Chapter 12
The day before Angela's scheduled Las Vegas show opening, Big Bill drove Harry across the desert in his Caddy convertible, allowing plenty of time to make the five-hour trip.
When they arrived on the outskirts of the city, on the other side of town from the world-famous Strip, they checked into the motel room Big Bill had re-served. He would have liked to stay at Angela's hotel, but even his money and influence couldn't get the furnace room, what with the fantastic, fabulous crowds that had already checked in. However, his money had managed to purchase some other amenities.
After checking in, Big Bill suggested that both he and Harry get a good night's sleep -- alone, just to make sure both of them were in top shape for tomorrow night. Harry couldn't agree more, and said so.
The next day, they stayed around the motel, taking some sun and loafing around the swimming pool. They could have picked up some cunt, but Big Bill, even more than Harry, was determined that both of them be fresh, including sexually, for Angela's opening night scene. And, Big Bill especially had his reasons. He didn't want Harry wandering into the casinos and dropping any loot, either. Nothing must distract either of them- from what was to take place that evening.
Since arriving in Vegas, Big Bill had discovered a big change had taken place at Angela's hotel.
It seems that the featured entertainer, a Sinatra-type singer, had developed an acute case of laryngitis, and had had to cancel out completely. It was such a last-minute scene that the management, franti for almost any replacement, had hit upon using Angela herself, and had moved her from the lounge into the main room, giving her sudden and unexpected star billing. Of course, her favorable press notices in recent months hadn't hindered. Management felt it was not taking that much of a chance. But, they had almost no choice, so chance or not, Angela was now headlining the show.
Big Bill, therefore, had to make some last-minute changes himself. Lucidly, he had the cash on hand to do so, though he certainly didn't tell Harry about it. What he did tell Harry was a little plan he'd worked out, as he said, to "surprise" Angela. That is, their table -- which Big Bill had arranged for -- must be close enough for them to see her, but not for her to spot them. That way, they could give her an opening-night surprise that even she wouldn't be prepared for. All in gratitude, of course, for the good times she'd given both of them according to Big Bill.
After briefing Harry for the third time, just to make sure, they toasted their enterprise with Harry's favorite Gallo wine, clinked glasses, "Down the hatch!" Then, Big Bill called a taxi for them -- he didn't want to have to hassle over parking, and be-sides, he wanted to make a fast getaway for other reasons -- and soon they were sitting at their table. The table was about six or seven feet from stage front but with an excellent view. They began drinking champagne, watching and waiting for Angela to appear.
The opening act, a lounge-type comedian making his first showroom appearance, who should have stayed in the lounge, according to Harry -- "The men's lounge." After he had got off stage to mild applause, the lights went to black for about five or ten minutes while Harry gulped bubbly as fast as he usually drank wine and waited impatiently for Angela to do her thing.
Finally, the spotlights came on again, the heavy spangled curtain raised over the stage, and ...
Angela appeared.
And, when she swirled on stage, the applause, the whistling, the foot-stomping was thunderous.
Her costume was a silk seraglio outift, harem pants and all, and there were three exposed areas of her body. In short, both breasts and one cunt were ... well, not exactly bared but minimally concealed with a thin gauze-like flap of material over them. Each flap moved with the slightest disturbance; so that every time Angela made a move, those flaps flipped open, and her three most interesting append-ages were revealed, at least for a few seconds.
As the band broke into some hard-rocking, spiffy stripping music, Angela bowed. As she did so, the flaps really flipped out -- as did much of the audience -- and Harry, his tongue hanging out as if he wanted to lick and suck those exposed areas, was so enraged (and excited) that Big Bill had to forcibly restrain him from getting right on stage. He said, "Please, Harry ... relax, don't make yourself conspicuous, wait for the magic moment."
Reluctantly, Harry settled back in his chair.
Big Bill sipped his champagne, smiling, thinking of all the money he had invested in his scheme, buying off about half the waiters and stage managers and other hotel personnel. He'd had to. What he had set up was against most laws, even those of wide-open Nevada. He had even had himself covered with liability insurance, courtesy of none less than Lloyds' of London. As for Harry; too bad, he thought, you really asked for it, you and your teasing, tempting woman, and you are both going to get it tonight.
Angela started to dance.
She opened with her hip-swiveling special, with her hands demurely at her sides and her feet firmly planted in one place. She started slowly, wiggling her buttocks in time to the music, listening to the sounds slowly but surely increase in tempo, adjusting her movements accordingly.
As the saying goes, "Her ass was grass."
Her haunches were moving up and down, side-ways, all around, her shimmying and shaking perfection personified. And, her innocent, trusting expression only increased the sexual interest of the men in the audience. A few even had to be restrained by the waiters from trying to join Angela on stage.
Then ... with her ass still swinging in high gear, she reached her hands to her breasts, causing a collective "Ohhh!" to escape from the audience.
She tore the flap from her right breast.
"Ahhh!"
She tore the flap from her left breast.
"Uhhh!"
She started to rip off her blouse, tearing the expensive silk fabric into fragments, tearing it into strips and dropping them on stage, still moving her sweet, sensuous ass without missing a beat. Until -- she was naked from the navel up.
"Wow!"
She kicked off her left shoe, right into the audience. An aging, bald-headed fellow caught it, and started to sniff at it, his nose working like a horny rabbit's.
She kicked off her right shoe into the audience, and a young stud got it, poured his drink into it, and lifted it high as a gracious toast to Angela's talents.
Next, she pulled her harem pants up to her knee-caps, exposing her lovely leg -- to heavy, exuberant applause -- and started to remove her stockings.
Standing on one foot, her rear still spinning as if a separate part of her, she carefully peeled off her right stocking, and tossed it over the footlights. One of the musicians caught it and stuffed it inside his jacket, to take home for a souvenir.
She carefully peeled off her left stocking, also tossing it away, and a middle-aged lady got this one, which she stuffed into her purse.
As for the flap over Angela's palpitating pussy ...
Well, that was flip-flopping like a sheet in the wind, and the people in front-row, first-table center were getting their eyeballs full of quivering cunt, right up to their own flapping eyebrows. Angela, it seemed, was doing her own thing to the point of auto-eroticism. She was turning herself on, too ... right on stage.
She started to pull away the flap covering her cunt .. when a cop suddenly appeared in the aisle leading toward the stage.
The hotel had its own security guards in the audience, of course, but, this was strictly a city cop, heading straight toward the stage. He started shouting, waving his club at Angela and gesturing also around the audience, "Lady if you take off any more of your clothes, I'm putting you under arrest!" Glancing at the audience again, he added, "And that goes for all of you, tool"
The Maitre d' and some security guards, plus the manager, intercepted the bluecoat and tried to persuade him to take his dogmatic moralizing else-where. Big Bill grimaced and groaned inwardly; the police were the only people that he hadn't bought off, and he certainly didn't expect them to interfere in the first place, not with Vegas being known for "anything goes."
The cop, still on and in the line of duty, shoved aside his detractors and continued his march toward Angela. She, as if to taunt him, ripped off her entire set of harem pants, and threw them right into the cop's face. And, since she was not wearing . panties, her entire crotch area, with her beautiful, juicy snatch -- and by juicy, she was spurting wetness like a water faucet now, turned on by her exertions and the audience's applause -- exposed to total public view. With the spotlight centered right on her churning cunt.
As for Harry ... he was hopping mad; mad enough to hop right out of his chair and head for center stage. He brushed off any hands attempting to restrain him, including Big Bill's, and was on stage in seconds, standing right next to his undressed woman, his face reddish with rage, his very flesh quivering with righteous anger at her exposure in front of all these paying customers.
Well, that had been part of Big Bill's plan. To get Harry pissed off enough so that he'd try to stop the show, at which strategy Angela would decide to leave him once and for all; or, so Big Bill had assumed. However, the cop was the sand in the soup, so to speak; the timing, the situation, was so off schedule, that Big Bill was tempted to grab the cop by the arm and drop a hundred-dollar bribe into his sweating palm and let the whole scene take place as he'd originally envisioned it.
Too late.
There was Harry, still on stage, confronting Angela, his arms flailing wildly as he shouted, "Angela, what the hell's the matter with you, taking off all your clothes like that, in front of all these people?"
Angela, whose feeling of great fun, whose sexual stimulation, whose entire ego trip was rapidly be-coming dissipated by her bedmate's remonstrations, replied haughtily, "You're an idiot, Harry! Don't you realize this is my job? I'm being paid to do this, you fool, and I don't care if my audience is one or one million, I like doing it for the money and the plea-sure of the thing!"
She slapped him twice, once on each cheek, saying, sadly, "Maybe I wouldn't have to do this for a living -- if you'd bring home the money for a change!"
That got to Harry, but good.
He grabbed the nearest mike, screaming at the audience -- most of whom were now leaving, except the manager, the Maitre d', the waiters, and the cop who was being restrained by some showgirls from proceeding any further at the moment -- a diatribe, which went something like this:
"What the fuck ... my woman here on stage ... looking like she's ready to fuck the first guy who gets it up here ... teasing all you horny guys ... that's not fair ... if anyone should fuck her ... it's me ... I'm her fucking man ... ain't I ..."
Angela managed to whisper somewhat loudly in his ear, "Harry, get the fuck out of here or I'll leave you.
That was the wrong word -- leave.
Harry yelled "Fuck you!" into the open mike and, as those two words were amplified and reverberated from the walls of the entire room, he started to take off his clothes. Seconds later, he was just as naked as his woman, and his huge erection, wide as a trowel and strong as the cop's club, was exposed for all the audience to see.
Including the cop, who turned fireman red in the face, pushed the nestling showgirls away and, waving his club at Harry, shouted, "All right, that's it, this whole place is under arrest!"
Then the bluecoat started to shove his way through the crowd, most of whom were simply standing and staring, some (mostly men) at Angela's churning cunt, others (mostly women) at Harry's monstrous cock. The manager and the Maitre d' were heading toward the officer again, trying to re-gain the initiative, frying to preserve some law and order in their establishment.
As for Harry, the past several months of frustration and titillation had reached their climax. He really didn't give a good goddam anymore. He was out for more than sexual satisfaction now, he was hell bent for revenge.
So, he spun around on his heels, swiveling his prick like a fireman's hose, making sure all the audience got a good look at his pride and joy. Then, again addressing the paying customers via the open mike, he said, bluntly but surprisingly without bitterness, "All right, you want to see a show? Watch this -- I'm gonna fuck my woman right on stage -- and standing up -- with lots of dancing -- and no goddam hands at all!"
The briefest of thoughts roared through Angela's brain -- "He must be really mad!" -- before Harry, shaking his ass at the audience, moving his feet as if doing a soft shoe, lunged forward, waving his hands wildly in the air as if either surfing or swimming, and let his cock connect with Angela's cunt.
The force of his driving thrust got his cock right into Angela's cunt, right past the entrance, ducking the cunt lips and clit that she had almost put "En-garde." She felt the impact of him inside her, and, before she could move away -- actually, the way her orgasms, though auto-erotic and self-stimulated, were going, despite her vocal protestations to the contrary, she really felt like fucking, if not Harry, almost anyone else. He gave another driving lunge forward, and her juicy pussy was too wet and too much in wonderment to stop him. He connected, he got right in on target, and her dripping membranes moved over to allow him to shove his sword into her scabbard, right up to the hilt.
The audience, almost as one voice, gave out with a gasp of amazement. Angela started to struggle, to push Harry away. But, as Harry's prick began to move about inside her, connecting with every muscle, tissue, and nerve fiber it could Rind, she began to feel the jolts of a million volts. It was as if her entire body was one huge depository for conducting elec..trical current. It was like holding on to a live electrode, the way her vagina was gripping his cock; there was so much shock being turned on that it couldn't let go.
And then ... her orgasms really started breaking out in full force.
He could feel her suddenly move closer, as he kept on moving his hands, making giant circles in the air, keeping his feet sliding back and forth on the polished stage floor and retaining his balance with the surprising dexterity of a circus acrobat. She moved closer, throwing her arms around his waist and getting her fingernails dug into the quivering flesh of his buttocks. He could feel her full, fleshy breasts and those erect, pointed nipples stabbing into his chest, She got her mouth alongside his left ear, and her tongue snaked out and started to burn in his ear and lick lovingly into all of its open spaces.
The audience was applauding.
What else could they do? It was turning out to be a pretty good show, even better than they'd expected.
The security guards, meanwhile, were pretty busy restraining those same customers, who were crowding around the stage, some cheering Angela, others applauding Harry, and a few giving vent to cheers over both. The lone officer of the law, angry beyond belief that his call for reinforcements hadn't yet been answered, started to storm the stage, threatening to club anyone who got in his way.
And -- someone did.
Big Bill.
But not for the obvious reasons. Big Bill wanted the cop to stop the spectacle, hoping to get Harry arrested and then he could lay claim to Angela's favors. However, he made the mistake of getting in front of, rather than behind, the cop, and the bluecoat bopped Big Bill right above the bridge of the nose. As Big Bill slid silently to the floor, the cop leaped on stage and started for the wildly-fucking couple ...
Suddenly he realized something.
On duty or not, in uniform or not, he was getting a goddam good erection. And there wasn't a god-dam thing he could do about it. Except ...
Fuck it off.
Angela was licking, sucking, fucking; her membranes whiplashing Harry's rod like a violent tropical storm. His prick was like a sinking ship, in that he still hadn't started coming, and she was coming all around it. Her pussy was pouring out its thick, sweet juke and both of them were sweating cloudfuls of perspiration, as if it was raining on both of them. Harry was rocking while she was socking, his balls bursting, his prick quivering, as Angela rammed her pussy into his crotch, her tits into his chest, her tongue into his ear, almost shouting wordlessly the theme that screamed in her mind: "God-dam you, Harry, why don't you come?"
She felt a jabbing and stabbing in her wideopen, well-rounded ass.
It was the cop, who'd dropped his club of wood and was trying to insert a club of flesh instead. He'd unzipped his fly, pulled out his prick, and was now ramming and jamming it up her ass, right into her shuddering sphincter muscles. They opened wide to let his instrument in.
With the cop, so to speak, out of legal action for the moment, the Maitre d' -- a tall, elegant fellow -- came striding on stage, holding a chair. He quickly placed it down on the right side of Angela, away from where she was tongueing Harry's ear, He, too, could no longer control his surging sexual drives, and he had even whipped off everything below the belt, and was now thrusting a long limber dick into Angela's right ear.
His imaginative endeavor seemed to inspire an imitator. One of the bouncers, also a tall guy, brought along not a chair, but a small two-sized table, placing it on Angela's left. Standing on it, and, simply unzipping his fly, he rammed his quivering prick into Angela's left ear.
One of the customers from the ringside tables up front, an aging, pot-bellied old man with thick glasses and balding skull, had passed out some cash to two of the security guards. They were hoisting him on their burly, brawny shoulders. As one of the heavies yanked Angela's tongue from Harry's ear, the other one forced open her mouth, and the old guy got what half-assed erection he could muster right into Angela's slurping, sucking mouth.
While, not to be outdone, two bleached-blond guys who looked like beach bums from Venice West itself, apparently in town for a night or two of gambling and wenching, got on stage on either side of Harry and Angela. Their ploy was simplicity itself. They stripped down to the athletic supporters they'd apparently been wearing beneath the suits they had just discarded and, squeezing their dicks over the elastic edge, pried Angela's hands loose from Harry's ass and substituted their erect members. Into her hot and squeezing little hands for a bit of jerking off, since there were no more entrances left.
As Jimmy Durante once said about everybody wanting to get into the act -- in this case, Angela's cunt -- just about everybody did.
That is, the audience, what was left, stormed the stage.
Under their onslaught, their barrage of bodies, Angela and Harry -- and everyone fucking, or trying to fuck, Angela -- went down on the bottom of a stumbling, screaming scrimmage pile of quivering, palpitating bodies, buried under hundreds of pounds of flesh and bones, all trying to touch at least one square inch of skin of Angela's lovely body.
While Harry, feeling the passionate pressures of all those sweating, swirling bodies also all over him, found that it was sufficient for his balls to release his sperm.
And ... he came ..
Angela, feeling all that other fucking as well -- and now so far sexually gone that she really couldn't remember or recollect how it had all started and who was now finishing it -- got a withering blast from Harry's cock, as, explosion by explosion, Harry's wide-edged, hard-driving dick went off like a nu-clear bomb inside Angela's cunt.
Blast by blast, spurt by spurt, Harry fucked her as if he was the world's greatest fucker, and each explosion just a little bit stronger, with more pressure and feeling, than the preceding one. He could feel him tearing her apart and turning her on, his ejaculations blending into her orgasms as if they truly were two bodies united- in one flesh -- in one final, fantastic fucking before the world ended.
And, in that supreme moment of sexual gratification and satiation, the world ended for both of them. Temporarily.
For, due to the weight of all those other romping, stomping bodies piled nearly ceiling-high on them -- they both passed out.