The bachelor party - the ultimate celebration before one of your friends leaps into the commitment of marriage. My friend Shawn was about to be married, and I was one of his groomsmen. My good friend Andy would be his best man, and for the bachelor party, we planned to go to the Holy Grail of bachelor party meccas – Las Vegas. I was twenty-eight years old and spent the months leading up to his wedding working all the overtime I could, saving up cash for the best time ever. I ate nothing but hot dogs, ramen noodles, and Hormel chili to save a few grand for the trip.

We would spend a week in Vegas, staying in three different resorts, booking expensive suites in each one. It would be the best trip we would ever take as a group of friends, one none of us would forget.

On our first day, after settling into our fantastic room, our merry band of seven hit the Strip to get hammered. We are professional alcoholics and used to a mile-high elevation at home. It took some serious effort to catch an alcohol buzz at such a low elevation. We wandered from bar to bar, pounding ungodly amounts of hooch, then took a cab to Fremont Street to see some Old Vegas. Heading to a strip club right away, we couldn’t wait to blow our hard-earned money on seeing the high-class entertainment of legends.

Where I live, you can go into a strip club, have a seat at a booth, order a drink, chill for a minute, or go to a stage and tip money to a pole dancer. Girls may come by, sit at your table, chat for a bit, then ask if you want a private dance. I was under the impression that it was how strip clubs worked everywhere.

Vegas is different. Everyone is looking to hustle every last penny from your pockets as quickly as possible. Strippers will aggressively compete for your money and attention. It detracted from the fun a bit and was kind of a letdown for what I was expecting. A couple of us left the strip club to wander around Fremont Street, watching street magicians, and buskers and drinking more alcohol. My senses were constantly bombarded by noise, flashing lights, people yelling, and people everywhere.

Long story short, I ended up a couple of blocks from Fremont Street by myself, wasted. One minute I was with a couple of friends, then suddenly I was turned around and lost in a stupor.

I remembered the cab driver’s words to us as he dropped us off: “Hey, stay on Fremont Street, don’t wander around, it’s not safe!”

I looked around in a moment of lucidity. The dim light of the street was suddenly strange after being in the bright lights all day. A man, shorter than I, approached me wearing a green military jacket.

Maybe he can help me, I thought to myself.

“Hey, you lost?” he asked; I could now see a bandana riding low on his forehead. His face was scarred, and grizzled. He looked as though he had stuck his face into the blade of a running lawn mower at some point in his life.

“I’m good, just walking one off.” I tried to sound friendly, but I was leery.

“Shut the fuck up and run your wallet!” he snarled, brandishing a small knife.

In the span of a full second, I contemplated a heroic plan. Years of security training and training in martial arts had provided me with all the tools I would need to deal with this situation.

I’ll kick his ass, then throw him face-first into the gutter and everyone will cheer. A bystander’s video will probably go viral.

Shut up. You’re drunk; that is a stupid plan.

There wasn’t even anyone around to call an ambulance after I got stabbed over the seventy-five dollars cash I had on me.

“Give me your fucking money, asshole!” He waved the blade menacingly.

I handed him my wallet; he took it and stuffed it into his jacket before motioning for me to fuck off.

“Can I at least keep my driver’s license? My credit cards?” I asked him.

“No. Now get out of my sight, you fucking shit for brains.”

“No need to be rude, not like you can use them,” I chastised him.

He didn’t say anything else, but the look he gave me indicated that he wasn’t going to budge. Luckily, I left my main bank card in the hotel suite along with the rest of my cash. It would be a huge pain to recover some plastic, but I was unharmed.

My mood was soured the next day as I had to make calls and cancel my credit cards. Now my ID was gone to boot. I stayed in the suite to tidy up affairs while my friends were out having a good time; I would catch up with them later.

The suite we had booked was really cool, one of the highlights of the trip. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a large living room were already littered with beer cans and liquor bottles. The view of the Strip was top-notch; I wondered how many famous people had done cocaine right where I stood.

I had just showered and was waiting for my bank to call me back when I heard a knock at the door. Assuming that it was housekeeping, I was about to tell them we needed clean towels. To my surprise, I opened the door to a gorgeous, African-American girl looking at me.

She probably has the wrong room.

“Are you Ben?” she asked me.

I looked her up and down. Her hair was straight, down past her shoulders, and she wore hoop earrings. She was wearing blue jeans and a tight, white T-shirt with a pair of black heels. She had a large sparkly handbag slung on her shoulder. Her face was smooth, and pretty; she wore eye shadow and pink lipstick.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” I answered, confused as to why this stunning smoke-show was asking for me.

“Hi, I’m Jamaica,” she introduced herself. Her dusky doe-eyes bored into my soul. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” I said, inviting her inside.

I was still bemused as she strutted in. She looked around, studying the cluttered room. I was suddenly ashamed of the mess.

“How can I help you?” I asked.

“Your friends sent me, said you could use some cheering up after a rough night,” she answered.

An escort.

She wasn’t dressed like what I pictured an escort to be wearing, but I gathered that was exactly what she was. Of course, my friends would send her up here.

“This is a nice room,” she said, still scanning around.

“Sorry about the mess, you want a drink or something?” I offered.

“Yes, thank you, Ben,” she answered. Her tone was warm and friendly.

I found a bottle of tequila and a couple of glasses and poured us each a drink.

“I don’t think we have any lime, how about some Fresca?”

“That’s okay, thank you,” she replied, sitting at a table to sip her drink.

I joined her across the table and slammed my tequila. I suddenly felt a twinge of panic as I realized I was talking to a prostitute. Could this be a setup, a police sting? I had never been in a hotel room with a hooker before; I didn’t know what to say. One misstep or mention of sex, and the cops could come busting in, and I would be arrested for soliciting a prostitute.

As if she could read my mind, she spoke to ease my fears, offering guidance to help me navigate unfamiliar territory.

“Have you ever been with an escort before?” she asked.

“No, never.”

“It’s simple, you’re just paying for my time.” She was smiling, trying to ease my nervousness. “I’ll stay for an hour, and we can have a blast,” she said, her smoldering eyes gauging my reaction.

I swallowed hard. “Yes, I’d like that. You’re, very beautiful.”

“Thank you, baby, you’re so cute.” She winked at me, giving her hair a toss.

“How much is your time worth?” I asked, blood rushing into my cock at the thought of what was about to happen.

“Four-fifty.” Her answer was direct, professional, and to the point.

I nodded in approval. Jamaica was smoking hot, and I figured she would be worth every penny. She lifted her bag onto the table, opening it and pulling several pieces of lingerie from it.

“You pick what you’d like me to wear, I’ll go put it on,” she said, buoyantly.

I started to relax; the police didn’t come rushing in the door. Eying the selection of lingerie, it was hard to pick something as she would have looked stunning in any of them. I ended up pointing to a neon-pink thong. She nodded in acknowledgment, picking it up along with the matching bra.

“You got a bathroom, baby?” she asked, stuffing the rest of the undergarments in her bag before picking it up.

I led her through the bedroom I’d shared with my friend Andy, pointing her to the bathroom.

As Jamaica was readying herself, I played with the lighting to help set the mood. Like many rooms in Vegas, this room was made to fuck in. There were mirrors on the wall and a dimmer switch turned on neon lights behind the headboard of the bed. Retrieving a wad of cash from my suitcase, I stripped off my pants and lay back on the bed in anticipation.

After a few minutes, Jamaica emerged from the bathroom. My jaw dropped; I was in awe of her beauty. The brightness of the fabric of her lingerie contrasted with her ebony skin. Her body was incredible; I admired her as she walked across the room. I held up the cash in my hand, and she approached me and took it. She put it into her bag before showcasing her body for me, expertly captivating me with deliberate and seductive motions. She tossed a couple of condoms onto the bed before playing with the clock radio and finding some pop music to play in the background.

I tried not to drool watching her as she crawled partway onto the bed. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she swayed her hips seductively before lowering her head to the bed with her arms outstretching toward me. Maintaining eye contact, she presented me with a fantastic view of her ass.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked, bouncing her ass for me.

“You’re incredible,” I answered.

“Why don’t you take off your shirt, I’ll give you a back rub,” she suggested.

I obliged, removing my shirt before lying on my chest in just my boxers. Jamaica crawled up onto the bed and straddled my waist, her creamy thighs settling in around me. She smelled sweet and delectable. My skin tingled as her fingertips begin to knead my shoulders. Her palms followed suit, stretching my muscle fibers in a sensual massage.

“Goddamn, that feels good,” I sighed.

“I want you to feel good, baby,” she said softly. Her voice made my ears tickle, and a chill come over my neck.

She spent a few minutes on my back, erasing the tension from my muscles. As I began to relax, I felt her soft hair tickle my flesh, then a sweet, wet kiss on my shoulder blades. My trance was broken by her voice once again.

“Now, why don’t you roll over for me,” she cooed. I was willing to do just about anything she asked at this point.

I rolled over, looking at her kneeling on the bed. Her breasts were trying hard to burst from the bra that held them in place. Once I settled onto my back, she lithely crawled up my body, peppering my chest in soft kisses.

“You can kiss me anywhere but the lips,” she advised, smiling while she continued to writhe on my lap.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

She giggled at me, “Ma’am? Makes me sound old.”

“Miss okay?” I asked; she was now flicking her tongue on my nipple. I felt my erect penis pressing against her thigh.

“You can call me whatever you want, baby,” she answered, sitting up to play with the waistband of my boxers. I was now pitching a full tent.

She freed my cock from my underwear and inspected it, stroking it gently in her fingers. Pre-cum oozed from the tip of my penis, and she used her thumb to knead it into my skin.

“Yummy, we gotta get you nice and hard,” she told me.

She reached over to pick up a condom from the bed and removed it from its wrapper. I watched, mesmerized, as she leaned forward next to me. Cupping the condom to her lips with her thumb and forefinger, she rested the condom on the head of my dick. I felt her tongue push it down lightly before she opened her mouth and sank her head most of the way down my shaft in one impressive motion. When she came back up, the condom was wrapped tightly around me. She stroked my shaft to roll the condom down the rest of the way. Kneeling next to me, she lowered her head, brushing my cock with her lips and tongue before putting me in her mouth.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be too impressed with a condom blow job, but this was no ordinary cocksucking. Her head was bobbing slowly, her tongue thrashing around to create a miniature washing machine inside of her mouth. I let out a long moan, her tongue churning my dick in the incredible heat and pressure.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, watching my shaft disappear in her lips.

She continued swirling her tongue on my dick, maintaining eye contact. She began gently scratching my thigh with her expensive-looking fingernails.

“Mmm, you like that?” she asked, my cock still between her teeth. “I don’t have no gag reflex if you wanna take my throat for a spin.”

I grabbed a handful of her soft hair as she sucked me back into the whirlpool of her mouth. I plunged myself deeper until I felt her lips at the base of my shaft. She didn’t complain one bit, just continued to suck as I pushed the head of my meat deeper into her throat.

I saw her hand sneak in between her legs, slipping into her panties to stroke herself. I couldn’t help but reach over to play with her ass, groping it as I fucked her face. Her mouth was a sloppy mess, but being a pro, she continued slurping away. After a moment, she began moaning around my member as she ground her hand against her slit.

“You can fuck my mouth harder, I don’t mind,” she said, stopping to take a breath.

I pushed her head down again, jamming my cock into her throat. I could feel her teeth at the base of my shaft as I manipulated her head, guiding her faster up and down my pole. A soft choking sound came from deep in her mouth from the furious fucking until I could feel myself about to come. Saliva was pouring from her mouth down the crack of my ass.

“Shit!” I let out, pulling my dick from her mouth.

“Boy, you almost came,” she smirked, beaming with pride.

Her chin, as well as her cheeks, were coated in saliva. She ran a hand through the tangled mess of hair on her head and wiped her face while catching her breath.

I rolled her onto her back, pulling her panties off and leaving them on the bed. I spread her legs with my hand to probe her slit with my thumb. She was clean-shaven, and her pussy was damp to my touch.

“Mmm, that feels good, I like that,” she cooed as I began to fuck her with my fingers.

I found her G-spot with the pad of my finger and teased it, causing her to shudder. She let out a sigh and wrapped an arm around my neck. I used my thumb to push her clit around, causing her to arch her back.

“That’s it, you bought this pussy, baby,” she moaned, “Use me.”

She spread her thighs for me as I crawled between, pushing the head of my cock into her labia. The heat from her pussy was warming the condom on my shaft as I penetrated her.

“Ohhh, fuck,” she sighed.

I figured she was acting, but I couldn’t tell. A true professional, she made me feel special and desired. I don’t know how many people she’d fucked today, but she gave me her full attention and made me feel like I was the only one.

I pinned her arms above her head and started fucking her like she needed it as badly as I did. Her tits were spilling out of the top of her bra as they bounced wildly on her chest. I slowed to take in a mouthful of soft tit, rolling my tongue on her nipple.

“Ohhh, yes!” she squealed.

I felt her wrap an arm around my neck, pulling me closer as our bodies ground into each other. It was odd to me just how comfortable she was with someone she didn’t know at all. I didn’t care; I was enjoying her body immensely. I settled into a good pace and couldn’t help but admire her beauty as her body bounced under me.

“You want another position?” she panted, sweat beading on her forehead.

I pulled out of her, allowing her to get on all fours for me to take her from behind. Pushing my cock back inside her, I yanked her hair to lift her head from the mattress. She looked back at me, her mouth agape as I pumped her full of dick on the bed.

I took in the sight of her smooth, chocolaty skin as her flesh rippled from the collision of our bodies. Willy Wonka would be envious of the confection that lay before me, now moaning as I drove my meat into her. The latex of the condom seemed to amplify the crude sounds of my dick plunging in and out of her wet gash. I grabbed the back of her bra, unclasping it so it could fall away into the sheets. Groping her soft, natural tits caused her to squeal.

“Did you buy some good pussy?” she asked me.

“The best, I’m pretty sure,” I grunted, slapping her ass.

I slowed down to rest. She giggled, then turned to face me.

“Shit, I almost came,” she said.

“Do you ever come with your clients?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh yeah, especially some of my regulars. They get to know my body.”

“If I lived here, I’d be one of your regulars too,” I chuckled.

“Aww, that is so sweet,” she said, smiling devilishly.

Pushing me onto my back, she took off the stretched-out, beat-to-hell condom I was wearing, and picked up another one from the bed. After rolling it down my shaft with her hands, she took me back into her mouth again.

Jesus Christ, she is good at that.

After sucking me back to a rock-hard, condom-straining erection, she straddled my hips and began riding me. I pulled her against me to suck on her breasts some more as she powered her ass onto my thighs like she was trying to break me.

“That’s it, let me fuck the shit out of you,” she said, biting my bottom lip aggressively. I grabbed her ass, holding on for dear life.

“Ohhh,” she squealed, relentlessly bouncing on me.

We were both getting sweaty, and my lap was soaked underneath her. Waves of intense pleasure were radiating through my body, I felt Jamaica shudder on top of me. Her violent assault on my crotch intensified.

“Come for me, baby,” she demanded, digging her fingernails into my chest.

There was no earthly way to hold back any longer. I felt the condom tighten around me before I unleashed a torrent of searing cum inside. I was seeing stars as she milked every drop out of me with her pussy.

When I came down, Jamaica was curled up next to me, rubbing my chest. As my erection began to subside, and my dick shrank, ejaculate started pooling around the base of my shaft, now free from its latex prison.

“Did you have a good time?” She asked, batting her eyes at me.

“Yeah, a hell of a good time, I’ll never forget it, worth every cent.”

“Good, that’s what I like to hear,” she said with satisfaction. “Next time you’re in Vegas, ask for Jamaica.”