This story was requested. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
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CWs: CNC, eldritch stuff, Victorian setting, f/f, tentacles, drugs, peer pressure
Beneath the black tiled roof of the Gilhearth Manor hung an odious atmosphere of secrecy. Despite the great many people attending, all mask-clad and dressed in their most fanciful attire, not a single one knew the true purpose of their attendance: least of all, of course, being Olivia Mayweather.
She was a mousy little thing, standing out like a sore thumb. It wasn't her outfit completely clashing with the otherwise all-black attire of the other attendees, but her wealth: her clothes were conspicuously less tailored and pristine than those of her peers, and her shoes looked positively... worn. Streaks of orange-blonde hair cascaded like wheaten curtains across her alabaster mask, the ceramic imprinted slightly with the form of a human face. Eliza Gilhearth, the Manor's elusive owner and the evening's host, was keen on anonymity for her guests -- only the most trusted of her confidants were able to see her face-to-face.
Standing across from Olivia, hand clutching a glass of dark port wine, was her dear family friend, Mabel Payes. Payes had always been older -- 31 to Olivia's 22 years -- yet the two were practically inseparable. They'd met as coworkers at the Mayweather family bakery -- the two bonded quickly over the shared struggle of the busy kitchen, and they've been nigh-inseparable since.
Mabel, unlike Olivia, did not still live with her family, instead owning a rather successful textile mill after moving out. Her outfit was impeccable; she bore no hat, merely a painted black mask. If they hadn't come in together, Olivia would've lost her friend in the crowd; unlike herself, Mabel took the dress code at each of the Gilhearth parties very seriously.
"I'm just surprised you decided to come." Mabel remarks, swirling the drink around in her hand. "Aren't you more of the... reading sort?"
Olivia grins and takes a sip of her gin and tonic. "Well, usually -- whenever mother's not being so obtuse. This was the best way to get out of the house -- and get on her nerves at the same time."
"She's not the type for parties?" Mabel continues.
"Not the type to let me do much of anything, parties least of all -- especially not the kind Madame Gilhearth throws."
Both women giggle to one another before the slam of a door grabs their attention. At the top of the flight of stairs overlooking the foyer was Eliza Gilhearth, in the flesh -- though unmistakably absent her normal grandeur. Where typically sat neatly-braided buns, her silvery-black hair now hung limp and lifeless around her head, draping her like the equally-flowing black bathrobe that covered her body. Seeing her without her hair done was odd, but to be seen without her dress was downright cause for concern.
"Attention, guests, a few more moments until the main halls will be opened. Please have your masks secured -- we will be checking at the door. Thank you."
And with that, she was off -- back through the doors which she'd appeared and which slammed shut in an instant.
Olivia looked at Mabel and Mabel look right back, their eyes locking from the holes in their masks. Typically, Eliza reveled in her own grandeur and the splendor of her parties, but tonight she seemed rather hurried. What was on her mind?
"That was..." Olivia begins, confusion on her tongue.
"Odd?" Mabel finishes, glancing around the room at the other patrons. While some seemed equally perplexed, the others seemingly bought it as part of the show; within seconds, their raucous conversations once again fill the quiet room.
"Perhaps there's something wrong?" Olivia continues, glancing up at the great door above, "Do you think it's related to..."
"Oh, not at all -- the Gilhearths have entirely too much riding on their reputation."
In the past, Eliza had spoken in whispered tones with her more trusted guests. They were, of course, not as trustworthy as she'd hoped, and soon word of her plans got around. She was an occultist, a dedicated one at that, and despite her hesitancy to share it with anyone save for her closest companions, it was evident to almost everyone who regularly attended her parties. In recent months, however, she'd gotten far more devoted; many nights, you could see her bedroom lamp on into the earliest hours of the morning. She was on the verge of something important, apparently, but few knew what -- and even fewer of those who did know could even comprehend it.
With a deep, hollow groan, the great door at the top of the foyer stairs creaks open.
"...do they?"
Guests filter upstairs to be greeted to another world. Whatever had happened in between this party and the last had been... drastic, to say the least. Once the Gilhearth Manor had been decorated in the most impeccable midcentury Victorian style; it now seemed the work of an utterly deranged person. Every wall was covered with white chalk marks and paint, forming vast sigils, epithets, and mathematical formulas over every surface; some even ran onto the floor or nearby furniture. Gone were the fine wooden furnishings of before, in their place, floor cushions, beds, mats -- and most enticing of all, hookahs and opium pipes, the coals still burning gently.
All around the room, those who had already entered before the pair of women had begun enjoying themselves to the fullest. Smoke lingered around every ceiling, bringing Olivia to cough as she entered the main hall with Mabel.
"...t-this is certainly more than I was expecting for a first time." the girl in white remarked, standing out amidst the sea of black and red beside her. "Is it usually so... flagrant?"
"Not normally." Mabel remarks, gazing curiously at a woman in the crowd as she hiked her skirt up a bit. "I guess Eliza really is feeling off."
From behind, a pair of guests bump into the two women. It was a second or two of contact at most, and even despite her relative innocence, Olivia still felt the rigid outline of a cock beneath the black dress of the more elaborately-dressed of the pair. She apologizes in half-words, led off elsewhere hand-in-hand with her more masculine partner. Olivia shivers.
"I... can't say it's entirely unwelcome." Olivia remarks, flush in the cheeks as she turns to an equally-flustered Mabel.
"Oh, quite welcome, indeed..."
The two filter through the crowd, exploring the museum of pleasures and debauchery that the Gilhearth Manor had become. The main hall was arranged as a two-layer loop; one entered into a large ballroom dominated by a staircase, the upstairs landing a maze of locked doors and dimmed lights. At the center of it was the most curious of the various shapes painted haphazardly across the walls: a rectangle. Bare and imposing, it stands out, conspicuously plain in a sea of dizzying murals of shapes and symbols; where the other paint had been white, though, this rectangle sat against the wooden walls a heavy, eye-grabbing black.
Every step forward seems to reveal a new height of ecstasy and depth of moral abandon. On the first floor, things seemed relatively tame, at least beneath the clouds of hash and opium; touching, feeling, rolling and writhing on the luxuriant couches and pillows. Upstairs, where the air was heady, things slip beyond the pale far more quickly than either woman is prepared for. Women -- and the sparse man -- sit, and more often lay, nude, bathing in warm lamplight and clearly delighting in each others' bodies regardless of the wandering eye of passers-by. Strangest, however, was the fact that not a single one discarded their mask, even when entirely naked.
Just as Olivia turned away from such a display, a woman sat amidst the many nude figures blew a thick, pungent cloud of hash smoke into their faces. Both women coughed, turning away from it and towards the stairway once again. It was far too... blatant, for their tastes, too adventurous for their fluttering hearts. That'd have to come another time, perhaps; though neither of them could deny that they were beginning to loosen up.
The smoke clung to the white linen dress shirt Olivia wore, like a mask of its own. Eugh -- mother would surely be asking about the stench later.
"T-This is a bit..." Olivia coos, looking up at Eliza through her mask.
"Much for you?" Mabel injects, finishing her words. "I must admit I'm a little captivated, personally."
"N-No, it's not... too much, it's just so sudden. I was expecting a bit more of an... introduction to things, wouldn't you agree?" responds the sheepish girl behind the white mask.
Piercing the din of the crowd was the unmistakable sound of a woman chuckling. It stuck out like a red-hot iron, cutting through the mental noise as if it were butter. Every step they took down the stairs it seemed to follow them, echoing around the insides of their head in a way unique among the cacophony.
"Headed out so soon, girls?"
...Eliza?
The two of them whipped around only to witness the elusive hostess stroll right past them in a state of undress. Black and red paint ran down her body in streaks, as if she had dumped the stuff onto her head, finishing it off with layers upon layers of white writing; pondering it, Olivia noticed some looked impossible to write with one's own hands.
"P-Pardon us, Madame Gilhearth!" both girls reply, almost in unison. Paint from Eliza's body smears against their clothing, yet the text remains impeccable. "We-w..."
"Were leaving, hm? A little too exciting?"
"Not at all!" Mabel replies, now following just behind the imposing woman along with Olivia. "We were off to fetch some -"
"Oh, you won't need drink for much longer, my dearest guest," Eliza replies, now completely looking away from them and out into the lower level of the hall, "for the night's greatest pleasure is about to begin."
