Erotic Story

All In

Hi. I’m yours for tonight, compliments of the management.

I make a good living as a gambler, because I’m clever, I’m confident, but most importantly, I’m calm. I control my emotions. I don’t beat myself up if I misjudge a situation and lose badly.

Except this one time…

I’d had a good night at the tables, gone back to my suite to chill, and found a woman’s coat and purse lying on the couch. That was a surprise, but it didn’t concern me: most of the casino managers in this town know Dapper Don, they know what I like, and they like to keep me happy. They send gifts to my room. So I loosened my tie and headed through to the bed. There was a girl lying on it: young, stacked, and about as naked as I expected. She was blonde though, which surprised me almost as much as the condoms beside her.

She fluttered her eyelashes at me, bluffing innocence. “Hi. I’m yours for tonight, compliments of the management.”

It was a good play, but she clearly wasn’t a professional. She was a novice, making novice assumptions about what her opponent was holding and not realising she was surrounded by tells.

“You’re lying, Blondie. Sam knows me. He’d send a brunette, and she wouldn’t bring condoms.”

She sat up and scooted away from me. “You are not going to fuck me bareback!”

“I won’t need condoms, honey. I don’t have a dick.”

She threw an arm across her chest, like she could hide the memory of those breasts. “Oh my god! You’re…?”

“Yeah. So, are you still mine for tonight?”

“No! Sorry, I mean… I’m not judging, it’s just… I’ve never… I’m straight. Totally straight.”

“You’re not straight, Blondie, you’re crooked. You bribed someone to let you into a whale’s room. He was supposed to wake tomorrow and find you gone, along with his cash, his watch, and anything else you could fit in your purse. That’s a safe play in the normal run of cards, but it falls apart faster than a gutshot straight draw when Mark turns out to be Marcie. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Her face told me I was right; her mouth told me I had leverage. “Are you going to call the police?”

In hindsight that’s what I should have done, but straight girls have a way of tilting me, especially vulnerable straight girls. I wanted her, so I cut her some slack in the hope I could use it. “No cops, honey. You’re an honest thief prepared to be a dishonest whore for the sake of a big score. As a degenerate gambler, I can respect that. You can go. Unless…”

I took my roll out, peeled off some bills, and tossed them on the bed. “I’ll make a bet with you, but you need to go all in. A grand against everything you’re wearing.”

Those innocent, fluttering eyelids narrowed to damn near closed. “What’s the bet?”

“Stakes first, honey, then we’ll talk.”

She looked at the money, and me, and down at what she had to lose. They were cute for cheap lingerie but she could replace them for twenty bucks at Fredericks. Fifty to one odds were obviously persuasive because she stood, stripped off her panties and dropped them on top of my cash.

I’d been interested before, but I was captivated when I saw a rare commodity in a city that offers everything: pubic hair. She was a natural blonde and she had the prettiest slit, plump lips peeking out beneath a neatly trimmed bush.

I must have a tell, because her demeanour changed instantly. She wasn’t backing away anymore, and she made no attempt to cover what was really at stake; she understood she had leverage now. “Okay, what’s the wager?”

I didn’t take my eyes off the prize as I said, “I bet I can’t fit my hand inside you.”

She had to check she’d heard me right. “Can’t? So if you can put your whole hand…” she looked down at her pussy, and back up at me, wincing, “…inside me, to the wrist, then you lose the bet, and I get the money?”

“Yeah.”

She laughed. She actually laughed at me and it only made me want her more. “You’d pay a thousand dollars to fist the straight girl?”

Honesty was a low blow; I nearly folded right there. I should have, but I was pot committed. “Allow me the illusion of sport, honey. Let me pretend it’s a bet, and afterwards you can pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

She picked up her panties, and for a second I thought she’d got scared, but she just needed to see the cash again — that much green in the pot has a way of swaying amateurs. “You go slow, and you stop if I say so. Okay?”

“Of course.”

“And you eat me out first.”

I grinned, the tip of my tongue flashing across my lips. “With pleasure.”

“Yeah, but for me. I want to be wetter than the Bellagio forecourt when you try. And however wet I get, I want to lube you before you put more than two fingers in my pussy. Deal?”

“Sure, honey.”

I was happy with those terms. I can play a straight girl like I play ace-king, knowing the odds are good I can beat anyone else’s hand, or mouth. I was confident that when I’d finished, she’d beg to feel me filling her.

I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves. If I’d had my druthers I’d have put her over my knee and warmed her up a little, but she didn’t seem the bratty type… not beforehand, anyway. So I told her to lie down and relax, and let Daddy make her happy. That raised her eyebrows, but she lay back and spread her legs like a good girl. A nervous, stiff, good girl. A good girl, but a better starfish. I had to tell her to put her knees up, and she did, but she was far from relaxed.

I knelt between her legs, then surprised her by leaning forward with my hands either side of her head. I think she’d expected me to dive in with my tongue. I won’t say I wasn’t tempted, but this fish needed a slow roll.

Consent is control; control is calming. So I asked first. “Can I kiss you, honey?”

“Yes?”

It wasn’t enthusiastic consent, but it became an enthusiastic kiss. I went in soft and gentle, hiding my hunger, and she opened up to that. She tasted like cinnamint over American Spirit; like anxious audacity.

I set to work reducing the anxiety and amplifying the audacity. “Can I kiss your neck, honey?”

I worked my way down like that, asking at every step: from neck to shoulder, to collarbone, to breasts — I took liberties there, my nipple kisses more like foreshadowing of what I planned for her clit — then rib by rib, and inch by inch over her taut belly, feeling her abs relax under the touch of my lips, until her pubes tickled my chin.

I drew my finger across the top of that glorious triangle. “Everything south of this line belongs to me, honey, so I’m not going to ask your permission anymore. I’ll do whatever I like. You can say no if you want me to stop, but you won’t, because you’ll like it too. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl. That means these legs are mine.”

I ran my fingertips up the soft skin of her inner thighs, from groin to knee, and those knees spread wider as my hands rose.

“This silky hair is all mine.”

I twirled one finger in it, above her clit, and she raised her ass trying to draw me closer.

“This beautiful pussy is mine.”

I won a soft gasp as my thumbs traced her full, fleshy outer lips.

“This butthole is — ”

She clenched her buttocks. “No!”

“You don’t like that?”

“Not tonight.”

I held my hands high and wide in reassurance. “Okay, honey, your ass is your own. But this clit,” and I leant forward to plant the lightest kiss on her hood, “Is mine, and I’m going to make it throb.”

And I would, eventually, but I wanted Blondie to ask for it, so my next kiss was on her thigh, close enough to those soft curls that they brushed my cheek.

And that was the beginning of a few glorious minutes of scattered kisses and teasing touches, accompanied by Blondie’s quiet, frustrated moans, that only ended when she raised her hips, thrusting her pussy in my face.

I took that as a request for something more intimate, and kissed her glistening lips. My tongue flicked out to savour her flavour, and lord, she was heavenly. It’s all in my head, I know, but somehow straight girls just taste better, like stolen Communion wine.

Once I had that first sip, I needed a deep draught, and I took it, lapping at her pussy like it was fresh cream. She tilted her hips, encouraging me to move higher. I like to keep my girls happy, so I finally gave her clit the attention it desired. And it did desire me: Blondie confirmed that by responding to my questioning tongue with a soft, “Yes.” She responded to my finger joining the fun with a louder, more confident, ‘Fuck, yes!” as it slid inside her.

She was going to win this bet: she knew it now, and she wanted it. When I moved things up a notch, adding a second finger, there was no more passive acceptance. Blondie must have propped herself up, because I felt her hand in my hair, trying to get a grip on my crewcut. She quickly conceded defeat and settled for pushing on the back of my head as she ground against my mouth.

I can’t fuck a starfish, but grinding was a little more assertive than I’m happy with from my girls, so I curled the two fingers I had inside her, found her G-spot, and rubbed until she fell back on the bed, clutching at the sheets instead of my head, and moaning my name. Or it may have been God’s; it was definitely someone with the power to take her to paradise.

I didn’t want Blondie coming yet— if she was only good for one, that would be on my arm — so when she got tight enough to hurt my fingers, I pulled out. She swore her disappointment, and I soothed her by sucking gently on her clit.

And then she told me what I already knew. “You can try now. Lube first!”

“You got lube in your purse, honey?”

She said no, she’d use spit. Spit, for fuck’s sake. I thought, damn, straight girls are… well, they can be smart as hell but still know jack about their own bodies.

Yeah, that’s what I thought: that I was the sharp one.

I told her, “Honey, saliva ain’t good lube.”

She batted her eyelashes again. “But you got me so wet, Daddy. I think it’ll be enough.”

Fluttery and flattery. I never stood a chance; I fell for the same bluff I’d seen through earlier.

She got up, and told me to sit down. Then she took hold of my hand, brought it to her mouth, and sucked on my two sticky fingers. “Umm. I taste good.”

“Yes, you do. Like honey, honey.”

She just smiled and added a third finger. Then when those three were good and wet she sucked all four together, bobbing her head like she was blowing the fattest dick. I was expecting her to gag, but straight girls must practice that shit because she kept going, drool flooding out of her mouth and dripping down my hand and her chin. It looked nasty but I figured she’d look a lot prettier soon, orgasming on my wrist.

Then she opened real wide to get my thumb in as well, and she pushed her head forward until I felt her throat spasm around my bunched fingers. And she still didn’t gag.

I said, “Damn, honey, you’ve got skills! You almost make me wish I did have a dick. I bet you give sensational head.”

She pulled my hand out of her mouth, grinned, and said, “Now that is a bet you’d win.”

Then she picked up her panties and her money, and she left.

More from Marsha…