JACKPOT, Part II

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Ricky swallowed hard, switching games on his machine– from Deuces Wild, back to Jacks or Better… Aces Bonus…. Joker Poker. If he lost this last hundred, he’d have no choice but to belly up to the ATM in the corner, like the degenerate gambler he was; but he wasn’t going there. No way– he’d then lose face with this beautiful blonde across the aisle, and that would hurt more than losing money.

His pulse quickened as he caught another glimpse of her out the corner of his eye. She dragged on a Dunhill, her mouth locked in a perfect jaw pumping “OH’ to blow a succession of smoke rings across the aisle that settled on him like her scent when he’d first seen her. “Damn,” he muttered, raising his bet to the maximum the machine could take– $25 a hand. “God DAMN, man…..”

Seconds later it happened, so fast that it took a triple-take from a low-whistling Rick for the reality to even register. He gaped at the screen. It had dealt him a natural Royal Flush, in the suit of hearts. The machine began to shake, and noises came out of it like little air raid sirens in a blitzkrieg. Now, across the aisle, it was the knockout babe’s turn, to stare long and hard at him.

“You lucky fucker,” she said in a teenage phone-sex kind of voice.

The 7 Eleven clerk, flanked by two burly security guards, brought Rick’s payout in a shiny black vinyl valise with a little zippered slit down the middle, half open for him to dig in there and count his winnings. There was twenty-two grand in there– a fat progressive jackpot nobody at the store had hit for months. Rick had to run his tongue on trembling fingertips to properly flick through the thick stacks of crisp bills.

The girl continued to stare at him as he did this. Everybody in there, in fact, was watching him now.

Rick motioned for the clerk, whispered some instructions for him with a little handshake that held twelve or so hundred dollar bills for the kid to hustle up and do Ricky’s bidding.

The clerk quickly spread some of this green all around the store, greasing greedy palms in order to clear the place out; then he stuck the Back-in-a-Half-Hour clock sign on locked front double doors, and made himself scarce through the Employees Only back archway.

Rick had bought some spendy-but-worth-it quality time with this dick-magnet of a too-fine chick who took his breath away so badly he could barely stammer out his gambit-line:

L lll.. Look I dunno maybe it’s.. like just me but I… l.. lllike to, um, like reward people who bring me luck. You know? How would you, um, like feel about that?”

He held the massive wad– at least half of what was in the valise– out to her like a smitten schoolkid putting a shiny apple on the teacher’s desk. Ricky held his breath, and waited.

She rose slowly from her stool, swayed over in two steps, and was up in his face, the smell of her sex making Rick swoon. One of her silky hands slipped between his jeans, fingernail flicking a zig zag pattern between his ass cheeks and inner thighs. Her other hand tugged at his baseball cap to bring his blushing ear down to her hot mouth.

“Don’t play games with me,” she whispered. “You better wise up quick, or I’ll take your money all right, and then leave you here to fuck your own fist, or maybe that kid in the back who’s watching us right know on his little jack-off camera.”

She slapped Ricky’s ass roughly, then grabbed his balls through the bulging denim and squeezed. “Is that what you want?” she demanded, her tongue dancing between his earlobe and nape of neck. “Huh? Is it?”

Ricky gulped, and shook his head like a damp, shivering dog, his blue eyes wide as saucers, heart tattooing a heavy metal riff in heaving chest. This sweet little slut was making Ricky forget all about the money he’d won, sure enough.

She told him her name was Claire, and she was proceeding to take him all the way there. She ripped his button-fly open, and yanked his jeans and briefs down around his ankles.

Ricky’s eyes were closed, and he clutched at Claire’s luscious long hair as she leisurely licked the underside of his slender prick standing straight up at attention just for her. One of her hands cupped his ass, while the other kneaded the sweaty sensitive area of his red pubic patch.

Then her tongue worked down deeper, slithering and stabbing between his aching balls, on to the very base of his twitching nut sack, and down, further still to the waiting asshole. Ricky groaned, and Claire answered him with a nasty shake of her head, as she lightly raked his prick with her fingernails, then fondled the entire shaft with a feather-light two hand grip. She came up for air long enough to lock sultry green eyes upward on his, hissing at him:

“This is what you wanted, from the first second you saw me.” She began jacking off his shuddering shaft slowly. “Huh baby? Can you beg me for it now? C’mon. Ask your whore for what you want!”

Ricky’s voice spilled out, choked and husky. “Please. Pll.. pppp… please suck it. Suck that cock please Claire!”

Suddenly she nodded an enthusiastic reply by swallowing the purplish cock head in one swoop, sucking hard at the tip, moving down to the dancing hilt an agonizing half-inch at a time. Ricky began to writhe and he clawed harder at Claire’s hair. He was making unintelligible yelping sounds, his cock buried at the very back of Claire’s throat– her gag reflex sending a shiver of pre-cum electricity all up and down Rick’s spine. He tried to catch his breath and stumbled back into the wall, with too-quick Claire crab-stepping right with him, seeming to anticipate his every reflex.

He wondered how long he could hold back under her relentless cocksucking attack. Claire’s fingers drummed and rubbed on the underside of his dick just above the melded love nut. He bellowed: “Ooooohhhhhhh you fucking little biiiiiitch Jeeeeesuuuus, Goooood!” Ricky’s fevered brain sang thoughts to him: ‘oh she’s amazing, fucking amazing God… Damn!’

He leaned against the wall, chin on chest, hurry-up hips fucking Claire’s sweet mouth where all the filthy words came from. “God”, he gasped, “you’re amazing……”

Third Act to come
very soon — C.S.

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