Chapter 11
The House Always Wins

Quiet time.  

Alan was lying on his in a hammock reading a novel, "Aura" by Carlos Fuentes.  Pauline was dozing next to him, on her side and half curled up into a ball, her back pressed into the side of his body.  It was the first really warm day of spring and they were taking advantage of it, trying to spend as much time outside as they could get.  A half hour ago they finished lunch on the deck, and Pauline's parents had returned inside the house.  Pauline had suggested the hammock, and they had both taken books; however the big lunch had taken its toll on her, causing her to nod off almost immediately.

By the time Alan finished reading the book, a novella really, not long enough to be a novel, he too dozed off.

The afternoon turned overcast and chilled; Alan was awakened by Pauline shivering through her sleep beside him on the hammock.  Her long brown hair was on him because in their slumber she had nuzzled her head in his armpit, and he was amused by it, absorbed by its sheer volume; it smelled of chamomile.  It completely obscured his shoulder, and stray bits of it had worked their way up under his neck, tickling him pleasantly  He lifted his arms above his head, stretching out, and let out a hearty yawn.  Mr. Van Devanter, who was about fifteen yards away and watering his vegetable patch turned and waved.  Alan hoisted himself out of the hammock, casing her to stir.

"When did it get so cold?" she asked him sleepily.

"Not sure.  We both drifted off into dreamland." She sighed contentedly.

"Umm," she purred, stretching out on the now roomier hammock, "I'm far too wiped out to move, but much to cold to stay out here."  She stretched again.  "Help me up?"

He pulled her up and out of the hammock and gave her a little kiss on the lips, and was about to follow her back into her house, but her dad called him over.

They chatted for a little while, mostly about growing vegetables, a topic which interested Alan not at all.

"Come inside with me, we should talk," he said to Alan, a wicker basket of radishes under his arm.

"Uh oh, this doesn't sound good," he chuckled, and Mr. Van Devanter assured him there was nothing to fear.

They went into the kitchen, finding Pauline's mom at the sink filling just-washed clay flower pots from a huge bag of store-bought soil.  She smiled at him as they came in.

"First off, who told you you could sleep with my baby?" Mr. Van Devanter asked.  It was such a shocking opening, and not only to Alan.  Pauline's mom dropped a flower pot into the sink, smashing it.

"What?" she screeched.

"Relax. Relax.  I was just kidding, Helen.  The two of them were out back in the hammock reading, and they both nodded off.  Jesus, can't anyone here take a joke?"

"Oh," her mom said clutching her heart, her tone of voice suggesting that the weight of the world had just been lifted off her chest.  Mr. Van Devanter gave her a meaningful look, and soon she left them alone in the kitchen.

"You know of course that we--Pauline's mom and I--think you're a great guy.  We couldn't be more happy with this situation, with you an our baby girl dating."

"Thanks."

"Oy, I've been dreading this day for years."

"I don't follow," Alan replied.

"You'll understand when you have a daughter."

"Oh," Alan said, grinning at Mr. Van Devanter, "That."

"I not just because she's my daughter.  She's my baby, you understand.  When she's forty she'll still be my baby.  It's just hard, though you being the person I'm having this conversation makes it all the more easy."

"I think I know what you're trying to say."

"Good, then I'll be brief: Don't hurt her.  Got it?"

"You bet."

"Whew," Mr. Van Devanter exhaled, "That was easier than I thought it would be."

* * *

Alan hung around the house a while longer.  Pauline was up in her room having a nap, and he and her dad watched some early season baseball in the den.  Mr. Van Devanter had invited him into the den and cracked 
open two beers, a surprise.

"I am sure you've had this before, eh."

"Yeah.  My dad and I sometimes have a beer together."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not leading you down the path to perdition."

After a few innings Kate came home; she had been out with friends and was surprised at seeing Alan still at her house.  Alan and her dad greeted her, and her heart started racing when she saw Alan rise and follow her up the stairs to her bedroom.  She could feel his presence behind as she walked across the upstairs hall, and she realized with a start that her pussy was dripping.

"My parents are downstairs," she whispered as he closed her bedroom door behind them.  "Pauline is home."

"Get undressed," he ordered.  She did while looking at him with look that mixed her belief that this was ill advised with one of high lust.

He approached her as she was finishing and gave her a gentle push onto the bed. "I thought you understood, slut.  You are mine.  Property." She began to nod in agreement.  "I use you when I want, where I want."

"Please," she half-squeaked, half-whispered, "Master, please.  Use your slut.  I will never for a moment doubt you again.  I will never for a moment even hesitate when you command me."  Alan was slowly running is fingers up and down her bare slit, and Kate could no longer continue her begging, consumed as she was by the feelings he was drawing out of her body.

"Hmm, your pussy is very wet, my slut."

Through her gasps she answered him, "No, Master, ahhhhh, it's your pussy."  Their eyes met and she smiled at him.

"Nice answer."  He put his mouth against her labia and snaked his tongue into her moist depths.

"Oh my god!" she squealed. "Yessssssssss!"  Alan licked her pussy vigorously, his right hand twisting and tugging at her butt plug, his left pulling at her nipple rings causing her breasts to stretch away from her body.  Kate came explosively at this treatment, her body shaking and twitching, her hips bucking at his face.  He moved up, pressing his body on top of hers so that they were face to face.  Kate licked her own juices off his face, gasping and moaning with the after effects of her prodigious orgasm.  "Please fuck me," she panted. "Please, put you dick in my--I mean, your--cunt.  It's soooooo wet.  Wet for Master's cock, my Master's big cock.  Please?"

Alan slowly entered her, and the sensation, the feeling of being used by him, took her breath away.  "You like that, slut?" She moaned contentedly as he slowly pumped in an out of her.  The plug in her ass came alive, vibrating inside of her.  She was incoherent with lust, and just as she had bucked her pussy into his face, she was now thrusting her hips up at him, desirous of more of his cock in her.  She looked down at their joining and saw he was burying himself in her to the full, but she wanted more.  She wanted a harder fucking, wanted to feel him piston in and out of her so that their bodies came together with slapping force.  Alan increased his pace.  "More," she moaned.  "Harder, yes, faster, fuck me, Master, use your slut. I want you to feel this hot cunt squeeze you big cock." As she felt herself crescendo towards a monstrous climax she began to twist her nipples by the rings.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.  "Kate, sweetie, are you in there?" her mom asked from the other side of the door.  Not waiting for an answer she turned the knob and entered.  Alan took charge of the situation.  He used his power to project an image into Mrs. Van Devanter's mind that she was not seeing Alan fuck her middle child, but rather she saw the two of them demurely conversing.  "Oh, hi Katie.  I wasn't sure you had come home yet."

Kate mind was exploding, and not just from the heroic fucking Alan was throwing her way. "Ugh ugh, yeah Mom, I just got back a-a-aaaaaaaaaaaa little while ago," she managed to speak through her climax.  She didn't understand her mother's calm reaction at seeing her fuck Pauline's boyfriend, who had not even paused his rutting when the 
door had opened.

"Oh, Alan, I didn't see you there! I just got off the phone with your mom.  Were all going to go out for dinner tonight.  I insisted because your mom had barely been out of the house since you grandfather died, and she needs a good night out."  As she was leaving she turned and added, addressing Kate" I'm so happy to see you and Alan getting along so well.  It'll make Pauline so happy to know."

Right after she left Kate's orgasm hit her like a runaway freight train, her shrieks echoing off her plaster walls.  It was Alan coming inside of her that set her off, and it took more than a few minutes for her to becalm herself enough so she could speak.  She was about to ask him, "What just happened?" but thought better of it.  There were still a great many things she didn't comprehend, but she did know that she was Alan's property, and slaves don't ask impertinent questions of their masters.  Whatever Alan did to her, she accepted.

* * *

"I just saw Alan and Kate upstairs getting along like a house on fire," Mrs. Van Devanter told her husband.

"Good.  I know last time it was Kate who caused them to stop dating."  He bit down on his pipe.  He had stopped smoking it years ago, but still kept a few around anyway. "Good," he said again, unaware of any double meanings in his wife's report.

Alan appeared downstairs a few minutes later.  Mrs. Van Devanter and the girls were upstairs getting ready for dinner and  Alan and Mr. Van Devanter were passing the time at the backgammon set.  Alan was experimenting with his powers by manipulating the dice, giving himself bad or mediocre rolls at the start of games, and then gradually improving them.  He found that he could double Mr. Van Devanter midway through the game and then win two points every time, sometimes four, if he was doubled back.

"Wow, that's some game you have there," his opponent said. "You should come to the club on poker nights and hustle some of the guys who play this instead.  You'd make a fortune at twenty dollars a point!"

Alan thought this was an excellent idea, but didn't tell that to him.  He was contemplating a trip to Atlantic City or one of the Indian casinos in Connecticut, and a good night of backgammon at the country club would provide a needed bankroll.

* * *
 Two weeks later Alan was driving to Atlantic City alone in a rented car.  He had considered taking someone with him, either Chloe the au pair next door, or Megan and Leila, but thought better of it.  He had more than five thousand dollars in his pocket, won from the stock brokers and high-powered lawyers at his country club last Wednesday night.  He might have won more, but after a few hours nobody would play him.  His dad and Mr. Van Devanter even managed to win a few hundred from side bets on the games he played.

It was nearing dusk when he reached the casino.  He had stopped in New York for two Italian suits, some fancy dress shirts and silk ties, a new pair of black shoes (also Italian), and a hundred dollar haircut.  "I should have sprung for a fancy watch," he thought to himself as he handed the car keys to the valet.  He tinkered with his appearance on the way down, making himself look about ten years older than his eighteen year old self, matching his new papers.

He had contacted Jack through the Swiss Bank, FedEx'ing a letter and writing of his plans to make some money at the casino.  Jack had telephoned back and told him to see a man in Manhattan first.  This man was an "employee" of Jack's, and he provided him with a fake set of identity papers (birth certificate, drivers license, passport), a social security number, a nice credit history, and an American Express card (platinum) under his new false name.

A few hours later he was up twenty thousand dollars.  He was playing blackjack, and using his power her could read the hole card of the dealer.  Actually he had two methods; either he read the mind of the dealer, or he focused on the card itself, reading through it to see the concealed value.  He was also careful 
not to arouse suspicion.  He didn't set out to win every hand, and even made some intentional mistakes, doubling down at the wrong times.  He was at a $1,000 max table, and he never varied his bet, always putting down just five hundred for each hand.

"Hi, mind of I join you?" A pretty young thing sat down next to him, not waiting for his response.  "I'm Lisa." She flashed him a dazzling smile.  She had a tight body capped with a drop-dead gorgeous face.  Alan stood and pulled out a seat for her.  "You seem to have the touch tonight.  I hope some of your luck will rub off on me." She leaned into him at this, her arm brushing against his as if to illustrate her point.

"Hi, I'm Carl Sutherland, nice to meet you," giving her the name on his false papers.  He scanned her mind.  Her name was not Lisa, it was Anne-Marie, and she wasn't a random gambler, she was from casino security.  She was there at his table to see if he was cheating.

Anne-Marie Nicoletti had been with the hotel for about a year, and was well schooled in the various ways players try to con the casino.  She had recently been promoted after exposing a ring of slot-machine cheats.  The ring had recruited little old ladies to play machines they had first modified after breaking into them.  The old women had aroused little suspicion even after a month of big takes, but she had been the one to see the emerging pattern, and the credit for the bust was hers. 

She watched her target play.   She had been roaming the floor when her supervisor had radioed her to check out table nineteen.  In the jargon of this particular casino Alan was a "mustang," an unknown player who was doing "too well." She watched him even more closely; if he was cheating he was very good at it.  She looked around as he played, checking to see if there was a partner somewhere on the floor who was signaling to him what the dealer's hole card was.  Nope.  She watched his hands as he bet, looking for the telltale signs of a computer in his suit. Nope.  She watched the dealer for a while, checking if he was weak in some way.  Strike three.

Alan chatted with Lisa/Anne-Marie as she did her job.  Since she had sat down Alan had lost, intentionally, five thousand dollars.  "Sorry," she said to him, "I seem to have brought you bad luck."

"It comes, it goes," he said as he grinned at her.  Alan decided that since she had just seen him lose $5,000 it was time to start winning again.  He upped his bets to a thousand per hand, and in less then a half an hour was up more than $75,000. "You turned out to be lucky after all," he said to her smiling.  Alan looked at his watch, and seeing it was only about 10pm asked her to dinner.

"Are you staying here?" she asked him, hoping for the chance to search his room.

"No, I'm not staying the night."  She was disappointed.  Alan called one of the pit workers over to take care of his winnings.  He was informed that the floor manager wished to speak to him in the office.  Anne-Marie watched Alan go to the rear of the casino, and she knew that if he did have some sort of cheating device on him the scanners in the doorway leading to the office would betray him.  As she watched him disappear into the back she went to the phone and called her supervisor.

"Did you see anything?" he asked her quickly.

"Zip.  What did the overheads get?" she asked him, referring to the ceiling-mounted cameras which watched all that transpired in the gambling den.

"Like you said, Zip.  Bupkes.  Less than Zip.  He's coming.  Gotta go."

* * *

Alan had a brief conversation with the floor manager.  He was invited to the back where a cashier would count his chips and cash him out.  Alan was suspicious; he had seen the Scorsese movie "Casino" a few years back, and the scene with the cattle prod and the bal peen hammer came forward in his consciousness.  The man led him to his office and began to tote up the chips.  Alan scanned his mind, relieved that his motive was not to do violence, but to simply keep him in the casino, in the hopes 
that Alan would lose back his money to the house.  Alan gave the manager the information required to have his winnings transferred to his Swiss bank account, and he saw the man's eyes widen at this, the fact of Alan's status as a "player" becoming ever more clear.  This eased his tensions, and he was about to tell the floor manager that he had to leave, but the man told him that if he wanted to spend the night his room would be comped.  He also told Alan that anytime he came back her would be allowed into the VIP room.  

Alan accepted his offer, and told the man that he was thinking about dinner, and then perhaps another trip to the tables.  The man lifted the phone on his desk and got Alan a table at the hotel's best restaurant.  As he went back out into the casino he saw "Lisa" and again invited her to join him for dinner.

They sat down at the table and talked while waiting for their drinks.  Anne-Marie gave him her cover story, that she was visiting the casino with her rich father, a real estate developer from Ohio who was playing high-stakes poker in a private room.  Alan gave her his cover story, that he was an international business consultant based in Geneva and New York, spending a day or two in Atlantic City because he had a few days off between one engagement in Philadelphia and another in New York. 

They ate and drank well.  The casino management had a bottle of wine brought up from the cellar.  "Lisa" excused herself and called her boss for instructions.

"He's not in any if the black books," Peter Milburn told her.  This meant they had no good reason to ban him from the tables.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked him.

"Code 14."

It was now Anne-Marie's task to get Carl back to the tables.  Statistics had shown that the more a player played, the worse his odds got.  Keeping him at the table was the paramount task then.

"It's still early," she told Alan as they rose from the dinner table.  She noticed that he had left a five hundred dollar tip, cash,  but tried not to stare.  "I'm going to keep playing.  Want to join me?" she asked flirtatiously.  Alan knew what she was doing, and played along.  As he returned to the casino, a pit boss led him and Anne-Marie to the VIP Room, a smaller and quieter chamber right off the main floor.  It was like a smaller version of the main casino, but without the loud noises caused by the slot machines.  Alan sat down at the table and signed for $25,000 in chips, all in hundreds, and the room manager went to the cashier and drew them.  There were no limits at the tables in here, and Alan bet either one or two thousand per hand.  On hands he knew he was going to win he bet two grand about two-thirds of the time.  On hands he knew he was going to lose her bet one grand almost every time.  Soon he was up more than $200,000, and he increased his bets to either five or ten thousand.  Anne-Marie and the rest of the casino staff watched with increasing dismay.  As Alan passed the half a million mark she feigned fatigue and told him she was done for the evening.

As the dealer set to counting Alan's chips the pair chatted off to the side.  "So, what's your secret?" she asked him.  The scanner in the doorjamb of the floor manager's office showed nothing, but she wasn't 100% sure he wasn't concealing some sort of gear on him.  As he played in the VIP room she watched his hands to see if they were entering data on a miniature computer.  One of the advantages of the room was that cell phones and other radio transmitters could not penetrate its walls, so had he been using a partner on the outside and been receiving signals he would have been cut off.  But he kept on winning.  She had to find out how he managed to do it.

"Secret? What do you mean?" he answered her feigning innocence.  He smiled at her as he said this, and for the first time that night Anne-Marie looked at him as a person, not as quarry; she really hadn't noticed before how handsome he was.

"You just won hundreds of thousands of dollars tonight.  Do you 
have a system?"

"Well, in a way I do. Come, let's go to the bar and I'll explain it all to you."

She could barely contain her excitement; if he was counting cards or using some sort of device she would soon know, and perhaps get another raise if she exposed him.  She took his arm and they walked back out into the main room.  Alan asked the pit boss the way to the bar.  Anne-Marie said nothing, not wanting him to know she knew her way around the hotel and casino like the back of her hand.  Just as the reached the lobby he paused.  "You know," he began, "I might not be too comfortable spilling my secrets in an open bar.  Let's go up to my room and have  drink up there."  She agreed.  Alan went to the front desk and checked in to his room.  They had set him up in a suite on one of the upper floors of the towering hotel.  When he pulled out his credit card the clerk told him it wasn't required, and Alan asked him to have his car brought up and his overnight bag delivered to the room.

* * *

Alan and Anne-Marie rode up in the elevator in silence, his eyes fixed on the floor indicator, hers on him, studying him closely.  She was excited; it was the thrill of the hunt.  He would, she was sure, willingly tell him how he managed to cheat the casino--her casino--out of more than half a million.  She was anticipating the scene; after he had spilled the beans she would press the red button on her pager to alert the security office that he had confessed, then she would pull her badge and detain him until the backup arrived.  She didn't know two important details: one, the money Alan won was already safe in Switzerland because he had used his power of influence to override the manager's better judgment and had it immediately transferred; once money is wired to a Swiss bank almost no force on earth could dislodge it, and anyway, the instructions on Alan's account caused the money to be almost immediately transferred to another bank, this one in the Bahamas.  Usually in cases of suspected cheating no monies left the casino until the investigation was closed, and Anne-Marie was under the impression that this one was still open.  That was her second misconception: Alan had used his powers again to evaporate the suspicion of the manager.  Even if she pressed her panic button on the pager clipped to her waist no one would come; in any event, he wouldn't let her get that far. 

Alan poured her a drink, bourbon on ice, and one for himself and sat down next to her on the couch.  Her legs were curled under her, and her skirt had ridden up just above the knee.

"Well, Carl, We're alone at last," she said jokingly.

"Yes we are, Lisa," he agreed.  "What was that you wanted to talk about?  Oh yes, I remember now.  My secret method."

She pricked up her ears.  Her left hand moved unconsciously to her waistband, coming near to her pager.  "Please," she grinned at him, a look of triumph glowing on her eyes, "Do tell."

"It's rather simple really."  He paused.  Anne-Marie's mouth was dry with anxiety and anticipation.  "I simply go to a casino, and win gobs of money at the blackjack table.  At some point in the evening I will be invariably joined by a pretty woman such as yourself, and then I invite her up to my room so she can ask me how I do so well at the tables.  Then I take her to bed."

"What the hell are you talking about?  I just want to know how you won all that money.  I have no interest in sleeping with you!  Just tell me how you did it."

He reached over and put his hand on her thigh before answering her.  "You have a lot of questions."

"Yes Goddamnit, I do.  Come on tell me!"

"Why do you want to know?  I mean, we spent almost this whole evening together and you barely gambled, so it couldn't be tips you're looking for, could it be?  Perhaps you have some other motive."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed.  His hand on her thigh was bothering her, but for some reason she neither recoiled from his touch, nor asked him to remove it.

"May I ask you a question, Lisa?"


"What?" she replied somewhat petulantly.

"How long have you worked in casino security?"

She tried not to flinch, but was unsuccessful.  "How," she whispered to him.  "How did you know?" Her eyes widened with a bit of terror.  Nothing in her training had prepared her for this.

"It doesn't matter, does it, Anne-Marie?"

"Who told you that name?  M-my name is Lisa."

"Yes, yes, yes, your name is Lisa from Cincinnati, and you are the personal assistant to your father the real estate king of the Ohio Valley.  You name is Lisa, not Anne-Marie Nicoletti from Pleasantville, New Jersey."

"What the fuck is going on here?" she replied archly.  "This is it for me.  I'm out of here RIGHT NOW."  But she made no move to get up, and no effort to remove his hand from her thigh.

"I don't think you're going anywhere," he told her as his hand began moving up and down her thigh.  He pulled her pager off the waistband of her skirt and placed it on the side table next to the couch.

"I'm, I'm warning you.  I'm armed."

He leaned over to her, his mouth scant inches from her ear, "No, Anne-Marie, you're not."  His hand slipped under her skirt and made its way to her stocking tops.

"Please stop this.  I don't want this. Please."

"You're free to go.  Just get up and leave."  She couldn't move.  Suddenly his hands began having an effect on her.  She felt her nipples harden underneath her bra, and the skin-to-skin contact between her thigh and his hand started stirring delicious feelings inside her.

"Oh," she gasped, "That feels so nice.  But I don't want to do this. Mmmmm, please stop that."  

"Are you sure?" he asked her, punctuating the question by licking her ear.

She groaned briefly, but then got her wits about her.  "Yes.  Stop, please.  Take your hands off of me."

He stopped, his hand leaving her bare flesh, and she instantly she regretted it.  All of the pleasant sensations ceased, leaving her feeling numb and empty inside.  On the plus side she found herself able to stand up from the couch.  He walked her to the door; feelings of desire flooding her with every step.

* * *
 
Back in the elevator she was somewhat relieved to be out of there.  It was very unprofessional of her to be in such a situation with a suspected cheat.

Peter was still in his office when she got downstairs.  "Nothing," she told him, "He revealed nothing.  I still don't know how he did it, and it's driving me crazy."

"What are you talking about?"

"The guy.  You know, Carl? He wouldn't let on how he did it."

"Carl?  Carl Sutherland?  Oh, don't keep worrying about him.  I checked him out on the computer.  He's not in the banned players database, and his credit report says he's very rich, so we doubt he's a con man."

"Well Jesus Fucking Christ, Pete!  Why couldn't you tell me that before I went up to his room?  He had his damn hands, I mean, he, uh, tried to get his hands under my skirt."

"Why in the hell did you go up to his room?  Don't start making risky plays to get yourself more attention and promotions.  Please, we already think you're great, with a big future in the company.  And if you're going to go up to a mark's room at least let somebody down here know about it so we can have backup ready."

"But I did tell you, damnit!  Don't you remember?  We discussed it right here in this office not an hour ago.  Please, Pete, please don't tell me that I was up there all alone."  He didn't answer, just nodded his head, and Anne-Marie suddenly realized that the thought of being alone in a room with the handsome Carl Sutherland, without backup waiting right outside was not an unappealing one.

Her shift over, Anne-Marie went to her car in the employee's lot, but try as she might she couldn't bring herself to start it up.  There was something magnetic about Carl.  Sure, he came on a bit strong, but she remembered the way she felt when he was touching her, and she was torn between wanting that feeling again, and her desire to be as 
far away from him as possible.

She was back in the lobby waiting for an elevator, and was startled when she heard the chime go off and saw the doors come open before her.  She had no memory of getting out of her car and returning to the hotel.  Her mind had instead been busy spinning rationalizations: since Carl was no longer a target of investigation she could go back to his room without jeopardizing her position.

* * *

"Well, I'm surprised to see you again after what happened just now," he said to her in the doorway, leaning casually against the jamb.

"Uh," she was embarrassed, "Can I come in?"

"Is this business or personal, Anne-Marie?" he asked with a smirk.

"Personal," she answered meekly.  He stepped aside and let her back in.  He had taken off his jacket and loosened his tie, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbow.  The television in the sitting room was on, tuned to CNN, and she could see the bottle of whiskey on the table, both glasses still next to it.

"Why did you come back?" he asked her as he poured two more drinks, then sat next to her.

Taking it, she gulped half of it down.  Dutch courage, she thought to herself.  "I wanted to come back to apologize."

"Why the fuck did I say that?" she thought bitterly. "I was just doing my job."

"Apologize?  Why?  You were just doing your job.  I understand completely."  That relaxed her. She really wanted to ask him how he knew she was who she was, but she figured that by doing it she would appear to be weak.

"I lied to you." 

"Yes, I know that.  You told me your name was Lisa."

"Well, yes, that was a lie, too.

"'Too'?"

"You know, when you asked me that question before?"

"Which question?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper and she was sure she was never more red-faced in her life as she went on.  "'Are you sure?'  When you asked me 'Are you sure?' and I told you to take you hand off my leg.  I lied to you. I wasn't sure." She took his hand and placed it on her thigh again, and the feelings returned.  "No that's not right either.  I was sure--sure that I wanted you to touch me more."  She began to purr as he got under her skirt, and yelped when his fingertip reached her bare pussy.

"That's strange," she thought through her arousal.  "When did I take off my panties?"  But she chose not to dwell on it because the sensations coming from her moistening slit were much more pleasant to concentrate on instead.  He fingered her, his thumb resting on her clit, massaging it.

"The feels so nice, Carl. Ugh, don't stop, please."  He had removed his hand from her pussy and had started on her blouse.  His mouth was on her breasts, and she felt as if she was being fed an electrical current. "Oh!" she gasped when he gently bit down on her left nipple.  Her hands frantically shot to his chest, mad with desire, and she soon had his shirt off.  His chest was magnificent, and she pushed him off of her so she could grope it properly, first running her hands over it, and then her tongue; when he moaned back in response she felt extremely proud of herself.

He took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom.  As she followed him she reached behind her with her free hand and unzipped her skirt, and when it fell to her feet she stepped out of it, never losing pace with him.  Closing the door behind them he turned to face her, and they kissed, their tongues wrestling furiously.  She dropped to her knees and opened his pants, then pulled down his shorts.  Instantly her mouth was around his erection.  He groaned again, and she was again flooded with prideful glee.  Vigorously she blew him, ecstatic when he came in her mouth.

He pulled her up to him so she was standing, and then he backed her up to the bed and laid her down on it before burying his face in her snatch.  His tongue was amazing, penetrating her, then licking her clit, then licking around her labia, before starting the cycle again by penetrating her.  She realized she had never been sucked this well 
before as she trashed wildly on the bed, her moans filling the room.  "Oh Sweet JESUS, that's so fu-fu-fucking good!" she screamed, her pussy shoved into his face, her hands clutching his head against her sex.  Before she had even begun to recover from her immense climax he had placed the head of his cock against her slit.  He looked in her eyes, and she nodded back, staring with unbelieving eyes at the amount of pussy juice--her juices--smeared on his face.  He thrust in her and she gasped loudly, "Yesssss! Ohmigod, YES!" He built up speed, intending to do so slowly but she convinced him otherwise.

"Faster.  Faster!  Fuck. Yes.  Harder.  Please, FUCK ME HARDER!"  Her body was bouncing up and down off the mattress, her pale skin deeply flushed, and her light brown hair flying every which way.

"I'm glad you decided to come back," he said to her evenly, a malevolent smile on his face, but she didn't see it because her eyelids were clamped down in pleasure.

"OH! MY! GOD! I'm going to COOOOOME!" she hollered, her body convulsing in orgasm, her arms and legs moving about without control.  She was amazed and certainly delighted when he did not come inside her clamping pussy but continued to fuck her with the same hard strokes, and mere minutes after her first, she came violently once again.  This time she could not speak, just grunt in passion.  After that he slowed down some, and she loved it just as much that way.

"Your cock feels so good," she groaned.  "I've never felt anything like this.  Fuck me, yes, fuck my pussy.  It's so wet.  Never been this wet.  Can you hear it?  Can you hear the squishing sounds you cock is making in my pussy? I LOVE IT," she screamed as her pussy clamped down around his erection yet again.  "A machine, you're a fucking machine.  A fucking fucking machine.  Get it?" she giggled despite her intense feelings arousal.

"Good one," he said through a laugh.

"Not as good as you. You're so fucking good that I'm gonna come again if you keep that up.  Ugh ugh Yeah!"  As her pussy walls tightened around his dick again he shot off his load and she howled in delight.

They fucked two more times before the sun rose, sleeping between encounters, and then he took her to the café in the hotel for breakfast.  She suggested it, telling him that if they stayed in the room they would only fuck more, not eat, and they were, she argued, both hungry from the evening's exertions.  After breakfast they went back to the room and fucked again.

He told her he would call her, and promised to come back to the casino soon, and for some reason, despite her past experience, she believed him.  He gave her his business card (another creation of Dr. Massimo's man in Manhattan.  The number on it was to that office in New York, automatically programmed to either bounce to Alan's cell phone or take a message, the outgoing announcement informing the caller, "You have reached the offices of Sutherland Consulting…"), but told her he spent a great deal of time traveling, mostly in Europe and the Pacific Rim, so it might take some time for him to get back to her.  He chuckled when she slipped the card into her bra.

It was still fairly early on Saturday morning when Alan drove out of the casino driveway.  He had to get the car back to the agency in New York, and then drive back in his car to Westchester.  He was returning home $500,000 richer than when he had left.  Life was good.

Next Chapter: Graduation (Summertime, and the Livin' is Easy)
