Can He or Can't He?

I had heard that Lewis Hart had checked into the Mandalay Bay, but I didn't really believe it until I saw two luscious babes, one blonde and one a red head, cooing over an old guy at the hotel pool. He could have been anywhere between seventy and a hundred and seventy. It wasn't that he looked a wreck, but that he looked like he'd been totally replaced a couple of times over his lifetime. That was Lewis Hart, the head of a pornographic magazine empire. Rumors had gone around at one time that he was gay, but, if so, he put up a really good show with the young women he kept on a string. I'd always assumed that the rumor had just been floated by his competitors.

He was known to keep at least two young girls on the leash at a time, and I recognized the blonde as last year's Miss July, and the red head quite possibly was the following November. I had to laugh at seeing the highly and obviously very carefully preserved Lewis Hart in the flesh—or maybe better said in the plastic—with those young girls, because I remember having jacked off for the first time to "reading" the photo spreads in his signature magazines in my parents' basement after having discovered why my dad stole off into the basement from time to time and came back upstairs looking so satisfied with himself. Knowing how old those magazines were, I bet some of Hart's girls—who where known as just that, the Hart Girls—were grandmothers now.

As I watched the three of them by the pool—the LBs—luscious babes, as I couldn't help from thinking of them—codling the thin old guy in the chaise lounge between them, I couldn't help but wondering if the other legend about Hart was true—that he had a twelve incher and was able to keep his girls happy with more than his money and a promise of glossy photo coverage in a high-circulation skin magazine. Couldn't tell now, though, as he was wearing pretty roomy wild-colored boxer swim trunks. He wasn't in bad shape, however, and I certainly hoped I'd be able to manage his muscle tone if I was lucky enough to reach his age. Of course, to do so I'd probably have to make the sort of money he did and keep a closet full of plastic surgeons handy.

More important than size, though, I wondered if a man his age could get it up anymore. And, if not, I wondered if either one of those babes cooing over him needed some handholding on the side. I decided to assume that they did.

My eyes went on to the LBs, not only because I was now thinking if they might be lonely behind those smiles but also because they were wearing next to nothing and left nothing to the imagination of how well they were toned up—which was quite nicely.

The blonde reminded me of Sheryl back in Tennessee, who was one of the biggest reasons I was out here in Las Vegas. She had nice knockers like that and the sweetest smelling cunt. If I'd just been caught fucking her under the bleachers at our junior college, I would have been hailed as a stud across campus, but since Tad, the football team's quarterback was humping me at the same time, I quickly gained a reputation of being perhaps a bit too cosmopolitan and free and easy for the sleepy southern town I was living in.

Someone told me that Las Vegas was the "anything goes" town, so I drifted out here and looked for a job that would give me casual access to lots of fun folks and a variety of sex. Joining the wait staff at a major casino hotel fit the bill perfectly, and the clientele at the posh Mandalay Bay Hotel was great on the pocketbook. I'd ball some filthy rich widow or be balled by some corporate CEO in the afternoon in their hotel suite and, depending on how grateful and generous they were, I'd be able to hit the casinos or the swinger or gay bars of the old downtown area in the evening.

I wasn't really on duty, but I hadn't taken off my uniform yet, so I grabbed up a tray from the bar and went over and asked if there was anything they needed in the way of drinks or snacks or quick fucks or anything. Luckily for me the red head was thirsty—and I'm happy to say that both girls gave me the look over and appeared to be pleased with what they saw. I happily replenished their drinks and even more happily took note of their suite number when the red head signed for the charge. The man himself just laid there and looked hard at me. I think he was smiling, but I'm not sure he knew he was—with the amount of plastic surgery he'd had to look like Cary Grant, I don't think he could feel his face at all.

I went over to the other side of the pool and sat under the thatched roof of the bar kiosk and watched the three of them at play. The more I watched the more I wanted to take Lewis Hart's position between the LBs—and to have them paying the attention to me that they were paying to him. I had tried various combinations in sex before, but I hadn't yet balled two babes at once. I wasn't even quite sure how the logistics of that worked. But I certainly was willing to give it a go.

As I watched, Hart grew more animated at the attention he was getting. I kept an eye on the crotch of those wild-colored swim trunks to see if there was any evidence that he was alive down there, but I didn't see any. He certainly seemed able to play kissy face, though, and his hands were roaming in some pretty interesting places among the LBs. It was getting pretty interesting and moving well beyond a G rating when Hart said something to the girls and they started gathering up their considerable paraphernalia. As they headed for the hotel elevators, I raced to the central kitchen and sat beside the room service call-in board.

I still was off duty, but the kitchen staff never turned down extra help or a bit of money under the table now and again. And by now they knew I was one of the "fringe benefit" staffers in the hotel—one of those willing to make a certain type of well-heeled hotel guest happy without being too picky. I figured I could fuck or be fucked by almost anyone as long as the tips were good and the hotel kept those nifty blackout curtains on its guest room windows.

I sat by the board and, sure enough, an hour later the Oriental Suite light lit up, and a call came in for two bottles of champagne and a cheese tray and three glasses. I snatched up the ticket when the order was ready and stopped by my own room before going up to brush my teeth and hair and grab up a handful of condom packets. No reason not to be prepared, I thought.

The lounge was empty when I passkeyed into their suite after discretely knocking and receiving no reply. But I heard murmurings from the bedroom, so I plowed on through, almost not believing my luck and hoping I'd find them still at it. They were in the king-sized bed, all of them, when I entered the room. The red head smiled at me with a sardonic smile when I entered. "You the only one working the drinks service throughout the hotel today?" she asked.

"Yes, just about," I answered. "That OK with you?"

"Yes, more than all right," she answered. She was wearing a nice, welcoming smile and nothing else. I could feel myself going hard at the mere thought that I was having a "the weather's nice, isn't it?" type of conversation with two naked LBs in bed stretched out on either side of a naked octogenarian. I took my time setting the champagne and cheese tray up. And as nice as the four tits winking at me were, I must admit that my curiosity went to verifying that legend about Lewis Hart's dick. And, sure enough, the legend was true. There must be about a foot of him lying there against his thigh. It was soft now—and one curiosity was replaced with another one: had he been able to get it up at all for whatever playtime the three of them had had in the last hour? Something must have made them thirsty. I could only hope that it was unfulfilled lust for the two LBs—which I would be more than happy to help them with.

I'd worn what I called my "glad rags" uniform, having changed into that after coming off shift and before going out to the pool. These were my "a bit small" shirt and trousers, which showed off my goods to the best advantage. I'd been going to the pool to snag a roll in the hay and a big tip, as I originally fancied going over to the casino down at the Golden Nugget in the old town that evening. Seeing Lewis Hart and the LBs there at the pool had just readjusted my plans a bit—a bit longer campaign for a bit more potential benefit. And it was no longer a matter of money. If I could threesome fuck with the LBs, I'd even pay for it, if need be.

The LBs must have liked my "set the champagne up and flash my basket" routine, as now it was, surprisingly enough, the blonde who made the proposal. Up till now she just sat around with pouting lips and perky tits and a naturally blond bush and watched me.

"Sorry we don't have a tip on us at the moment." she said—and I guess she was being funny, because they didn't have a stitch of clothing on them among the three of them. "But if you're able to come back this evening about eight and, um, provide some room service, we'll tip generously."

Needless to say, I was back at their door at the strike of eight PM.

Once again a discrete knock got no response, and once again the lounge was empty when I passkeyed myself in, although the door was open to the balcony and the curtains there were billowing in the evening desert breeze. Hot damn, I thought, as once more I went on through to the bedroom.

Double hot damn. The LBs—and only the LBs—were on the bed, and they didn't hear me knock if for no other reason than they each had their faces in the twat of the other.

The red head came up for air long enough to say, "Oh there you are, dear boy. How nice of you to come. We'll do what we can to help you come again. Make yourself comfortable."

"Yes, and perhaps you can help us by making yourself as big a possible before joining us," the blonde added.

I stripped in no time flat as the girls went back to munching on each other's cunts. And then I pulled a chair up near the foot of the bed and settled myself into watching that action and started stroking myself off as the LBs massaged and fingered and licked and sucked each other to distraction—certainly to my distraction.

"My, my, my," the red head said, surfacing. "Look at what a fine cock he has, Cindy."

"Magnificent. Powerful," Cindy answered. "Firsties, Dawn," She then said.

Ah, yes, Dawn was the name, I thought. The red head indeed had been Miss November then. What might have put me off was that she must have shaved her cunt since the photo shoot. That V of curly strawberry hair at her crotch had been quite memorable, whereas now she was hairless down there—although her perky labia were rosy enough. I'd try not to complain about the loss of hair as I sank my cock between those two puffy wings.

"Come on up and see us, love," Dawn chirped.

I didn't need to be asked twice. I was so hard I felt like I was dragging it across the carpet between the chair and the bed.

I squirmed up between the two of them and assumed the Lewis Hart position—on my back between them. I had parted the waves while they were in the 69 position, so we started from there, Dawn opening her lips to mine and Cindy closing her lips over my cock head and flicking at my piss slit with her tongue.

They took a time out to raise their torsos over my belly and do some kissing of their own, while I took a tit from each and rubbed the taut nipples together. They moaned together—Dawn in soprano and Cindy in a rich contralto—and then Cindy went back to sucking my cock and fiddling with my balls and, after giving me a bit more mouth-to-mouth work, Dawn started a long tonguing journey down my neck and onto my chest, where she sucked on my nipples while Cindy proved that she could deep throat. And then Dawn resumed kissing down my sternum and across my belly, which quivered nicely for her, and on down to join Cindy in licking and teething my cock, each girl to a side.

I warned them that I was about to shoot off, but they both just laughed, and it was Dawn whose mouth came down over my cock and took and swallowed my spouting cum.

Here's where I thought I would be giving the girls a thrill. The question was still out whether their sugar daddy could get it up—but I don't think there was much chance that at his age he could keep it up and reprime it every fifteen minutes as a young virile stud like I could do.

Immediately after I'd shot off—and still being hard—I came up off the bed and grabbed the nearest girl I could, who turned out to be Dawn, and pushed her down on the bed with her butt at the foot of the bed. I reached over for my trousers and found a condom and crowned myself while Dawn cooed and ran the tops of her toes up and down my calves. Then I parted those rose labia lips with the fingers of one hand while I palmed her belly with the other, and I slowly inserted my cock between those two puffy wings. Dawn splayed her legs for me, and Cindy scrambled up and straddled her chest and presented Dawn with her own cunt to kiss and tongue while I shallow-fucked Dawn, rubbing the bulb of my cock up and down across her clit until she shuddered in orgasm. And then I deep-dived my cock into her and rode her hard to my second ejaculation.

Dawn scampered off the bed then, and Cindy laid back on the bed as Dawn came out from under her and I barely had time to pull the condom off and Cindy was licking my balls and playing with my cock with her mouth again. I brought my chest down to her belly, running my hands between us and covering her tits and worrying her nipples with my thumbs and forefingers, and my lips and tongue found her cunt.

Meanwhile, Dawn was knelt behind me and was licking and fingering my asshole.

I had no idea what Dawn was up to back there, and I was too occupied with lollypopping Cindy's cunt to concentrate on my own ass. But I should have known they were setting me up—that Lewis Hart was probably hiding somewhere in the shadows and enjoying the show—because the next sensation I had was of my hips being seized in broader hands than Dawn's and the twelve-incher of Hart's starting its long journey up into my ass channel. I should have known that he was lurking about all of this time and that he was calling the shots—that he had used the LBs to get me in position for his own devices.

And, more important—he was, without a doubt, still able to get that whole foot of cock hard. Because he was stuffing it all inside me and it most certainly was hard and he had one hell of a back swing.