Crawling was never a particularly elegant mode of movement. Eleanor had practiced long and hard in readiness for this moment, arranged mirrors to afford her a side and back view as she carefully rehearsed, but still the degree of ease or control that would have satisfied her ever searching sense of worth remained beyond reach. The curtain at the far end of the corridor was still at least twenty feet away and the toes of her black patent stilettos and knees of her silken stockings were already in tatters. She had been sure the floor would be carpeted, what possible reason would there be to make someone cower on bare boards? Yet plainly the scratches and splinters now invading the palms of both hands told a different harsher tale.
The circumstances that led Eleanor to this servile position had been surprisingly straightforward. She had always wanted to fit in with her peers, dressed with abundant care and diligence to blend, acted only in a manner fashionably and socially acceptable. From her very first day at school Eleanor had made her it her purpose to be a perfect reflection of everyone and everything she admired, the vainness, the endless superciliousness, a perfect example of what it meant to be an idle and pointless member of societies elite. Being a clone seemed to Eleanor a perfect way to be accepted, to enjoy the overly privileged mantle that came with but the seemingly unimportant loss of individuality in thought and deed.
Both finishing school and college had educated Eleanor to the rigors of earning acceptance with her peers. She had endured the constant bullying and mean spiritedness of the older girls in order to earn her right to eventually become a protagonist. So successfully had she learned the 'life lessons' she had left college as undisputed head of her sorority.
Eleanor found both strength and character in belonging, her identity was so much more powerful when surrounded by others of the same feather, her views so much more valid when echoed perfectly from all sides. As each new chapter of her development beckoned her search for the ideal uniform became more frenetic and vital. The sudden fall from sorority royalty or finishing school head girl to just another drowning debutante in the dangerous pool of everyday society was terrifying in its darkness and solitude.
Sexually Eleanor was ambivalent. She had long used her physical looks and abilities to garner both popularity and success without ever having expected any reward beyond social aggrandizement. Certainly the feelings of pleasure that a boy or girl's fumbling's bought to her body were pleasant enough but of no comparison to the power she gained in return. Eleanor considered her body something to be used as capital, by investing well dividends of quite extraordinary value would return. Fucking your way to success seemed quite ethical, if favor or social position were acceptable as bribery for advancement then why not use breasts and vagina as additional bait. The encounters so far experienced had been bland but successful, from the time she allowed her school mathematics mistress to lick her clitoris in exchange for an examination paper A+ to a moment ago her just allowing Charles to penetrate her momentarily against the garden wall in exchange for an invite to a particularly exclusive party at his parent's mansion this following weekend.
"Make sure I get the invite Charles or I will tell everyone you're a terrible screw."
Charles laughed casually enough but Eleanor knew he would do anything to avoid the slightest sniff of scandal. His father was something important in the state department and would look harshly on any kind of bad press.
"Don't worry, you will get your damned invite. You might want to wash the jizz off your pretty torn Victoria Secrets before anyone sees them."
Eleanor started to scowl but a better idea came to mind. Rapidly stepping out of her ripped lace thong she scooped the offending garment up in her right hand and shoved it deep between Charles open lips.
"Something for you to savor dear boy."
The parting shot was punctuated by a hard pinch to Charles still exposed scrotum.
Eleanor had been obsessed with meeting Derwent Dashwood for as long as she could remember. Dashwood was everything Eleanor desired to be, unfathomably wealthy, elusively famous, a ghost that bestrode the artistic world and high society like a titan. Her fascination was driven by the very nature of his existence. In a world preoccupied with the rich and famous Derwent Dashwood was a celebrity without a discernible trail. A search of the all-knowing internet drew nothing more than a listing of his book and film production credits, yet he remained a cultural icon of infamous renown whose exploits were whispered to be so wicked and profane as to rival the great beast himself. From the first moment she had seen his visit to the Harvard University campus announced she had set her heart on meeting her idol. He was to be guest of honor at the party being held at the home of Benjamin Cohen, Charles father, the very party to which Eleanor had just so debauchery earned an invitation. The party was in five-days' time, on the 30th of April, Witches Night.
Finding something suitable to wear at such short notice would not necessarily be an easy task. The stores and boutiques around the Hamptons were filled with either the previous seasons fashions or the kind of wear more suitable for summer escapade than a formal affair. Eleanor decided the answer was a shopping trip to New York and without hesitation she packed herself an overnight bag, finagled her father's his two most acceptable credit cards with a little sugar and headed for the Big Apples 5th Avenue.
Shopping for clothes can be incredibly easy when you have a virtually endless line of credit and the expert advice of the very best professionals. Eleanor allowed from mid-morning to the late afternoon for actual store visits to make general picks then arranged private showings in her suite at the Park Lane before final decisions. Perhaps she was being just being ostentatious but three of her ex sonority girls had wanted to get together while she was in town and a private en suit fashion show was the perfect way to show she had lost none of her panache.
Darlene Saint Clare, Georgy Palatine and Fussy Smitt arrived just five minutes after their appointed time. Leaner had arranged for them to be shown in and given champagne cocktails, she of course was still getting dressed and wouldn't bother to appear for a further thirty minutes. The greetings were full of customary good cheer and considering all four young women would have happily thrown the others the twenty-nine floors to the street below were surprisingly believable.
"Dearest Darlene you are looking quite radiant.
Is that a little baby bump I see appearing?"
Darlene Saint Clare, nee DuPont had been married for only six weeks so the remark was rather more suggestive than might have appeared to the innocent eavesdropper.
"How clever of you to notice Eleanor, I only found out myself the other day. The Doctors seem to think I am carrying very low and probably will have a premature delivery."
Eleanor, Georgy and Fussy clucked and nodded with feigned understanding and concern. It was obvious to all three that Darlene was three months gone if a day.
"Never saw you at the wedding Eleanor?"
Eleanor smiled at Georgy demurely.
"I was away in Europe unfortunately otherwise I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
In fact, Eleanor had arranged the trip specifically to avoid the event. Darlene had married Beau Wilson, great grandson of the wartime president and one of the names on Eleanor's own list of probable matches. She didn't take what she perceived as a wickedly obvious steal easily.
"So I am relying on you three to help me choose my dress for the party this weekend. I so want to impress Derwent Dashwood."
"Isn't he that English writer you are so soft on Eleanor?"
"Not soft on Fussy, I just admire his work so."
"I heard he's a bit of a devil with the ladies!"
"I am sure that's just rumor and conjecture because of his wealth and fame Georgy."
"Would be a terrible disappointment if it was just rumor!"
Eleanor joined in with the laughter but wasn't really amused at Dashwood's name being bandied about. He was her special project, just hers. Eleanor clapped her hands together loudly, the prearranged signal for the fashion show to commence. The girls soon settled into a catty banter, discussing both the suitability of the dresses and the physical attributes of the models. Eleanor had ensured the five walking mannequins were slim, young and beautiful in that particular sassy way that appeals to everyone with any red blood running through their veins. The voyeur's glasses were constantly refilled with the very finest champagne, their palates tempted with caviar and foie gras. What had started as a fashion show par excellence was soon a cabaret presentation for the ladies particularly wanton delectation.An hour and many model changes later the audience had agreed on a suitable gown.
"Time to choose the underwear now don't you think darlings?"
Eleanor certainly knew how to throw exactly the kind of affair to get her friends taste buds fully operational.
"Oh god yes. Too many flowing gowns for my needs, let's see some ass and tits now."
Dear Darlene probably shouldn't have been drinking quite so avidly but as this was probably going to be her last chance at any real fun for quite a few months was really in a partying mood. No sooner had the models started parading in the most divine and extraordinarily delicate lingerie than she was up and using any excuse to get her hands on the warm and seductive flesh on offer. For their parts the model didn't seem to mind terribly, probably a result of the large payments they had all received in advance for full participation in whatever the client decided was on the menu.
"You seem to be having a decided effect on that model Darlene."
Fussy's remark was fairly unnecessary considering the model was happily allowing Darlene to slide her right hand into the confines of her wispy panties.
"She's running like a tap down here."
Darlene's words were a little blocked by the mouthful of mammary she was intent on swallowing. Fussy decided to join in with the general breakdown of the official program and beckoned a particularly tall goth like creature towards where she was sitting. The girl obliged without a hesitation, climbing knees asunder over Fussy's lap and grinding her pelvis hard against the delighted recipients belly. Georgy, never being a girl t be outdone simply pulled her dress up to her waist to expose her naked crotch and pointed to the shaven haven to indicate that dinner was served. A shorter redheaded model with very colorful tattoos covering her arms like sleeves happily slipped her face between Georgy's deliciously gaping thighs.
"Fucking good show Eleanor."
Eleanor fielded the compliment gladly before excusing herself momentarily on the pretext of using the bathroom. The models had been using the office and dining area of the suite as a staging area and that was also where Eleanor had set up the laptop to receive the signals from the cameras hidden in different areas of lounge. She carefully checked that all the cameras were working correctly and that none of the action was being missed because of bad angulation. Happily everything was exactly as she had planned. Eleanor had no particular reason for wanting a hold over the three woman busily thrashing orgiastic-ally but you could never tell when a sensitive video or picture could come in handy.
Eleanor leaned against the wall and having lifted her skirts up to her hips beckoned over one of the young male dressers who helped the models with their changes, hair and make-up.
"Fuck me."
