Carl and Carrie knew how to make the most of a festival. They didn't set up on the first day like all those upstart cheap booths looking to cash-in quick. The first day crowd were usually too sober and too tightly strung. No one wanted to be the first person to do anything, especially on the first day of the festival. Carl used to get so bored with first-day haggling that he would just shake his head and turn them away if they tried.
The extra time had the added benefit of giving Carrie half a day to get the tent ready. It was a lot of work to set up an entire boudoir, assembling all the furniture, preparing the bed, the vaulting bench, the rack, the cross, and after all of that then to prepare herself.
They'd discussed the schedule in the van on the way over; by the morning of the second day, she would be smooth, fresh, and as a finishing touch would even apply a few drops of that high-powered pheromone they discovered a season back. It drove Carl crazy, that's for sure, and although no one else had ever mentioned it she suspected it drove the clients crazy as well.
Carl was working on the antechamber and the outside, setting up the small waiting area in the front tents and preparing for the inevitable queue of festival-goers. He had a circus ringleader look about him; a sort of disheveled but ultimately debonair combination of charm and smarm. Although their relationship had never been officially declared, at least not in any legal or taxable sense, the pair had been working closely for almost a decade and found the arrangement not only natural but very lucrative.
That isn't to say they weren't without their problems though. Carl, with his showman nature, loved to add a bit of unnecessary drama to their schemes and sadly was never above a prank. Carrie meanwhile was the body that got the bulk of the work done, and although she didn't have the sharpest grasp of business she was a formidable performer who took her craft seriously.
Unloading the last of the furniture from the van, Carl saw a gang of men laughing and drinking. They turned off the grassy path and into the huge center stage tent. It was propped up by a central pole almost 3 storeys tall. That pole would no doubt be on the center of the stage.
Pole work was always big on the first day. Talented, athletic bodies climbing up and down in unlikely positions was an excellent way to "prime the pump", as Carl put it. Carrie had a different turn of phrase for it, thinking of the customers as less "prime" and more "pump", especially by the second day when they'd be lining up to get onto her.
"Big crowds, Love. Big crowds." Carl shook his head, watching the last of the line of men slip into the pole tent. His accent always got in the way when he called her "love", landing far closer to "luff" than what he had meant to say. "Plus, they've got the Slippery Sisters on tonight. That's that pole dance with the jelly pool at the base. The boys love, it but fuck it makes a mess."
Carrie walked over and peered down at the crowds still waiting to get inside.
"Should we open up early?" She asked him. "If these boys are fit to burst by the end of that show there could be money on the table."
Carl shook his head.
"I don't think so, Love. We're not on the program until tomorrow and I don't like the look of a few of those lads." He unstrapped the final hitching in the van and heaved down the last stack of chairs for the antechamber.
They took a break when the van was empty and went for a wander around the rest of the festival. Their corner was next to the Pole Tents, and was comparatively quiet - probably because it appealed mostly to male patrons. There were many other sections with true omnisexual delights where the party had begun to really gallop.
Next to them was a long sideshow alley for the live cam performers. Neither Carl nor Carrie could remember seeing so many of them at a festival before. They were reclining or standing in their well-lit booths, live-streaming to the world as they put on a show for the in-person audience. Just in front of their booths and just out of reach, the camming men, women and every other kind of folk performed for their audiences in all kinds of combinations. There were even a few triples pulling off whatever giving and taking that somebody in the audience tipped them enough to do.
Carrie dawdled so she could stay and watch the performers a little longer. In a sense they were the warm-up act for her patrons. Despite the extremely erotic displays most of the men were containing themselves. But that wasn't too surprising; it was, after all, generally understood that you should use other attractions, perhaps a booth girl like Carrie, to get much needed relief.
In a lot of ways that was the rhythm of the whole festival. Party-goers would arrive, drink, watch their every possible fantasy play out in a booth or tent in front of them, and then go find a booth girl or booth boy to help get them over the edge.
Urged on by Carl, they finished their tour of the festival, returning to their tent to find the site manager waiting for them. She was a tall woman in her 50s and an old friend of Carl's. In another life when he was working as the bouncer in a pole club she had been the star attraction. Back then her incredibly long arms and legs would send the crowds so wild they would howl like dogs.
Carl broke into a warm smile.
"Marion, always a pleasure." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "We've just got back from the first loop of the place. A few new things to see this year."
"It's been a nightmare," she sighed, allowing her professional composure to slip away. "Carrie, lovely to see you." She smiled brightly at Carrie. "We've got a great crowd for you this year."
They chatted about some programming arrangements, trying to pick when they would get especially busy and quiet. They talked about the other tents, and which attractions had their major events on which nights. It was good to have somebody on the inside like Marion; Carl always said it helped give their operation the edge. These little insights, combined with all the extra effort they'd put into the setup this year meant it was looking like it would be the most lucrative festival yet for them. Even now before it all really started there was an excitement in the air, and Carrie was tingling to get started.
Another festival staff member came over in a panic and Marion was called away to deal with some situation in the ticketing area. They wished each other farewell quickly and she strode off down the aisle of tents.
"Right," siad Carl. "I'm going to make sure our posters are up around the place. Do you have everything you need, my dear?"
Carrie said she was fine for gear but asked if he could bring a meal back with him. He cheerfully agreed, headed off down the row with an arm full of posters and flyers. Carrie turned into the tent to make a few finishing touches before the clients arrived tomorrow.
The main chamber of her tent was only a few meters across. This year they'd decided to make the vaulting bench the centerpiece of the room. It had four upholstered legs that ended up a padded platform that sat at the same height as her waist. All over it were heavy metal rings and anchoring points where clasps and chains could be clipped in for a quick and practical restraint should it be needed. It was a beautiful piece of furniture. Carl had ordered it from a specialist carpenter a few years ago and it had quickly become a favorite.
He returned to the tent a little earlier than she expected, and without any food either. It was only because she knew him so well she didn't immediately snap about him returning empty handed - she immediately noticed something about him was a little off. Before Carrie could ask him what had happened he cleared his throat in that way that meant he was about to talk business.
She looked at him expectantly.
"So I've been thinking about what you said," he began slowly, "and maybe we should open for a few selected clients tonight. I bumped into an old friend at the food trucks and he said he was desperate to get in and spend a bit of time with someone. He promised a big tip too..."
It was strange for Carl to try and sell an idea to her by appealing to her bank account. They had made so much money that the gig was mostly for fun these days. The festival accountant hadn't even batted an eyelid when they'd handed in their last bill, and that's after they added an extra "0" to it.
She did this work because she enjoyed it, was good at it, and loved to make grown men lose their minds and act like wild beasts. He didn't need to sell it to her, but at least she was glad that he was on board.
"Who's this friend who so persuasively managed to get you to change your mind?" She asked. "Have I met them before?"
"Not this guy, no. But we go way back." Carl shot a glance over his shoulder, eyes darting over to the flap of the tent that led back into the reception area. "Actually, I told him to head over shortly, so you might need to shift gears and get ready, pet."
Carrie debated arguing with him; it might have been her idea but she didn't like being booked before actually deciding to be available. But the fact was she was excited to get started. Plus, they could bill the festival for a whole extra day of services, which would go a long way to helping resolve any stress the situation put on the partnership.
"Does he know the rules?" She asked pointedly. She moved over to a crate beside the vaulting bench and started to dig through. "Nothing too heavy for the first course, as my mother would have said."
Carl was already on his way to leave, and turned back with a short laugh.
"Ha! Of course. I ran him through everything." Again, his eyes flicked back to the flap of the door, before going back to her. "Although for a truly phenomenal tip we did agree to one or two teensy little extras. Nothing to worry about."
Carrie stopped dead, and turned fully to face Carl.
"Carl." She said. It was a question, a statement and a threat all in one word.
