Bimbo Casino | free mind control stories

Their plane touched down in the early morning, and both Jonathan and Rosie walked through the airport with an aura—not of fun or relaxation, as one might expect of a young couple with a free trip to Las Vegas—but rather of stolid responsibility.

They were going to make their marriage work, by God.

Jonathan was certain of it. His wife, Rosie, was too. They had exchanged very serious texts, emails, and even in-person conversations about how this vacation was the key to their marriage, this was going to be what saved their couple-hood from annihilation. This fantastic, fun trip to Las Vegas that was going to be a wonderful time no matter what.

They were self-aware enough to know how ridiculously stubborn they were being about it. They were also stubborn enough not to change their viewpoint.

Jonathan—twenty-seven—dressed in a plain blue t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting jeans; his travel clothes. His once-athletic frame held a front-heavy paunch that somewhat disguised his skinny arms and legs. Rosie—just twenty-five—with much the same philosophy of travel, had put on a pair of breezy shorts and a loose-fitting blouse that belied her slender frame. Her dark hair coiled about her neck and shoulders in a loose ponytail. Their hands were joined together as they stepped out of the airplane, making their way down to the baggage claim, like two political prisoners on their way to sentencing.

This was a serious business, their free vacation. Very serious indeed.

Most of their lives were serious business. Serious business was, in fact, the only manner in which they knew how to approach any aspect of their lives.

Jonathan worked at an investment firm downtown back in their Sun Belt State city, and Rosie worked three buildings down in a struggling newspaper office. They were both the junior members of their respective employers, and both of them had picked up a considerable amount of debt from their educations which weighed heavy over their head like a dark cloud, popping up at the beginning of every month right after pay day, when they put down the loan payments to try and stave off the inevitable ascent of their interest charges.

Rosie was overworked, underpaid, and well-beyond stressed out. Jonathan felt much the same way. As young professionals, both of them felt they were constantly trying to impress unimpressable people, who themselves held unwieldy and tenuous positions in greedy, spiteful companies. Everyone they knew was on edge, all the time, and the people at the tip-top blamed the people below them for any failure, and so everyone below those tip-toppers placed their ire on everyone below themselves, and so eventually all this blame and ire trickled down to the very bottom of the ladder—the interns-newly-made-full-salaried, which in this case were Rosie and Jonathan.

It was a mess, but what could they do? They had to make money somehow.

It was a mess, endlessly so, and they were stuck in it.

The night they won the contest—they had been notified through a phone call, followed up immediately by an email, and then followed up again with a Skype conversation with a beautiful young brunette whose name was Hazel or Chestnut or something like that—there was no celebration as one might expect. Instead, the two of them sat at their small kitchen table, glowering at the computer print-out of the plane tickets.

In their position, taking off even a day for a legitimate illness felt like a sin. How would they get ahead if they weren’t at work?

After several sad minutes, Jonathan took a breath. “I think we should go.”

“Really?” Surprise colored Rosie's face. “It’s just...”

“I know,” he said, sliding his hands over hers. Their palms soft and light. “Everything we’ve worked for, everything that we’ve tried to gain...we can’t take off for a second, can we?”

Rosie shrugged, nodding. “Right. It’s a bummer.”

He grabbed her by the shoulder. “But we can, love. That’s what I’m saying. They make us think they we can’t, but we really, really can.” He stood up and grabbed an apple out of their small fruit bowl. “It’s this damn false meritocracy. We kill ourselves to get the jobs that are there, and when we don’t get them, they tell us we’re not good enough. If we stop to look after ourselves for half a second, or wonder if we’re doing the right thing, they tell us that we’re not trying hard enough.”

“It’s lunacy,” said Rosie softly. “Pure lunacy.”

Her eyes lit up a bit. She had told him more than once how she admired the way he talked about life, about most everything. Listening to Jonathan was like a more soulful version of talk radio, she said. It was one of the reasons she had married him, a little over two years before.

The reality was that they both knew that the prize trip—all expenses paid for a week in Las Vegas as the Shining Spiral Casino—was a godsend. Both of them were exhausted from their jobs.

Jonathan finished chopping up the apple and laid out a half for Rosie. She munched thoughtfully for several seconds before nodding herself.

“You’re right,” she said. “We should go.”

And so they did.

Now, as they walked out of the airport with their baggage in tow, they both took several seconds to adjust to the sudden wave of desert heat.

“Wow,” said Rosie, fluttering the collar of her shirt.

Jonathan admired the way her fluttering made her shirt cling to her slim form, her perky breasts. A bead of sweat dripped down from her neck and toward her chest. He followed it for a moment, smiling slyly when she caught him.

“Wow is right,” he said.

She giggled and punched him on his arm.

Good, that was good. Already they were having fun. Jonathan noted the fun, cataloged it deep into his files of good times had. Hopefully there would be more to come.

They had been told that someone would swing by to pick them up. Soon, a black town car stopped in front of them. A gorgeous young short-haired blond chauffeur came out greeted them.

“Jeffersons, yes?”

Her voice was high and bubbly. The smell of peppermint, strong and tingly, poured off of her in waves. Jonathan struggled not to stare openly at her impeccably tanned breasts, but was able only to stare instead at her shining, tanned thighs.

Everything about this chauffeur was simply more impressive than Rosie. It was almost painful to look back at his wife—who before had seemed so chic and relaxed in her travel clothes, and now in the face of this gorgeous chauffeur seemed so very drab.

In the car, Rosie, somehow, didn't comment on his probably-obvious disappointment as he looked at his wife. That was good. Another good thing. Catalog, catalog.

The ride was quick, but long. The bubbly chauffeur didn't seem to mind flagrantly disobeying the speed limits. Probably she thought she could flirt her way out of a ticket—and probably she was right.

“We're just so excited to have you at the casino,” she enthused from the front. “We haven't had very many guests at all so far. You'll be one of the only couples there.”

“Really?” Worry tinged Rosie's voice. “Why is that?”

“Oh, we don't have our official grand opening for another week or so. Boss wanted a test run on a few more guests, just to make sure we all were as wonderful and obedient as possible!”

Rosie raised an alarmed eyebrow, but Jonathan hardly saw it. If he positioned himself correctly, he could stare directly down the chauffeur's cleavage through the rear view mirror. The chauffeur's smile seemed to indicate that she saw him doing it—and enjoyed it immensely.

He felt wrong doing this, of course—it was such a big shift from his normally business-like self—but maybe that was part of the fun.

Much to Jonathan’s surprise, they passed right by the main strip with all the big, recognizable casinos and ventured far out into the desert. The Shining Spiral Casino was the only thing, it seemed like, in miles.

It was quite the sight. An enormous, glittering, rotating, silver-and-black spiral stood over the dome of the casino, appearing suspended between the twin towers of the hotel. Jonathan caught himself staring up at the spiral as they approached on the long road—and saw Rosie doing the same.

It was strangely contenting, looking at that spiral. His cares seemed to melt away from him, bit by bit.

So what if he looked at the chauffeur’s tits? She was hot. Let him look. He was on vacation, by god.

As they drove up to the hotel, a gaggle of big-breasted women in tight, tiny spandex outfits awaited them at the entrance, standing obediently behind a tall, thin man with slicked-back hair. He wore a blue suit, his arms hanging down from his shoulders like spindly tree branches. As the young couple stepped out of the town car, the man placed his fingertips together and drew them up to his face, highlighting a charming smile.

“Ladies, welcome the Jeffersons!”

All the girls smiled and intoned at once,“Welcome, Mister and Misses Jefferson.”

For Jonathan, seeing the crowd of women like looking into an endless sea of fleshy valleys. Everywhere he looked was another bountiful pair of breasts, each slender-waisted and top-heavy beauty more gorgeous than the last. Next to him, Rosie stiffened up and wrapped and re-wrapped his hand.

He tried once again, valiantly, to be a gentleman, but it was rather hard.

Soon, he was rather hard, and carefully arranging his bag to hide his erection with his luggage. All the lovely girls caught him looking. None of their looks were discouraging—in fact, they seemed to be openly encouraging him to look more and more, dragging their fingertips along their cleavage or toying with locks of hair that just so happened to land squarely between their sumptuous tits. Several of them winked knowingly.

The tall suited man held out a hand. “I am Mister Craft. Wallace Craft. This is my establishment.”

Jonathan took his outstretched hand, shaking it. “Thank you so much, then! We’re really looking forward to staying here.”

Rosie held out a hand, but Craft must not have seen it, as he turned and began walking into the shiny silver doors of the hotel lobby. She frowned furiously—in the workplace, Jonathan knew, she had suffered plenty of gender-based discrimination.

But amazingly, she put up with it. Perhaps she was just getting in the vacation mode already.

“This is the lobby,” said Craft as he led them inside, waving his hands about. “Any information you need about the hotel, my girls and boys will be happy to answer. If you feel like playing a few games—and I hope you do, with the three thousand dollar credit we’re extending to you—then it’s right through that door.” He pointed to a black double-door, bright neon lights flashing through its small windows. “In the meantime, Delilah here can show you to your room.”

He snapped, and very quickly, a tiny, incredibly busty young woman arrived. Despite her small size, she was thoroughly leggy, and wore a tiny spiral-striped skirt and sparkly platform heels to highlight this particularly feature. Her long chestnut hair's volume only highlighted how tiny she was.

Throughout the lobby several beautiful women and a number of large men attended to their duties. Jonathan noticed his wife noticing the men—tall, ruggedly muscled, with beardy stubble and smoldering eyes. Each of them seemed to be carrying something heavy by themselves—a table, a pole, a dolly loaded down with boxes. The lobby was ornate and large, with extensive flowery sculpting on the tall pillars.

No, not flowery, thought Jonathan. Spirally. Was that even a word? Anyway, lots of spirals floating up the pillars, along the walls.

He didn't focus on it. Delilah's rear was much more engaging than the decor.

Rosie and Jonathan followed Delilah down to the elevator—her walk was as animated as every girl in the lobby—sultry and purposeful. Jonathan admired her ass openly. There was...something in the air. Some scent coming from her—that same hot peppermint smell that the chauffeur displayed. It freshened up his thoughts.

“Peppermint?” she offered, turning around in front of the silver elevator doors.

Suddenly the mints were just in her hands—her outfit had no pockets, so either she had been holding on to them, or they had been stuffed down the slick, luscious space of her cleavage.

Both of them took one. It melted immediately in Jonathan’s mouth.

“We’re so happy you’re here,” she said, gushing just like the chauffeur had as she guided them into the elevator. She pressed the button for their floor with a long, painted nail. “There’s so few guests here, as you may have noticed. We’re really just trying to build up the place’s reputation, get reviews and all of that. We really hope you love it here like we do!”

Both of them made little muttering noises—if Rosie was like Jonathan, then she had something friendly to say, but her voice stayed after taking in a long, deep peppermint breath. For Jonathan, the mint flooded his system with slow, cool energy, and focused his gaze directly on Delilah's amazingly built derriere.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened up. “You’re staying right above the employee’s quarters, for now.”

Jonathan's surprise fought through the effects of the peppermint. “You live here?”

“Oh my gosh, yes!” Delilah grabbed his hand enthusiastically. “It’s wonderful here!”

Their room, down at the end of the hall, was an enormous suite. Everything was layered in silver and black, and small little spirals rotated out from the handles of the doors and faucets. There were even spiral-themed paintings.

Delilah followed them in, calling out names of rooms—bathroom, living room, bedroom, kitchen. Rosie picked up the remote for the television, perhaps thinking to put it on the night stand. Instead, the second she picked up the remote, a wave of spirals appeared on the television screen. Frowning, she made to change the channel, but then she stopped mid-motion, her eyes glazing over a bit.

Jonathan almost said something, but Delilah grabbed his hand and pulled him out toward the door.

“God, it's such a shame you're married,” she purred, clearly not caring that Rosie was no more than fifteen feet away. “Please let me know if you need anything.” Her hand trailed along Jonathan’s chest and then his arm. “Anything at all. If you want to find me later, I'll be at the three-card poker table.”

“Okay,” said Jonathan, staring entirely at her hot, perfectly positioned globes straining in her tiny uniform. His head felt sooo foggy. “Sure.”

The door shut behind her. Jonathan’s hard-on was almost painful, stretching out against his pants. He was going to have to masturbate or something, take care of it. There was a vacation here he had to take care of, after all.

Right—vacation!

A vacation where he played a lot of three-card poker.

Turning around, he saw Rosie in her underwear, her eyes still a little glossy. Looking down, he saw her thighs glistening with hot, wet arousal, the front of her panties spotted. Behind her, the television screen pulsed with strange, hot, dancing spirals. He saw Rosie inside of the spirals, and slowly felt himself descend into her grasp.

“Come on.” She grabbed his hard-on through his pants. “Let’s fuck. Now. Please?”

He was surprised. Usually it took him a long time to warm her up. And now, here, just from being in this wonderful place, she was ready to go.

Of course, he was ready to go too, thanks to Delilah.

Within short order, they were both naked in the bedroom, humping madly. Their lovemaking was short and not-that-sweet.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the hot, peppermint-scented cleavage of the girl who helped them up. He wanted her so bad. He wanted her. He couldn't stop imagining the curve of her body, the sliding motions of her legs beneath her tiny skirt.

He came hard in his wife's pussy, dreaming of this other girl, almost-just-whispering her name: Delilah, Delilah, Delilah.

* * * * *

Waking up from their post-coital nap, Rosie stretched and slipped on a swimsuit and a loose blue dress. That was the best sex they had given each other in a long time. She was already quite the fan of this vacation—Jonathan's wandering eyes or no. When he was inside of her, she knew he was thinking about her—and certainly she must have turned him on. It seemed like some other force had been driving all his big, manly thrusts with his godly husband cock.

Huh? Godly...husband...cock?

Her mind still felt a little foggy from whatever had been in that peppermint. Dimly, she recalled standing in front of the television and feeling suddenly horny...but she didn't remember turning it off, and it wasn't on now. She must have dreamed that in her after-sex nap.

It bothered her dimly that the peppermint had been some sort of drug—obviously it had been, with the reactions it produced. But at the same time, something deep and twisted just kept repeating about how it was all a good time. It was such a good time, being in this casino. So much fun.

Have some fun, Rosie.

She slipped down next to Jonathan's prone form and delivered a series of kisses on his forehead.

“I’m going to have a dip at the pool, dear.”

He rolled over sleepily. “That’s great,” said Jonathan. “I think I’m going to just rest here for a bit and grab a coffee, maybe look around at the games later on.”

“Please,” she rolled her eyes just slightly. “Don’t you start calling them games, too. It’s gambling, plain and simple. We could lose money.”

He sat up casually, hands behind his back. “Hey, they gave us three grand to blow. That’ll take me at least a month to work through with our budget. I think I’ll be fine.”

Rosie laughed and nodded. Jonathan was so very responsible with their money. It was one of the things she loved about him—his responsibility.

In the hallway, it struck Rosie how few guests there were. She didn't see anyone who didn't look like an employee, and while that lack was eerie, there was no lack of worker-bees humming around and attending to the interior.

Instead of the elevator, Rosie took the stairs—an old habit furnaced by her love of fitness—and noticed through open doors that each floor had at least one pair of incredibly proportioned maids in those ridiculously revealing uniforms, happily singing and humming as they folded towels and put away laundry. As far as Rosie could tell, though, there really were no guests besides her and her husband.

But, no, of course there had to be. Even if the hotel was still doing test runs, she and Jonathan couldn't be the only guests there. There had to be someone. Somewhere. The casino was just a large place, that was all.

It was easy getting around the casino, though it took a strangely long time. She left the room at close to two in the afternoon, and by the time she made it to the pool, it was three forty-five. She kept stopping in the middle of hallways, closely examining the spinning spirals next to the signs. They were just...difficult to parse, that was all. There was so much to learn.

She loved learning, though. She was so lucky the casino could teach her.

She loved the casino already. She had learned that right away.

Outside, the pool seemed empty at first—until Rosie noticed that was only because no one was in the pool. No one swimming, no one playing, no games of Marco Polo or Chicken Fight. Instead, everyone was laying out by the pool. All women. All busty, well-proportioned women with long waves of beautiful hair, holding small cocktails.

Employees, perhaps?

Rosie took a moment to set her towel and romance novel down at one of the pool chairs in the shade. Most of the time, her pale skin burnt rather easily.

“Can I get you a drink, ma’am?”

Talking to Rosie was a tall drink of a man—a young rippling stud with sparkling white teeth and mammoth pectoral muscles. He had a name tag that read, “Philip.”

“A water would be lovely, actually.”

“All right,” the waiter clapped his hands. “Bottles of water are ten dollars.”

Rosie was aghast. “Ten dollars?”

He smiled, shrugging sheepishly. The maneuver was startlingly handsome, just like all of him. “I know, right? Blame my boss. He’s trying to push our new drink, the Spiral Twist. Those are free from now until this evening.”

“Free?” Rosie's interest was piqued. “Well, what’s in it?”

He shrugged, his massive shoulders bulging together. “A little of this, a little of that.”

“I meant—you know. Does it have alcohol in it?”

“Oh, yes ma’am. It’s very popular. It'll make you feel fantastic.” He swept out a hand to the other ladies sitting in their pool chairs, each drinking the black and white drink liqueur

“Oh, no thank you, then. It’s the middle of the day.”

“As you wish, ma’am. But, it is free, and I haven’t had a complaint yet.”

She made a face, trying to shuffle away from the sales pitch.

“I tell you what,” he said, stepping close to her. His size dwarfed her entirely. “I really am supposed to try to get everyone to try one. If you’ll take just one, and you hate it? I’ll get you a bottle of water on the sly. How’s that?”

His masculine, earthy smell only increased as he came closer. It was a heady scent, one that had Rosie almost swooning. Smiling, she nodded.

“Sure,” she said. “That sounds fair.”

“Thanks, babe.”

He patted her on the ass and left to grab the drink. Rosie didn't even have time to protest that it was completely inappropriate for him to touch her like that—and when he came back, she was too busy wrestling with her amazed tongue—which had a sudden and definite longing to wrap itself around any part of his rippling torso that she could find—to form any kind of coherent response outside of a meek and slightly-curtsying “thank you.”

That was unlike her. Normally she was quick to judge sexist behavior—and quick to call it out.

Oh well. She was vacationing. This waiter, Philip, worked for the casino. He couldn't be all bad.

She loved the casino.

As soon as he left, leaving the drink in Rosie’s hands, two young girls—who looked about Rosie’s age, sat down in the row of chairs just behind her. She noticed them sitting, and noticed how incredibly attractive they both were, with their waspish figures and thick heads of glossy, shiny hair. Self-consciously, Rosie sat up straight.

What if the waiter came back? She would have to look good somehow.

That was an odd thought for her to have—an odd thing for her to worry about.

Oh well. She took a little sip of her drink. It was like a malt—thick and tasting something like peppermint chocolate. There was some sort of milk inside, thick and creamy and warming her throat. The alcohol immediately had an effect on her, making her head feel slightly foggy and her whole body comfortably warm.

The two girls behind her began to have the oddest conversation. Their voices were melodic, happy, and relaxing. Overhead, the spiral between the towers of the hotel continued to spin. Rosie couldn’t help but sip at her drink—so thick and delicious—and follow along with the conversation for a while.

“I really, really hope I’m a good wife for my man,” said the first woman.

The other voice was reassuring. “Of course you’re a good wife.”

“I just know I have so many things to do for him.”

“You’ll do all those things for your man,” the second voice reassured. “You want to do anything for your man.”

Anything for her man. Rosie nodded slowly, looking up at the spiral overhead. Yes. Of course she would.

“He’s a good, strong man. And I want to be his hot, fertile wife.”

“You’ll be such a hot, fertile wife for your strong man.”

Hot wife for her strong man. Oh yeah. She sounded hot. They both did.

This was a rather odd conversation indeed. It sounded like the two girls were reading off some kind of script—but they were so enthused, so happy about what they were saying, that Rosie had a hard time finding it disingenuous.

Where did Rosie's dress go? She was only wearing her bikini now for some reason. Her hands were sliding at the straps, which suddenly felt too constraining. She looked up at the spiral overhead, her thoughts slipping away.

“There's no reason to ever be worried about anything now that I'm married,” said the first girl.

“You're right. No reason at all. My man and the casino take care of everything.”

Rosie nodded slowly, sip sip sip. No reason to be worried about anything.

The first girl sounded a bit concerned. “I hope that he finds me attractive. That's mostly all I care about.”

“Being attractive is the most important thing for a wife to do, outside of obeying.”

Rosie's fun-tasting super-good drink was empty, strangely. How had that happened? She didn't care. Her head floated happily. All she had to worry about was looking attractive.

“I have to obey all the time.”

“An obedient wife is an attractive wife.”

“My man is so strong. I have to be hot for him. Otherwise he'll never get me pregnant.”

“You'll be so hot for your strong man. You're a hot babe. You know how to dress like a hot babe for your man and he'll make you more pregnant than you can believe.”

Obedient, attractive, duty, hot, pregnant, strong, man.

These words bounced off Rosie’s mind like jello-filled super balls, floating everywhere at once.

Dumbly, Rosie looked down at her drink. It was full again. When had that happened? Did Philip come by? Had he said if she looked hot or not?

The drink was so good that she immediately started drinking more, the cool breeze of the day fluttering against her body.

Looking down at her chest, she saw that her breasts were rippling somehow—growing, in fact. Right before her eyes, her bust was increasing with happy, jiggly bounces. They felt full of...milk?

That was...that was really cool. That would let her be a better wife for her man. That was so wonderful. Every thought she had landed serenely in her head. There was no panic, no urgency. Everything was wonderful. The casino was wonderful.

She swallowed the rest of her drink, watching her breasts grow even more as she did, her waist becoming narrower, her pale skin becoming more tan in the shade. Wasn't that something?

She sat up to set her empty drink down—but then Philip was there, grabbing it and replacing it with one smooth motion. That was so good of him. So strong.

She needed to learn how to be a good hot wife for a strong male. Philip could be practice. He was so big and tall and strong.

The women behind her continued to speak in their hot, droning tones. Overhead, the spiral turned and turned, so wonderful. She couldn’t place what exactly it was about the speech of the two girls that was so very interesting. But oh good lord, it really was!

Rosie noticed, squirming her legs in happy little pulses, that her pussy was soaking wet. Her tits continued to grow slowly, and she noticed that her dark hair had started to become longer and longer. Glossier. Shinier.

“I need to learn how to suck cock all day long for my man.”

“Sucking cock is so important.”

Rosie felt empty inside. When was the last time she had even sucked a cock?

“I need to learn how to suck my man off so that he knows I’ll do it any time he wants.”

Mmph. Unable to stop herself, Rosie's fingers had slipped under the thin fabric of her bikini.

“You should suck your man off whenever he wants. It’s your duty.”

Oh god yes, suck him off. It's her duty.

“I do love having all these duties as a wife.”

So many duties. They were all so, so good. Rosie’s fingers were buried deep in her cunt, not caring who saw. Overhead, the spiral twisted and turned, filling her mind. Her engorged tits were incredibly sensitive—empty of a drink, her hand had wandered to her strawberry-sized nipples.

“Have to be a good wife,” she moaned. “Have to do my duties. Have to be a good wife.”

Their voices were close now. If she turned even just slightly, she would see their lips churning out hot, happy, hypnotized words into her ear, to make her just as hypnotized as they were.

“It’s so fucking fun to be a hypno slave for my hubby.”

“It’s so fun,” Rosie droned in response, fingering blankly.

“I love this casino. I’ll do anything for it.”

“Anything for the casino!” Rosie moaned.

As she came, someone pushed a glass of Spiral Twist to her lips, letting the delicious liqueur slide down her throat. Hot, tempered bliss danced through every muscle as she gurgled down the yummy substance. Her hands went limp, sliding away from her big tits and her tight young wife pussy, but it was perfectly all right. The nice girls behind her replaced her hand with theirs almost immediately.

And then, they continued to talk.

* * * * *

The casino floors were, in a word, overwhelming.

Jonathan walked from game to game, searching for Delilah, a thousand dollars in house money chips in his hands. Every game was fully-staffed, and it was hard to spot another guest in the sea of bright lights and flashing machines. The dozens of card-games each had a smiling, beautiful dealer with a low-cut top threatening to spill over with incredible, jiggly titflesh at a moment's notice.

For every game, there were at least three beautiful babe employees there, happily waiting. All eyes on Jonathan—the only guest in the casino as far as he could tell.

It seemed like, if he actually took the time to focus, there were themes for the games. Or rather, for the girls attending the games. All the poker games had variations of school-girls: cheerleaders, pig-tailed dolls with knee socks, volley-ball players, hot preppy girls with tiny sweaters and tennis skirts.

All the roulette tables had sexy business-type women, dressed in tight, sexy pinstripe suits with micro-length skirts and teensy tiny blouses. The craps tables had peasant girls wearing tight corsets or open blouses, sexy flowery skirts that sometimes were too short or sometimes had hot stockings attached to them. So on and so on, theme after theme filled with beautifully busty smiling babes.

And all the while, this odd techno beat kept thrumming out the walls. And not just the walls, but the slot machines, from panels in the floor, from small speakers attached to each gorgeously-endowed server...from all angles, at all times, he was bombarded with rhythmic sound.

At first, it was overwhelming. It took away his ability to concentrate. Every time he considered stepping out, or maybe going back to his room and waiting for Rosie, the sound broke the thought apart.

It wasn’t so bad, he decided after a while. In fact, it was...sort of nice. And if he didn’t like it, he could just play.

Ignore the rest of life. Have a turn at the tables. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it?

The music thrummed along with his new thoughts, guiding them, focusing them. He tugged at his loose shirt collar, feeling a bit warm. His cock grew to a comfortable half-mast as Jonathan enjoyed all the clear stares at his package.

Head-a-swivel, he finally spotted the beautiful Delilah at the three-card poker table where she had promised she would be. His heart thumped as her face lit up, calling him over and patting the empty seat right next to her.

God, she was gorgeous. Her hair arranged in an effortless long pile, practically cooing against her back. He wanted to rub his face in that thick mess of hair and breathe her scent in deep before plunging himself in her cunt.

Or...o-or something.

Maybe. He loved Rosie, though.

Of course he did.

He loved his wife.

Delilah smiled at him even more dazzingly than before as his steps faltered a bit. He forgot about his wife long enough for Delilah to slide a drink in his hands and guide him to her table.

“Here,” she said. “On the house.”

The drink was black and white, arranged in stripes, like some kind of Neapolitan liqueur. The taste was sugary and sweet.

“What is this?”

“Oh that? It's the special.” She giggled. “It's very special. I made it myself.”

The second he sat down, he heard a chorus of disappointed moans from the nearby games—and saw all the girls and dealers at them pouting that he hadn’t chosen them. They all took big, elaborate sighs, their breasts swelling, and stared at him with open longing in their beautifully big eyes. He was so important to them—to all of them.

Important, yeah, that was the word. He felt important. Critical. Everyone's attention was on him.

Delilah wrapped her arm around his possessively, haughtily winking at the other girls, and introduced him to the others at the table.

Besides Delilah, there was another gorgeously stacked brunette who could have been her sister—the name tag read Karen—and the dealer, a sumptuously tall redhead with a killer smile, named Tasha. Karen sat on Jonathan's left, and Delilah his right.

Tasha shuffled the cards clumsily and only dealt to Jonathan.

“Oh,” he said. “You ladies aren’t playing?”

Karen and Delilah giggled. Jonathan turned from one heavy pair of jiggling breasts to the other, feeling rather in love.

“Don’t be silly,” Delilah said happily. “Games are for men. A girl’s head just isn’t built for this like yours is.”

He took a drink, smiling. The warm liqueur warmed every part of his body. That was certainly right. Games were for men. Girls just weren't as good at that sort of thing as men were. It’d be nice if Rosie recognized that more often.

No...no, that was wrong. Rosie was a whiz at numbers.

He took another drink, Karen cooing soft nothing into his ear that he couldn't quite make out.

Well, maybe Rosie wasn't quite as good at numbers as he was...but it was his job, after all.

His drink had emptied, but it was no problem. He watched as Karen filled it with some kind of chocolate liqueur and then Delilah took it and...and...

She pulled her top down and filled it with the milk from her enormous tits. Fuck.

Karen handed him back the drink. Completely full now.

“There you are, love,” said Delilah. “Don't you want it?”

“It's...uh...ah...your milk. In there. In this.”

It smelled heavenly. How was he not gulping it down?

Stroke, stroke, stroke. “Don't you deserve that? It was so good, wasn't it?”

Taking a long sip, he decided it was good. Nothing to worry about. Too good to not have several more.

He knew the game already. Three-card poker was easy. The highest hand was a straight flush. The ante was twenty, and the bonus bet was another twenty. He put down the ante and the bonus, and then placed his initial bet of twenty again when he was dealt his cards.

“You can make a bigger bet than that, can’t you?” asked Delilah.

Jonathan had expected this. Certainly, a beautiful babe like Delilah, employed by the casino, was there to make him spend more money. He shrugged. “I mean...twenty seems plenty, doesn’t it?”

Delilah looked down, clearly disappointed. “Oh, I guess so. I just thought, a strong man like you...surely you can afford a nice big bet, can’t you?”

Taking a long sip of his drink, he stared intently down Delilah’s soft, palpably close cleavage. Her fingers slid up and down his thigh, sweeping some imaginary piece of dust away. It felt like someone was whispering softly in his ear...but when he turned to look, there was only Karen, smiling softly with her big brown eyes dancing merrily. She was silent, smiling, sliding her fingers around the heavy cylinder of his chips. Her grip looked like she could be holding anything cylindrical...his cock, for instance.

“Couldn't you make a bigger bet?” Delilah cooed again, with Karen cooing at the same time. “A real man like you can make such a big bet...”

To his left, Karen kept nodding happily, intently, sliding her fingers up and down the stack of his chips.

Staring deep into Delilah’s eyes, he slipped his hands over Karen’s, pushing forward whatever chips were there. It was over three hundred dollars, a tenth of his what the casino had given him.

The scantily-clad dealer happily dealt her own cards. Three of a kind. Jonathan had junk—a five, an eight, and a two. Nothing. Three hundred dollars down the drain.

The dealer clapped her hands happily, her tits bouncing hypnotically. “Thanks so much for playing with me. Another hand?”

Jonathan took a long drink to think about it. After his gulp, the drink was empty...and then it was gone, replaced by another by Karen’s quick hands. Everything felt so warm, so floating. He was surrounded by gorgeous women all smiling at him, wanting him, having fun.

He was in heaven.

Delilah’s hot, soft mouth slid up and down Jonathan’s neck, his ear. “Go on. You can win. You’re a winner. Show me, baby.”

Less than thirty minutes later, all the credit extended to him and Rosie was gone. All three thousand dollars, just vanished. If he were able to comprehend much of anything outside of Delilah's hands on his body, her breasts pushing up against his arm, he might not have believed it.

Drunk now, a bit stumbly, he allowed Delilah to guide him to the ATM in a corner with her hand in his pocket. Her fingertips slid against the stiff shaft of his cock through the inner fabric of his pants.

His clothes were fitting rather tightly. Somehow he felt bigger than before. Delilah had always been shorter than him...but she seemed rather more so now. Looking down, he noticed that his top few buttons had burst off—and beneath, his chest had become enormously muscled. His pant legs no longer stretched down to his ankles, ending instead somewhere around his mid-calf.

Testing his strength, he picked his arm up—Delilah holding on and squealing in delight at the ease with which he lifted her up. When he set her down, she hugged him tight.

“God, you're so strong,” she moaned. “I bet you could crush me any time you wanted. I bet you could just ruin me.”

Considering that fact very heavily, he languidly let her take the bank card out of his pocket, and told her his PIN number. Why not? He could trust her. She worked for the casino.

He loved the casino with all his heart.

Somehow his bank allowed him to withdraw over five thousand dollars at a time. Had it been in one of those forms he signed when he accepted the prize trip down here?

It was so very hard to recall. But then, why recall anything? All that mattered was having fun for the casino.

“Don’t worry about that cash, studly,” Delilah purred in his ear. “Come back over to the table and show me how hard you can play. You'll make your money back in no time at all. You're such a fucking stud.”

Within moments, he had slipped back down in front of Tasha, placing enormous bet after enormous bet. Karen's legs slid over on top of his muscular thighs. Delilah's lips barely left his ear, whispering and suggesting. Bet harder, harder, harder.

Minutes melded into hours. Jonathan lost track of time. He lost track of caring.

He drank more and more of the lactation-infused drinks. His body grew and grew, only becoming stronger and more impressive. His forearms were like steel cords, his back a collection of iron serpents. Stubble grew and grew on his chin, blooming into a sexy, dark beard. Delilah's tongue ran over it, adoring his manly hair—and that was okay with him, of course. It wasn't like they were kissing. That wasn't cheating.

In between several gulps of his fifth or sixth or fifteenth or sixteenth Spiral Twist, he pushed forward several thousand dollars of chips. Delilah had convinced him that the only way to win big was to play big. If he put down big enough bets, all he would need was one big win...and certainly, he was such a man that he was going to win all the time, right? He just had a bit of a cool streak.

Delilah was right. The casino would be good to him.

The casino was so good. He had to do what the casino wanted.

That odd, wonderful techno beat kept thumping out, creating a helpful rhythm for his every action.

“Take that,” he said proudly, barely looking at his own cards, as he pushed forward the thousands of dollars.

Tasha smiled prettily, showing her cards. “Gosh, I win again!”

“Are you sure?” said Jonathan, his drunken attention stumbling around, trying to find the place in his head that could still accomplish things like math, and noticing. “It’s just, um, I have two face cards, and you’ve got...a three and a two...”

Something was making it rather hard to think, and not just the alcohol. Looking down, he saw that Karen was hard at work, tugging his pants down and off his legs. She had to unlace his shoes first.

The massive hard-on that his cock had long-ago transformed into was no longer hidden—in fact, it was being celebrated. Delilah, humming and nuzzling him absently, staring with bright, empty eyes around the casino, stroked his cock hard and lovingly.

Big muscles weren't the only thing that had grown on Jonathan. His cock was staggeringly huge now—nearly a foot of pure, perfect man meat made entirely for one purpose: fucking as much hot fertile pussy as possible. Just looking at it made Jonathan swell with pride.

The casino had given him this new cock. He really ought to show his appreciation.

Delilah's small hand encapsulated his big shaft, slip-sliding all the way down and massaging softly into his balls, and then back up slowly again. It was a mechanical, absent motion, like she was brushing her hair. Precum spurted up the second he noticed, sliding in warm waves over her hand. The thick volumes of it layered over her skin like melted butter—creamy and warm.

“Hey, you’re um...you’re stroking my cock.” Jonathan almost felt bad about pointing it out. She hadn’t seemed like she was doing it on purpose.

She gasped, as if noticing it just now herself. “Gosh, I sure am! What should we do about that?”

Even with the pleasant surprise on her face, she didn’t stop stroking. In fact, she increased her efforts, sliding her thumb around the head of his cock, rubbing in whatever slick precum slid out. Occasionally the surface of his precum-wet cock slid against Karen’s face, who moaned passionately, licking her gorgeous, puffy lips.

So, Jonathan didn’t notice as Tasha gathered up all the cards and his latest bet and dealt again. She didn’t even bother shuffling—instead, just picking out cards that she liked and putting them down in front of him. Apparently, she liked giving him twos and threes and sevens.

“I think, I mean...oh god. You’re great at that,” he moaned to Delilah.

“Thank you! Don’t you like what Karen is doing, too?”

He looked down. Karen had started licking attentively at his balls. Her tongue, small and pink dragged over the surface of his sack, lips pushing forward every so often to kiss him tenderly.

“Oh, man.”

Tasha tapped the table briefly. “Another bet, sir?”

“Yes,” he said, not even looking at the cards. “The same as last time. Wait,” he said, shaking his head. “No. I want to pay attention, so...”

Delilah had a drink in her free hand, sliding it right under Jonathan’s nose. No doubt it had her milk in it like the last twenty.

“Another round, sir?”

He took it and began drinking without saying anything. It was easier to take a little drink down than it was to think about anything. His cock swelled in Delilah's hand, more immense volumes of precum spilling out. There was more of that precum than all the cum combined from his orgasms from the past month—including the one he had filled his wife with earlier in the day.

God, he could just sit there and drink and let Delilah stroke his cock, let Karen lick his balls. Fuck, why not? If they wanted his money, they could have it. Money wasn't important—only the casino was important.

“Do you like that, sir?” Delilah asked. “How we call you sir? How we take care of your every need? Isn’t that awfully wonderful?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward into Delilah.

Man, she was so fucking pretty. What if he just, kissed her a bit? Just a little?

He slid his lips forward onto hers. Delilah responded with a happy, eager moan, like she had been waiting on him, her strokes speeding up on his cock.

“Mmm, I’d really love to keep making out with you, sir, but I don’t want to leave Karen out...”

“Oh yeah...she’s too pretty to leave out.”

“She definitely is.” Delilah’s strokes slowed. “God, her mouth is right there, isn’t it? What if you just...you know...slid your cock in?”

Jonathan, rather drunkenly, considered that for several moments. Karen panted beneath him, her pretty pink lips open and wet, panting with need.

“It’s just I...I have a wife...”

Delilah's strokes sped up again. His cock twitched happily. “Wouldn’t she want you to be fucking the hot mouths of sexy girls like us, though? Isn’t that better than anyone else? After all, if it wasn’t us, a stud like you would definitely be going off and fucking someone. But, you know you can trust us.”

“Trust you.” Her cleavage was so fucking sexy. He wanted to eat his meals off it.

“Besides,” said Delilah. “I’m like, the one stroking your cock. If I guide it into Karen’s mouth, it’s not even cheating. That’s just something me and Karen did.”

He nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”

He moved forward just slightly, and Karen moved the rest of the way, sliding her mouth all the way up his cock. Oh god, oh god! She was so. Fucking. Good! Her mouth made his cock feel like a lightning rod, absorbing all the hot currents of pleasure that she pulsed out from her mouth.

Delilah breathlessly moaned into his mouth, like she was his lover, like she had needed him for years. Her kiss was the kiss of ages, immortal, needy, desperate. Her moan increased in pitch, and Jonathan saw from the corner of his eye that she had started pumping Karen up and down on his cock. Delilah's excitement increased from this, her kiss getting only more passionate. Fuck. Wow.

“Please cum,” Delilah moaned to him, in between gentle, needy kisses. “Cum in her mouth. We need you to cum in her, oh god, please?”

Karen's moans only confirmed Delilah's words. For a few brief seconds, Jonathan felt like he could go on forever like this, with Karen sucking him off for the rest of his life. Her soft, sweet lips felt so velvety-perfect against his shaft.

But then, suddenly, unexpectedly, his bliss powered through him, the orgasm starting with hot tension in his buttocks that released outward and exploded down Karen's eager, vibrating throat. She lapped up his seed while Delilah looked on with clear jealousy in her vibrant brown eyes.

His cum spilled out from him, feeling like it would go on forever. He filled up Karen's stomach and mouth and had enough leftover to shoot all over her face, spraying her down as she smiled and gobbled down every last spurt.

“Another game, sir?” Tasha asked, smiling as brightly as she had been when he started, as if she hadn’t witnessed anything at all.

Karen slid off his cock, stroking him softly, while Delilah shuddered against his body.

“Please, sir,” said the brunette. “Keep playing? For me?”

Hours passed with Rosie happily drinking away at Spiral Twist after Spiral Twist, her body becoming more and more luscious, big-titted and perfect for hard, muscular fucking. Distantly, she attempted to read her romance novel, but every few seconds she would stare up at the spiral twisting overhead and admire its perfect beauty. Her mind felt empty and loose.

Loose, just like her. She was a hot, loose woman, happy to fuck anyone who came by. That's what her husband would like. He would want a woman that everybody could and would fuck. The two women whispering in her ears had strutted away long ago, but that was okay. Rosie felt perfectly acclimated to serving, now.

She giggled happily, liqueur dripping over her lips and newly-busty breasts. That was so cool. The taste was so creamy. She slipped up some of the liqueur and sucked it off her fingers, pretending it was the cum of some stranger.

Mmmph. That would be really hot.

It was really fun and sexy to have an empty mind.

Be a good wife, programmed thoughts jolted through her head. She welcomed the little jolts. They were regular parts of her life now. Be a happy wife.

Oh, right, her mind wasn’t empty. It was just focused, now.

“Back rub?” asked a masculine voice.

Rosie broke from her soft liqueur-infused escape into the dreamy pages of her romance novel.

She had been stuck on the same page for about an hour, dreamily imagining some roughhewn musclebound stud picking her up in his arms and busing her away to some dark, faraway cabin where he would fuck her endlessly. That would be something her husband could do. Her dreamy, tall, perfect husband...

Imagine her surprise then, when the man above her was exactly like those lusty lads on the covers of her romance books—tall, taut, and impeccably cut.

“Oh,” she said, her voice breathy and sultry. “Yes, please.”

He held out a hand. “Why don’t you come with me then.”

She slipped her fingers out of her cunt and took his hand. He didn’t seem to mind the excess juices.

“I’m Marco,” he said.

He certainly was. Rosie’s booze-and-induction-addled mind made up a little back story for him. He was some undocumented resident, working to pay for his mother and wife’s safe passage to the US. The only way he’d be able to pay properly is if he earned his keep. He needed all the help he could get from the wealthy guests of the Shining Spiral Casino. Rosie slid up against him. Her newly-huge tits slid off the hulking slab of his bicep.

“Earn your keep...gotta help,” she moaned.

“Sure babe,” he said, the way that he would maybe point out a scrap of food to a dog. “Whatever you say.”

They stopped in front of a door into a small white-stone building at the edge of the pool. Philip, from before, turned the corner and saw the two of them, his face suddenly shifting into outrage.

“Hey man, she’s mine!”

“Fuck off, Philip.”

“Fuck you, man! I’ve been feeding her drinks all day! She’s ready to be a cocksucker right away!”

“Not anymore man. She’s on pussy duty. Now, fuck off. This is for taking my last girl.”

Philip pushed him. “You’re an asshole.”

“Whatever, bro.”

Rosie’s head rushed hard. They were fighting over her. That was so manly.

“Look,” he said, slapping her ass hard. She loved it. “She’s so ready to go. Why don’t we both take her? And I’ll make sure you get the next girl who comes in, all right? Boss says there ought to be way more coming up anyway after these two. There’s only like a week till the grand opening anyway.”

Marco shrugged. “Sure, okay.”

They pushed her inside the door.

The inside of the room was stark white, a large group of pillows in the middle of the room.

“Go on,” Marco said. “You’ve got to be a good girl.”

“A good wife,” Philip corrected. She heard him whisper, “She’s really into the wife angle. You gotta play it up.”

Marco nodded. “All the good wives I know kneel down in this room. So go on.”

All the good wives did it? Oh fuck. She was running way far behind by never having done it before! Rosie, obediently, knelt down on the pillows.

Marco’s cock, long and hard, slid down the hot lines of her face. Oh god. He was going to fuck her face. Philip drew up next to him, his cock floating along the other side of her face. He was going to fuck her too.

That was...

That was so...

That was soooooo hottt. She giggled happily, her tongue sliding around, trying to catch the edges of Marco's member.

“Wow, we really did a number on her, didn’t we?” Marco remarked. “Usually they’re all squirming, trying to get out.”

“You know, I only gave her a half-dose to begin with? Her husband took some ungodly amount of convincing—a really loyal sort, you know? Delilah had to put the extra moves on him, I heard. Or, Boss made Delilah do it. I heard she’ll never go back—she’ll be his happy little fuckpet basically forever, now. I mean, she'll fuck other guys, but only with that husband's say-so. But this chick,” he pointed at Rosie. “She just really took to the induction. Not like the husband at all. It only took fifteen minutes of programming before she was diddling herself.”

“Diddling herself?” Marco laughed. “What are you, twelve?”

“Yeah,” Rosie purred. “I fucked my pussy with my fingers like a good wife does while her husband is away.”

“See?” said Marco. “Finger fucking.”

“Whatever. Forgive me for trying to be polite.”

Marco got down to one knee beside Rosie, crudely sliding his fingers up into her pussy and touching her there expertly. Rosie moaned, loving every second of his touch.

“You’ve been hypnotized into being a happy, eager servant for our casino now, dearie,” Marco said. “Isn’t that great?”

“Sure,” Rosie said brightly. “Whatever you say.”

“Over the next few days, you're going to transform into a happy fuckslave forever, as a matter of fact.”

Happy fuckslave forever. Oh good. She could really perform well as a wife like that.

“Hey,” said Philip. “You think boss ever used this shit on us?”

“Probably,” Marco shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m ripped as hell and I fuck whoever I want and I got a room to do it in. Sometimes lots of rooms. When we open up to the big time, there’ll be even more.”

“You’re right. Best not to think about it.”

“Best not to think about it,” they said in unison.

Without further ado, Philip rammed his entirely hard cock inside of Rosie's entirely wet cunt. An orgasm, wet and hot, pushed through her entire body at once, electrifying every atom. Her pleasure only intensified as Marco roughly gripped her hair and shoved his full meaty length down her throat. Her pouty, newly-puffy lips glistened with needy saliva as she suckled hard on his immense cock.

Philip, behind her, groaned with sweet hot pleasure as the velvety walls of her cunt gripped his meat expertly, guiding him in further and further, harder and harder. Not to be outdone, Marco replaced his grip on her hair with even firmer grips on her newly enhanced tits, using what felt like his entire body's worth of musclebound strength to thrust himself into her willing, aching hole of a mouth. Her tits leaked out milk as they filled her over and over—that was new. Unexpected. Fun. She was milking. Lactating. So fertile. Her husband would be so proud.

This was the absolute best way to be a wife, Rosie knew. Nobody would be able to do this for Jonathan like she did.

She was so lucky to be part of the casino.

Philip slapped her ass hard. His thrusts had become less rhythmic, more sporadic and passionate. That meant he was going to cum soon. Rosie slurped up more of Marco's fat cock as a response, making herself loud and clearly wanting.

Emptying himself all over her backside, Philip slapped her ass again and again. Rosie couldn't help but cum, feeling the hot results of this stranger's bliss spreading on top of her body.

Her new efforts as a result of her second orgasm pushed Marco to the edge. He wrapped up her thick hair around his hand like it was rope, and started jerking his cock off right in front of her.

“You see that?” he grunted, slapping her face with his cock. “You see that, sexy? That's for you. You're gonna take all of what I got.”

His shot hard out from his cock, and a strong, wild emptying sensation flooded over Rosie...and all of her slid out of reality, a new template writing over her blanked out personality. She was lost in sticky bliss for what felt like ages, licking and swallowing liquid pleasure.

Then, someone’s cock entered her mouth. She couldn’t tell who. All she could tell was that sucking cock was the reason she existed.

What a good wife she was, now!

* * * * *

Two hours after entering the casino, almost all of Jonathan and Rosie’s money was gone. Two mortgages put up on their house. Four loans from the local bank. His 401K completely drained. All his stock options spent.

He didn’t care, of course. After cumming down Karen’s throat three more times—the volume and frequency of his orgasms had increased tremendously after drinking all of those Spiral Twists—Delilah and Karen had led his new, hulking self into the VIP room. There, he sat on a leather couch, lazily and drunkenly rolling a pair of dice with Karen happily attending his cock with long, soulful slurps and moans. His body, so large and muscular now, sunk deep into the couch.

He didn't know what game he was playing. It involved him losing quite a lot while Karen sucked him off. That was fine. Everything was fine.

“This casino is so wonderful, isn’t it baby?” Delilah purred in his ear.

“So wonderful,” he agreed happily.

“You’ll sign anything at all for the casino, won’t you please, darling?”

“Oh yeah. Sign whatever.”

Tasha, busty and smiling, bent over at the waist with a tray of papers in her hand.

“Sign these, please,” she said, pointing. “Here, here, and here.”

Jonathan leaned forward, sticking his nose into the redhead’s breasts with a drunken chuckle. Delilah led his hand from point to point and he scribbled out his signature. Or something. Maybe it was just scribbles. Anyway, they didn't seem to care.

“Wonderful,” said the redhead, emotionless, sliding away.

Delilah, delighted, wrapped her hands around his neck.

“One last game, baby.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If you win this one, you can stay here indefinitely. You can work here, just like us. Wouldn’t you love that?”

“Oh...” some strings of thought attended his forgotten conscience and priorities. Wasn’t there...work, or something? But no. This was a job she was offering. “I um...I mean...”

“All you have to do,” Delilah purred, “is cum right inside my pussy.”

God, he could do that. He could really do that.

Getting up, he grabbed Karen and gently placed her aside. Her weight was nothing to him—fuck, but he was so strong now—and then he grabbed Delilah's tiny, curvacious body and pushed her down on the couch.

His hands ripped at her clothes, tearing them away like they were paper, like they were made of wet tissue. Delilah's hot, tiny body tensed and squirmed, hot repeated orgasms clearly running through her body with every touch of his big hands on her naked, hot tits.

With a moan, he sank into this woman, his shaft completely sliding inside of her with no resistance whatsoever. He could feel his own bulge beneath her tiny torso, filling her up so hard.

Gyrating his hips, he began to thrust inside of her again and again. Delilah's head thrashed in ceaseless pleasure, her legs wrapped around his waist. She pulled herself up off the couch, her tiny fuckable body held up entirely by his steely muscles.

“Yes!” she moaned ceaselessly. “Oh my god, yes!”

Jonathan entered and re-entered her with gusto. Her pussy was so fucking tight!

As he continued to fuck her brains out, Mr. Craft entered the room with Rosie on one arm. She was completely naked. Mr. Craft eyed Jonathan casually, like the newly muscular stud was merely sorting mail. Jonathan, seeing Rosie, didn't stop his screwing for a second. Delilah was too good—and besides, he deserved to fucking her.

He was a man, a real man. He deserved any hot pussy he could find.

Rosie didn't seem to care that Jonathan was fucking someone else. A distant, vacant smile decorated her face. Mr. Craft whispered something into Rosie's ear. Then, obediently, Rosie unzipped Mr. Craft's pants and went down on him right in front of Jonathan.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned.

He was upset for just a moment. But then Karen whispered something in his ear, something he couldn’t quite make out. The music got louder.

Rosie, on her knees, pumped more enthusiastically on Mr. Craft's bare cock. Jonathan nodded, feeling his cock throb even more as Delilah's magical pussy hugged it tight.

There was something so very hot about what Rosie was doing. He pumped into Delilah harder and harder, watching his wife get facefucked by another man.

He wanted his wife fucking other men all the time.

“Fuck me in front of your wife,” Delilah moaned. “Show her what you deserve. Show her what you fucking deserve, baby!”

“Cum for her,” Karen moaned happily. “Win that job. Cum inside Delilah! Be the stud! Be the big stud!”

Spasming, rocking, he emptied his unprotected load into Delilah. His cum overfilled the small woman, sliding out onto the couch. Karen greedily lapped it up. If she was lucky, Jonathan knew, she was already pregnant.

“I’m a winner!” he grunted loudly.

He stood up, not winded at all by the forceful fuck-session with Delilah. In front of Mr. Craft, despite his new-found strength, he felt an instant and undeniable deference flood over him.

“Hey Boss,” he said hopefully, pointing at Rosie. “You mind if I take a few rounds with this one here? I sort of know her.”

Mr. Craft held up a finger. “Just a moment.”

Grabbing Rosie's hair, he pulled her off his cock and then unceremoniously came on Rosie’s naked chest. Moaning with need, Karen and Delilah crawled over and licked every bit of his seed off her body. Delilah winked at Jonathan as she did so.

“There you are,” Mr. Craft said, dusting himself off and zipping up, before clapping Jonathan on the back. “Now, I expect you to be awake bright and early at ten in the morning to go to work. We open in a week, and there are so many preparations to make. Another couple arrives tomorrow!”

“A couple like us?”

“Oh yes. We started with just myself and loyal little Tasha. Isn’t it wonderful how we’ve grown?”

Jonathan didn’t really have a chance to answer, after Rosie slid up and hopped into his massive, rock hard arms.

“Hi, Sweetie,” Rosie embraced him with a loving, passionate kiss. “How is my super stud husband today?”

“I’m doing pretty great. I fucked this girl,” he said, nudging his thigh against Delilah and then Karen. “And this one sucked me off a few times.”

“God, that’s so cool,” Rosie cooed. “I wish you could fuck us all at the same time.”

Mr. Craft cleared his throat. “If I may, ladies and gentleman, you do have the honeymoon suite for one more night. You responded rather...rapidly to our assimilation, good little servants that you are.”

Rosie, Karen, and Delilah’s faces all lit up at once. “Oh please!” they all moaned. “Take us, Sir! Take us in your big suite! Take us all!”

Jonathan smiled. He loved the casino. He would do anything or anyone for it...and so would his wife.

# # #

Bimbo Casino: No Way To Resist

––––––––

“Let me get this straight,” said Johnny Falco, owner of the Desert Beach Casino. “You want me to sign over the rights to my entire business? The same business that I spent thirty years building from the ground up, that business? Are you out of your mind?”

The gorgeous brunette across from him crossed her legs and smiled. Johnny watched the motion, a long, longing sigh threatening to leave his mouth. Her long, graceful legs were kept beneath a daringly short skirt, with smoky stockings covering the rest—except for, of course, her high high heels.

Selene was painfully, omnisciently, omnipresently gorgeous. She was hard not to want—hard not to lust after, in fact. The lust permeated in him in a visceral way—he could practically feel her soft skin sliding under his fingers every time he glanced at her.

“Mr. Falco, I’m sure you can understand my position. I’m here on orders. I have to follow my orders no matter what.” Her voice was a silky, hotly accented purr. Eastern European, he thought. She put a delicate gloved finger up to her delicately beautiful lips. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Perhaps you don’t understand. A man like you, so very much in charge of everything you see, probably doesn’t understand what it’s like to take orders anymore. Do you?”

It was hard to focus on most anything she said when her tits were just flagrantly bursting out from her tiny little parody of a business suit the way they were.

There was no other way to put it—the woman was a looker. She reminded him of the kind of woman he used to lust after when he was younger—much younger. The kind of femme fatale you would see on the screen, deadly and sexy at the same time. Her thick, voluminous hair fell down her back in a rich, chestnut wave. Her sensuously beautiful face young and somehow wise, as if she knew every thought that crossed his mind already when it came to looking at her—and what was more, she wanted him to think those dirty thoughts.

The question wasn't whether she wanted him thinking about her on her knees before him, begging to attend his rod, but rather why she wanted that. Was it due to attraction, or (more likely) due to manipulation?

Even if she was manipulating him, Falco had to admit he was enjoying it. The half-hard cock he boasted spoke to that. The attention was a nice change. It wasn't that he was a man who had trouble ferreting up partners for sex—or at least, he never had trouble before he was married. Ever since he had tied the knot, though, his thick head of dark hair and naturally athletic frame seemed all for naught, with his wife growing more apathetic by the day.

This Selene was from the Shining Spiral, one of Vegas’s newest casinos. And, so far, it was one of the city's most effective casinos as well. Falco hadn’t heard a single negative thing about it—in fact, most everyone raved about the experience. It must have been raking in the dough.

Falco didn’t get it. They had nothing for kids there, no shows. Just a hotel, a pool, and lots of gambling. It was a low-rent place—and yet it was already getting more than ten percent of the market share in Vegas. More than that, nobody seemed to leave with more than just lint in their pockets.

Johnny Falco had built the Vegas Beach Casino from the ground-up a little over twenty years ago, starting when he was just a kid, no more than twenty years-old himself and not even legal to gamble on the Strip.

It started with just cheap setting—the consumer had to do most of the work for the casino to believe they were on the beach. Plastic palm trees with shiny metal leaves, dirty sand brought in from the edge of the desert that Falco shoveled into the back of his small truck by himself, that sort of thing. The kind of decoration you might expect from a kid’s birthday party.

For whatever reason, it was a hit—for a while. People loved the quasi-trashy feel of the place, and were more than willing to indulge in the cheap Hurricanes and Long Island Iced Teas he put on deep discount.

But cheap drinks and cheaper decor only went so far. He’d had to upgrade, and upgrade, and upgrade again.

All told, he had invested millions of dollars in his growing casino resort over the decades. Today, he had a fully operating beach on the ground floor—and one on the twelfth, twentieth, and thirty-fourth. Each one had regular waves of varying sizes depending on the time of day. No saltwater, of course. That would start degrading the building too easily. But people tended to like fresh water better anyway.

The ground floor beach was, of course, the largest—but not necessarily the most luxurious. They were available to any guest at the casino, and so often were incredibly crowded—like a normal beach. The higher floors had expansive systems of holograms and screens that allowed for a more immersive experience.

Not that any of that was really on Falco's mind at the moment. The cleavage of the heavenly brunette in front of him was a rather immersive experience all on its own. A shiny jeweled pendant hung from her neck, resting comfortably between her twin globes.

Noticing his gaze, Selene smiled, touching her delectable chest. “You’re staring at my breasts, Mr. Falco.”

“So what if I am?”

She shrugged. The motion simply made her amazing breasts slide together. They looked hot and somehow moist. “That’s largely my position on the matter. I like to be looked at. I am a gorgeous woman, after all. Certainly you’ve noticed.”

“Maybe I have.”

“Of course you have.” She snapped the edge of her jacket against one tit, making it jiggle. They both watched this for a moment, each clearly enjoying themselves. God, but she looked fertile. Made for providing endless progeny for a man like him. “Your entire staff has noticed as well. Most of them are ready to eat directly out of my hand. Isn’t that nice of them? They’re so ready to mutiny against you, just because of how gorgeous I am. I do so love being so perfectly gorgeous for...” she smiled, eyes sweeping the room. “Mmm, well, for many reasons.”

He frowned. “You’ve got a lofty opinion of yourself.”

“I do.” She stood up, strutting up toward his desk. The fabric of her skirt stretched neatly as she slid over the desk corner, her legs sweeping closer to him. “Well-deserved, I hope?”

Falco sat back. “Listen, lady, you’re hot, I’ll give you that. But I’ve seen plenty of hot ladies in this town. Hell, in this office. Double hell, doing this very same thing you’re doing. And if you think you’re gonna put one over on me just because you got fabulous tits and a gorgeous face, then you’re in the wrong town.”

A disappointed little pout spread over her face. “I really had been hoping that you would simply see things my way,” she said. Her voice was like a collection of velvet blankets, warm and staggeringly comforting. “That’s all right, though. I understand that a strong, strong man like you would need some rather effective convincing.”

Her heel slid up his leg, and she bit down on her lip, luxuriating in the feel of his leg. Stubbornly, he crossed his arms.

“No dice, sister.”

She smiled. “Oh, that? That’s not part of the ploy. I just enjoy touching you. I was ordered to enjoy touching you, as a matter of fact. I enjoy everything about you, now.”

Falco's frowned deepened. Just what did that mean? But then her fingers began toying with the jewel pendant on her necklace. There was an audible click—and the jewel opened up, revealing twin spirals. One for each of his eyes.

“Now,” she said, leaning forward more and more. “Won’t you consider what I have to say? I’d love for you to consider it very, very carefully.”

At first, his eyes tried desperately to stay firmly affixed to her cleavage as it closed in. But the spirals...the spirals...the spirals...

The spirals made everything in his life seem unimportant and everything she said make perfect sense.

* * * * *

Johnny Falco didn’t exactly wake up, but rather was just suddenly aware—he was in the middle of a hallway in front of his penthouse apartment at the top of the casino. Nearby, a tall mirror told him he looked as disheveled as he felt. He took some time and tucked in his shirt and buttoned his jacket. How long had he been walking for?

His balls ached, like he had been cumming for ages—like entire volumes of his lust had been written out due to some angel's happy inspiration. But when he tried to place how and why, all he could recall was simple, happy white-washed bliss.

He remembered some things—Selene talking to him in that perfect accent, sounding so perfectly even and wonderful, every last thing she said making quite a lot of sense. She was a smart, smart woman, that Selene. He ought to trust her with everything.

Falco walked through the front door of his home, tired and distantly horny. His wife Stephanie was there, sitting down in her chair examining a beauty magazine. Their maid Lola poured her a glass of wine. It was two in the afternoon—a little early for such refreshments, he felt.

Stephanie, lovely and pampered, was twenty years younger than him. They hadn’t been married for very long—only three years. But, already, it felt like much of the magic had abandoned them. They hadn't had sex for over a month, and hadn't had a decent bout in over a year.

Truth be told, he suspected that his blond, fantastically leggy wife was engaged in some extramarital activity. If he had considered that even yesterday, he would have worked himself up into a rage. But now, his anger at adultery felt distant, removed.

At the same time, all the sexual exhaustion he felt from whatever happened with Selene seemed to melt away from him. Instead, now, examining his beautiful wife's form, he could feel his lust rising again.

“Lola,” said Falco, admiring Stephanie's long legs beneath her tight sundress, “why don’t you take off for a bit?”

Lola left with a short, knowing smile. She’d propositioned Falco a number of times—or near enough for him to proposition her, anyway—but he’d resisted. She was a lovely sort—curvy and short, with bright blue eyes. She didn't seem to care at all that he was married.

But even so, Stephanie meant more to him than anyone, and almost more than anything. The casino, of course, would always be number one.

And Selene...Selene was definitely high up on that list. She deserved it. She was so gorgeous.

He leaned down and kissed Stephanie on the cheek. Thoughts of Selene's cleavage flashed in his mind, and his kisses became more insistent. Stephanie barely shifted attention from her magazine article—tips on how to make her hair really stand-out this season. Pressing onward, he listed kisses down her cheek and neck.

Still, she didn't seem to get the message.

“I’m horny,” he whispered into her ear.

In truth, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to fuck Stephanie, or to fuck Stephanie and think about Selene. He was sure, though, that he didn't care.

She put the magazine down briefly. “What?”

“I said I want to have sex.”

“Oh,” she said, surprise entering her voice. “Now? Did you take your pill?”

“I don’t need it.”

She shrugged. “Okay. It’s just...last time, when you said that, well...”

He didn’t want to think about that. The stress of running a casino often had a deleterious effect on his ability to make love—so sometimes he used a little blue pill for a little extra help.

Thinking about that hot spot of wounded pride was like anathema for his rising lust, and so he backed away from his wife.

“Nevermind,” he said, shaking his head, halfway hoping she would talk him out of his retreat.

“Okay!” she chirped brightly, turning back to her magazine.

Falco walked to the kitchen and poured himself a quick, stiff drink.

It had cheered his wife up, knowing she wouldn’t have sex with him. What was wrong with this picture?

* * * * *

Early the next morning, he woke up in his enormous king-sized bed to find his hot young wife already far gone from his bed. This wasn’t unusual. She had ever been an early-riser. Tall windows lined the bedroom, letting in the morning sun over his prone form.

While Stephanie may have been an early-riser, Falco—who had been in the casino business his entire life—was well-accustomed to waking late. Most of the business he had to attend to happened late at night.

Last night, though, for whatever reason, he had taken off from work. Instead, inspired by his wife's lackluster rejection of his lovemaking proposition, he had jerked off in the bathroom, thinking solely of Selene.

Selene, Selene, sensational Selene. His darling, darling Selene, who he wanted more than he could measure.

But surely that wasn't all he had done. He got back about two in the afternoon, then he propositioned his wife, then he jerked off for a while, and then he went to bed around ten...

No. He couldn't have stroked his cock for more than seven straight hours, could he have? Just only thinking of Selene?

He felt his cock rising again, just imagining her perfectly arranged hair, her sexy cleavage, her wonderfully placed necklace...

Sitting up on his bed, he shook his head. It was really time to get back to work. Who knows what had happened while he was gone? At least he knew that he had left the dealings of the casino in the capable hands of...of...someone. He couldn’t remember who.

Why couldn’t he remember who?

God, that was probably a problem. There was chaos, no doubt. He picked up the phone near the bed, a direct line to the casino floor manager, Rick.

“How is everything? Is anything the matter?”

“Why, no sir. She’s done a great job.”

“She? She who?”

“That woman you introduced us all to yesterday afternoon. Selene. She’s wonderful. We love her. We love her, sir.” His voice had a religious sort of fervor to it.

Confused and a bit scared, Falco hung up the phone. He got up and put on his robe, taking a measure of the day through the windows of his bedroom.

He had a great view of the penthouse level pool—one of the perks of his position—he could see his wife sunbathing in a teensy sky-blue tankini set. And there, with her...

There with her was Selene in a black string bikini.

Instantly, he dropped his robe. His hand was around his cock, stroking passionately. He didn't care if anyone could see.

Fuck, Selene was so gorgeous. He wanted her. He wanted her more than he wanted his own beautiful fucking wife, who looked as hot as she ever had in that tiny swimsuit.

God.

Wow. Falco could feel the insanity of his hot lust washing over his mind, cooing and purring in accented tones about how he shouldn't care about the logic of his situation. He should just surrender, surrender, surrender...

One of the most intoxicating aspects of Selene's beauty was how it appeared so carefree, so effortless for her to look as good as she did. Wearing so little make-up, she made it seem like she woke up in the morning looking better than most women did after years of plastic surgery, perfect diet, and strenuous work-out routines.

And that lack of effort, how it was just so easy for her to captivate him, made it all the more arousing that she had the effect on him that she did. He stroked harder, thinking about how fucking easy it was, so fucking easy to captivate him. So easy to take away his will when she was so goddamn gorgeous and perfect.

Selene turned away from Stephanie briefly, so that she faced Falco in his balcony. Of course, she didn't see him. She couldn't. But that didn't stop her from smiling at him. She brought a cup up underneath her tits, and slid down her bikini top. With a few slow massaging motions, she had started to fill up the cup with her breast milk.

By god, he had been right. She was fertile. That was...that was so incredible. His cock throbbed against the glass. Once the cup was full, Selene rearranged herself and handed the cup to his wife. She drank it down without a second thought—perhaps one of many she'd already been given. Stephanie's hands drifted up and down her tight, beautiful body, touching herself eagerly.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, wow.”

It didn't stop there. Very clearly, he saw Selene whispering something in his wife’s ear. A lot of something, actually. It seemed like a whole speech—and Stephanie was a rapt listener, nodding and smiling blankly. All the while as Selene spoke, she also toyed with her sexy little necklace. Those little spirals out again. Falco remembered now, even though he couldn't see them clearly. Not for a single second did Stephanie’s eyes didn’t tear away from Selene’s cleavage.

Slowly, clearly moaning, her hips gyrating with aching need, Stephanie began to finger her pussy as she watched Stephanie's spirals twist. Her fingers worked rapidly, hotly—and Stephanie had told Falco that she never even masturbated in her whole life! It was too coarse an exercise, she always said.

But there she was, hot digits sliding in and out of her tight young cunt. Falco's strokes only got faster and faster, watching his wife finger herself.

Stephanie's orgasm was easily seen—even with Falco not being able to hear anything. Her gorgeous head tilted back, long cries pouring out of her mouth, her entire body shaking with bliss.

He knew that, with his windows tinted as they were, it was most likely impossible for Selene to see him. But he saw those emerald eyes of hers tilt upward—knowingly—and then she delivered a soft little wink as he stroked and stroked.

Groaning loudly, Falco came, spurting his hot seed all over the window. Leaning against the window, his breaths fogging on the glass, he watched her casually strut away. Every step was carefully portioned-out grace.

This woman was dangerous. And he couldn’t help but be turned on by her.

* * * * *

In the late afternoon, Falco made it down to his office to find Stephanie there already, along with a young black jack dealer who Falco dimly recognized.

Stephanie wore a slim, form-fitting silk robe, draped down over the shoulders. Between the thin material of the robe and her lusciously tanned thighs showing, it was fairly obvious that she was naked beneath the rope. The sides of her breasts could be seen easily. They looked bigger. They looked...fertile. Like the way Selene's were fertile.

Behind the desk were a number of high-definition monitors, capable of showing him almost any spot in the casino at a moment's notice. He had planned to use them to track down Selene and try to narrow down what it was she was doing in his business.

Yes, sure, that was it. He didn't want to rip his pants off the second he saw her and jerk off uncontrollably for hours at freeze-frames of her unbelievably gorgeous body. He wanted to just spy on her.

Sure.

But, with Stephanie and the dealer there, he couldn't exactly do that anymore.

“Can I help you two?” Falco began, not exactly sure what was happening.

Had Stephanie seen or caught him, somehow, after what he had done at the window?

No, impossible. He cleaned up thoroughly. He took a long look at the blackjack dealer—a tall fellow with broad shoulders and a dimpled chin. He had short blond hair and a confused look on his face that probably mirrored Falco's own.

“This is Randall,” Stephanie explained. “He’s the guy who I was sleeping with while I was married to you.”

Randall held up his hands. “That is me. Guilty as charged. It's an awful thing I've done, and I'll be sorry about it for as long as I live. Selene taught me that I needed to be sorry.”

Falco took a moment to digest all of that. Instead of rage—which he would have expected as his go-to emotion in such a circumstance—he felt only confusion.

“Who you were sleeping with? While you were married to me?” Falco sat down on top of his desk, shaking his head. “Why all the past tense all of a sudden?”

Stephanie slipped up on top of the desk with him, pressing her hips against his. She looked wounded. “Well, I’ve taken care of it all now. Certainly I wouldn’t bring Randall up here to see you if I wanted him around anymore, right?”

He supposed that made some sense, but still, he was completely puzzled.

Randall nodded eagerly. “I don't really deserve to be around anyone anymore, Mr. Falco. It's an awful thing I've done, and I'll be sorry about it for as long as I live. I'm not sure I want me around anymore either. ”

Stephanie nodded sympathetically. “Gosh, isn't that the truth? You really are just a horrible person, Randall, for doing what you've done to my precious Johnny here. You just don't matter to me anymore. Only making my Johnny feel like a man matters to me now. I'm so glad Selene taught me that.”

Randall nodded with her. “I'm so glad Selene taught me.”

Their voices, combined, had taken on an oddly robotic tone that Falco found, for whatever reason, rather arousing.

Falco tried to ignore the oddness of the situation, focusing only on the facts. “But, why are you saying you were married to me?” He rubbed his eyes for a moment. And why wasn't he angrier, for god's sake? “What’s going on with that?”

She wrapped her hand around his crotch. His cock stiffened instinctively. God, she was a beautiful woman. He hadn't felt a lusty action like that from her in far, far too long.

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” she purred. “Won’t you let me watch you fire Randall, first?”

“Huh?”

Randall stood up. “Yes, Mr. Falco. Please, fire me. I deserve it. It's an awful thing I've done, and I'll be sorry about it for as long as I live.”

Stephanie focused only on Falco, stroking his cheeks intimately. “He’s slept with your wife, darling. He simply must be fired. You have to set an example for the rest of your workers, after all. Otherwise, they’ll all try to sleep with me. They all try anyway. There must be consequences.”

“All my workers try to sleep with you?”

“I can barely keep the cocks out of my face, sweetheart. Look at how fucking hot I am. You bagged a hell of a gorgeous babe with me—and everyone knows it. Now, show them who the boss is.”

For several moments, Falco just sat there, looking at the fearful, sorrowful tinge to Randall's expression. Stephanie's pulsing strokes on his cock only became more fevered as he waited.

She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “It’s you, darling. You're the boss. Show him. Show us.”

With her free hand, she pushed open her flimsy robe and suddenly started to finger her pussy, eyes gleaming with lust.

“Won’t you please fire him?” she moaned, fingers sliding hard into her pussy. Her strokes on Falco's cock through his pants only increased. There was a sort of religious glee in her eyes.

The front of her robe was wet. Two circle-shaped stains had formed right where her nipples were.

Lactating. She was lactating. Oh fuck. She was so turned on that she was lactating for him.

Falco didn't see how he had much of a choice in the matter. And a big part of him did want to fire Randall. He couldn't just let the man get away with sleeping with his wife, after all.

“Randall,” he said, shaking his head. “I am afraid you’re fired.”

“You're right, ” Randall said, shaking his head sadly. “I deserve it. I know I do. It's an awful thing I've done, and I'll be sorry—”

“Shut up!” Stephanie shouted suddenly. Then she turned to Falco, a predatory glint to her smile. “Not like that,” Stephanie whispered in Falco's ear, fingering and stroking harder. “Make him sorry.”

She was right. He had to make Randall afraid. That was what a man would do. That's what somebody who fucked Selene would do.

He gathered all his reserves of strength, and raised his voice. “You’re fired, Randall, and you’ll never work in this town again!” He pressed a button on his desk. “Security? I need you to come throw a man out of my office and out of the casino, forever. He's dangerous, so you're going to have to use maximum force. Blacklist him when you're done with him.”

Loud and euphoric, his wife’s orgasmic moan filled the office.

“Oh god,” she cried, shaking and falling down on the desk, “Oh god, yeah! You showed him who's the boss! You showed him so fucking good, baby!”

Randall, shaking his hanging head, cried for several seconds. “I’m super sorry, Mr. Falco. I really am. It's an awful thing I've done, and I'll be sorry about it for as long as I live. But don’t you worry. You don’t have to worry about me no more at all.”

He walked out of the office—and immediately was intercepted by a team of security officers who began to beat him down to the ground. For several seconds, Falco watched, transfixed, Stephanie still stroking his cock through his pants. Randall's pained cries echoed through the walls. Then mercifully, the doors closed.

Leaving his raging hard-on aside for a moment, Stephanie slipped off the desk—leaving a considerable wet spot from her trail of lust—and picked up a briefcase at her feet. From that, she laid out several papers for Falco to read. He picked them up, struggling not to grab Stephanie and fuck her right then and there.

“These are divorce papers,” he said, a bit dumbfounded. “I just don't believe it. After all that, you want to divorce me?”

“Of course I do, Johnny.” She shook her head as if he was being rather silly, like he had spilled his own bowl of cereal. “I don’t deserve to be the wife of a great man like you, do I? I just told you how I cheated on you, for god’s sake!”

“You don’t...don’t deserve?”

Surreptiously, she had unzipped his pants and replaced her hand on his cock—though this time, there was nothing between her silky-soft palms and the throbbing meat of his big dick.

“Certainly not!” Stroke, stroke, stroke. “I can’t be married to you now that you know about all my infidelity. How could you possibly trust me from now on? I’ll simply have to accept your divorce. I don’t have a choice. I want you to have everything I do.”

He looked again at the papers beneath him, struggling not to lose control to Stephanie’s amazing handjob. The papers were very clear—no settlement, no alimony, no support or payments of any kind from him to her. As a matter of fact...

“You’re giving me all your possessions and agreeing to be my indentured servant?”

Her strokes picked up speed at the mention of the special qualifications. He didn’t even know that indentured servitude was allowed anymore. He didn’t think anything about this divorce could have been real.

“I thought it was only fair,” she said, “considering how little I’ve let you fuck me. I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

“So you’re going to fuck me fifty million times?”

The wording in the contract was very specific. After fifty million fucks, her period of service would be up.

“Oh, I mean, maybe. I figure you’ll have your hands full with other women. There’s so many girls who would just line up to suck your big fat cock, Sir. I just put a number that would make sure I could never leave your service. At least, not until you got tired of me. I’m sure you will eventually. An important man like you must want so many different types of women. I’m so very lucky just to be considered.”

He leaned back, putting the contract down. Closing his eyes, he tried to simply enjoy Stephanie's handjob—and did, of course, though the only woman he could really think of was Selene. Her beautiful eyes, her exquisite bust, those fertile curves, her endless legs...

Selene had made all this happen somehow. She had made this all happen, and she was so, so, so very gorgeous...

“Sign it, baby, please?” Stephanie's robe was gone—she wore only her tall heels and nothing else, her sexy body on display. She had been lactating. Milk dripped down from her tits to the floor. Her free hand held a pen, hovering over the contracts.

Falco took the pen and signed everything. Stephanie cooed out little squeals of gratitude with each one. Then she dropped to her knees, her strokes slowing as his massive cock slid over her cheek.

“In the contract there,” she said, “it states how a blowjob counts as half as a fuck. So...do you think you’d mind if I got started? I just have to repay my big, handsome Master. Selene told me that was your proper title, now. My Master. You don't mind that, do you?”

He didn’t mind at all.

His ex-wife starting slurping on his hot, ready meat immediately, giving him a better blowjob than she ever had when they were married. Her body dripped wet with her own milk, the white streams pouring all down her beautiful curves.

He was so worked up from the whole ordeal, and the long, long handjob that she had been administering, that it was no time at all before he had shot a hot, thick load down her servant-throat, fucking her beautiful face just like he had always dreamed of doing when they were officially together.

And even so, even when he began the first of a series of several hot orgasms exploding into his hot new ex-wife servant—the only woman he could really envision was Selene.

* * * * *

Later in the evening, after bringing his wife’s debt down by two and a half more fucks, he stumbled into his penthouse and then all the way up into his bedroom. The cool night air kissed at his body through his ripped pants and tangled mess of a shirt.

There was absolutely no way he’d ever be hard again, he was certain. At least not for a week.

Then, he saw Selene waiting for him in the bedroom. She wore nothing but a thin jeweled gown, her fantastic body arranged just for him. She looked like a queen, an empress, a goddess designed only to turn him on.

He was hard, instantly.

This amazed him. After so many blowjobs and exceptional volumes of cum—with what seemed like more with each go-round—he was practically bursting to fuck again. There was no fatigue, no hesitation. He needed to fuck—and he needed to fuck Selene.

“I’ve been waiting for you, darling,” she moaned, her green eyes lighting up with lust.

Leaning against the doorframe, he struggled not to jump her. She was so dangerous...but so very gorgeous.

“Y-you have?”

“Of course I have.” She propped herself up on one arm, her gown slipping to the side and just almost revealing her thick nipples. Thick, creamy moisture was evident there. “I’ve needed you to be mine my whole life, I feel like. Perhaps that’s true—yes! My whole life, just for you. I was made for you.”

“Whole life,” he repeated slowly, mesmerized by her beauty.

He approached the bed, his resistance long, long gone. She rose up to embrace him.

“Mmm...” she purred, kissing him underneath his chin. “I’m so glad you see things my way. You do see things my way, don’t you, darling?”

“See your way,” he said softly, breathing in her perfect scent.

“You don’t want your old wife to be your partner anymore.”

“Y-yeah,” he said, nodding dumbly. “No wife for a partner. No wife at all.”

“You’d much rather me to be your wife, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes!”

That was Stephanie. She had entered while Falco had been lost in Selene’s embrace, now rushing toward the two in a hurried, naked crawl. Falco's juices still dripped out from her bare pussy. She slid up Falco's leg, staring up at him in happy supplication.

“Please, Johnny? Please, Master? Make Selene your wife? She'll be such a better wife than I am.”

“Y-yeah,” Falco nodded, pushing Selene down on the bed. “You'll be my wife.”

Selene's smile was cat-like, indulgent. “I'll be the best wife for you, sir.”

“The best wife,” he muttered.

Sweating now, he spread her lusciously long legs out. His lips trailed down their silky, tightly-muscled surface. She brought her hands up to the edges of her jeweled gown, and he ripped downward—it came off easily. Selene, naked now, was like heroin for his eyes. Her breasts so fertile, lactating silently in her lust for him. His gaze felt completely relaxed and utterly blissful, bliss that shot hard into the rest of his body.

Staring at Selene's nakedness—her maddenly perfect curves, her bodacious bust, her tight muscles—was like staring into a black hole where all thoughts exited into, all logic was transformed, and all lust magnified a millionfold.

Madly, he fell upon her, his thick cock sliding down the silky surface of her legs. His hands gripped her hips hard, then his fingertips pushed over to her ass, gripping her tight to him right as he entered her hot, sopping wet cunt.

Falco thrust hard, in stark disbelief of his situation. Her pillowy tits crushed against his chest. The milk between them was warm and even soft somehow. Stephanie, as he worked, had attached herself behind him, her own tits pushing hard on Falco's back.

“Fuck me!” Selene moaned lustily. “Fuck me, Sir! Fuck your little home wrecker!”

“Fuck her, please!” shouted Stephanie. “God, she fucking ruined our marriage! She destroyed it, just so she could fuck you! Drill her, darling! Fuck my replacement!”

Selene pulled his head close to hers, her eyes sinking into his. His universe narrowed down to her gaze and his cock in her cunt—the only two sensations worth feeling anymore. Her tight pussy walls closed hard, milking his cock for everything he had. Then, she pushed his head down to her nipple. That streaming, hot, milking nipple...

His mouth clasped around it. Instantly, he found his pleasure redoubling. It was so fucking delicious! Virility surged through him. His cock instantly felt ten times harder.

“Don't look at her,” said Selene. “You only need to look at me. I'm your hot new wife. That other bitch isn't important at all, is she?”

“Yeah.” Falco continued to thrust inside of her and lick at her nipples, even caught inside her gaze. “Not important at all.”

From behind them, Stephanie moaned out her agreement.

Selene's exotic, erotic accent tinged her words. “I'm the only one you really love, isn't that right?”

“S-so so fucking right!” God, her pussy was so good.

“You never loved her. You only wanted me. You're glad you left her.”

The pleasure was getting to be too much. “Yeah, so glad!”

Stephanie cried out, “Yes, yes! He deserves you, Selene!”

“You need me, darling.” Selene's eyes blazed. “You need my hypnotic little cunt. You can't live without me, can you baby? You deserve me. You deserve my hot body for being such a man, don't you love?”

He came exultantly, screaming at his ex-wife how he deserved this new fresh cunt to fuck. He could feel Selene cumming with him, her entire body quivering with glee. From on top of his back, Stephanie moaned and applauded his performance.

After fading into a well-deserved doze, he woke up after half-an-hour, noticing that Selene, naked, was on her cell phone.

“Yes, Boss, he proposed.” She paused, listening. “Oh, thank you! We’ll be getting married tomorrow, I should think. No, no, you’re so busy. Don’t worry about coming. Oh yes, he’s very cooperative. He was a tough nut to crack at first—but once his wife went under, I had him.”

Selene stopped. She seemed to notice that he was listening. Smiling, she toyed with the spiral gem in her cleavage. He watched her fingers, her tits...it was impossible not to. He found himself arranged back onto her tit, sucking happily.

He owned her. He knew that he owned her. He couldn't believe anything else.

Falco drifted off. She said more on the phone, something about taking everything he ever had, but it was hard to focus on.

He didn’t care. The spiral had him, now. Selene had him. And he was so happy to give her everything.

# # #

Bimbo Casino: No Protection

––––––––

It was unseasonably cool in the small room of the Shining Spiral Casino where Jacqueline waited to be told what to do. She was getting rather tired of it—the cold temperature, the waiting—and was ready to call an audible and just skip out on the entire payday that had been promised to her.

The room was small and ill-furnished. There was a pile of pillows in one corner, for some reason, and two large armchairs. No windows, no drinks, no bowls of fruit or even a clock. Just a blank, maroon-walled room of which Jacqueline felt ready to rip down the wallpaper.

Her public presence was such that she had been rather well-known to become colossally angry at the slightest provocation, and so she was surprised (and insulted) that they didn't know that about her already. She was a world-famous supermodel, for goodness's sake. She was Jacqueline Demonto, and she was more than capable of using her rather illustrious amount of beauty and fame to make others feel dejected or worse (most women she insulted and defamed came close to tears, if not well past that point) when she put her mind to it.

Her self-esteem destroying abilities were well-grooved skills at this point, and the kind, in fact, that she enjoyed employing almost as much as showing off her body. After all, she knew even at the tender young age of twenty-two that this premium-person status she had wouldn’t last forever, and so she might as well squeeze all the enjoyment of feeling superior to others while she still could.

Jacqueline Demonto, along with other world-class models Vivian Ruiz and Marisol Garza, had arrived in the Shining Spiral Casino earlier that day. They were set to do photo shoots and interviews for something called the Spiral Spin. Her agent, in a strangely monotone voice, assured Jacqueline over the phone that it was one of the greatest small magazines in existence today. When she pressed him for more information, he just repeated that one “fact” over and over again, and that she had to go.

It was unusual for all three high-status supermodels to be booked in such a place for such an obscure publication, but with the payday she would be getting, she didn’t mind. She would make more today than she had in three years—well into the eight figures. And all that, just for being gloriously pretty as she had been born. It was enough to make even a rather conceited woman like Jacqueline’s head swell with vanity.

Not helping the matter of her impatience was just how odd the staff seemed at this Casino. All the men were hulking, boner-sporting studs, and all the women were ridiculous busty giggly bimbo babes. The staff flirted constantly, and to be honest, Jacqueline had trouble sorting out who was a patron and who was an employee. They were all so gorgeous. Of course, Jacqueline still thought she herself was much better than any of them.

Jacqueline, being a completely gorgeous woman, had dressed in a way to show that off to the world. She was the third-highest-paid supermodel in the world, after all, and so to her—and to anyone else who mattered, for that matter—that meant she was the third-most-gorgeous woman in the world. She didn’t mind being third—especially as it meant that she was doubtlessly better than three and a half billion other women, and heck, the three and a half billion men that jerked themselves off every night thinking about her. She took pride and happiness in her superiority, and made sure the others around her knew it.

And so, being stuck in this room with no cell phone service for over two hours now, waiting and praying for a change, Jacqueline was getting impatient. They had paid her to come here—why weren’t they taking advantage of all her endless advantages?

Her advantages—and they were considerable—were certainly shown off well by the tight blue minidress she had on now. Traveling with incomparable beauties like the dark-haired Vivian and redheaded Marisol, she knew she had to dress extra-hot to make sure she was seen. So, the skimpy dress hugged her tight abs and her healthy hips, as well as clearly showing off her generous cleavage. Her long, dark brown hair cascaded down her back in hot, wet locks, each strand of hair arranged to make her look perfectly beautiful. Her heels—one of many pairs that cost well over a thousand dollars—only made her spectacular legs appear even more spectacular, highlighting their length and pushing her ass up to the ceiling.

Even Jacqueline had to admit that Vivian and Marisol probably still were more beautiful than her—but they certainly hadn’t dressed sexier today as they arrived. Plenty of men would go to bed with Jacqueline's candid pictures from arriving at the airport on their smart phones, calling out her name. That thought gave her some solace.

Each model was presented with a schedule when they arrived that morning, and each had photo shoots and media junkets to work through—though all three were separated, at least to begin with. At the end of the day, there was supposed to be one big shoot in the “big office,” but Jacqueline didn’t know what that meant yet.

Someone opened the door from behind her. Not wanting to show her wrath, and yet still not quite able to control it handily, Jacqueline sneered out a question.

“How much longer do I have to wait? Don’t they know who I am?”

“Not long at all, dear. Don't you worry.”

The voice was magical, beautiful. Soft, sultry, hot, and dripping with sublime confidence. It was everything Jacqueline had wanted to hear in a voice and just didn’t know until that perfect moment.

Jacqueline turned to see a beauty walking in, wearing a briefly-skirted business suit with smoky stockings, wiping a bit of something off her mouth. Jacqueline would have sworn it was semen, but that was ridiculous. This was a place of business, after all, even if there was such a permeating sense of sex all about it.

Behind the beauty, as the door closed, Jacqueline saw a rather satisfied-looking, handsome man in a suit—who she thought she recognized as the owner of the Shining Spiral, introduced to her earlier—but then he was gone, and the door was shut, and she was left only with the beauty.

“Hello, Ms. Russell,” said the lovely woman. “I’m your interviewer this morning.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your interviewer. For the article the casino is doing on you? We have a very popular newsletter. The Spiral Spin. Everyone says it’s just mesmerizing.”

She sat down in one of the chairs in the middle of the room, and motioned for Jacqueline to do the same. Jacqueline did, but not before enjoying the sight of the beauty’s long legs crossing. Mmph. She had strong bisexual urges—almost any woman in the modeling industry learned to develop them over time—but never anything quite so strong as this.

“I’m sorry, what was your name?” Jacqueline asked.

“Oh, where are my manners?” The beauty held out a hand, which Jacqueline happily leaned over to take—and also absorbed the hot sight of crushed cleavage at the same time. “I’m Selene. It was Selene Franco, but I’ve changed it back to Selene Craft after my husband died.”

“Oh. Craft is your maiden name?”

Wasn’t Craft the name of the owner of the Shining Spiral? Yes...Mr. Craft. Wallace Craft. Jacqueline could remember it clearly.

Selene smiled and shook her head. “No, it’s the name of my favorite person. I just couldn’t bear to have any name but his.”

“Oh. That’s...unorthodox.” Not sure why she was asking, Jacqueline ventured out another query. “I hope it’s not too inappropriate to ask, but...how did your husband die?”

“Heart attack.” Selene’s smile was not that of a bereaved woman—but rather one happily indulgent in her work. “From over-exertion.”

That was an odd answer, and in fact it was odd that Jacqueline had been inspired to ask about it at all, but she couldn't quite focus on that anymore. Rather, Jacqueline couldn’t stop staring at Selene’s tits. They were just so...soooo perfect. Hypnotizing, in a way.

What was definitely hypnotizing, though, was the pendant in Selene’s cleavage. It looked so fertile. So womanly.

Staring into the crystal, Jacqueline realized that something strange was happening. Something strange and sort of enlightening, too. She felt like a message was being beamed straight into her brain, information from some divine source of beauty and light, and the message was clear as day—Jacqueline was not good enough to be in front of Selene.

She had never felt like that with anyone, ever. Jacqueline rather thought her role in life was, in fact, to make others feel that way about herself.

And yet, despite years of self-training and endless adulation from all around her, Selene made Jacqueline feel lesser. She made Jacqueline feel like a distant fourth, well behind Marisol and Vivian and Selene, with Selene neck and neck with Vivian. How was that possible? How could anyone be so gorgeous as to not only compete with the flawless goddessness of Vivian, but also to make Jacqueline feel so insignificant and worthless and small?

Jacqueline felt like crying, staring deep into the beautiful, perfect crystal, so full of truth and light, and thinking of how easy and effortless it was for Selene to look so gorgeous. Somehow, she held back her tears...and then Selene’s hand crossed over the crystal in her buoyant cleavage, breaking off Jacqueline’s train of thought.

The dark-haired beauty appeared concerned. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Um...” Jacqueline was unexpectedly choked up. “Um, I guess so. I’m sorry.”

Selene’s perfect face transformed into a predatory grin. “You’re thinking about how gorgeous I am.”

“Wh-what?”

How could she know that? How could she get straight to heart of the matter like that? Had she been...had she been giving those thoughts to Jacqueline, somehow?

Selene continued, her hand beginning to slide off her crystal again. “You’re thinking about how much better of a woman I am than you. Everything about you is determined by your hotness, and I’m hotter than you by a large margin. It’s quite obvious. You’re gorgeous right now, but I’ll be gorgeous forever. That’s just how things are. I’ll age beautifully, gracefully, and you have maybe another ten years, at best, before it all goes to hell for you. You'll still be able to pick up men in cheap bars, or maybe even marry some rich fool who doesn't have a good eye for true beauty, but it will fade, and hard, for you.”

No one had ever dared to be so frank with Jacqueline. “I...I...I...”

Selene tsked. “It’s all right, dear. Just look here.”

She pointed at the crystal in her amazing cleavage. It sang to Jacqueline once again.

“Look...there...” Jacqueline said, her voice becoming a soft, giddy monotone. “Cryst...tal...”

“Yes.” Selene opened her blouse and discarded her blouse, sitting before Jacqueline now with her top completely off. Her beautiful breasts leaked down soft trails of milk. The liquid seemed to absorb back into Selene's amazing skin before daring to touch any of her luxurious outfit.

And even before the utterly perfect visage of Selene’s bare, lactating breasts, Jacqueline could only stare at the beautiful, beautiful crystal. “It makes it very easy to answer my questions, doesn’t it?”

Gentle, warm waves washed over Jacqueline’s brain. “Yes...so easy...”

“You just take so much pleasure in thinking about what I have to say to you, don’t you?”

Jacqueline moaned out happily. “So much pleasure.”

“It’s so lovely to listen to a woman as beautiful as I am, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes.” Jacqueline frowned. “B-but I’m beautiful too...”

“Of course you are, dear. And do you know what? All the really, really beautiful girls sleep with my boss, did you know that?”

“They...they do?”

“Oh my, yes. They love it. They love him, totally. It makes them cry, thinking of how much they love him. Beautiful girls call my boss ‘Master.’ He owns their hearts and souls.”

Jacqueline’s voice was soft, tears brimming in her eyes at the thought of such love. “Heart...and soul.”

“If you’re a beautiful girl...you have to love Master, then, don’t you?”

Her heart sung with Selene's words.

“Have to love Master. Have to love your boss.”

“That’s right, sweetie. I’m so glad you understand. You’re so smart, realizing that. It must be because you’re so beautiful that you understand already.”

Jacqueline smiled with happy pride. She loved being complemented, especially when she knew she deserved it—which was always. So, she didn’t really know Selene’s boss...but she knew she loved him. She was a beautiful girl.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful, Jacqueline doll...but you’re hardly as beautiful as me, now are you?”

With a happy sigh, Jacqueline shook her head, eyes remaining locked on the crystal. “No...”

“You’d love to be as beautiful as me, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes. As beautiful as you? Yes, yes.”

“Being beautiful has given you everything you’ve ever wanted, after all. It only makes sense that you get more if you were even more beautiful, doesn't it?”

“Oh yes. I’d love to be more beautiful. I could be...I could be number one.” Jacqueline’s heart swelled, thinking such a thought. Being beautiful was the most important aspect of her life, after all.

Arousal, hot and unstoppable, had swept through Jacqueline’s body. She couldn’t explain it, but she didn’t care. She needed, more than almost anything, a hot, hard fuck session. Preferably with Selene. Or this wonderful Master she mentioned.

“Oh yes,” purred Selene. “The most beautiful girl in the world. The sexiest. The most wanted. And you could even sleep with my boss. Would you like that?”

Be fucked by Master? Was such a wonderful event even possible for Jacqueline? That would be beyond her wildest dreams.

“Oh,” Jacqueline gasped softly. “Oh my, yes. Do you really think so?”

Selene slid off the the chair and approached Jacqueline, and began to gently massage the brunette’s heavy, gorgeous tits through her dress. Heavy cream dripped down from Selene's nipples, landing in Jacqueline's lap. Jacqueline moaned happily, soft tingles of pleasure pushing through her body. All the while, Jacqueline continued to stare happily into the crystal.

“Yes. Of course, you’d have to be much, much prettier. You’re simply not pretty enough at all, are you?”

Jacqueline hesitated now. “I mean...that is, I do get paid to be pretty...”

“But you’re not as pretty as I am, are you? And my boss fucks me constantly.”

That made perfect sense. Selene was so very right.

“Oh. Oh, right.”

Selene stepped away for a moment, opening the door and conferring with someone. She was handed a glass, and then leaned into it, squeezing her tits and filling the glass with her warm milk. The smell filled the air.

The crystal was gone. A fog felt like it had been lifted away from Jacqueline’s head. There were so many new thoughts swirling around, spiraling in her mind. She wasn’t...wasn’t pretty enough. She shouldn’t have to sort through all these thoughts until she was pretty, like Master wanted. Right?

Wait...what? No, that was wrong. That was all wrong. That wasn’t—

But then, Selene returned, a transparent plastic cup in hand, filled to the brim with a spiral-patterned black-and-white shake. In the face of her unadulterated love for Selene, Jacqueline lost all doubt once more. The crystal, still shining, dangled between Selene’s breasts, somewhat obscured by them.

“Here. Drink this.”

Cautiously, Jacqueline took the shake. “I...I’m not sure. What’s in this?”

“Beauty juice.”

“Beauty juice?”

Selene shrugged, her perfect, naked breasts bouncing happily. Flicks of milk landed everywhere. It was the single most beautiful action Jacqueline had ever seen anyone taken. “Oh, that’s just what I call it. Go on, have a little.”

Jacqueline took a sip. It was heavenly. Then—emboldened by its delicious taste, she took a much larger one.

“It’s a more refined version of what we used to call the Spiral Twist,” said Selene. “We took out all the alcohol and added some much more effective narcotics. That's the black part. The white is, well.” She giggled, stroking her wet nipple. “A house recipe, shall we say? Soon, you won’t doubt anything I say, and your body will only be useful for hard, forceful fucking by my boss, and some of the other men around here.”

“Huh? Whazzat?”

Jacqueline giggled. This drink was positively loaded with deliciousness!

Selene pushed Jacqueline back into the corner with all the pillows, tugging away at the brunette’s tiny dress. Soon it was gone—and soon after, so were her panties and bra. Completely naked and completely dripping wet before the hot, luscious suddenly naked body of Selene. The crystal was gone, but it didn't matter. Jacqueline would do anything Selene said, now.

Jacqueline’s body changed before her very eyes—her tits growing, her skin becoming shinier and even more flawless. She watched with some amazement as the mole on her left shoulder fled her body, floating like a leaf for a few moments before dissolving entirely. Her hair, already long and luscious, became amazingly, intrinsically soft—and full of pleasure. Selene, smiling, ran her hands through the thick locks, and Jacqueline moaned in instant orgasm just from the small thrill of having her hair adored.

Oh god. She had been turned into a complete sex toy just for Selene...and just for her new Master, Mister Craft.

That was so fucking wonderful.

Selene lowered her face down between Jacqueline’s legs and started to lick. First the inner thighs, then the sweet, pink folds, and then finally burying her beautiful face completely, lapping at Jacqueline's clit. Jacqueline, gasping hotly, felt the warm perfect tides of bliss float over her body. Selene’s tongue on Jacqueline’s pussy was magical. Pure delight. Jacqueline had no idea anything could be so good.

“Oh my god,” Jacqueline moaned. “Oh god...you’re so good. You’re so good, baby...oh god!”

Bucking and panting, she came, and came again, losing track of her orgasms. She didn’t even know her body could take so many. Selene did not seem deterred in the slightest by all the movements of her hips or her constant, loud screaming.

After several minutes of delight, however, Selene switched gears and began to finger Jacqueline’s drenched pussy. Milk dripped down from her tits, landing on Jacqueline's exposed torso. The skin quickly absorbed the substance, needing it.

“You love me, don’t you, dear?”

“Yes! God yes!”

“You'll do anything for me, won't you?”

“Yes, please! Anything!”

“You love my boss, don’t you sweetie?”

Selene was so calm, so serene, that she could have been typing a letter or organizing a nest of folders.

“Oh yes! Love you! Love your boss!”

“You’ll do anything for Him, won’t you?”

“Definitely!” Jacqueline panted.

“He’s your Master, isn’t he?”

“Master, yes! Please let me serve Master! I need him so bad!”

“Give me a nice cum, then, Jacqueline. Give me a cum to let me know you're a slave, just like me.”

Obey, oh yes. Her first command to obey. Jacqueline was so grateful for the chance. With a riotous, toe-curling scream, Jacqueline came—and then came again right after that as Selene continued her hot, wet fingering session.

After she calmed down, steam rising up from their bodies in the cool room, Jacqueline curled up next to Selene, the two new lovers cooing and kissing with perfect, hot affection.

Selene kissed Jacqueline on the top of the head. “You’re going to be such a good slave for your new Master, doll.”

* * * * *

Marisol Garza, second most-highly paid supermodel in the world, smiled wide as she greeted the photographer, Hans, in the empty casino floor. It was a bit odd that the casino was empty—a Saturday seemed like a natural day for a casino to do booming business—but whatever, that wasn’t her specialty. Marisol was used to businesses and locations shutting down just for her—even though it embarrassed her quite a bit. Unlike the haughty Jacqueline or self-possessed Vivian, she had never quite gotten used to her supermodel status.

“I’ve heard so much about your work,” she enthused, stepping around the empty roulette table where the shoot was due to take place. Tall lights were positioned all around it. “And I just loved that spread you did the other month with the leather.”

This was an old tactic. Of course, she had never heard of Hans or seen any of his work. But every one had heard at least something about everyone else in her industry—either at openings, parties, gossip, or otherwise—and every photographer had done something recent with leather in the last year. Leather was in—Marisol certainly had worn quite a bit of it, covering her gorgeous, trim body in leather skirts, leather hot pants, leather corsets, leather boots...really, whatever there was to wear made of the stuff. It made her a good deal of money over a series of shoots. People didn’t seem to be able to get enough of her in tight, hot clothing.

She didn’t quite understand the notion herself—she thought her body was too curvy, surrounded by so many rail-thin models all the time. The bouncy, bubbly quality of her 36E breasts got her quite a lot of attention in the modeling industry, though, especially coupled with her amply long legs and beautiful, naturally red hair.

The two shook hands and he took a long view of her, up and down. Marisol was used to the attention—though she had never quite gotten to the point of enjoying it. Small goosebumps crawled down her spine.

“I’m glad you like my work. I’ve been looking forward to displaying you for some time.” He smiled, opening his hands out to the roulette table. “Shall we get right down to it? I’m sure you’ve got a busy schedule. Don’t want to wait all day for me, all of that.”

He had a peculiarly American accent for someone who was named Hans. His brown hair, narrow jaw, and dark eyes didn’t speak to anyone especially German either. But, what did Marisol know? She barely had an accent anymore herself, after spending years modeling overseas.

“That sounds great,” she enthused. “I’m already in wardrobe, so...bring it on.”

Beneath her comfy, plush robe, Marisol had on a tight black lingerie—panties, bra, stockings. Emerald stones decorated her elegant neck, matching the gems inlaid on her expensive heels. She let the robe drop, tossing it casually on a stool nearby. Normally, these sorts of sets had personal assistants floating around...but no matter. She was an adult. She could take care of tossing a robe.

It was chilly in the casino. Her nipples began to stiffen noticeably in her tiny lace bra. A little self-conscious, she wrapped her arms around her tight, toned tummy.

“So,” said Hans, clapping his palms together. “This shoot is all about greed. We’re gonna bring some guys in, and they’re gonna be greedy for you. You represent wealth. Not to be crude, but we want to show a lot of cleavage.”

“Of course.”

Like with any part of her body, she had never felt all that comfortable with her breasts being on display—but only because there was so much of them. She felt rather jealous of models like Jacqueline or Vivian, whose proportions were so insanely perfect and feminine.

Of course, she had heard many say that she was the model of femininity herself—a perfect representation of the fertile female form. But, that kind of wording tended to throw her off. Fertility! Pshaw. At twenty-five, she hardly wanted to get pregnant any time soon. She had never even had sex bareback before.

It was odd to her that there were going to be “some guys” in the shoot, though. Where were they? Why hadn’t she been notified? She would have enjoyed talking with them before hand to try to build up some kind of a line of communication.

Oh well. Leaning forward, she posed on the roulette table as Hans prepared his camera, sticking her behind way, way out and arching her back. Modeling was all about angles, letting the audience see you from the most perfect view possible, and altering reality just enough to make you seem hyper-real. Bigger than life.

Hans’s camera was strange—Marisol had never seen anything quite like it. There were lots of strange spinning lights on the front of it, and the flashes from each photo felt like they were striking straight into her brain. It disoriented Marisol somehow, even though she felt herself thinking perfectly clearly.

Flash. Flash.

“I’m going to ask you to do some new stuff, but you don’t have a problem with that, do you? You’re a model, right? A professional? It’s all a show.”

Yes, Marisol nodded happily.

“A big show,” she said.

Flash, flash.

“That’s great,” said Hans. “And you’re really, really happy, okay? You’re practically falling in love with yourself. You’re just ecstatic, keep smiling, yeah?”

Smiling brilliantly, Marisol let out a long, delighted laugh. Totally! She was having a great time. This place was fantastic.

“Really tug at your bra, okay?” said Hans. Flash, flash, flash. “Push your cleavage together. Show off those tits. I know you love them.”

Smiling happily, Marisol did just that. She did love her tits.

Flash.

“That’s great. You look gorgeous. I know you love showing off.”

Marisol giggled happily, her pussy starting to get warm. She really did love showing off like this. It was her favorite thing in the world.

Flash, flash, flash.

“Do me a favor? Get really, really turned on? I want you to feel it. I want this to be making you a horny little sex doll, all right?”

Oh, sure. Marisol could do that. She could be a horny sex doll. Why not? This was all modeling, after all. Just acting.

Her pussy flooded with hot, easy arousal, lines of wetness beginning to drip down her stockinged legs. She licked her lips. Her fingers grazed against her nipples, and then pressed harder, tweaking them between her soft digits. Her legs splayed open, baring her barely-clad pussy to the camera.

Hans stopped for a moment, texting something on his phone. Marisol waited, feeling hot and bothered, but still brilliantly happy. She had never felt so good in her life.

Through the double-doors nearby, five strapping young men walked in, each one bigger and studlier than the last. Each was heavily muscled—and completely ripped, not a shred of fat on them. They all wore tight boxer shorts, the kind that let Marisol know exactly what kind of package they sported. Each must have been a monster...and at the sight and proximity of the beautiful redhead, two or three of them seemed to be stiffening rapidly. Smiling broadly, they surrounded her—so very large compared to her minute model beauty.

“Okay, fellas,” said Hans. “Drop your pants.”

Giggling at the absurdity of the statement, Marisol scanned the faces of the handsome men around her, searching for someone else sharing her mirth.

But then...then they actually did drop their pants. Just like that. No hesitation—they had nothing to hide, and lots to show off. Oh god.

Each cock was bigger than the last, just like the men.

Oh god. So many big, hard, supreme cocks surrounding her. Fuck. How the hell had this happened?

She was so fucking turned on. Why couldn't she calm down? Everything was so arousing all of a sudden.

“Wh-what’s happening?” she said to Hans, who had shifted forward through the ring of muscled men with his camera. “Why are they...why um, like, are the hot studs all naked and stuff?”

God, she hadn’t meant to sound like such a ditz. But these cocks were so big...some of the men were stroking them, too. And they were just getting bigger and bigger, stiffer and stiffer, and starting to ooze out hot glimpses of precum. They kept rubbing their cocks, sliding the precum into their meaty flesh, making the cocks shiny and wet. Marisol let out a hot, needy moan.

“I thought,” said Hans, flashing the camera at her, “that you were a professional. Aren’t you?”

“I...I-I am, it’s just...”

“Then you ought to let them fuck you. Just look at the camera, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

Look at the camera. Don’t worry.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

Every flash eroded another piece of her will. She didn’t have to care, didn’t have to worry. There were so many strong, strong men around. Certainly, they could take of everything for her.

Flash. Flash.

Marisol dropped to her knees, pushing her face toward the nearest cock she could see.

Something about that camera flash was affecting her, she realized, bringing a hand up to thoughtfully slide over the cock she had gotten so close to. It was making her all...all weak-willed and silly.

It was making her act like a proper little girl for once. She was so happy to act like a real woman should—submissive and sweet.

And fertile, too, she realized. Incredibly fertile.

“You’re incredibly fertile,” said Hans, again, even though she just now realized he had said it the first time. There were so many flashes, so many new thoughts. It was so difficult to keep up with all of them. “You’re such a beautiful, fertile woman. You’ve been wasting it, though. Shouldn’t you be fucked by all these men and see how fertile you really are? They’ll give you lots of cum, all unprotected. You’ll feel more warm and filled than you ever have.”

Marisol whimpered with need, holding her big tits tight. That was exactly what she wanted.

But still, there were...there were so many of them!

They would break her in half!

Flash. Flash.

Oh god. There were so many of them. So many hot, male bodies, with such cut muscles and svelte hips, pressing in on her, pushing against her. They were so strong, so masculine. All of them with such hard, hard cocks, exclusively for her.

They would break. Her. In. Half.

She let out a hot, shuddery moan, her breath coating the cock in front of her face as she stroked it harder.

So many men. So many cocks. She was just a weak little girl, made to submit and give in to her superiors. How could she say no?

“I’ve been jerking off to you for years,” said one behind her. His cock pushed hard on her shoulder, nudging her further down on her knees, further down to her place.

“You’re the girl I thought of when I fucked my wife on our wedding night,” said the man in front of her, stroking her hair as she stroked him.

Her pussy dripped hot, and, unable to help herself, she ventured out her tongue to slide over the sexy, thick tip of his cock. She moaned with ecstasy.

It. Tasted. So. Good!

“Please, Sirs,” she moaned. “Please, teach me how to be a good girl for all of you!”

Quickly, they tore off what little lingerie she had on, leaving her only in her jewels and heels and stockings. These were her ornaments, while they could ornament her with their cocks. Their hands crawled over her tight, lush body as she moaned in open submission to their combined will.

The stud in front, still holding her hair, nudged his cock against her lips. Happily, she slurped it down, moaning and licking like a good girl.

She couldn’t possibly only take care of him, though—or at least, she couldn’t and still be a good girl. She grabbed the cocks of the two men at his side, gently but forcefully stroking their premium dicks—but then she realized that the last two were left out.

Happily, she laid herself out on the floor, pulling two studs down at random with her so they sandwiched her. One quickly entered her hot, willing snatch—and the other stuffed himself inside of her tight asshole. Double penetrated, just like that.

God, she was such a good girl to be able to take so much cock. And she wanted even more. Twisting herself around, she was able to moan—almost overcome with pleasure at this point—and beg for one of the studs to fill her mouth. Of course, one agreed happily—and entered her from above, so that his hot, thick balls slapped against her forehead. That way, his cock could easily drive into the vacuum of her throat, where she sucked and slurped eagerly. The other two were satisfied with her hands on their cocks as they knelt over her incredible chest, twisted upward just for their enjoyment.

Her entire body revolved around hot, perfect cock filling her up like never before. She was in love, total and complete love, with being a slut. It was so perfect for a good girl like her to be so slutty and hot and filled with cock.

From either the piledriving force into her ass, or the amazing brute strength of the cock plowing into her pussy, or the hot thrill of being throatfucked by a complete hunk, Marisol came.

And then she never stopped cumming. Her bliss peaked, and then it rose again just as it threatened to fall. Her every muscle, every fiber was consumed with hot, endless pleasure as the cocks thrust into her holes over and over. One man would cum, pause for a few moments to warm back up again, and then stiffen once more for Marisol's hot fertile bod, just like she needed.

The hard, forceful fucking being delivered to her body from all angles was too much for her brain to comprehend fully. So, it was no wonder that, when the men started cumming inside of her, flooding her throat and womb and ass and tits with warm semen, only to remain hard and continue to fuck her, that Marisol was unable to actually process what was happening.

It was definitely no surprise that she couldn’t process the fact that her brilliantly red hair was becoming even more brilliantly red—not to mention longer, thicker, shinier, and generally more voluminous altogether. She would have been delighted to see her legs longer, her pussy tighter, her tits bigger, her face just a bit more sexified with puffier lips and bigger eyes.

But of course, she saw none of that. Perhaps, as one stud’s sweet nectar flowed down her throat, she could see out of the corner of her eyes as her tits ballooned up and swelled outward.

It’s hard to say. Marisol certainly didn’t want to concern herself with anything except for the brilliantly hard cocks stuffing her body full of spunk and covering her in hot, gooey white goodness.

And, little did she know (or care), the more they fucked her, the more she came, the emptier and emptier her brain became.

She did realize, however, that like, sucking and fucking cocks was just, seriously a bunch of super great fun. She should be doing it all the time!

After nearly an hour—the camera flashing the entire time—the men finally stopped. Marisol was properly covered in a veritable shower of cum. Giggling happily, she slipped up a handful from between her mountainous tits and gobbled it down, noting with delight when she saw her tits ripple and grow a bit more.

Her tits were getting bigger the more spunk she swallowed!

How fucking hot was that? How fucking great? She would be the bustiest model on the planet.

Distantly, it occurred to her that with all the cum that had flooded into her unprotected pussy, she was probably pregnant. These men seemed awfully virile, after all.

She giggled again. Preggo! That would soooo cool. Another set of curves for her to show off.

Above her, still clothed, Hans put his hands on his hips.

“Boys, I think you may have overdone it a little. Boss wants her upstairs in just a little bit.”

“We couldn’t help ourselves,” said one stud, slapping her big tits. Cum splattered everywhere. “She was just so smoking hot. Really, she still is. Do you think we can go for another round?”

Marisol nodded and giggled, moaning happily. They could go on her for as many rounds as they could handle.

* * * * *

Vivian stepped out of the elevator into the top floor of the Shining Spiral Casino, a bit put-off. She had figured it out—figured out everything that was going on in this crazy place. The mind control, the hypnotism, the tits getting bigger, and the men and women fucking endlessly—she had seen it all!

And she was going to expose the man behind it all and let him know who he was dealing with.

She knew that her looks would distract this power-hungry man, this Mister Craft. Certainly, he seemed to focus quite a bit on the way women looked. It was the early evening, and she still wore what she had arrived in that morning: outrageously expensive heels, pants, and a blouse.

Her tight dark pants showed off her ass incredibly—not to mention the length of her gorgeous gams—and her cleavage-baring blouse was only there to display how much her incredibly buoyant, young, perfect 36DD tits didn’t need a bra. So, of course, she didn’t wear one, exposing her twin beauties to all who looked—which was, she knew, everyone she passed.

Vivian was quite accustomed to being looked at. To say that she enjoyed it didn’t was beyond the point—it was simply a fact of life. She had been designed to be looked at and admired by the entire world. There was not a single doubt of this in her mind. Whatever could make this happen—whatever could enhance it and garner her more attention—was the morally correct thing to do.

There was also not a single doubt in her mind as to what this Mister Craft was up to. Somehow, he had brainwashed Jacqueline into being some lactating lesbian’s loveslave, and drugged Marisol so that her tits would get even bigger!

So, she strutted right past the busty secretary diddling herself in front of his office, and burst through the double-doors to his expansive office. Mister Craft was at the far end—his office rather bare and spartan—sitting behind a large desk and examining a series of papers and tablets with a pen in his hand.

“Miss Ruiz,” said Craft, barely looking up from the papers on his desk. “What a surprise.”

He certainly didn’t seem surprised.

“You think you’re so smart and superior, don’t you?” said Vivian. “You think you have this all well in hand. But, what you don't know is that I'm on to you.”

Now he was paying attention. He set his pen down, looking bemused. “Are you now?”

“That’s right! I saw how your little Selene seduced Jacqueline. That flashy pendant and those drinks, or whatever.”

His eyes began to widen a bit. Vivian let herself stand up straighter, satisfied with the reaction. A smug smile crossed her lovely face.

“I saw that gangbang on Marisol, as well. I suppose you know that all those men could go to jail for that, and you too, for organizing it.”

He shrugged. “She certainly seemed to be enjoying it. I doubt you could put together any kind of a prison sentence with her in the state she's in. How did you see all of that?”

“As if you don’t know! Your man guided me around all day, and I ‘just so happened’ to stumble on your little orchestrated dalliances? Oh no, I don’t think so at all. That’s too coincidental. You wanted me to see them.”

“I did?”

“Of course you did. You wanted me to watch that bitch Jacqueline become a hot little coquettish kitten, so eager to please and curl up in her new mistress’s lap, just aching for the chance to lick pussy on command. Isn’t that right?”

“Well...”

Vivian held up a finger to her hot, elegant chin, posing automatically—she couldn't help herself. “And of course you wanted me to see the other side of what you can arrange. The hot, terrible forcefulness of your might—how you can make men unleash their brutality and cover a willing, needy babe in showers of cum—unprotected, I might add! She’s probably pregnant now!”

“I very much expect she is. But what do you think I was trying to do with all this? If, indeed, I planned you seeing it?”

“I imagine you wanted me cowed. You wanted me scared. You wanted me intimidated. Do I look intimidated, Mister Craft?”

She tossed her brilliant, lustrous dark hair back, standing proudly.

“No,” he said. “I have to admit, you don’t.”

He actually did look surprised now, thinking about that.

“That’s right. Do you want to know why?”

“I certainly do.”

She smiled, bending over at the waist, ass held high so that he could see its luscious arc, and purred, “I couldn't possibly be scared, because I am more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life.”

His mouth hung open. “Beg pardon?”

“You heard me.” She tugged at her blouse, popping off a button, exposing even more of her perfect, toned visage. “I am turned on as hell. I want you to take me, right here, right now.”

With one hand, she cleared his desk, sliding up on to it. Her hair tumbled down her side, highlighting her sexy form. Craft was speechless.

“I’m not stupid, Sir.” She practically cooed the title. “I know you didn’t have to hire those other two models. And if you can exercise this much control and hire me, why not only bring me here? You wanted to show me how powerful you are.”

She moved one long leg over toward Craft—who had stood up, his hands wavering above her body. Her expensive heel slid up his crotch, pressing gently.

“You wanted me, in some way, to give in. But you thought you had to do it with intimidation, didn’t you?” She smiled sexily. “Only, power turns me on, Sir. It turns me on a lot. I want you to be able to own me, take me, break me, bend me to your will...but I want you do it knowing how badly I want you to do it.”

“Fuck.” Craft shook his head, grabbing at her leg now and touching it, as if to confirm that this was happening. She didn't protest in the slightest.

“Was I the object of your plans all along, Sir? Was it me you got all this money for? I did a little research, and if you offered Jacqueline and Marisol what you offered me, then you were giving up over three-quarters of your profits for the year.”

He nodded slowly, her hands on his shirt, drawing him in. She knew he was affected by her. Her beauty. He had probably watched her for years now—on the runway, on her swim shoots. Collecting candid photos of her from red carpet events.

“I bet you’ve cum to the thought of me before,” she said. “Looking at me in hot pictures of yours. Isn’t it so hot, so nice, so wonderful, that every time you’ve gazed lovingly into those pictures, feeling that hot connection, knowing I belonged just with you, only with you—isn't it so hot that every time you did that, that I was looking right back out, just at you, only at you? Don't you love knowing that even with all my beauty, all my perfection, that you were the only man I needed, this whole time?”

She tore his shirt open, revealing a broad, hot chest. Whimpering hotly, she stroked the muscles there with adoration.

“Isn’t it nice to know, Sir, that all I’ve really wanted this whole time was for your big, fat cock to fill me up?” Her green eyes were so open, so earnest. “I’ve gone on and on in interviews about being a virgin. Did you know that it was true?”

“Oh, man...”

With gusto, he ripped her pants off, revealing the sexy, hot, tanned flesh of her long, long legs. Tiny silver panties decorated her pussy—and were easily removed. Her pussy, waxed, waited for him, dripping out hot juice onto his desk.

“Did you know, Sir,” she drew her mouth up close to his, breathing so hard, “did you know that I’ve been saving myself...just for you?”

Unable to hold back any longer, Craft took her by the neck and cheek and kissed her hard. Vivian’s body ramped forward, an orgasm instantly rocking through her. She moaned tearfully into Craft, loving the cool, sublime slip of his control starting to slip over her mind. She could feel it, tendrils of his manipulation sinking into her brain...and she welcomed them. He probably couldn’t restrain himself.

Unbuttoning for a moment, Craft dropped his pants and kicked them aside. His cock—just as Vivian had hoped—was enormous, thick, and already hard. She needed it inside of her.

“How will you do it?” she asked him. “How will you take my mind? Am I feeling it already?”

“The crystals you saw, the shakes, the cameras...these are all extensions of my power. I can build them however I like, but the real power lies with me. Yes, to answer your question. I'm taking you already. Slowly. You'll be aware of every step.”

Vivian whimpered hotly. That was so fucking perfect. He deserved her.

Rancorously, she slipped her fingers straight into her gushing wet pussy. She only realized after she had done it that it wasn’t her idea—Craft had made her do that.

Mmm, god. He owned her already.

Grinning wickedly, he began to stroke his cock in front of her.

“Oh god,” she moaned, staring at it, feeling him raise her heat exponentially. “I need it! I n-neeed it! I’ve never needed anything so bad and I fucking need your cock so b-bad, Sir, please! I need you to get me pregnant, please? On my first time. Pregnant on my first time!”

As if making ready to oblige, he stepped closer, using one powerful hand to pull her in...but kept his cock a hand’s length away from her pussy. Vivian’s perfect, pouty lips moved up and down in hot, longing movements, needing to kiss him again.

“P-please...” she gasped. “Anything. I’ll d-do anything...”

“Beg for my cock,” he commanded. “Beg for only my cock.”

“Please! Please let me touch it! Let me suck it!”

“You may stroke me. But nothing else.”

Eagerly, she obeyed. She realized that, any other man would be begging to fuck her, right now. But Craft was so powerful, so incredible, that she was begging him. He made her beg him.

“Real power belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

Her hand slid so fast and easy on his slick cock. “Oh, yes sir. God, you’re so fucking right, sir. I love how much power you have.”

Gently, he stroked her hair. “Are you grateful to me? Are you grateful for becoming mine?”

“Oh yes, Sir! Thank you for owning me, sir! Thank you for making me yours.”

“I’m not sure I believe you. You know, you’ll never be able to fuck me if that’s all you’ve got.”

“Thank you for breaking my will! And all my friends, too! God, you fucking own them so good, Sir. You destroyed their wills, just like they deserved! Thank you for bringing me here to be owned just by you. Only by you! You’re my Owner, my King, my God, My Master!”

Finally he pushed her hand off his cock, and plunged himself into her cunt. She guided him in with eager passion, taking him into her like she had wanted for her whole, whole life. She had been born to be a supermodel goddess dedicated to fucking and loving her Master’s cock.

“My God,” she moaned. “My true Male. My Real Man. My Powerful Hunk.”

She said the words like that in her head as she spoke—capitalizing them, moaning them even in her mind as she moaned them out loud. She knew that was his domain now, and every small bit of affection she could coerce out of herself to give to him would be utterly his.

As he thrust into her again and again, bouncing her tits on his chest, her orgasm hovered right at the edge of her cascades of pleasure. It was building, building, building—and she knew that was him, once more, taking all the smaller orgasms he would have given her normally just from a single thrust (such a fucking hunk, her Master) and building them into one reality-breaking cum.

“I’m going to cum, Vivian,” he grunted. “My Vivian. My slave. My favorite. You want to feel it? You want my cum in your pussy?”

“Yes!” She begged him. “Please, yes! Do it now! Give it to me, Sir, please!”

Bucking and thrusting, he exploded inside of her, delivering his hot, amazing warmth just how she needed. Her own orgasm—just as she thought it would—broke the walls of her reality. Hot lines of light ran across her vision, pouring bliss directly into her brain. She was his, now and forever, and she wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way.

After what seemed like an eternity, her mind flicked back on—to the sensation of her Master, hard and ready, already inside of her.

“Please,” she moaned up at him. “Take me again?”

He did not say anything, but he answered—his thrusts starting anew, his mouth adoring her perfect breasts. From across the office, her model friends walked in—Marisol and Jacqueline—along with Jacqueline's new fertile, lactating playmate. And yet, even so, he forced them down on their knees to watch as he took Vivian again.

Vivian was so happy to be the center of his attention, to be everything that he had wanted. She would be his ultimate trophy from now on—his personal declaration to the world about what a fucking stud he was. It was so, so unbelievably perfect, and so was she, to be the one he called his favorite.