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Jackpot
by James Price
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Ricky had sworn off gambling, scores
of times, though no resolution had ever stuck.
With a marriage and a mortgage already in the wind because of his
addiction to slot machines, maybe he might have-- should have--
learned his lesson; and though it was true he'd been a "good boy"
these last seven months, the temptation was there still, always,
around every corner, like beckoning red light hookers, in the town
of Tahoe where he was starting over, as housesitter at his rich,
absent uncle's luxury condominium.
After a long but particularly profitable day in the Bay Area at
his new day job, selling printed circuit boards for a Play Station
affiliate, Ricky stopped off at a 7 Eleven to pick up a half rack
of Amstel and a pack of Camels before heading home. He whistled
absently, enjoying this exultant, celebratory mood that carried
him along like river current.
He was almost out the double doors and into the cool breeze of the
early evening when he halted, at the little alcove behind the ATM
and magazine rack, where the slot machines were set up, like
always, just like coin booths in fuck shop with reclining vinyl
chairs and semi privacy for every player.
He stood there for a second; five or six c-notes burning a
man-sized hole in his 501 hip pocket. He hesitated, licked his
lips.
The pony-tailed kid clerk behind the counter glanced at him,
bobbing his head to the music pouring from his black jambox
propped on the cigarette rack-- the tune "Super Bon Bon" by Soul
Coughing.
“Fuck it," Ricky hissed suddenly, and stepped through the green
canopy into the narrow corridor of slots, with a long exhale of
too-late-now purpose, to find himself a free screen.
He saw her almost immediately, sitting at the second-to-last
machine on his right, a young green-eyed honey-blonde, pretty lip
corners twisted with the intent she focused on her game-- a look
Ricky knew by heart, the mercurial intensity of an inveterate
gambler in mid-fever.
Way too fine to be in here, he said to himself, nearly bolting
back the way he'd come, then-- superstition spraying like
head-shake brow sweat from the highly unlikely proposition of
actually making time with someone like her, and simultaneously
making money.
Yet he couldn't fool himself, watching her young hands with the
topaz and turquoise adornments on deft fingers lightly tapping the
slot buttons-- he wasn't going anywhere, and he knew it. He sighed
and took an empty seat at the machine directly across from her’s.
Ricky kept looking over. The girl tapped black leather pumps
impatiently on the linoleum, and insolently chewed a piece of
bubble gum, occasionally making it pop, blowing bubbles like erect
nipples rising through clenched white teeth.
Her black lace pullover, unbuttoned down to deeply-tanned midriff,
pulled and tugged against her slim muscular torso and gorgeous
breasts. The gray skirt that rode right up to her ass crease
showed off long legs that kept crossing and recrossing themselves.
Ricky groaned, breathed through his nose and tried not to stare.
He was already down $270, and really needed to focus.
He simply couldn't keep his eyes off her, though-- at one point
doing a double take as she blew wisps of flaxen locks from her
forehead, chewed on her lower lip and muttered little endearments,
alternating with obscenities, at the machine that was clearly
vexing her. Ricky’s sidelong glances soon turned to a full on
slack jawed stare, which she quickly busted him on. She glared
right back.
“Catchin’ flies?” she hissed, putting those beautiful hands on her
scant-clad hips: “Take a fuckin’ picture why dontcha, it’ll last
longer…. Jerk.“”
Rick reflexively looked away, properly chastised, mumbling “Sorry”
as he shoved another c note in the video poker machine’s
greedy-tongue-like bill-sucker..
“Hmmmm," he hummed softly to himself, pretty sure that, although
apparently put down, he’d detected the vaguest hint of a smirk on
that beautiful face-- through the histrionics of veiled
mini-tantrum and feigned scorn. Hadn’t he? Seen that look?
Yes, he was sure of it.
“Luck,” he whispered, “oh jesus luck be a fucking slut tonight!”
He shifted his prickling sweaty ass in the seat, sighed softly,
and pushed the button to deal another hand.
***************************************
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 lose face then with this
breathtaking 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 her sultry teenage phone sex kind
of voice.
Ricky tried to control his breathing, and swatted at his thighs to
keep his whole lower torso from shaking. 'If I'm dreaming this,'
he said to himself, 'just let it go on a little longer....Please'
He pulled the brim of his baseball cap down his brow, like a shy,
high kid at the high school hop. He closed his eyes and let the
rush of adrenaline mess with his head, dizzy boiling-over lid on a
red-hot stovepot.
*******************
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 just over 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 fact, was watching him now.
Rick motioned for the clerk. He whispered some instructions for
him then, with a high-five that held ten or so hundred dollar
bills for the kid. The clerk began to spread the green around the
store, as much as was necessary to clear the place out, which he
was able to accomplish in a couple minutes.
He then 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 smiled sheepishly. He'd of course purchased some spendy-but-worth-it
quality time with this dick-magnet girl he could feel like humming
power lines in the few feet of space between them. He was barely
able to stammer out his gambit-line:
L Look I dunno maybe it’s like just me but I…l.. like 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 had been in the
valise, out to her like a smitten fourth-grader putting a shiny
apple on the teacher’s desk. Ricky gritted and ground his molars,
waiting.
*********************
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 tight nut sack
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.
She told him her name was Claire, and if he was truly lucky she
might just fuck him, if he asked nicely, and didn't mention the
money again.
"You can do that for me baby.... Can't you?"
Ricky swallowed hard, nodding yes, yes, of course yes certainly.
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 tender area of his red pubic patch. Then her tongue worked
down deeper, slithering and stabbing between his aching balls, 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 on his,
hissing up 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, Claire....
Please suck it. Suck my cock oh god please!”
Suddenly she nodded an enthusiastic reply by swallowing the
purplish 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,
Claire crab-stepping right with him, seeming to anticipate his
every reflex.
He wondered how long he could keep holding back. Claire’s fingers
drummed and rubbed on the underside of his dick just above the
melded love nut. He bellowed and moaned, his fevered brain singng
segueway thoughts to him: ‘oh she’s amazing fucking better ride
this as far as she takes ya rick boy 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…..”
Claire continued to work her deep throat magic on Ricky’s swollen
cock, making little gargling sounds as she watched him hump his
hips hard into her face, fucking her beautiful mouth for all he
was worth.
She felt him shudder, and the cum quickened like a pulse under her
fingers holding down the jism-chute junction between the balls and
the base of his dick; she choked off the flow with her tongue,
thumb and forefinger, pushing her other palm into his pubis,
shaking her head as she choked on his cock.
Suddenly she pulled her lips up and off his lovestick with a loud
slurp and pop. From her knees she grinned up at him. “Not yet,”
she murmured. Oh no, not yet baby.”
She stood, then bent right back down again to pick up the pile of
money that had fallen to the floor, making sure a gasping Rick got
a zoom shot of her glistening pussy as she did. Then she got up on
his slot machine chair-- her legs spread wide, little feet up on
the armrests.
Her forefinger curled and wiggled at Ricky in a beckoning gesture,
as with her other hand she held the wad of bills down by her pussy
like a Vegas dealer fanning a deck of cards. “Time to come and get
it,” Claire said, “or should I say get it, and come!”
Ricky bent like a penitent at the communion rack, making the
fastest muff-dive move of his life, creased tongue probing just
inside her pussy lips, then widening and wiggling as he shoved the
tongue right in.
He hummed and bobbed his head as he ate her. Claire started moving
her hips and moaning, caressing her own breasts with jeweled
fingers.
Ricky raised his midnight blue eyes and made sure they locked on
hers, as he took one of the crisp c note corners and flicked,
lightly but insistently, at her hot thrumming clit.
Then he shoved the rest of the bill deep into her hole, finger
fucking her with the creased, greasy money, until the bill became
way too damp, and he pulled it out, only to replace it with
another, and another.
Now Claire really got into fast motion on the fuck seat, and the
pile of money scattered all over, bills sliding and fluttering
under her furious hips and Ricky’s lips giving her soaking pussy
no rest. He felt her cunt clamp down on his three-finger fuck
motion, in and out her box, and back again. He pinched her asshole
with his other hand, blew cool air on her clit, and felt Claire
start to cum.
She made a sound like a siren in the city starting from far away,
and getting closer, closer.
That’s when he stood, and forced Claire by her hair forward on the
seat, face toward the screen and knees on the armrests. He quickly
slid himself under, and into the seat, so the beautiful arch of
her ass slapped at his lap.
Claire gripped the top corners of the video screen, beside
herself. She couldn’t clamp her aching cunt down on Rick’s meat in
the seat fast enough.
“OOOOOHHHHH!” she cried, as she rode him like a brave brahma bull
cowgirl, and shrieked at the screen. Suddenly she reached back,
grabbed Ricky’s wrists, and pulled his hands forward on the slot
button play surface.
She shouted in mid-climax-- “I CAN FEEL ANOTHER JACKPOT
COMING BABY CANT YOU?!?!”
Her fingers interlocked in a desperate grip over his, moving them
to the buttons that would spin the slot reels. They pushed down
together.
Four Queens popped up, right off the bat. Ricky registered this
fact in his whirling brain, which forgot to keep him from coming
then, at last. He grabbed a fistful of her sun-colored hair,
leaned forward and grated his chin beard stubble on her neck.
He groaned. “Ohhhhhhhh that‘s it now I'm coming you fucking sweet
slut whore yes ohhhhhhhhh god yessss!!!”
She answered his cries by clamping down with a loud smack of her
ass on his hips, and Ricky released his load like hot lava into
Claire’s cunt-crevice with a great guttering groan.
They gasped in stereo, Claire’s contorted face pressed up against
the hot screen and their sweat-soaked fingers still locked
together, squeezing.
***********************
Later, in his Allante with the top down taking her out to dinner,
he glanced over with a shit-eating, pussy-whipped grin at her
lovely profile in the passenger seat.
With a main squeeze this fine, all the time, he thought, one might
just be moved to give up the gambling, for good.
Stranger things happen all the time.
“You’re some major stroke of luck, girl,” he told her.
She turned to him and raised one eyebrow like Spock the Star Trek
Vulcan, smiling shyly.
“Bet on it, buster” she told him. “You best
bet on it.” |
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