The Big Build-Up

Carnies got a word for a crooked game operator like me. They call me "flattie" cuz I'll flat-out rob you and make you like it.

My name's Randy Everhard and I've got a million ways to take your money. One of my personal favorites is the "hopper shot." It's tossing softballs into toilet seats, which you've seen on every midway in your life.

I could gaff the joint to make it impossible to win. But where's the fun in that? I work it so any chucklehead can win all night long.

Cuz once I've hooked a live one into thinking he can take me for a ride, that's when I nail him with the "build-up."

Caught up in the excitement of winning game after game, the rube's built up to play twenty games at two bucks a pop. And the only prize he's going home with is a teddybear that cost me three shekels per, wholesale. You do the math, Einstein.

The problem with selling three-dollar plush for forty scoots is that the build-up only pays off if you've got a steady string of suckers. And that night was turning out to be a real larry.

The Laff Riot carnival was a flattie's wet dream. The grab joints and flashy rides were a front for the real action: flat stores, alibi and percentage joints, crap tables, slot machines, fortune wheels.

The show was running wide open. Everybody crooked and every joint gaffed and nobody doing a damn thing to stop it. I figured the cops were greased slicker'n Liberace's asshole.

It should've been like shooting trout in a barrel. Too bad nobody was taking my bait. I was up shit creek without a paddle to piss on. My first goddamn night with the show, and already I was itchy for a new angle.

I can't remember which one of them I saw first: the blonde come-on dressed like she had an exhibitionist streak a mile wide or the square in the coke bottle glasses who was eyeballing her like she was nothing but something to look at.

Of course, that Coppertone beauty really was something to look at. She was turning heads and raising dicks all over the place. But I didn't like him getting his eyes all over this piece of 100% corn-fed cocktease.

She was stacked like a double-decker Ferris wheel with nipples that could cut glass. The red double-0's stenciled on her football jersey were stretched over humongous hooters. She looked like a shooting gallery, bursting at the seams. You couldn't miss those twin titty targets.

I'm talking knockers so big you could still see them when she turned around. And believe you me, she was one woman who looked as good going as she did coming.

She wore a pair of daring Daisy Dukes that were so short and tight her crotch sucked them in. The denim over her ass was thread-bare, blown out like a retread.

And if that wasn't enough, she was doing a number on a cherry Popsicle to make your peter wish it was frozen on a stick. That girl was one carnival ride I wanted to jump on quick, and I didn't care how many tickets it cost.

In my racket, though, business comes before pleasure. And this looked like a golden opportunity to work the key scam. It's the oldest con in the carny book.

I jumped the counter and made my way over to the chump with the steamed-up glasses. I was like, "Hot enough for ya? And I ain't talking about the weather, fella."

At first he didn't buy it when I told him I was the "manager" of this fine talent. He just stood there mopping his brow with a hanky.

"I don't fuck chickens and I don't shit feathers," I said, "and I wouldn't lie about a piece of ass like that, neither."

I gave myself a hard-on feeding him the fast talk: screwing her would make a man think he died and gone to heaven, where the streets are paved with solid gold snatch.

"She's a sight for sore eyes, ain't she? And if you think I'm giving you lip, you oughta see her go to town on a dick. Life-transforming, friend. Life-transforming."

I pulled out an old key I kept for just such an occasion. Dangling it before his bug eyes, I spieled how it was the key to her room at some motel outside of town.

"I'm talking once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, pal. She's the reason hard-ons were made." He swallowed it all -- hook, line and sinker.

* * *

Chuckling over what he was going to tell his wife when he came home minus his paycheck, I made my way over to the sultry sex kitten.

She was throwing heat like a furnace. Melting chocolate bars at twenty paces. It was too hot to fuck, but next to her, that scorcher felt like a cool, seaside breeze.

"I just made you twenty bucks, and all you had to do was stand here looking gorgeous, Gorgeous."

She didn't say anything, just looked me up and down and blinked those big baby blues. The sheen of sweat on her face glowed under the neon lights. She'd sucked all the flavor out of the end of the Popsicle, so the tip was white. I fished out a crisp, new bill and passed it over. She let it rest in the palm of her hand as she stared at it, confused. She tried giving it back to me, but I stopped her.

"See that guy over there?" I asked, stepping aside to give her a glimpse. "He just paid me a lot of money to sleep with you."

"He what?" she goes, insulted. She threw down what was left of her Popsicle and took a step closer. Her eyes burned like a butane flame.

Like most women, she looked better when she was steamed. But I didn't want her making a scene. She was liable to blow the act.

"Don't get yer panties in a bunch," I said, shutting her cakehole with my hand. I told her about the con and then nervously took my hand away. I was sure she was gonna blow up again. But she kept quiet.

I told her we had to scram and didn't give her a chance to say no. I just put my arm around her waist and steered her toward the exit gates. I gave Pops a back-handed wave as we booked outta there double-time.

My dick is long and my cons are short. Cop and blow, that's my motto -- take the money and run. Otherwise things got a way of getting ugly.

* * *

Two minutes later, we were hauling ass down the highway in my supercharged Chevy Menace. It was an acid green two-door with cheetah seat covers, four on the floor and dual exhaust. Twin cams and 440 horses under the hood.

"Say," I said, "what's your name, anyway?" I was hoping to get to know every inch of her better. She smelled like coconut oil. Her tanned skin gave off heat like asphalt that'd been baking in the sun all day.

"Bunny," she goes. "Bunny LaFever." She was a real piece, too. I couldn't wait to do all sorts of dirty things to her. "How much you take him for?" she asked.

"Two-fifty." In actuality I scored three-fifty. But if there's one thing I know about women, it's never tell them exactly how much money you've got.

* * *

Back at my room at the God Bless America Truckstop Motel, she showed me that that sweet and innocent show was just a put-on. I was glad, though. I prefer a girl with some experience under her belt.

Before I knew it, she was all over me like stink on shit. Purple from the Popsicle, her tongue sprung to the back of my throat and then snaked all over the inside of my mouth like she was mining the gold fillings out of my teeth. Despite all the tongue wrasslin', her hands were nowhere near where I wanted them to be.

My dick had been so hard for so long I thought it would blast off like a rocket, but she kept her distance. The teasing was cute at first but enough was enough. I grabbed her hands and planted them on the tent pole in my pants. She pulled away and took a few steps back.

"You trying to insult me? You think you can have this body for free?" Bunny squeezed her 'lopes together, serving them up for my hungry eyes: "These tits alone cost five bucks to look at."

I chuckled nervously. "C'mon," I go, "quit screwing around."

"I'm totally serious. Five bucks or I'm gone."

I started laughing for real, digging the little swindler. What else could I do but pay up? She had me right where she wanted me. This was one of those times in a man's life when he knows his dick's doing the brainwork but he doesn't care. Whatever the dick wants, the dick gets. That right there's the whole story of my life.

I plucked a five-spot from my wallet and waved it like a flag of surrender. She just looked at it. "I don't want your money now," she goes. "Pay me later."

"Whatever you say." And I just eased back on the bed to enjoy the show.

She peeled off her T-shirt and out bounced those giant, all-natural juggs. She had razor sharp tan lines from the sling of a skimpy bikini top. You could tell from her nips that the air-conditioning was on full-blast.

Bunny danced around the room, wiggling and shaking everything her momma gave her. I looked her up and down until I could've guessed her weight. She had all the right parts in all the right places and then some.

She neared the bed and leaned over me to let those massive, all-American melons swing inches above my face. "Wanna taste them?" she goes. As if she had to ask.

I lifted my head to suck the tantalizing titties into my mouth, but she snatched them away.

"Five bucks," she goes.

"All right, five bucks."

"Five bucks each, big spender."

"You got it."

"Pay me later," she cooed, and moved closer to bury me beneath her treasure chest. "Mmm," she purred, "you suck real good."

"Damn straight," I mumbled. "You're getting my money's worth."

She only laughed as her fingers spider-walked down to my crotch and unzipped my fly. "You'd like a tit-fuck, wouldn't you?" It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. Some girls are mind readers, but Bunny LaFever was the first dick reader I ever had the pleasure to meet.

"Twenty bucks," she barked.

I was like, "A bargain at twice the price. Pay you later?"

"That's right, bright boy."

We switched places on the bed so that she was on her back. I kicked off my shoes and pulled down my pants and underwear. This dick of mine's got its own zip code and time zone.

When she gripped the shaft, her fingers didn't reach all the way around. She was like, "Lucky for you I'm still in my size-is-everything phase."

"Me, too," I said, dropping to my knees to straddle her. My hard-on slipped between her cleavage like a hot dog in its steamed bun. She pressed them together to make the sandwich good and tight as I began my strokes.

I humped her hooters harder to push my dick closer to her succulent mouth. She stuck out her pink tongue and tickled the tip. Back and forth it fluttered over the head.

"There's a freebie," she giggled. "But I won't take one in the mouth for less than twenty."

"How much to swallow?" She had to think that one over. "Thirty," she answered. "And that's only cuz I like you."

I dismounted and stood beside the bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress to let her mouth get better acquainted with my cock. Her tongue twirled over my shaft until it looked like a monument of polished marble.

She blew me good and slow, repeatedly bringing me to the edge of orgasm and then stopping until the urge melted away.

The build-up felt so good it hurt. I never begged anyone for anything before. But tortured by her talented tongue, I was actually begging for mercy.

After some more tongue lashing, she finally let me fill her mouth. She swallowed, too, and it felt like my whole body was sliding down with it.

* * *

My hard-on was history, but the rest of me wasn't ready to say good-bye. Me and Bunny were just getting acquainted. My hands pored over that porno-perfect body, feeling the taut muscles and smooth skin of her legs and stomach.

My fingers tried to squeeze down the waist of her tight shorts, but only got a touch of underwear elastic. I was like, "How much to lose the shorts?"

"Twenty."

"Twenty? It only cost ten to see your tits!"

She got out of bed and made with the hand-on-the-hip. "Inflation, baby. Twenty bucks or I get dressed right now and take these with me," she threatened, grabbing her grandiose glandular globes.

"Okay, whatever you say. Take 'em off, take 'em off."

"Hold your horses, cowboy -- I'm worth the wait."

The hootchie-kootch she put on burned holes in the back of my eyeballs. She began her bump-and-grind real slow and steamy, undoing her fly one button at a time. Sashaying that fine ass back and forth, she peeled off her shorts.

"Lose the panties," I go. My throat was as dry as yesterday's toast.

"Twenty bucks," she said.

I nodded. My dick was in no state to dicker.

She whipped them off. I could see she was a real blonde, if you know what I mean.

Next to the bed now, she lifted her leg over my head and planted her foot beside my cheek. She smelled sweeter'n a crisp fifty dollar bill.

"Eat it," she goes. She meant business, too. "Eat me for ten dollars more."

It didn't take much to get her there, squealing and trembling as orgasm bloomed in her belly.

After that climax, her legs were a little wobbly. She joined me on the bed. I saluted her with my stick.

"Ram that in me." Her voice was a smoky whisper as she seized my steely shaft and pulled me toward her.

I was like, "How much?"

"We'll settle it later." She got down on her hands and knees and impatiently wiggled her assets at me. I've been all around the world and seen many things, but nothing beats the business end of a woman.

I entered her dead-center on the first stab. Inside she was like grainy satin. Bunny screwed selfishly, using my cock to get herself off.

But I didn't care. I was getting the best of it, too. One hand washes the other.

She was making animal noises I'd never heard before or since. We were waking up the neighbors. Somebody pounded on the paper-thin walls.

Digging the pucker of her asshole, I got a big idea. Without missing a stroke, I grabbed her handbag and dumped its contents on the bed. I found what I was looking for: a squeeze-bottle of suntan oil.

I slopped oil over my hands and her backside, and slid my fingers up and down her crack. "How much?" I asked, poking half of my index finger inside and rotating it in slippery circles.

"All of it," she grunted. "I want all of it." I didn't know if she was talking about my money or my dick. But I didn't give a damn either way. She could have 'em both.

* * *

Something like six hours later, we fell into an exhausted heap, panting and listening to the early morning rumble of idling eighteen wheelers. I watched her tits rise and fall with every breath. They jiggled when she started to giggle.

"Ante up, bright boy," she laughed.

I groped for my wallet and slapped two hundred-fifty from that afternoon's score into her open palm. "Easy come, easy go," I sighed.

"Spoken like a true carny."

"How would you know?"

"Cuz I'm with it," Bunny explained. She meant she was with the show. "My folks were carnies. I learned every scam years ago."

That explained how Bunny knew about the build-up. She played that con like a pro. Just goes to show that sometimes you can shit a shitter.

I rolled over and reached for the remote. My head was still buzzing. We crashed with the help of a handful of goof-balls.