Where gambling can lead to... (Closed)

[ForeverIllinois]

OOC:

Name: Melissa Taylor
Age: 18
Height: 5'10

"Don't want what you can't have."

Those were my brother's words, whenever he'd bring over a new thug over to our headquarters (which was essentially this fabulous mansion here in Miami), as this recruit would quickly eye his surroundings with envy, whether it be the piece of real estate, the drugs, or me - the ring leader's younger sister. I'm the last person to deny that I had a rockin' hot body. I mean, who was I to blame anybody for eying me as if I was a delightful piece of scenery? I stood a bit tall, being about 5'10, which did nothing but help people notice my long, fit legs. I worked out regularly, so I had quite a toned body - a bit slim, if not for my heavy chest. My bust is at an overwhelming 38DDD cup, which definitely caught the eye of one too many guys for my liking. Still, I couldn't complain, since this has helped me out in a few occasions; such as whenever my brother is making deals with dealers. With me around, most guys practically cave in, slobbering like dogs at the slightest cleavage, or seductive pose..


Still, that's not to say that I'm prefer under any sense of the word. I did have quite a gambling problem, which while it was not known to my fellow brothers and sisters here in the gang, my brother did know about. So Jake would often tell me to stay put whenever they had a game going on, much to my own chagrin. Instead, I would go out to the casino with my cut and blow third-quarters of it with the slots.

“God damn it.” was something that I said way too often after pulling the lever “Why am I so addicted to this thing?”

I didn't enjoy the slots as much as I loved poker, blackjack, darts or any other form of gambling that involved some social interaction. It was always fun to see the face of another when the stakes are raised higher and higher...but the thought of my brother somehow knowing that I was going against my word managed to keep me from going anything further than these simple coin-eaters. I wasn't paranoid mind you; my brother seemed to know everything that went on in Miami.

So, I was rather thrilled to hear that he was going away on a trip to Cuba, dealing with some supplies, or something along those lines...without me. Apparently it was too dangerous to have little oh me around, so I was told to stay put at the mansion. I had no problem with this, seeing as there was going to be a party.

And at 9 PM, with loud music blasting and cigar smoke blowing through the air, I walked around the property, wearing my bikini and high heels, taking note of the eyes watching my body move about; going either towards my slightly swaying hips or bouncing breasts. While it was fun to see angry girlfriends yelling at their boyfriends, I had to find something else to occupy my mind. But what?

 

[lovingfingers]

Robert Venton pulled his Porsche into the drive of the mansion. He was vexed. He paid good money to the man who lived here to keep his enterprise free from dealers and other low life. He ran a casino on board two yachts, which whisked gamblers into international waters. He prided himself on having anything on board that a well to do person would want, legal or illegal. He had an agreement with Eduardo. He purchased from Eduardo. Yet, he had twice caught dealers on board attempting to ply their trade. It would not do, and he had come to have a chat with the man who promised him this would never happen.

He exited the car and walked to the door. He knocked and waited.

 

[ForeverIllinois]

The evening had seemed incredibly dull; everyone seemed to be either high out of their minds, drunk out of their minds or both. I was at a loss for words and didn't know what to do at this party when suddenly, I heard a ring come from the entrance...which seemed odd to be, considering that we weren't expecting anybody mainly because anyone important enough should have already been here.

"Anyone going to get that...?" I asked, though my voice fell to deaf ears.

With mumbled cursing, I went to the door and asked "I'm sorry, just who might you be?" as I opened it.

 

[lovingfingers]

The door opens with a jerk, and I am momentarily on guard. Eduardo is not always the most pleasant of individuals. My eyes widen though when I see who is standing inside. Gorgeous just begins to describe her, a body straight out of a fantasy, dressed only in a bikini and heals. And she looks irritated.

I extend my hand, "Robert Venton, owner of Venton Offshore Amusements, and I am here to see Eduardo. And who are you?"

I can see you sizing me up, and I assume that gives me license to do the same. Yes, I would sell my soul to fuck you. But you are probably Eduardo's fuck toy, and that would be a problem.