw me look, and briefly explained about a long past surgical procedure which had required the shaving, and that he had decided to keep the area bald. 'Just like you cunts do.' At the same time, a meaty hand pressed on top of my skull.

"A quickie please. Have you eaten?

"Yes I have, thank you."

He flopped down in an easy chair and I lifted the hem of my dress to above my knees. Hell, no point in ruining a good cocktail dress just because some guy is too impatient to wait for me to strip.

I saw a silver lining to this quickie blow job. At his age, I thought it unlikely that he would be able to fuck all night, and since I was being paid for the night and not per orgasm, it might not be too tough a gig.

His cock was just about what I had expected, in size that is, filled with blood. That part was the surprise, because most men who had reached the age I thought him to be have trouble getting it up without pharmaceutical help or tactile, or on rare occasions mechanical. But Angelo was as ready as a teen-ager.

I kissed his little piss slit. He hummed with pleasured expectation. My tongue circled his pinkish crown. He responded by shoving one hand into the top of my strapless dress. Bastard, I thought, you'd better fucking not rip my dress or I'll bite your fucking cock off. His hand pawed my tits. For some reason men like to play with a girl's boobs, especially mine since they're on the large side, while being blown. A teensy bit of pre-cum oozed out, to quickly disappear onto my tongue.

"Just the cock, baby."

I started to suck as he wished. Strangely, so many of the men I blow like to fuck my face, but Angelo let me do all the work, my head bobbing along his shiny shaft, my tongue exploring. At the same time, my hand was fingering his nut sac.

"Soon," he whispered. "Swallow."

Who the fuck did he think was down there sucking cock between his legs? I was no neophyte, I was a professional. I knew all about swallowing. Shit, the first time that prick Daddy had cum in my mouth, I had spit it out. He slapped me silly and then patiently explained how a man likes it swallowed. I never ran the risk after that.

He grunted and began to spurt. My mouth was tight around his meat and not a drop oozed out from between my lips. I kept all his sauce in my mouth, letting it pool as I waited for the throbbing to stop. Then he watched my cheeks as I swallowed. Without releasing him, I sucked his cock dry and used my tongue to clean up the last drop sneaking out.

As I began to slide my mouth off of him, his hand on my head tightened.

"I'm not finished yet."

What was he talking about? I know when a guy's nuts are empty. And suddenly I knew; I knew when I felt the warm thin liquid, around 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, hitting the back of my throat. The son of a bitch was pissing me, pissing my mouth. Fucking bastard. I looked up at him, glaring daggers. He responded with a grin. Oh shit, I thought, I'd better swallow or I'd get his piss all over my dress and ruin it. Shit, shit, shit! I'd only ever had that done to me two or three times. Not even Daddy had ever done that to me.

Having no choice, I drank down the 'gift' from Angelo's bladder and then sat back on the floor, still with the daggers.

"What's the matter with you? You're a cunt, aren't you? Marco said you'd do anything, he even repeated the word. Did he lie to me?"

All I needed was for him to tell Marco that I'd refused something a Whale had in mind for me. I'd be out on my ass, not even getting paid for one night. I needed the money, needed the $1,500 per night to pay my back rent.

I shook my head, defending Marco. After all, I'd always done whatever he wanted me to do with my body.

"Good thing," Angelo said. "That prick said that he's paying you $10,000 for each night, and for that kind of money, you'd fucking well better do whatever I want from you."

At the mention of $10,000, my head popped up and my mouth opened. He could see the surprise on my face.

"Oh," he said. "I guess he did lie to me. Son of a bitch. How much do you get for tonight?"

I said nothing

"How much?" he repeated.

I whispered it. "$1,500."

Then it was his turn to look surprised. Angrily, he picked up the telephone but then he slammed it down without saying anything.

"Don't worry," he said. "Marco will pay you what he promised."

All of a sudden, I didn't mind whatever Angelo planned to do with my body.

-oOo-

"Go put on something comfortable. We're going to do some gambling."

We took the private elevator down to the high-roller floor, an exclusive enclave where admittance was by invitation only. The staff groveled so much that I almost threw up. There were no 'minimum bet' signs on any of the tables. A Whale could bet as little as a single dollar when the table was ice cold, but he knew that the average bet would have to be at a very high number if he expected the ass kissing to continue.

Angelo sat at a blackjack table and raised a single finger. The dealer announced "one million" to the pit boss, who nodded, and quickly one hundred Ten Thousand dollar chips were stacked in front of him. He pushed five of them back to the dealer and said "nickels, please."

Downstairs, on the ground level of the casino, a request for 'nickles' would yield red Five Dollar chips. Up in the rarified area reserved for those people who show up with the James Bond crowd, a 'nickle' meant a chip worth Five Thousand dollars.

Angelo's opening bet was $10,000. When he would win a hand, he raised the next bet to $15,000 and kept raising by $5,000 increments. Sometimes when he was on a roll, he would lay down $5,000 chip next to his own bet, "for the dealer." If Angelo lost, both bets would be taken by the house. If he won, however, the dealer would pay off both bets, and then take his portion, tap it sideways on the table to make it sound like stiletto heels on marble, and then drop it into the clear plastic bin with served as a tip box, ultimately to be divided among many employees in some esoteric formula known only to those who wore the tuxedos. After about a half hour, he said that he felt warmed up enough and raised his basic bet to $25,000, and by his betting pattern often had $100,000 riding on a single card.

Throughout, he had me stand behind him, rubbing his neck and shoulders and pushing my tits against his back. Sometimes he put one hand behind him and began to rub my pussy. Most of the employees could see what he was doing, but they kept straight faces, as did I.

All this time, various employees fawned over both of us, including that fucking Marco. When Angelo announced "show time", the dealer counted his chips and told one and all how much they added up to. Of course, Angelo and every pit boss in the area and all the security people had been calculating the sum as we went along, and there were no surprises. We walked away without Angelo having taken any receipt, just as he had signed no marker (I.O.U.) for the original million. With all those camera recording everything, no one could fuck around with the numbers. He was down about $200K.

-oOo-

The late show was just a single stand-up comic. Our seats were right in the middle of the first row, but the comic had obviously been warned not to call any attention to us, as he usually did with people in the first row.

As we laughed for a full hour, Angelo had his hand under my skirt. After the second minute, his fingers slid under the gusset of my panties and worked their way into my soaking wet pussy. I gasped, not too loudly but the woman sitting next to me heard me and turned to look. She saw me being fingered by the old man next to me and smiled, her face showing envy. The comedian also saw what was going on and after fumbling a few words, he consciously began to look everywhere except at Angelo and me.

Angelo's fingers drove into me, sliding easily through my wetness. He backed his hand partly out and began to diddle my clit. Closer and closer my orgasm threatened; I began to pant. An instant before it hit me, I shoved my wrist into my mouth to muzzle a scream. As a soft moan escaped my lips, he curled his fingers and hit my g-spot, causing me to gush, soaking my panties and through them, my skirt. People would notice, I realized, but shit, that's what I get paid for.

The woman next to me couldn't help but notice my orgasm. She reached into her bag and handed me a business card. All it had on it was her name – if true – and her phone number. 'Kristi Autumn', it said on her card, leaving little doubt that she too was in the Life. She smiled again. "That was lovely," she said. "Would you like to pass it on?"

I burst out laughing, but it wasn't for a punch line, and the comedian looked confused. He looked at me, saw the situation and then turned toward Angelo, giving him a slight bow. No one else noticed anything. I took Angelo's fingers and sucked them dry, inhaling my own aroma.

And marveling at my good fortune. After all, so few johns bother to make a whore cum! And I'd met one of my competitors who might someday become one of my friends. As we departed the theater, Kristi and I air kissed, and she invited me to call her 'anytime'.

-oOo-

Back up in his suite, Angelo flopped into an easy chair.

"Strip," he said. I opened the top button of my blouse and then a second one.

"No," he said. "I mean like a stripper."

I'd never worked in a strip club, nor whirled myself around a pole. My disrobing had never been intended to seduce a man; by the time I usually began to strip, we were always just getting ready to fuck. On the other hand, a man with a hard cock is easily amused and entertained, so it was easy to simulate the fake strippers on cops and robbers shows.

I opened my buttons slowly then, twirling between buttons, flapping my elbows like a chicken trying to fly. I turned my back to Angelo, removing my blouse. I faced him again, one hand holding the blouse in front of me, oh so shyly, and the other one over my head, snapping my fingers like a flamenco dancer. The blouse went over his face and he shrugged his head to let it fall to the floor. All the while I silently hummed a wordless tune, making myself feel like a real stripper.

My body moved backwards, toward his face, inviting him silently to unhook my bra. He took the hint and when it was opened, he slid his hands around me and began to squeeze my tits, his fingers pinching my nips. I pulled away, let the bra straps fall into my hand and began to twirl it, at the same time swinging my hips. He pulled me back to his face and began to nurse on my big babies, not caring that they had no milk for his palate.

I flipped one end of the bra around his neck, grabbed that end and brought his face hard up against my nipples. His hands went down to my waist, searching for and finding the zipper on my skirt. It opened quickly and the skirt whooshed quietly to the floor. Stepping away, I lobbed both my stilettos to Angelo. He caught them in the air and they joined everything else on the floor. All I had left was my lacy thong.

I put my arms out as my hips swayed. Mentally I imagined myself as a high-wire entertainer, but realizing that this act was intended for me to fall, not into a net but onto my back, with my legs spread in welcome. Then for the crowning scenario, I turned my back to him, bent forward and slowly began to roll down the thong, inch by excruciating inch. At that point he could wait no longer, and over my shoulder I saw him rapidly throwing off his clothing, one piece after another, into this corner and that corner.