Guilty Pleasures Ch. 08

I rolled my eyes. I hardly needed to answer that!

"The tittie show, I mean," she giggled.

"You are weirdly into this show," I said in surprise.

Wanda looked at our third passenger in the window seat. It was a businessman younger than us who was already fast asleep with big, noise-cancelling headphones on. She looked back at me. "We are heading to Las Fucking Vegas for a sex trip. I figure we go whole hog!"

"Speaking of whole hog," I said, still shaking my head at Wanda's enthusiasm. "I made us dinner reservations before the show at a place up at that end of the strip."

"Oh goody. Where?"

"It is called Bazaar Meat. They do all manner of awesome animal flesh."

"You do some pretty good meat yourself," Wanda snorted, with multiple meanings. "But that is the Jose Andreas place, right?" she added, growing excited.

"I think so. How'd you hear of him?"

"He does awesome disaster relief work. He shows up with truck-mounted kitchens and trained chefs and feeds everybody, victims and aid workers alike."

"Yeah, well tonight he and his staff are feeding the two of us seventeen courses of food and drink. Probably including a whole hog for all I know."

"Seventeen courses? I have plans for you, you know."

"We can digest it during the tittie show," I snorted. "Then we can go back to Caesar's and you can give me my own tittie show..."

Fuck.

That bastard leaning against the window was not asleep after all...

*

We hadn't checked bags, so we Ubered straight to the hotel, where our room was miraculously already available. Neither of us had much luggage, and I carried all of it with us up to the suite.

The door had barely swung shut before we were both on the bed, tearing the travel clothes off of each other. This was going to be an interesting weekend...

Exhausted and simultaneously energized, we collapsed across the bed after a spectacular kickoff to our stay. Wanda moved first, uncoiling from my arms, stretching scenically, and heading for the bathroom.

"Clark! Get in here," she called urgently. "You have to see this!"

I had not looked at photos of the bathroom when I booked. It was a goddamned waterpark in there. There was a gigantic soaking tub that looked big enough for two, hell, three people to luxuriate in, and the shower was so big it had two sets of shower fixtures so a couple could shower together easily.

In fact, as we found out moments later, the shower was too big. The shower heads were so far apart, it was hard to fool around and still both stay under the running water. We settled for some intense making out under Wanda's side.

Finally, she shoved me toward my own side, where the water was wastefully running without me. Wanda looked at her watch, and laughed. "It is getting late already! Let's go ahead and get dressed for the evening. We can have a cocktail or two and work our way up the Strip toward the restaurant for dinner."

I pro forma grumbled at being made to let go of Wanda's ass, but a cocktail or three sounded like just the ticket right then. It did not stop me from appreciating the sight of her next to me, the water sluicing off her as she washed the travel funk and my own aroma off of herself. I made sure to scrub my face well...

"Watch your eyes, Mister," Wanda teased. "I'm a married woman!"

It was just a joke, but I was so happy to hear how contentedly she delivered it. This just might work.

I turned archly away. I could feel her staring at my ass, though.

It was far too hot for a jacket in the Vegas summer, so I opted for a flamboyant dress shirt and linen slacks. Wanda had brought along a stunning sleeveless dress in flowing, light-weight silk that flirted out just above her knees and plunged at the neckline. She changed into it inside that closet the size of a Manhattan studio apartment, came out, and twirled for me. I just gawked.

We only ended up stopping once on the way north up The Strip, at the Wynn. We each had a Martini to kick things off, then shared an over-sized tropical concoction before heading north again. We got to the restaurant a bit early for our reservation and enjoyed another drink while waiting.

Wanda might be 'a married woman', but I could tell she was reveling in the way I drank her in. That was good, because I reveling in the drinking.

This woman was hardly a twenty year-old hardbody, but she was lovely. And in amazing shape. And sexy as hell in an unselfconscious, natural way. And she knew what she was doing.

And spending time with her was great. We had been friends for years. We had a shared span of life in common, if not with each other.

I had a momentary flash of panic at how my thoughts were trending, but I settled almost instantly. I was not falling in love with Wanda. We might be becoming better friends, true. But this was a project we were working on. An important one. One that seemed to be working. We were both having a ball with it. But it was not something we needed to keep on doing.

Just a project.

With lots of sperm... So much fucking sperm.

Dinner was amazing. It was so good that I spent most of the time thinking about the food and not what I wanted to do to Wanda later.

Really. That good.

The show was... actually great. It was like a comedy Cirque de Soleil show with tits. And pecs. So many spectacular pecs...

Whatever my young friends Anne and Carol might be, I personally am not remotely bisexual, or even bi-curious... but these were some seriously good-looking guys in this show. The tits were good too. Very good.

I caught Wanda practically drooling over this one guy who was dancing near us. I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I thought guys were the ones who were slaves to visual images."

"Forget that psycho-claptrap," Wanda snorted, eyes not leaving the undulating washboard abs. "That man is a work of goddamned art, and I am going to appreciate him."

"I just was saying..."

"Shh! Go back to checking out those girls' asses up on the main stage," Wanda snickered. "Remember, you get to be the beneficiary of all my 'appreciation' later, back in the room."

I shut up. Besides, it really was a good show.

We started off keeping our hands to ourselves on the ride back, but when we got stuck in traffic, we were soon outright making out in the back of the Uber. The driver's reaction seemed to be more amused interest, as opposed to, 'Oh fuck, not this again.' I still felt sorry for our steaming up the back seat of his Toyota.

My hand had found its way to Wanda's breast, and I pondered the cleavage it sported. Deep as it was, it would be easy to dislodge the dress to one side or the other, giving the driver a helluva tip in his rear view mirror...

I didn't expose Wanda to him, of course, because I'm not really a pig. I just think like one inside.

As the elevator carried the two of us up toward the suite, we laughed about acting like teenagers in the back of the poor guy's car. "I thought about flashing him a little," Wanda said, scandalized at herself, "but I thought you might flip if I did."

"Poor guy," I replied. "I was thinking about flashing you at him! He missed out!"

Our laughter petered out as we entered the suite. All the lights were off except for some cool under-bed lighting, so the room was bathed mostly in fairy-colored light from the brilliantly-lit hotels all around us.

Wanda walked slowly over to the window, putting her hands gently on the glass and staring out at the view. I enjoyed my own view, but spoiled it by moving to press myself against her back. Now all I could see was out the window. I slid my hands down her sides as I pressed forward, jamming her whole body against the glass gently.

"Gonna be hard to get me naked when I'm trapped between you and the glass," was all she said, still looking out.

"I'll manage," I said, nuzzling her neck. I bunched the fabric of the skirt in my hands at her hips, then tugged upward slowly. As I felt the hem slide up past her backside, I pressed in with my hips, and leaned my shoulders back. I never stopped smoothly pulling the dress upward. When I reached her armpits, Wanda slowly raised her arms and I drew the dress free over her shoulders and head. She slid her arms free and I let the soft fabric fall to the floor beside her.

"I knew you didn't have a bra on," I murmured in her ear. Half of Las Vegas had known that from just looking at her, and I had confirmation from the exploration my hands had done in the Uber. "But I didn't know I'd find you completely naked under there..."

"Panties seem unnecessarily... extra for this trip," she said softly. "I only packed the one pair... for the flight home."

"Mrs. Franklin, I like the cut of your jib," I said, my hands back to caressing her flanks. She twisted between me and the glass, but I kept her pressed against it.

"I can't help you get naked, unless you let me turn around," Wanda scolded.

I considered this for a moment. Getting naked really was a priority, now that I thought about it. "I'll allow it," I declared lessening the pressure on her just enough for her to squirm around to face me.

Her hands went to the buttons of my shirt. I kicked off my shoes. When she had me all unbuttoned, the only downside with getting my shirt off was the fact that my hands had to leave her breasts, where they had been planted since she had turned around. By the time she had it free and was tossing the shirt aside, my hands had gone to unbuckle my belt. Wanda's hands darted back and worked open my fly. I pushed down my slacks and stepped my way out of them as well, kicking them aside.

Wanda's fingers caressed my ass through the thin fabric of my boxers. "This is too much clothing for me to take off conveniently," she murmured through the kiss we were sharing. "For the rest of this trip, no underwear for you either, buster!"

I kind of like underwear. It helps with chafing, especially in the Las Vegas summer heat. But I was not going to argue with this directive... I was going to need to carefully moisturize down there the rest of this trip, though. A rash would suck.

She slipped her fingertips into the sides of the waistband and slid them around to my belly. Then she dipped lower and took ahold of my cock, caressing it eagerly.

I had had all sorts of foreplay ideas in my mind, but they were flowing away. There was still plenty of time for all that. Right now... I didn't sense a great need for warm-up on Wanda's part either.

With both her hands still caressing my manhood, I tugged my boxers down. "There we go," she said, nibbling on my earlobe.

"No, here we go," I replied, lifting her hips in my hands. Wanda lifted her legs wide and I pressed my cock in toward her sex. I felt my head drag across her gratifyingly damp opening. I pressed my hips upward and let her sink down.

"Here we go," she repeated as I filled her. She wrapped her legs up and around my waist. I pressed her against the heavy glass, which was mercifully one-way so we were not putting on a show, and began to thrust.

Her insides clenched against my visitor, and I drew him in and out smoothly. My hands did have to stay on her hips to support her, which meant I could not give her breasts the attention they deserved. They still bobbed gorgeously against me as I began to jam us together harder.

This round was not going to last long. Neither of us wanted it to, either. This was a quick, urgent interlude to release the pressure of the whole sexy evening. That, and I was not going to be able to hold her up like this forever...

"Fuck me, Clark," she urged. "This is so gooood..."

It sure was. I felt like something was missing, though. I needed to add a...

Fuck Yancey. There, that was what I'd needed to say to myself. It was hard to summon any venom at all anymore with that mantra, as my cock filled Wanda, but it did need to be recited.

Again, lingering enjoyment was not my aim right then, and I just let myself go, driving into Wanda with a feverish monomania. I doubt it was the perfect position to stimulate her. I know it was hardly perfect for me. But the overall eroticism of the situation, along with the evening's stimulation, had us both three quarters there the second I first penetrated her..

I didn't even try to keep track of her arousal, not this time. I just pounded into her, focusing only on my need. It didn't take long.

"Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiiit," I gasped out feeling my balls clench for release. In a moment more, I gasped, "Wanda!" as I burst into her. My head flopped around desperately as I fought to keep going.

It seemed that Wanda's own body had just been balanced on edge, waiting for my release, as she came almost immediately after me, her legs practically crushing me into her as her fingers dug into my shoulders accompanied by a wordless scream. I think it was supposed to be "Clark!" But it sounded more like, "Gaaaaaaarrrrrg."

I yanked my cock free before I dropped Wanda and it got ripped off. She in turn lowered her legs and I set her unsteadily onto her feet. She threw her arms around my neck and slammed a kiss against my mouth.

We couldn't hold it long, as we both needed air.

After a few gasping breaths, I held up one finger. "Drink," I said, pointing to the bottle of Jack Daniels that I had bought upon arrival at the casino. I then held up two fingers, "Bed," I gasped.

"Good... Plan," Wanda panted in reply.

We wobbled over to the bottle. Not bothering with glasses, we each took a long pull from the neck. We both looked at the bed, smiled, and leapt for it.

The rest of the evening was slow, detail oriented, and ecstatic, but never so feverish as that moment against the glass. There were bathroom breaks, toothbrushing, and more Jack Daniels, now drunk from glasses like civilized humans, all interspersing the good stuff, but we went for quite a while, until we both collapsed unconscious, spooning together with my dick still buried inside her.

*

We greeted the day with another make-out session in the shower, followed by awesome French toast in an outdoor cafe at the front of the casino, in the already burgeoning heat.

We took a walk down the strip and ended up playing Blackjack at a table together in the Planet Hollywood casino for a few hours. Wanda actually won almost a hundred dollars. I lost... more than that, let's say. I'm usually good at Blackjack. Honestly.

We walked back to Caesar's before I could bankrupt myself, and changed into bathing suits to have lunch at the pool. After the food, we settled into the pool bar (as in, the bar in the pool) and drank frozen daiquiris. We went back to discussing a mix of gardening, Blackjack, and all the weirdos we saw walking up and down The Strip.

Wanda made a gurgling sound with her drink as she finished it, and looked at her watch.

"Clark!" she exclaimed. "Do you know that it has been almost 14 hours since you last fucked me?"

"Really? The deuce you say," I replied, just as broadly.

"My husband did not send us all the way out here for just a nice mid-week vacation, buster," Wanda went on with wide, innocent eyes. "We have a mission out here! Let's get out of this pool and get busy."

I rolled my eyes and we started to wade away. I caught sight of a midwestern-looking woman who had already left it too late to apply more or stronger sunscreen, staring at us in indignation. She must have overheard. Actually, she was staring at Wanda in horror. Me, she was staring at with an entirely different set of attitudes, the hypocritical bint. I think she thought I was some kind of bull, hired in to keep some cuck's wife happy. I shook my head and didn't share the observation with Wanda.

And by the way, there was no amount of money on Earth that would have made me do that other lady...

We never actually even had intercourse that afternoon. As soon as I had peeled Wanda out of her fairly conservative one-piece suit (we had been in a public hotel pool with a couple hundred other people after all), she started performing some kind of heroic combination blowjob/titfuck that I made last a deliriously long time through sheer force of will.

After I had had a bottle of water, and finally got my face between her legs in turn (I took my time getting there), she tasted wonderful, fresh, with just a hint of clean pool water. Why I had needed the water when she had just done all the heroic work, I don't know...

I laid her out in the center of our huge bed, and started with soft licks and nibbles around her opening and the soft skin around it. Wanda was already vocal in her approval, and things only got crazy from there. But the time I was penetrating her deeply with my tongue, she was panting loudly, urging me on. Two fingers inside her later, I was just starting to circle her clit with my tongue.

"Oh! Ohh! Ohhhhh!" Wanda cried out in three loud gasps as she came suddenly. My eyes shot up toward her face and she was deeply flushed and grinning.

Fuck that noise, I was not remotely done with this.

I never removed my mouth from her, but I slid my fingers free as I concentrated on her bud. After a moment of quiet humming, she started getting noisy again. Once she got loud, surprisingly so, I slid my fingers back inside her and probed for where she squirmed the most when I stroked her. By now, I had a pretty good idea where it was, and it didn't take me long. Soft, swift caresses, performed in time with my gentle strokes of the tongue, and the orgasmic wave she experienced hit Wanda like a freight train.

"Holy fucking shit, Clark!" she screamed. "That's it! That's it! Don't you... Oh Godddddd... Don't you stop! Ahhhhhhhhh!" It was really loud. I kept probing, and she kept coming for what seemed like forever, but probably just seemed that way, with all the noise she was making.

Finally, she violently shoved my head away, then batted at my probing hand.

"Stop! No! Stop it. For real," she called, her voice finally diminishing. I sat up and grinned down at her as she shook on the bed.

"That," I said definitively, "was loud."

"That," she replied, "was good." She collapsed back on the bed and sighed. I just smiled down at her, watching as she drifted in and out of consciousness for a few moments. After a minute, she popped her head up and chuckled. "But also, it was nice to be in an anonymous hotel room, in the middle of the day when we probably have no neighbors, so I could really cut loose and make all the noise I've been building up with you!"

At that point, we shamefully bent to our dark, basest instincts. While Wanda took a shower and got dressed for the evening, I got on my computer and read and sent emails. Then she did the same with her office while I took my shower and dressed. We agreed that this was our most scandalous and depraved moment of the trip...

We were a pretty styling pair when we were both dressed, however.

I was... a dude in slacks and a nice shirt. With no underwear or socks. I had been given my instructions.

Wanda... Oh wow. She had a dress on that was both understated and yet amazing. It was not overtly sexual at all, but the vavoom was there all right, obvious when you looked for it. It was a red satin silk sheath dress that hung to ankle length, and just grazed her lovely curves lightly. It was form-fitting but never form-clinging, and sported a long slit up the right leg that mostly stayed closed, even when walking. Mostly. Up top, it was supported in the front and back by narrow central bands of fabric that hung from an integrated costume jewelry diamond choker. Over the dress, spaghetti straps on the shoulders supported an outer layer similar to the shell tops that women usually wear under another top for modesty. This shell hung on the outside and floated nicely, obscuring but not hiding the bounce of her obviously braless breasts. It was the sort of modest dress that was anything but. A perfect Vegas slinky number.