admin
23 Mart 2023, 14:31
Normal disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead is coincidental. All persons depicted in sexual acts are at least 18 years of age and consenting adults. Please, enjoy yourself.
I would like to give my deepest thanks to Spector_Dugan and neuroparenthetical for their beta reading and editing skills. Huzzah!
My phone vibrated. I glanced down at it for a moment. The little red number on the icon meant that I had a new Facebook message. I don't use that messenger all that often, but I still have it, just like I assume most people do. I was busy working, so I ignored it for a while.
Now, generally, these messages are all the same: something along the lines of, 'Hey there, long-lost classmate from 25-plus years ago. Now that you're working at a fancy Las Vegas resort, could you hook me up with a free room, or show tickets, or get me on the VIP list for the club?' or some sort of Vegas perk so they can feel like a VIP or high roller.
Don't get me wrong; these requests don't bother me. I understand it. It is human nature to want to get free things and look like a big deal to friends and family. Generally, I can tell them that I'm just working in the IT division and don't have the pull to get them the things they want. That usually ends the discussion. Maybe they'll want to have a drink for old times' sake at some point. I've even taken a few of them up on that drink offer over the years. I generally end up buying, not because I feel bad, but because I can.
The truth is, I can get anyone I want basically anything I want at my hotel, or at one of the three other sister properties we own here in town. You see, I don't just work in Technology and Security; I am the Vice President of the entire division for four popular properties along the famous Las Vegas strip.
When I'd left my last position at a different casino, there had been an extensive bidding war between them and a two rival chains for my services. I had ended up with not only with a top-notch salary every day I saw her I'd wanted to. I just never had the guts, the nerve, or any self-confidence. I had been terrified of rejection because I hadn't been from that upper class group of friends she'd migrated to. We had lived in her neighborhood, but not because my family had been rich. Dad had inherited the house when his uncle died, well before I'd been born. There'd been no mortgage payment for my parents to navigate. If there had been one, we'd have been living across the tracks in a double-wide trailer, probably with a broken-down, rusted-out El Camino on blocks in the front yard.
So, I had worshiped her from afar, destined to remain in her friend zone. Had she known I'd had a crush on her? I'm not sure. She had treated me as a true friend. Despite my feelings for her, I truly had enjoyed her company. I had decided that I would rather keep that friendship with her than take the risk of losing her from my life. For four long years, all of my emotional energy had been focused on Beth Anne Byers.
Beth had gone out east to college right after graduation. Three weeks after I'd awkwardly hugged her neck in our cap and gowns, I'd been on a bus to basic training in San Antonio. That had been the plan for me, college paid for on Uncle Sam's dime.
I had signed on for a six-year bid in the Air Force. I would love to tell you that boot camp transformed me physically, and that I had grown into this muscular bad ass. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'd struggled with the physical training. I was smart and a fast learner - I could break down a rifle in record time after having read the manual only once. But running obstacles with one on my back? I had been the last one to finish the course every damn time.
I'd been way behind on my run times and couldn't do more than a single pull up without falling face-first into the mud. I had been destined to fail, to flunk out, to face yet another rejection. I'd learned the manual and regulations inside and out. I'd aced every test on paper, but I had known deep down that it would never be enough. I'd been Rus Escort (http://eryamansu.com/ad-category/rus-escort/) ready to quit - to give up my sign-on bonus money and my shot at getting an education paid for.
My drill sergeant had pulled me aside the day before basic training was to end. He'd told me I was going to be pulled out of my platoon; they were paper whipping my physical drills so I could graduate. I was being sent across the country to join a communications squadron in Georgia immediately after graduation. I would be on a plane east that very night.
Georgia was where I had finally begun to develop just a little self-confidence, because I had taken to that role like a fish to water. Within six months, I had begun training experienced officers how to best use the technology at hand. I had started to make recommendations and had helped to develop next-level innovations - stuff the civilian market still hasn't seen decades later.
I had been promoted four times in the following three years, an almost unheard-of pace for that type of work. After a few years, I'd been shipped to another base just outside of Washington D.C. There, I had been given higher and higher levels of clearance. Suddenly, I had believed it when people called me smart. Colonels, Generals, Cabinet members, other very important people had all started coming to me to ask for my opinions. I had still been just 5'6 and 105 pounds dripping wet, but I had found my place in the world.
I'd begun dating occasionally in Georgia, usually set up by the wife or daughter of one of my officers. I'd had my first clumsy fuck in the back seat of an aging Honda Accord. Her name was Rhonda Jameson. She'd been a tag chaser and very aggressive from the moment we had met. Honestly, she'd scared me more than a little. However, she had wanted to have sex with me, and I had wanted to have sex too - just maybe not with her specifically. We'd had one follow up date before she had moved on to the next desperate soul.
After I had been shipped to D.C, I had met the college-age daughter of a colonel, a shy, slightly chubby blonde named Emily. We had dated off and on for a few months. She'd provided me with my first couple of enjoyable sexual encounters. Her father had soon retired, and they'd all moved home to Vermont. It hadn't been much in the way of experience, but it had at least been something.
My six-year commitment turned into twenty-two, but I had eventually retired from the military, despite some serious retention efforts by the good people in the Pentagon. I had worked with a couple of outside firms in my time there and had managed to leverage those contacts into some consulting jobs while I exhausted my GI Bill. Technology degree in hand, I finally I'd made the jump into the casino game (pun intended) and that had led me to Las Vegas.
Beth, meanwhile, had graduated with a degree in the arts and interior design. She'd married during college, and she'd had a daughter with husband number one. From what I remembered from her recent Instagram postings, she had recently divorced husband number three and was pledging to take a little 'me' time.
She was still stunningly beautiful. There was a hint of a wrinkle around her eyes and perhaps some sag in her still-plentiful rack, but that sparkle was still there when she smiled. She had the year-round tanned skin of a woman who spent a lot of time under the sun in a bikini. She had lived in exciting places: Miami, Barcelona, San Francisco. She was still toned, in shape, and turned heads when she wanted to.
Her message said her daughter, Bonnie, was getting married soon. Bonnie wanted a lavish Las Vegas wedding. Beth wanted to know if I had recommendations for venues or places to host the event. Naturally, I plugged my home property, as we had an immense grand ballroom. I got her in contact with the director of the event planning office. I also gave her my number.
She seemed excited and from there on I heard from her about once a week via text. At first, it was just questions about places and things to see and do while they were Sincan Escort (http://eryamansu.com/ad-category/sincan-escort/) here, but more and more, they turned into small talk, catching up on the details of our lives not normally mentioned in social media updates.
Bonnie was the spitting image of her mother. They appeared to be the same height, had the same auburn hair, and possessed the same sparkle in the eyes when they smiled. She also had a similarly-round ass and top-notch breasts. A lunch break spent scrolling through Beth's Instagram posts led me to doing the same with her daughter's. High school-me would have been head over heels in love with the both of them.
Beth was going all out on the wedding, sparing no expense, because - as she put it -- "I've got three ex-husbands' worth of money to spend, and I only have the one daughter to marry off."
The bridal party itself would be small, but Beth made up for that in extravagance. She reserved the fanciest ballroom, ordered the most outlandish cake, and the most lavish floral arrangements - the whole nine yards. There would be an open bar and high-end entertainment for the reception. You name it, she had ordered it.
I got an official invite in the mail. Beth mentioned that Bonnie was going to stay with her in a room before the wedding, and then the bride and groom would have a Honeymoon suite at another property, so there could be the classic tossing of the rice and limo ride away. There were just three bridesmaids: a set of twins and the Maid of Honor. They were sharing a suite. I upgraded their reservations to be adjoining suites, just a couple of floors below me, with expansive balcony views and a private concierge on call around the clock.
'Oh Ollie, that's too much' Beth texted once I told her what I had done. I sent her pictures of the views from their suites.
'Consider it part of my gift' was my reply.
Beth sent me a picture of her blowing a kiss to the camera. I could not help but smile at the sparkle in her alluring green eyes.
'We'll have to spend some time catching up after the wedding once all the insanity is over and done,' she wrote.
'Of course. I would love to do that, but don't forget,' I reminded her, 'we have someone to handle all the insanity for you. All you need to do is call the event planner or concierge, and they handle it.'
'Some things are better left to the mother of the bride,' she insisted.
I wasn't sure what else there was to do, but my experience with big fancy casino weddings was to stay the hell out of their way and to watch the cameras closely.
When the weekend of the wedding arrived, I sent our car service to meet them at Harry Reid Airport. The driver called me while they were en route, and I met the ladies at the hotel entrance. I saw Beth first. She was exactly as she was the last time I had seen her in person, some twenty-plus years before - still just as beautiful, with flowing brunette hair, sparkling green eyes, and that radiant smile that could melt the hardest of hearts.
She walked up to me, her perfect boobs bouncing pleasantly, and said, "You must be Oliver. I'm Bonnie. Thank you so much for all your help!" She hugged my neck unexpectedly.
I was stunned. The woman in front of me was Beth as I remembered her - the same build, same voice. Then Beth appeared beside her with suitcases. They had the same hair, the same eyes, and the same alluring smile. Beth was slightly more tanned. Bonnie appeared to be perhaps an inch taller, but that could have been the difference in the shoes they were wearing. Otherwise, they were identical at first glance.
Beth stood beside her, and I was smitten all over again. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. "Oh Ollie, it's been too long!" She rested her hands on my shoulders and smiled right through my eyes and into my soul. I was fifteen and obsessed all over again.
Bonnie broke the trance. "This is Amaya, my Maid of Honor. And then over here are Misty and Melody, my other bridesmaids." I shook Amaya's hand. She was a tall, athletic
I would like to give my deepest thanks to Spector_Dugan and neuroparenthetical for their beta reading and editing skills. Huzzah!
My phone vibrated. I glanced down at it for a moment. The little red number on the icon meant that I had a new Facebook message. I don't use that messenger all that often, but I still have it, just like I assume most people do. I was busy working, so I ignored it for a while.
Now, generally, these messages are all the same: something along the lines of, 'Hey there, long-lost classmate from 25-plus years ago. Now that you're working at a fancy Las Vegas resort, could you hook me up with a free room, or show tickets, or get me on the VIP list for the club?' or some sort of Vegas perk so they can feel like a VIP or high roller.
Don't get me wrong; these requests don't bother me. I understand it. It is human nature to want to get free things and look like a big deal to friends and family. Generally, I can tell them that I'm just working in the IT division and don't have the pull to get them the things they want. That usually ends the discussion. Maybe they'll want to have a drink for old times' sake at some point. I've even taken a few of them up on that drink offer over the years. I generally end up buying, not because I feel bad, but because I can.
The truth is, I can get anyone I want basically anything I want at my hotel, or at one of the three other sister properties we own here in town. You see, I don't just work in Technology and Security; I am the Vice President of the entire division for four popular properties along the famous Las Vegas strip.
When I'd left my last position at a different casino, there had been an extensive bidding war between them and a two rival chains for my services. I had ended up with not only with a top-notch salary every day I saw her I'd wanted to. I just never had the guts, the nerve, or any self-confidence. I had been terrified of rejection because I hadn't been from that upper class group of friends she'd migrated to. We had lived in her neighborhood, but not because my family had been rich. Dad had inherited the house when his uncle died, well before I'd been born. There'd been no mortgage payment for my parents to navigate. If there had been one, we'd have been living across the tracks in a double-wide trailer, probably with a broken-down, rusted-out El Camino on blocks in the front yard.
So, I had worshiped her from afar, destined to remain in her friend zone. Had she known I'd had a crush on her? I'm not sure. She had treated me as a true friend. Despite my feelings for her, I truly had enjoyed her company. I had decided that I would rather keep that friendship with her than take the risk of losing her from my life. For four long years, all of my emotional energy had been focused on Beth Anne Byers.
Beth had gone out east to college right after graduation. Three weeks after I'd awkwardly hugged her neck in our cap and gowns, I'd been on a bus to basic training in San Antonio. That had been the plan for me, college paid for on Uncle Sam's dime.
I had signed on for a six-year bid in the Air Force. I would love to tell you that boot camp transformed me physically, and that I had grown into this muscular bad ass. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'd struggled with the physical training. I was smart and a fast learner - I could break down a rifle in record time after having read the manual only once. But running obstacles with one on my back? I had been the last one to finish the course every damn time.
I'd been way behind on my run times and couldn't do more than a single pull up without falling face-first into the mud. I had been destined to fail, to flunk out, to face yet another rejection. I'd learned the manual and regulations inside and out. I'd aced every test on paper, but I had known deep down that it would never be enough. I'd been Rus Escort (http://eryamansu.com/ad-category/rus-escort/) ready to quit - to give up my sign-on bonus money and my shot at getting an education paid for.
My drill sergeant had pulled me aside the day before basic training was to end. He'd told me I was going to be pulled out of my platoon; they were paper whipping my physical drills so I could graduate. I was being sent across the country to join a communications squadron in Georgia immediately after graduation. I would be on a plane east that very night.
Georgia was where I had finally begun to develop just a little self-confidence, because I had taken to that role like a fish to water. Within six months, I had begun training experienced officers how to best use the technology at hand. I had started to make recommendations and had helped to develop next-level innovations - stuff the civilian market still hasn't seen decades later.
I had been promoted four times in the following three years, an almost unheard-of pace for that type of work. After a few years, I'd been shipped to another base just outside of Washington D.C. There, I had been given higher and higher levels of clearance. Suddenly, I had believed it when people called me smart. Colonels, Generals, Cabinet members, other very important people had all started coming to me to ask for my opinions. I had still been just 5'6 and 105 pounds dripping wet, but I had found my place in the world.
I'd begun dating occasionally in Georgia, usually set up by the wife or daughter of one of my officers. I'd had my first clumsy fuck in the back seat of an aging Honda Accord. Her name was Rhonda Jameson. She'd been a tag chaser and very aggressive from the moment we had met. Honestly, she'd scared me more than a little. However, she had wanted to have sex with me, and I had wanted to have sex too - just maybe not with her specifically. We'd had one follow up date before she had moved on to the next desperate soul.
After I had been shipped to D.C, I had met the college-age daughter of a colonel, a shy, slightly chubby blonde named Emily. We had dated off and on for a few months. She'd provided me with my first couple of enjoyable sexual encounters. Her father had soon retired, and they'd all moved home to Vermont. It hadn't been much in the way of experience, but it had at least been something.
My six-year commitment turned into twenty-two, but I had eventually retired from the military, despite some serious retention efforts by the good people in the Pentagon. I had worked with a couple of outside firms in my time there and had managed to leverage those contacts into some consulting jobs while I exhausted my GI Bill. Technology degree in hand, I finally I'd made the jump into the casino game (pun intended) and that had led me to Las Vegas.
Beth, meanwhile, had graduated with a degree in the arts and interior design. She'd married during college, and she'd had a daughter with husband number one. From what I remembered from her recent Instagram postings, she had recently divorced husband number three and was pledging to take a little 'me' time.
She was still stunningly beautiful. There was a hint of a wrinkle around her eyes and perhaps some sag in her still-plentiful rack, but that sparkle was still there when she smiled. She had the year-round tanned skin of a woman who spent a lot of time under the sun in a bikini. She had lived in exciting places: Miami, Barcelona, San Francisco. She was still toned, in shape, and turned heads when she wanted to.
Her message said her daughter, Bonnie, was getting married soon. Bonnie wanted a lavish Las Vegas wedding. Beth wanted to know if I had recommendations for venues or places to host the event. Naturally, I plugged my home property, as we had an immense grand ballroom. I got her in contact with the director of the event planning office. I also gave her my number.
She seemed excited and from there on I heard from her about once a week via text. At first, it was just questions about places and things to see and do while they were Sincan Escort (http://eryamansu.com/ad-category/sincan-escort/) here, but more and more, they turned into small talk, catching up on the details of our lives not normally mentioned in social media updates.
Bonnie was the spitting image of her mother. They appeared to be the same height, had the same auburn hair, and possessed the same sparkle in the eyes when they smiled. She also had a similarly-round ass and top-notch breasts. A lunch break spent scrolling through Beth's Instagram posts led me to doing the same with her daughter's. High school-me would have been head over heels in love with the both of them.
Beth was going all out on the wedding, sparing no expense, because - as she put it -- "I've got three ex-husbands' worth of money to spend, and I only have the one daughter to marry off."
The bridal party itself would be small, but Beth made up for that in extravagance. She reserved the fanciest ballroom, ordered the most outlandish cake, and the most lavish floral arrangements - the whole nine yards. There would be an open bar and high-end entertainment for the reception. You name it, she had ordered it.
I got an official invite in the mail. Beth mentioned that Bonnie was going to stay with her in a room before the wedding, and then the bride and groom would have a Honeymoon suite at another property, so there could be the classic tossing of the rice and limo ride away. There were just three bridesmaids: a set of twins and the Maid of Honor. They were sharing a suite. I upgraded their reservations to be adjoining suites, just a couple of floors below me, with expansive balcony views and a private concierge on call around the clock.
'Oh Ollie, that's too much' Beth texted once I told her what I had done. I sent her pictures of the views from their suites.
'Consider it part of my gift' was my reply.
Beth sent me a picture of her blowing a kiss to the camera. I could not help but smile at the sparkle in her alluring green eyes.
'We'll have to spend some time catching up after the wedding once all the insanity is over and done,' she wrote.
'Of course. I would love to do that, but don't forget,' I reminded her, 'we have someone to handle all the insanity for you. All you need to do is call the event planner or concierge, and they handle it.'
'Some things are better left to the mother of the bride,' she insisted.
I wasn't sure what else there was to do, but my experience with big fancy casino weddings was to stay the hell out of their way and to watch the cameras closely.
When the weekend of the wedding arrived, I sent our car service to meet them at Harry Reid Airport. The driver called me while they were en route, and I met the ladies at the hotel entrance. I saw Beth first. She was exactly as she was the last time I had seen her in person, some twenty-plus years before - still just as beautiful, with flowing brunette hair, sparkling green eyes, and that radiant smile that could melt the hardest of hearts.
She walked up to me, her perfect boobs bouncing pleasantly, and said, "You must be Oliver. I'm Bonnie. Thank you so much for all your help!" She hugged my neck unexpectedly.
I was stunned. The woman in front of me was Beth as I remembered her - the same build, same voice. Then Beth appeared beside her with suitcases. They had the same hair, the same eyes, and the same alluring smile. Beth was slightly more tanned. Bonnie appeared to be perhaps an inch taller, but that could have been the difference in the shoes they were wearing. Otherwise, they were identical at first glance.
Beth stood beside her, and I was smitten all over again. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. "Oh Ollie, it's been too long!" She rested her hands on my shoulders and smiled right through my eyes and into my soul. I was fifteen and obsessed all over again.
Bonnie broke the trance. "This is Amaya, my Maid of Honor. And then over here are Misty and Melody, my other bridesmaids." I shook Amaya's hand. She was a tall, athletic