Bimbo Casino: The Complete Series (The Shining Spiral Saga) (2 page)

“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 décor.

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.

* * * * *

W
aking 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.