“I can’t believe we’re back in Las Vegas.” Francesca Williams, née Torelli, tugged at her bikini top, which as usual couldn’t contain her lush breasts. “And for another wedding, too!” After a few minutes, she gave up, untied the strings and tossed it to one side. Grabbing the SPF 30, she spread a thin, glistening layer over her ripe tits. The sensation of her own hands gliding over her flesh made her nipples crinkle and sent little sparks to her clit. She closed her eyes, the better to appreciate the pleasure. Since her last visit to Sin City, little Franny had become quite the hedonist.
Her best friend Laura, sprawled on the chaise next to her, hadn’t even bothered to put on a suit. Of course, Annie had told them she’d booked the whole motel for the weekend, and that most of the guests wouldn’t arrive until late Saturday, so they could let their hair down. Still, Laura used to be a good deal more discreet, at least in public.
Their previous trip to Vegas had changed them all.
Laura tilted her sunglasses down onto her nose and looked around her. “Not exactly the Desert Breeze Resort,” she commented.
The motel was vintage eighties, a sprawling two story place built around a central courtyard. Both sides were lined with rooms with sliding glass doors looked out on the huge kidney-shaped pool in the center. The ones on the second floor had balconies, while the ground floor rooms opened onto patios with umbrella-shaded tables and chairs. In the winter, a dome protected loungers from the weather, but the cover was mostly retracted now. The April sunshine here was stronger than August sun in New Jersey.
Francesca understood Laura’s point. This place didn’t begin to compare to the high-end facility where her father had organized her own wedding six months earlier. There was no poolside bar, just a rank of vending machines; no casino, only two or three slots in the lobby; no golf course or fitness center or luxury spa. But the Holiday House did have a ballroom big enough to accommodate fifty or sixty people and a decent coffee shop. Furthermore, the enclosed pool area offered a good deal of privacy. Hence Laura’s somewhat surprising nudity.
“Don’t be so elitist,” Fran scolded. “You know as well as I do that Annie and Ted don’t have a lot of cash. I’m sure holding the wedding here will be great.”
Laura flashed her a devilish smile. “No doubt. I’ve heard that Holiday House is quite popular for visiting swingers’ conventions.”
“And where did you hear that, Ms. Know-It-All?”
“A little birdie told me.” Chuckling, she flipped over to tan her naked back.
Fran admired the graceful curve of her friend’s spine, swelling out to those perfect heart-shaped buttocks, and sighed in frustration. Her own outrageous wedding weekend had awakened all sorts of new desires, but she knew from experience that Laura would reject her overtures. The woman would suck half a dozen cocks if she felt the urge, but there was no way she’d let another girl into her panties.
Oh well, thought Fran. There are lots of female fish in the sea, especially around here. She wondered whether Annie had invited Lily, Jeanette and Bridget, the lusty dancers they’d met over at Larry Archer’s strip club. Well, perhaps “met” wasn’t exactly the right word. Fran flushed with sudden heat, remembering the way Lily had devoured her virgin pussy. She closed her eyes, savoring the recollection. The way the woman’s tongue burrowed deep into her cleft, then teased her clit until she thought she’d explode. The fireworks blasting through her as the girl made her come over and over. She could almost taste the cunt-juice the Asian girl had fed her in those deep, soulful kisses afterward. Yes, she’d really enjoy seeing Lily again.
“Franny! Laura!” The bold alto voice came from behind her. “O’Hare was socked in with six inches of snow. In April, for Christ’s sake! I thought we’d have to cancel.”
“Chantal!” Fran sat up and twisted around. “We heard about the blizzard. We were worried you wouldn’t make it.”
A statuesque black woman stalked into the open space, sleek and powerful as a panther. She wore a red leather coat belted at the waist, and knee-height high-heeled boots. She was followed by a delicate-looking blonde swaddled in a down jacket. “Yeah, it was touch and go for a while.” She sat down at the foot of the chaise and shrugged the coat off her shoulders. Underneath she wore more leather. “Nice to be warm for a change.”
Fran threw her arms around her old friend’s neck. “It’s wonderful to see you!” She paused to check out the chrome studs and silver zippers adorning Chantal’s outfit. “You look—um—amazing.”
Chantal gave her an unabashedly lecherous once-over. “You look delicious yourself. Married life obviously agrees with you.”
Fran smiled, remembering all the fun she and Jake had been having since their nuptials. Just last night, for instance, he’d slipped an ice cube into her snatch while he fucked her in the ass. The sensations had been indescribably intense.
They so much time having sex, it was surprising they got any work done. Francesca’s father had made Jake manager of one of his restaurants in the city. Fran did graphic design for an online magazine in Soho. At least three days a week the two of them met somewhere in Manhattan for a quickie. Much more entertaining than lunch!
Chantal smirked, as though she could read Fran’s mind.
“Jake and I are very happy together,” Francesca said with mock primness.