Carousel Maidenbow - Forth diary entry. 3rd February 2013
1pm Cynthia and Felicity Hargreaves mansion, Roedean Crescent
Weight 8 stone 6
Alcohol units 0
Orgasms 2
Coffee 19
Carbs 31
Steps 3787
Regrets connected to boss Marianne 1
Thoughts of Clara Von Furstenberg 1 (see above)
Returning to Cynthia Hargreaves’ home felt akin to walking into a nightclub in the daytime, the deafening silence of the vast interior robbed of its essential essence. The maid collected our bags and phones and then, with a seasoned wave, led us up the sweeping grey marble steps. Glancing to the left, I found Dahlia looked nervous, big brown eyes blinking beneath heavy lashes. She threw me a playful ‘eek’ expression.
Dahlia had only been with the Dogs for a few months, and for the most part, kept a low profile. But as with the others, she’d quickly fallen in line behind Beth, her instructions clear - Ignore Carousel - thereby avoiding any major conflicts. On the occasion that Beth was out of earshot or absent, we’d partaken in courteous small talk. Even learning that her boyfriend Leon worked as a barista on the Southbank. She was in her early thirties, insanely tall out of heels, skin a beautiful milk brown, and had a mane of loose dark curls that was the envy of everyone.
We walked along an endless corridor, each open door giving a resplendent view of the sea. I hoped that the room we were approaching would offer a similar aspect “Nothing like the English Channel to elevate one’s mood while being fucked by tedious socialite.”
She stopped outside a nondescript door and knocked twice. “Mrs & Mrs Hargreaves, the girls are here.” And with a proficient nod added, “They’ll be with you presently” and left.
“Very professional,” Dahlia added with a conspiratorial grin. I nodded in agreement, wanting to make my own observation, but then, noting Dahlia’s precipitous expression, turned to find our host standing there.
Felicity Hargreaves wore her dark hair slicked back. She was shrugged into a loose carmine smoking jacket, a cigarette at her lips. “Come in,” she barked.
There was a sound of a toilet flushing and her partner Cynthia drifted into the space, wiping willowy hands on a paper towel. A disheveled looking housemaid driving a retreat, face flushed.
“Can we get you a drink, girls?” Then crossing to the cabinet, Cynthia filling two tall flutes with Louis Roederer. We sipped at the bubbles, eyes avoidant.
The click of the doors lock caused a prickle in our brain (Marianne never allowed locked doors). But Marianne wasn’t here. She’d been avoiding me since the Rose Room and it was making me nervous and lonely. We’d even torn up the big Germans business card and left it on her desk, a scant peace offering. But she’d returned it, mended with Sellotape. An unreadable expression on her face and words “Call her” making my heart sink painfully.
“Over by the window” instructed Felicity as she settled herself on the corner of the bed, sliding an arm around her hollow wife.
Settling the champagne to one side, we did as instructed, letting our coats fall dramatically, exposing silvery lace underwear. High stockings and tall gunmetal stilettos finishing the look. Our hair was loose about our shoulders, makeup heavy - slutty in contrast to the sophisticated gossamer masks that covered our brow and nose.
“Kiss her!” Felicity brayed, leaning forward, elbows on knees and cigarette smoke flourishing. “Make us believe it.”
We hesitated. It was an unspoken rule that Dogs did not hook-up. It lead to complications and, in-turn group unrest. But if the clients insisted, we tolerated foreplay.
It surprised Dahlia when we chose to lead. Brushing back her mane, we pulled her into a kiss. Her lips tasted of cherries, a slick of spearmint on her teeth. Encircling our tiny waist with her long arms, she squeezed against me.
“Thats wonderful girls,” came their encouragement. “Lets see the tits!”
Her fingertips released the clasp. Cool palms closed my breasts. We trailed our fingertips across the curve of her long spine, dropping to her arse. Catching our esurient audience through the curtain of Dahlia’s hair, we eased down her panties, exposing the soft, fleshy cleft.
Drawing backward, Dahlia gasped. A fine web of saliva between us. “You taste of honey”
I bit my lip. “I do?”
We fell into another kiss that caused a shiver, a brief pulse starting in our sex. Dahlia had begun to swell, the hardness of her probing at our thigh.
She fell into our neck, her breathing shallow. Muscles tightening. “I’m sorry Caris. I can’t help it,” she whispered.
“It’s fine. We’re just kissing,” we reassured her. Not entirely sure who this distinction was for.
We stood kissing her beautiful brown neck while they watched, Dahlia seeking to keep a respectful pelvic distance.
“Here,” Vociferated, our host and Dahlia left. As she neared, Felicity tore at her pretty underwear, releasing and seizing her member in a fist. Her kisses were mouthy and rough enough to make me flinch. Dahlia’s six feet reduced as she gave over to her rich benefactors’ wants.
We turned away from the ravaging and faced the balcony, trying to block out the music of torn fabric and slapped skin. We gazed over the busy beach at the tiny boats etched on the horizon. “Incredible view.” I offered Cynthia, as she joined us.
“Here,” she unlatched the door. “Step out”
Outside we breathed in the warm air, fingers closing on the oak rail. The sun was gracing its peak, and felt wonderful. A light breeze on my face and then a wash of heat as the zephyr faded. Cynthia brushed at our hair making us consider Marianne.
“It’s the main reason we bought it,” she stated, her body close.
“It’s perfect,” we offered.
She greeted our neck, smelling of oils and sharp hairspray.” Carousel is such an unusual name. Such a…”
Her words faded as we closed our eyes, savouring this moment for ourselves. In our sun dappled illusion, Marianne was there, her kimono untied, soft breasts pressed in.
Our host urged that we turn. Cynthia was naked, the bathrobe at her ankles, her manner insistent. We wondered if anyone had ever told either of them no.
“I want to kiss you,” she declared, a smile playing.
“For a price, Cynthia, you can do anything you desire.”
She grinned, responding to my insolence as I’d expected she would. “Oh, and what price is that, my pretty girl?”
“I don’t know” we traced her bottom lip with our finger, smoothing out the fine lines. “What ya got?” Then kissed her deeply. We knew that these rich broads adored the juxtaposition of us pathetically feigning control.
Her finger tips fumbling to separate me from my underwear, she echoed sounds of animal want. Over her shoulder, we could see Felicity on her knees in front of Dahlia, neck straining, working hard. Dahlia’s pained eyes fell on me, lips wide. Although upsetting, the scene roused us. Cynthia’s hot mouth encompassing the areole of our breast, tongue flicking up electric shocks, igniting passion.
Then I was guided towards the enormous bed.
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