Chapter 80. Leviathan Project. Copyright, 2019-2026. (22 minute read, 5,515 words).

Marseille Vacation. In timeline, Feb 2009.



The local Orthodox Ekklesia advocates a pair of virgin young women, making sacred vows to themselves and the church, as vestry, musicians, and youth mentors. Wed, following strict traditions, thousands of years in age. Owned by vows of blood in public ceremony, dedicating themselves to The Order of Salacia, Paphos Orthodox Ekklesia, and each other. Government authorities, compelled by parchment letters to change laws and allow it, in total secrecy performed the deed, issuing documents. Post event, newlyweds took vacation time, disappearing from sight for a month.

Local women flocked to the local Basilica. Chosen deity of service, Salacia, adorned the ornate marble block domed citadel roof, her usual depiction. Steadying a stricken fishing boat, borne by clouds above an angry sea, heralded by naked cherubs, bearing bows and arrows. A shrine for her, and space for education and care of women and girls, thus many flocked to serve, children filling the service times school, boys separated, as were men. Not an empty seat on Saturday Devotions and Divine Liturgy, Sunday service, less formal and relaxed. Local children served holy bread on vestry duty, and performed music, highly virtuous and entertaining to the masses. Mishan's adopted, Nikkita, locally bred and abandoned pair, with Samira, rescued from a defunct orphanage. Imbued by God's unknown with the fine arts, belting out the grand sacred organ and song, raising dust from unseen crevices. Favourite entry piece, before bread, Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Chior after that, bringing plebeians before the God's, confession often lasting a few hours...



Vincent toyed his hot airport meal, turning pasta mushroom carbonara over, less than hungry, mind on other matters. Eye on the kiosk wall mermaid clock, thirty minutes until boarding. Destination, Marseille, France. Local home-office apartment and cosy retreat, overlooking Prophet's beach, or Plage du Prophe'te. Second villa property, now a luxury vacation house, just across the bay, in plain view from his balcony. Temporary home and out-of-sight location for Abi and Celle. Married by two days, removed from contact with family, friends, and university study, zero delicate questions to answer in church or school. Not a drop of wine graced Vincent's parched lips in two days. Involved in this family matter or that, problem solving family crisis by shrewd control of money, his burden in life.

Expensive lunch packed in a sealed flight-food container, and a sealed carry-on bag, he browsed the flight wine list, abruptly turned over and closed. "Keep your head, Vincent," said quietly to no one. Up from his comfortable seat, precious cargo arrived late, looking happy and healthy. Permanently glued by the hands, bearing blood-sworn scars, wearing matching jewellery and wedding bands in white gold. Vincent let forth a controlled sigh of relief, smiling warmly at Anjelika and Hosea. Arrived on time, his company dressed casual, attracting no attention. "Right then, checked in already?" Anjelika handed over boarding passes, nodding silently. "Take some rest, you look frazzled, my dear Anjelika I'll take in hand this lot. Less to trip over while moving your house, your babies in care for a few days, so make the most of peace?" "Roshie's taken them for vestry week, Jodie as matron in the church school. Excursions, visiting holy sites in geology class, music recitals, growing sustainable food, and keeping house studies, even mending clothes in the poor shop. Well guarded and schooled, but Tera complained bitterly, forbidden from entry in the church school," said Anjelika. Scratching her head at ridiculous but sacred laws. Youngsters, rambunctious and active, kept family busy, until a church sleep over caused chaos. From the High Order, a discipline notice made parchment and wax seal signatures. Let Jodie practice mothering students and teach from Divine Liturgy, non-humans, forbidden from the school and orphanage grounds, even the church yard and citadel. Known to all, child educators extracted enormous potential from youngsters, beyond education systems guidelines, raising arguments and blood pressure. Thus the church acted, enticing the family lot into service. Strengthening church numbers, almost overnight, a powerful force in their midst, fiercely protected and admired.

Also known to all, laser armed family protection, never far from youngsters. One instance of an ash pile in public made newspapers. So the police report said, a vagrant electrocuted and burned to ash from a street fuse box, entangled in exposed wires. Frightening local children as he ran about, brandishing a stick, evading police. Vincent shook off visions of Tera, laser carving fresh pig quarters, during a hunt, thoughts then on the task at hand, relieving Anjelika of children.

About to embark herself on moving an entire warehouse of furniture into her new family estate house. One month behind schedule from endless snow and bad weather, dirt road access closed for heavy trucks and cartage vans. Plenty left to resurvey, grade, and level, before hard surfacing teams finished the job, the wealthy heiress purchased a chunk of private access roadway and huge plot of wasted farmland, house partially built, a deceased estate going cheap.

Vincent listened for the expected call, the airport busy, but not rush hour pace. "Be gone with you, and do get some rest." Sent home, without teary farewells, himself and human cargo in the opposite direction. Boarding call chimes hurried them through the throng of bodies, first-class passengers loudly announced, echoing along shop terraces and boarding esplanades. Air France catered for daily non-stop speedy travel, between Paphos and Marseille, direct and punctual. Vincent booked a month in advance. Kept a secret, saving plenty on early-bird bookings, late fares now double his Zap Travel agency price. Marriage of the century signed off, get rid of both, for a time, a grand plan until emotions settled and normality returned.

Vincent pondered what he'd miss about home, first at the VIP gate. "Right then, let's be going." Push of his doe-eyed cargo from behind via his trusted umbrella, head sporting a traditional bowler. Through scanners, grinning at security and gate keepers, glad to fly away and vanish. Wrist bands scanned with ID and boarding passes, three and carry-on luggage walked through waving hand scanning wands. Straight through the tunnel, vivid white curved scanning bar ribs like a CT machine. Through immigration screens, one way pass out of the country, no turning back.

Seated at the lounge bar, Celle ordered drinks, dusting her hands of home, looking out to the tarmac area at enormous planes, lined up in neat rows, ground crew like ants. "Thank your God's for vacation laws," said Abi, chinking three chilled glasses. In shock at the bill, 15 per glass. "We should increase the price, they're stealing our rightful profits," said Vincent. Note in his day diary, consult wine makers promptly and raise stock value, increasing floor prices and wholesale profits. While quietly seated, two bottles of the family vintage emptied for other patrons. Disposed of for recycling, sold for three times their cost, by the glass. Vincent ordered three bottles, cheaper at room temperature. Locked in a casket with seals and named boarding vouchers. Heavily discounted by duty free wine vouchers, the vendor paying the tax. "Got you back," all he said to the ticket. Vouchers handed to Abi and Celle, money to burn in gifts. "Grab your last-minute items, children's gifts first." Perfume added to a small haul, costing extra cabin fare weight. Herded about the single mall concourse, separated by immigration from general public, the area heavily guarded by riot police and terror agents, in plain sight. Vincent advised wisely. "Keep some for Marseille, the yacht club will sign you in, from sailing on Brin's crew. And do visit poor Goshe, stuck in that office, and take her dancing, or perhaps dining out. That beach has all night access and sleep tents, music until your ears cave in, during summer. Freezing weather right now, best we could do."

Abi and Celle collapsed in each other's company on a leather couch seat, facing away from crowds, Paphos International departure lounge. Watching luggage and crew board their flight, through long rows of triple layer soundproof glass. The pair snuggled, kissing playfully until Vincent cleared his throat in warning. Glad to be signed off, an epic ordeal in wax parchment, declared legal and binding, for life. In surrogate mother's capable hands, a certified copy of marriage, original document safe in family bank vault files, with other important letters. Vincent sat close enough to observe, an eye on love birds. Reading phone messages and emails, then a discarded newspaper. Front-page articles demanded attention; spaceships flying about their airspace, causing a public stir, highway traffic jams, and concern for authorities...



Four hours later, backwards in time by one hour, awaiting baggage delivery and valet hire car. Delivered promptly to their designated parking bay, Vincent tipped the young, polite woman handsomely. Wandering eyes, all over his company, liking what she saw. Saying nothing, feminine instincts correctly judged the scene, curiously observing young lovers, oozing sex appeal. Had Vincent not been there, perhaps offering her other services, for extra income. "Not a chance in my company," muttered Vincent, watching the young maiden skip away to another job, answering her radio call, glancing behind. "Bees gravitate to honey," said Abi, packing the car trunk carefully, mind on duty free wine, and beach wear. The day Vincent declared plans to abdicate for a honeymoon, hiding the pair, the girls studied the local area in travel brochures, mapping a tourist trail. Wine and eating houses, bars, dancing at night on white-sand beaches to loud music, and endless sunshine drenched shopping for gifts. Perfect for the pair, far from at-home public curiosity. Except, winter time in Europe. Their luxury abode, three terraces above Plage du Prophe'te. The region studied at length in history and culture classes. Greek settlers founded the grand city, around 600BC. Arrived from Asia Minor, now modern day Tyrkiye, bringing culture, advanced building methods, and delicious food ideas, and healthy religious service.

For an hour, Vincent drove about famous sites and tourist attractions, slowly towards their destination. Other side of the sprawling, clean city, one thing not mentioned during conversation. Their house keeper and guardian. "So, who's looking after us, you keep dodging the question," giggled Celle. Snuggled in the back, sharing Vincent's airport lunch. "Perfect for you, as I said," his eyes to the front, ignoring pasta strand sharing and messy French kissing, faces smeared in carbonara sauce. "And who'd give you an open sex license, God's save our youngsters from such a thing." "Better than knocked up by some arrogant college idiot," said Celle. "Yes, yes, I suppose, vows to the church brings status, and moral responsibility." Vincent agreed, in part, giggling while adjusting the rear seat mirror, the pair hungrily at each other.

City traffic parted company, the drive now along foreshore boulevards, passing various sights and pristine pockets of beach. Nestled between jagged boulder strewn cliffs and limestone rocky fringes, snaking along the foreshore. February weather, cold to mild, thus tourist off-season and less traffic hassles. Either side of the dual-lane carriageway, paid parallel parking for miles. In places, the roadway extended out from land, hanging precariously over pounding surf, a chill onshore winter breeze keeping visitors off deserted beaches. Cafe and bar doors closed, keeping the few guests cosy and indoors, ensuring extra revenue. Vincent parked up, taking a VIP space, booked with local council in advance.

Bags emptied from the car, the trio disappeared down concrete steps and into the beachside club, built under the motorway as rigid, sturdy support. A favorite haunt during peak summer season, Plage du Prophe'te, deserted today. Signed in as guests, taking window seats, overlooking the sultry uninviting beach and angry sea. Pounding into the sea wall, view beyond obscured by sandy spray and foreboding grey haze. Overlooking a pocket of raised beach, open to the sea at either end. Protected by a long seawall, calm shallow pockets filled the high-tide swimming zone, a haven for children and family beachside picnics. Behind and against limestone cliffs, terraced houses, villas, and apartment blocks filled available land, some buildings unchanged since the late eighteen hundreds. Up the slopes, following the shoreline for miles, many for rent as private offices or luxury vacation homes...



Stopped for a drink and rest, eye on the time, awaiting arrival of Vincent's housekeeper and guardian. A handful of guests sat in the lounge, resting from a walk or taking late lunch, probably locals. Through the window, Celle observed a pair of women, bravely walking the sand. Rugged against cold, drizzling rain, wearing wet puffy jackets and jeans. Snuggled closely, stopped for a passionate kiss, pounding surf as backdrop. She shivered, mind on who they were and their relationship, tingling with excitement for them between quivering thighs. Her gaze abruptly averted, the vision vaporized. A waitress, dressed in tight fitting faded jeans and ribbed sweater, carrying a tray, bringing drinks. Speaking broad, casual English, as if she knew him. Wandering eyes fell on his guests, the pair struck silent by ocean blue eyes and pale skin, of British descent. "Welcome to Marseille, Vincent. Pierre asked I bring the drinks." "Jolly good, Pearl. Lovely to see you, and thanks for stepping up. Your mother was glad to hear from me, and said, put her to work in your house. How's your training going?" "Twice per week I coach or take trail rides at Orloff, the rest is study, and Pierre asked me to help out, firing another serving girl, I don't know why." "Because they're all lazy, or party too much with local boys," said Vincent. From his day bag, handing her a plastic cover file. "Everything you need to know." His gaze sharpened on her. "They go missing, get injured, or arrested, you'll pay in blood Now, have a seat, then I must be going."

Vincent introduced Abi and Celle to their housekeeper and guardian, for the duration. In a surprise, going home with them. He laid down the law. "Bachelor of business, FEI 3 accredited. She'll help you get JHA up and running. On education transfer to Paphos U for two semesters, unless I can sponsor more time. Masters in Sociology in progress, at Oxford, thus culture studies await, among other things. Great tour guide and local historian, perfect company for you, and a fabulous cook. Her mother offered, friends of the family for years." He wagged a menacing finger in their direction. "For six months, I labored over whom to give you, and bumped into Theodore and Rachelle, her parents, by chance. Solved a conundrum for us." Vincent left his seat, answering an important phone call, leaving the girls to greet and chat.

The trio appraised each other, chinking wine glasses, sharing history and family stories until Vincent returned. "Are we good then, ladies?" Agreement met, Vincent sorted his bag, offering Abi a satchel of documents and keys. "I'm off then. In an emergency, apart from that, enjoy Marseille, and please behave yourselves. I'll check in at random, and let your mother know you safely arrived You can see my apartment from here." Abi and Celle sadly parted company, left with a total but gorgeous female stranger. To the entire family, Vincent Hauff, a tower of strength and moral support in any family crisis, averting many...



Left to their own devices, freed from family responsibility and care of youngsters, for a time. In Abi's satchel, house keys, identity cards, university ID, FEI cards, driver's licenses, personal spending cards, and single page vacation overview letter. The event finally explained, with valid reasons and what to expect and do. Read aloud, the girls video phoned home, confirmed arrived at destination. Pearl left her seat twice, helping a new serving girl tidy up plates for washing, no idea what to do with ashtrays and glasses. Well known to Pierre, owner of the club, Pearl helped out during free time; on Vincent's home services payroll. Drinks demolished, Abi and Celle refused another, excited to see the apartment. "So, where's home?"

Bags in hand, the trio braved a chill wind, waving goodbye to Pierre, hands up in the air at losing free, experienced help. Balcony exit door slammed shut, ripped from Pearl's hand. Up concrete stairs to street level, a wind tunnel for swirling icy gusts. Across the empty main road, named after an infamous US president. Pearl checked the loan car, secure and fueled, parking sticker in-date and stamped. "No parking up there, so you'll get exercise. Two thousand per month for the space, Vincent loaned me the car Shall we take a walk?"

A short walk up hundreds of narrow, cascading steps, three terraces above the beach and main highway, lay Vincent's private retreat villa. Nestled among other houses, from expansive garden villas to single floor apartments, graced with stunning views. This time of year, devoid of summer guests and holiday-makers. Houses adorned in white paint, same terracotta roof pattern, theirs with three floors and private garden, entry via level two. Little room for car parking, given one main-road paid space, base of the first-terrace steps. A trek up three narrow terraces, squeezed between small-plot houses, lead to a gate, electronically armed. Whitewash render covered everything, high walls in between lower terraces, next door's garden, looking down from above, over the roof below. A twisted, knotted garden olive tree found good footing, laden with fruit. Over the boundary concrete and stone wall, neighbors roof tiles. At eye level, such was the slope. Righthand side and behind the house, a white rendered mansion with garden pool and date palms. Faced seaward, wearing distinct arched windows in rows, looking elegant and exotic.

Inside the property entry gate, a flat-paved small courtyard with breakfast balcony, barbeque, and rugged seating. A row of couch seats on a bench, lined the back rendered retaining wall. Secure screens opened by a key, a swipe key opened front door locks. Warmth poured through the opening, the trio quickly indoors, escaping winter chill. Modern inside, despite built mid-eighteen hundreds. Ancient photographs of the town graced white, sand-rendered walls, mostly black and white images. One color image took Celle's gaze and intense study. Dated 1886, Pearl pointed out local buildings and the mansion alongside, their house plainly visible. Rows of timber huts and boathouses packed the shoreline, the seawall absent. Compared to a recent image, hundreds of buildings looked similar, or the same facade, little changed in two hundred years. "Have a look around and choose your room, upstairs."

Level three sleeping quarters, oozed luxury. False soft light filled open rooms, electric window shutters keeping winter chill out. Tour of the house completed, except the lower level, Abi and Celle picked a vacant, well appointed, sand rendered room, bearing tasteful modern decor. Single bag each tipped out atop the luxury bed, the pair carrying little. Unpacked in a few minutes, photo frames of children placed about, other personal items from home, making things homely. Back of the house, warmest place, lower level open fireplace vented upwards, warming the entire house, each floor with a hearth. Pearl attended to house basics first. Shown the wood store and kitchen pantry, filled with every ingredient possible, freezer and chiller stocked, as was a small wine store. Pearl went about her business, placing bath towels and fresh bed linen in open box cubby holes, food plan stuck to the two-door fridge by honey bee and lady bug magnets, calendar stuck with tape. She poured two wines, handed to her guests while silently about the flat tile space on Mayfair hose covered feet, under designer tight-fitting Versace jeans, ample chest wobbling about, restraint free.

Same sandy, rough texture render, motif'd in palm trees and beach views, covered inside walls, outdoors in pristine white. Exotic artworks and old-time images graced the walls, a Vincent hallmark and historical record of the local area. The pair dropped into a long, beige luxury leather lounge. L shaped around a common area of coffee table, plush, modern rugs, magazine rack library of books, and terracotta amphoras of exotic plants, dotting the main floor level. Matt finish white sand tiles covered each floor, finishing the look, open-plan kitchen adorned in azure blue and white sea fresco tiles and early period Greek motif mosaics, neat plain ceilings in white.

A tray of fresh-baked pastries promptly delivered to the lounge, Abi and Celle seated and appraising their luxury abode. Shared among the trio, sweet, delicious, and aroma packed, served on fine silver. "Did you bake these?" said Abi, mouthwatering on her palate, accented by soft, chilled wine. "From internet menu cards, cooking at home since I could read," said Pearl, seating herself across the lounge. "No idea what you like in meals, local roast lamb for dinner, following Vincent's advice. Tomorrow is shopping, you've not brought much to wear." Abi and Celle snuggled together, staring across the room into sparkling pine cone fire wraiths, dancing with color and purpose. Gifted a dream vacation, both observed their host, in the same mind. "You got a boyfriend, hiding somewhere?" "Hardly... Ghastly creatures," giggled Pearl, helping herself to apricot and pear danishes, perfectly baked. Wobble of her ample chest, "all they want in college, boobs and blowjobs. Screw that... Mother said, I'd be cut off, should I fall pregnant to a wealthy, prominient imbecile." Celle appreciated her stance in company, hand clapping the envisaged conversation. "Always the same... Assholes, then they dump you, claws into your girlfriend, and so on..." Abi agreed. "Girls are choosy and grounded, knowing what girls like... Did Vincent say anything about us?" "You took vows to the church, and each other. Grand if I say, and you're gorgeous, as he said. I'll not interfere," said Pearl, liking her company for honesty and virtue, interested in their solid, grounded relationship. Her gaze dropped lower, Celle's gorgeous chest and female form, highly desirable to inspect, and bury her face in. She nodded to Abi, blushing crimson, clearing her throat. Up from her seat, chest pounding, refilling empty glasses with light spritzed local breakfast wine, easy on brain cells.

Her chest naturally dropped, shapely through her sweater, revealing ample cleavage. Almost tripping at Celle's light touch to the nearest denim clad thigh, trembling from the soft contact of fingertips down her leg, then behind and up, sampling her backside, then deep inside her crotch groove. Bottle left in a standing chiller, resuming her seat, calming exploding emotions, the pair oozing sexual appeal, inviting play. Vincent sternly warned, at first mention of the billet and hosting family, hands off his precious cargo. "Vincent remarked sternly, not for play I get that, your vows, sacred and untouchable." Abi and Celle said nothing, their host a worthy bride for any wealthy family, seeking a perfect at-home young wife to imprison.

They talked at length about school and family, horse riding, a favorite topic. For an hour, talking about stand out riders, competition ribbons, and potential lovers, plenty of gorgeous, womanly distractions at every event. Phone images shared, their at-home family, a story in pictures, bringing home closer. The trio relaxed, over the day. Well hosted and comfortable, leisurely clothes shopping the next day.

Afternoon delicious morsels and chat turned evening, a delicious lamb roast graced the dinner table, more than could be eaten. Automatic window louvers blocked out the noise, wind gusts, and rain, the evening dreary and cold, few braving the elements. Plenty left over from an exhausting meal, Pearl packed travel boxes for later-on grazing, saving shopping money. Despite off tourist season, prices remained high for food, drink from bars, more so. The plan discussed, her guests bleary-eyed and needing rest. She explained the shower and bath taps, stepping around them. Softly wished good night, filling the night kettle and tea brewer, lighting soft-scent incense sticks and one oil candle, bringing familiar home scents alive...



Pearl scribbled day diary events and timeline, completing the plan, her guests comfortable and well fed. Required daily, sending Vincent a single report on activities and meals. First time as a sponsored house-host, educated, not men seeking, gracious, and organized. Her mother sent congratulations, staring at photos, a gorgeous pair in her daughter's care, vibrant and in love. She showered, grated fireplaces, then locked gates and doors, retiring in a smaller room, same luxury features. Her daily night ritual, lighting a single soul candle, soothing rain and forest music for calm, restful sleep.

Nighttime rain and distant thunderstorms failed to disturb weary travellers. Cleared by morning, leaving sea fog and bone breaking chill. Pearl awoke to soft phone alarms, stoking fires and brewing tea, the house warm as toast before Abi and Celle awoke. About the apartment silently to work, she imagined young lovers, finding solace and each other in the maze of human tragedy and suffering. Glad she weren't tainted by evil desires for party drinks and dangerous company, ruining many a good friendship since high school, a dreaded curse. Her other claim to fame, undefiled by a man. Sharing herself carefully with well-bred, willing young women, preferring girls intimate company. Yet to find the perfect union, her mother steering her perfect, undefiled daughter along a predetermined destiny, great things expected.

Dishwasher packed, trembling hands strayed in the dimly lit kitchen. Into dusty violet Organic Chic, stretch lace bra top and briefs, envisaging her company pounding and grinding each other in a swimming pool, shower, or bath, always fully clothed. Deft, reliable fingers toyed her secret place, nipples tingling and erect under silky material, aiding strong arousal and emotions. Deeper inside her body and dream, drenched in English rose nectar scent while she quivered and shook, releasing weeks of nervous tension and sexual anxiety, dripping down electrified thighs. Wet and lubricated inside her jeans, the moment she laid wanting eyes on her guests, face tingling with nervous excitement, awestruck by their natural plain beauty. Her dream ended in a brisk, cold shower, spraying pristine white tiles in a violent, satisfying release, soiled briefs atop her head, soaking herself in it, sucked into her hungry mouth, dreaming of her guests wild, frenzied activities.

Dressed for the day, in favorite jeans and tight-fitting ribbed sweater, braless when at home. Last evenings pastries reheated and cut into bite-sized pieces, left over roast and vegetables stirred into a casserole. Perfect hot savory and sweet breakfast, wasting nothing. Fresh tea brewed while candles relit, spreading morning jasmine fragrance about, Dior Exotic Poison fragrance masked her own intoxicating scent. For bouncing music, while dancing about, listening to Emerson, Lake, and Palmer's iconic Fanfare for the common man. Engrossed in jasmine scent and delicious, wafting aromas and morning endorphins, not hearing Abi up and about, fresh from a shower and vigorous morning sex. In the same mood, sneaking up behind, admiring Pearl's swaying denim clad backside and body curves, denim disappearing in a perfect curve. Pearl suddenly turned about, holding warmed, empty brew mugs, walking straight into a burning morning kiss, taking her breath away. Crimson and wide-eyed, unprepared for cherry lip gloss and musky demure fragrance, heart skipping beats. "Good morning, and merci chérie," giggled Abi, amused by stunned crimson expressions and trembling lips. Pearl almost dropped the mugs, Abi's erect chest against her own, unable to touch it. She gasped in surprise, secret place awake and humming, dribbling into clean sports briefs, and for a moment, joined by the mouth to the softest lips. Abi's arms gently wound around her back, pressing heated bodies together. A spark ignited between them, Pearl's foggy mind in a blur, heart racing. Abi treaded carefully, the moment gone in a blink. Releasing her oxytocin fueled company, rigid like a statuette in white marble, as was her soft, pale skin, covered in goosebumps, cherry hard beacons on her heaving chest.

She helped with tea, Celle taking a recovery scented shower and scrubbing morning fun down the drain, leaving no trace, nightwear discreetly into the front load Electrolux machine. Abi left Pearl to recover, stepping across personal boundary warnings, leaving her host elated but confused by strange, powerful, erotic sensations. "Sorry for that Not expecting you'd turn around." "Not expecting you'd be standing there, measuring my ass," giggled Pearl, gazing into soft hazel. Different color from yesterday, fingers to burning lips. "Contact lenses," said Abi, taking the brew mugs, smoothing things over with a soft smile, offering help in the kitchen. She poured and stirred tea, mind on Marian's morning ritual, at home, and Pearl's surely burning distinct camel toe.

Nothing more said between them, Abi served by tongs, from a clean silver tray, ordering Pearl to sit and relax, hungry eyes glues to her every turn and twist of stance. "Our means of thank you." "I'm good, just surprised, that's all," said Pearl, smitten by Abi's gorgeous smile and perfect female form. Sporting a small camel toe in perfect jeans, ass a perfectly shaped peach in soft material Levis.

Tea poured as Celle arrived on the scene, wearing usual skin-toned bra top and mickey mouse bed shorts, over sports briefs, feet adorned in Hello Kitty ankle socks. Silk-lined bath robe left open, the house warm and scented, like home. Pearl looked different, losing confidence somehow, and waited upon. "What did you do?" Abi didn't blink, innocently crossing personal boundaries. "She turned about, into a morning thank you kiss, but didn't know I was there, admiring her swaying to music backside." "Vincent said, don't interfere." Celle glanced between them, correctly gauging Pearl's tense wound-up-spring state of mind. "Innocent, and I said sorry," said Abi, serving three hot bowls, pastry pieces in a warm bread basket, covered with cloth, moved to the coffee table. Pearl shook off the moment, stepping innocently where she ought not, exploding in bliss in a split second. Not breaking personal vows, and enjoying musky fragrance and soft-toned feminine appeal, Abi's hands over her jeans and torso, inches from erect, firm breasts, cherry tongue down her throat. "I'm good." Pearl shook off the distraction to food, sitting upright, breathing deeply in, slowly out.

Discussion turned to a blissful night sleep and delicious breakfast, and miserable weather. Pearl relaxed in mutual, youthful company, surprised by many common connections. Plenty to talk about, the morning vibrant and energized. A surprise twist in her otherwise boring routine, twice venting hands-free in her pants while working. Thought's wandered to their home life and community, phone images shared.

Staring at the most beautiful woman alive on Abi's phone, Pearl sat speechless, learning of the adoption by none other than Anjelika, Theresa Valquez, of Spain. He name was infamous in equestrian high society, their family Haute schools and teaching methods breeding the best in horses and high-competition riders, gathering a king's ransom in titles, ribbons, and trophies. In another twist, their French class Matron in Margarita, a powerful intimidating force. Dragging uncouth girls upright by strict methods, loudly tapping leather thigh boots, and vicious hard leather short riding crop, handing out red behaviour-detention cards without mercy...



Celle waited for non verbal body signals, then shifted a seat, opening space, the pair teasing their host uncomfortably. Tap of her denim clad thigh, inviting Pearl to join them. She did, so, Abi nodding softly. "We can't make you suffer for a month," said Celle, helping Pearl relax into her lap, half on the couch seat. Abi moved closer, gently handling Pearl's still quivering denim clad thigh, leg over her own, sporting a healthy wet patch in her crotch, hand to it and firmly rubbing deeper underneath. Breakfast shared by hand, feeding each other, the close contact softened Pearl's intense discomfort, but, awakened deep arousal. Easing herself into their honest, open company and free tactile contact, enjoying new sensations, and a higher state of self-awareness.

An hour ticked by on the kitchen mermaid wall clock, deep French kissing followed sharing delicious pastries by mouth, equally shared. Pearl discovered the joys of sweet food sex, fruit smeared chest inhaled by both her guests. Handfuls deposited in soaked briefs and relaxed jeans, giving herself to the pleasure of it, reliving earlier dreams and desires. Barely room to see, Abi expertly licked up the mess, tonguing the tortured girl into bliss through soaked stretch lace briefs, sending her into orgasmic orbit. Gripped tightly while she struggled internally with dizziness and extreme sexual satisfaction, pastry crust sliding about or smeared everywhere. Gritted teeth, buzzing with euphoria, eyes upwards at blurred ceiling. Abi and Celle worked in tag-team, swapping out for the coup de gra'ce. Celle wore a gush, like a squid, then two more, extracting every ounce of energy possible from slippery, convulsing flesh, vibrating with every animated groan.

Mess covered the furniture, their food tray, themselves, and pristine clean floor, the elegant room reeking of musky feminine nectar. Celle took a few quick breaths, diving straight back in, flooding Pearl's soaked jeans a second time, leaving her exhausted and destroyed on the couch. Over the top, finishing each other to the same extent. In a fiery, passionate display of feline emotion, Peal's trembling hands to a slimy wet erect breast each, pulling hard on nipples, struggling to focus and breathe through wave after wave of lustful delight. Gyrating as she convulsed in bliss, ears filled with gasping, grunts, and moans of pleasure, her first time suffering nine intense orgasms in the same morning.

Thirty silent minutes until Abi untangled herself, aching and broken from intense morning exercise, jeans sliding about like on silk. Same dizzy head, releasing her company to recover. "I'll run a jet bath. Take your time, then we'll clean up this mess." Satisfied kiss for the barely moving pair, hair destroyed in matted clumps. Abi dragged herself away, hand to foggy head, open jeans slipping down aching legs. Allowed to fall in a plop, heavy and soaked, stepped out of with a groan. "That was good," giggling to herself, offering Pearl the perfect initiation into their messy world.

Celle refused to move from the couch, aching back and legs, pounding head, like she'd gone ten rounds in training, trembling at random through gritted, chattering teeth. The pair shifted position slightly, thighs entwined, bodies pressed lightly together. Fingers wiped mess from covered faces, Pearl's priceless expression staring back at her. Hair all over the place, smothered in pastry mess, sliding around in destroyed jeans and sweater. Pearl adjusted her position slightly, eyes closed, inhaling exotic fragrance and stewed fruit. Messy jeans, felt silky smooth, in places, dried fruit made a glue. "How do I look? I'm not getting up, don't care what we look like." "We'll take a hot bath then massage. Still with me?" Pearl nodded, groaning as she moved. Surreal visions replayed in her head, body limp and tingling. The pair wrapped around each other until Abi called out from the bathroom. Stringy hair refused to untangle, sticking to the leather couch, solidifying in open fire warmth.

Pulling each other upright, beaten up and broken, Pearl surveyed the destroyed lounge and herself, totally covered in food mess. Struggling to stay upright, losing balance with Celle's solid frame and stance, slipping on slime covered tiles. Wiping mess from her face in sticky clumps, hair drying like stiff cardboard. "Oh My God... I'm trashed..." Hands ran through Ashe blonde matted clumps. If mother could see me now, or, dressed French maid, waiting on you, opaque sheer undergarments, like this, she'd have a coronary episode... I've had girls before, but you're totally from another planet." The pair left messy footprints in a trail, in small steps, slipping about in gunge covered nylon, holding each other upright.


(2nd draft, edited by ProWriting Aid for grammar, spelling, and word choice).