The lighter clicked, the water bubbled, and Traci Carlyle inhaled hugely out of the tall glass bong, holding the smoke in her lungs as she set it down on the deck and lay back on the chaise lounge, her breasts wobbling slightly. The curvy 19 year old was taking advantage of the privacy afforded by having an enormous estate entirely to herself (parents travelling. . .somewhere, servants off) to lay out and smoke wearing nothing but a hemp necklace and anklet. She exhaled out over the Pacific and smiled. Having the house entirely to herself was going to be good for other things too, and she tugged on the silver ring that pierced her left nipple, sending a little thrill through her body in anticipation of greater delights to come.
Plenty of time though, and no need to rush anything; she was, after all, on summer vacation. Traci adjusted her blonde dreads to lay more comfortably and settled in to let the sun bake her already tanned-brown body. In addition to the nipple ring, silver gleamed at her nose, belly button, and clit, the latter clearly visible nestled in her cleanly waxed pussy. Multiple rings dotted her ears, including a barbell through her left one. A few beads of sweat rolled down through the valley of her C cup breasts to the gentle curve of her belly, but the sea breeze kept things from being too hot, by Southern California standards anyway. Traci closed her eyes and listened to the breakers come in far below. Mankind may have ventured to the stars but some things don't change; rich Hollywood execs still lived in giant tacky cliffside mansions. And they still get into decadent, weird shit, she thought, and—a stoned giggle escaped her—their daughters still find out and get into it too.
Had her mother really thought she wouldn't find out? The fact that she'd been away at school was immaterial; there were so many satellites up there you could get camera time whenever you wanted (well, if you had money like the Carlyles), and Traci liked to keep an eye on the homestead to see if anything interesting was happening while she was away. Sure enough, her computer had alerted her one day that a whole lot of construction equipment was showing up at the mansion. Workmen were going in and out for three weeks, and finally a very large shuttle with the name of a major interstellar transport firm had landed. And yet, absolutely no word from her parents about anything going on with the house. Obviously they were hiding something, and Traci had had a pretty good idea as to what. Decadent weird shit ran in trends as much as what car to drive or what designer to wear within her parents' social circle, so she'd been aware of the idea to begin with, and this particular variety required a lot of infrastructure. It wasn't hard to figure out what had been installed in there, and that wasn't something Traci planned to miss out on. Something about it was just so exciting, so thrilling. . .when her parents had announced they were leaving for a few months, her mind had jumped straight to the image of that transport, her pulse had quickened, and she'd felt a rising heat.
Thinking about it, maybe she
was
in a rush after all. The weed was fogging her brain and heightening the physical sensations while dampening her nerves. Any trepidation she'd felt had melted away, and her pussy was getting wet at the thought of what was to come. Without even thinking about it, her right hand crept down and started stroking, while her left played with the nipple ring. Soft moans escaped her lips as her finger, wet with her juices, circled her clit and her other hand pinched the nipple, then started squeezing her breast—
"Whoa. Down girl." She grinned again. Oh yeah, it was time. Traci rotated her bare ass and swung her legs over the side of the chaise. One last hit from the bong and she was good to go. Better than good, really. She slipped on the short, thin robe that had sat on the table next to her, and headed inside. The AC kicked on in response to the sliding glass door having let the July heat inside and her nipples tented, but she was still plenty warm and moist down below. A glass of water, some fruit, and Traci padded down to that wing's living room.
She felt around the underside of one of the shelves in a very heavy looking bookcase, located the ridged patch, shifted it, and, as when she'd first found the entrance, sighed as the bookcase it glided silently outwards and over. "Really Mom? The bookcase? I get that the classics never die, but come
on
." She smiled and shook her head, dreads knocking each other in opposite directions. "At least I didn't have to pull on a copy of the
Kama Sutra.