A Gathering of Clowns
Chapter 10 A Fool Awaits Your Pleasure
Carman pressed the button and waited, and in a moment Folake’s musical voice answered, “Yes?”
“I think you know who it is, my, um mistress.” Carman said quietly.
“I’m not sure there is enough respect in that voice to be allowed up.”
“I’m sorry, my goddess.” Carman smiled. “I promise to make it up to you if you allow me to enter. There, is that more respectful?” Carman could hear the soft chuckle from the mic.
“And what must you do when you come in?”
“I must strip and kneel, mistress.”
“Very good.” The buzzer announced the unlocking of the door and Carman entered. In three minutes she was, true to her word, kneeling naked on the carpet before Folake, who gently stroked her head?
“Have you used the toilet recently?”
Carman paused, feeling odd that this was happening and she was part of it. “No, I have waited, to be here.” She answered truthfully, acutely aware she had chosen not to urinate before leaving Emily.
“Excellent. Come.” In a moment Carman was seated and urinating as Folake watched, before squatting herself and urinating again on Carman. When she had finished she brought Carman to her knees in front of her. “I wish you to clean me.” Folake said, quietly, but authoritatively. Carman leaned up, and with the pungent odor of urine in her nostrils, began to lick the woman.
Folake let Carman’s hungry mouth explore for several minutes before lifting the woman to her feet and taking her back to the bed, where they assumed a sixty-nine position, Folake on top. It wasn’t long before both women shuddered and lay with their faces between each other’s thighs.
After a rest, Folake took Carman into the washroom again and pointed to a glass; “I have provided my slave with a toothbrush; just for you.” She kissed her and they laughed and brushed their teeth together like schoolgirls.
The clock read two-thirty. Carman lay, unable to get to sleep. Beside her the sounds of gentle breathing told her that, unlike herself, Folake was slumbering peacefully. Carman’s mind was in turmoil, first with all that had happened to her, this relationship she had wandered into, but also with all that Emily had related to her.
Could Stafford Hawkins have ended his wife’s life? On the surface it was preposterous; but on exploring it only a little further, it became more likely. Hawkins was a ruthless, self-centered man who felt no remorse at removing anything in his path. If, as Emily proposed, he had discovered his wife was unfaithful and about to leave him, killing her was not unthinkable.
Carman had known when she came to his employment that Hawkins was cold and demanding, and he had been that and more. It was he, after all, who had placed Carman in this position of subservience, almost for sport. Did he know how she would respond? He couldn’t have; that would require him to consider her, which he would not do. He only considered actions and outcomes.
However, the most surprised person in all of this remained Carman herself.
San Antonio, Texas, St. Rose Middle School, 2000
Carman Da Costa, thirteen, was undressing in the change room beside the gym. Since her growth spurt just before summer, which saw her stretch from five-four to five- nine in four months, she was obsessively aware of her slender, developing body with its dark, dense, weed-like pubic patch and tiny breasts, topped with huge areolas and nipples. She was horrified at having other girls see her and so planned things so she had the change room as vacant as possible.
Suddenly, however, as she was standing completely naked, Lora-lee Summers, a classmate, entered and took up a position directly opposite her, smiling and undressing quickly. Lori-lee was also tall-ish (not as tall as Carman) and slender as well, but with light brown hair to Carman’s dark, almost black, pubic cover and with more developed breasts; which Carman could not help noticing, as the nipples were standing out and pointing directly at her.
Almost like a dream, Lora-lee came around the bench and stood right in front of a stunned Carman, inches away in fact, before leaning in and kissing the startled girl on the mouth. It was Carman’s first true kiss, and the two girls held it, Carman marvelling at how it made her feel. “I like you.” Lora-lee whispered. Three little words, that literally made Carman’s heart skip.
Then Lora-lee dropped to her knees and began sucking directly on Carman’s clit through the tangle of hair. Without even considering, Carman simply gripped the head, with its sleek, long brunette hair, and held on.
In a few minutes, Carman Da Costa had her first, real, albeit brief, orgasm. She would never forget that feeling.
Emily sat, studying the last photo Becky had sent her; it was dated four days after her mother’s death and it showed Stafford Hawkins leaving a Los Angeles cemetery; Emily noted the name; she would pay the place a visit.
Hmmmm, she thought, four days. The old bastard didn’t let any grass grow under his freakin’ feet.
Carman was kneeling in the shower as Folake urinated on her. The warm stream hit her breasts and then her belly. When only drops remained, the dark woman brought Carman’s face, her hands tied behind her, into her crotch and Carman, amazing herself, lapped furiously at the dark, meaty folds of Folake’s sex. Turning the water on, Folake humped Carman’s face, slowly and sensuously, with the warm water driving down upon them both.
After several minutes, Folake had Carman stand and then she washed her, from her face down to her feet and every inch in between, before pushing her against the shower wall and fingering her until Carman’s knees buckled and she cried out in a long and intense orgasm, collapsing finally onto Folake’s slim but muscular frame.
Back on the bed, after untying her, Folake kissed Carman again everywhere, ending with the two women locked in an embrace and just laying, smiles on their faces.
A while later still, as Folake sat in her silk robe and Carman knelt naked on the floor, the door chime indicated breakfast, with the same enthusiastic young blonde girl as before; named Meadow they had discovered; entering and pushing her cart. She smiled at Carman and readily accepted Folake’s invitation.
Minutes later, wearing a strap-on with a large black penis inserted, Meadow was fucking Carman dog-style as Folake looked on, enjoying the show with her scrambled eggs and black coffee.
Emily pulled into the winding drive of the Natural Grace Crematorium and Cemetery just as her cell phone buzzed; it was a message from Carman, asking if they could have dinner together Monday night. With a smile Emily replied ‘Absolutely. Look after the details and let me know. Hugs and Kisses’. She looked at that last bit for a moment but then pressed send, climbing out of her car and heading for the main office.
Paris, France 1992
Folake Alvarez, tall and alluring in her black dress and mini-afro, stood against the bar. Just seventeen, she was allowed to drink but it still wasn’t something she was used to. She had only been in France a year; much remained new and different from her native Nigeria.
The event was a reception of some kind. Some large, international company was hosting some Middle Eastern high rollers, and pretty girls were needed. A friend, currently standing beside a distinguished looking white gentleman, who at that moment had his hand half way up her leg, had arranged for Folake’s participation.
As she stood and watched, a tall, Arabian man approached her and, saying nothing, handed her a glass of champagne; then smiled. Like Folake, he had a brilliant set of teeth.
“Mekhn Ahmad”, he said, extending a hand. Folake smiled and accepted the hand. Ahmad was one of the executives of the large, international company; water filtration systems of some sort, it turned out. He was nine years Folake’s senior, wealthy, educated and worldly.
Six months later they were married; and three months after that they had moved to London.
It was in London that Ahmad introduced Folake to the world of bondage, discipline and group sex, thinking she would make a lovely slave. He was very wrong. What she was, and would become, was one of the most sought after dominants in the city. When Ahmad died six years later, leaving a small fortune behind for her, Folake was able to live the life of her choosing. And she chose S & M.
“Uunng!” Carman cried, as the leather strap came down across her buttocks. She ground her pelvis into the vibrator that was attached around her waist, sitting directly on her clitoris area.
“Aaahhnng.” another stroke. “Ooohhh,” she moaned, grinding her hips.
“UUUnnh!” with a final slap, Folake turned the vibrator up two notches and flipped Carman over on her back. She pulled the heavy clips off the woman’s nipples then sucked them, one after the other, with her warm mouth as the blood flowed back with sweet pain and pleasure.
Shoving three fingers into Carman’s slippery pussy, Folake aggressively pushed her hand in and out while sucking on the now painfully erect nipples. Carman shuddered, legs spasmed, then she opened her mouth to laugh and moan at the same time, finally lying still, muttering. “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God”, over and over again.
Later as they sat huddled together, Folake asked, “You are finding this all…confusing?”
Carman laughed softly. “Try bewildering. Try mind blowing.”
Folake chuckled in turn. “But still you stay.”
Carman sat up and looked at her partner. “That doesn’t mean I’m not scared silly.”
“Are you, scared?” Folake asked, her brow slightly furrowed.
“Terrified.” Carman said, quietly.
“Of what?” Folake smiled.
“That you’ll leave, and I’ll be lost. That you’ll stay, and I’ll be consumed. I have never felt this…”
“Not with Emily?”
Carman paused. She liked Emily. A lot. She loved having sex with her. A lot. But this relationship with Folake was very different. She felt no inclination, none what-so-ever, to submit to Emily, even though the girl was a demanding lover. She had never felt a need to submit to anyone, so far, in her life. And yet this situation with her ‘mistress’ was so, easy. So, natural, So, fulfilling. She tried to explain this to Folake.
“So, do you want me to go or to stay?” The woman asked Carman.
“When are you done with Hawkins?” Carman dodged.
“Tomorrow’s my last, official, day. But you didn’t answer my question.” Folake smiled.
Carman looked hard at the older woman’s dark, attractive, compelling face before her. What did she want? “I want you to stay.” She said simply.
“And if I stay, what will you do? What do you want with, us?”
“I, um, want us to continue.”
“If I get my own place, would you come to live with me?”
Carman sat in silence, considering. “Are you asking me that to see what I’ll say or do you, really, um, want me?” Carman’s heart was racing; this was crazy.
Folake looked down for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were bright, “I want you to be mine, Carman. To belong to me as my lover and my slave. To give yourself to me. To be…” she paused. “No, too soon for that.”
Carman looked on, mind racing, heart racing, fighting to control her breathing. A rush of things came to her mind to say, but that would be blurting out, and that was not her manner. “At some point, does the ‘love’ word’ come out?” She asked quietly.
Folake shook her head. “Not yet. There is so far for us to go before that word emerges.” She smiled. “Only fools speak of love before commitment.” She murmured.
“But aren’t we all fools?” Carman asked, smiling. She had thought of clowns, but said fools. Why clowns? Oh yes, Emily’s information about Hawkins’s room full of clowns. A clown gathering. Carman chuckled to herself thinking this, then leaned in and kissed Folake softly, tenderly, inhaling the woman’s scent.
Emily stood by the memorial in an area shaded by mature trees, Mimosa and Redbud among the pine; the well-manicured lawns gave the setting a cared-for look. At least her father had done one thing right, choosing a tranquil setting for her mother’s resting place. She looked down at the small, reddish marble plaque embedded in the ground. Sarah Denise Hawkins (nee Donnelly) beloved wife of Stafford and devoted mother of Emily.
On either side of the plaque was a concrete square embedded in the ground. The right container held a colorful vase (the top sat above the ground) which undoubtedly held Sarah’s ashes. The square to the left sat empty.
‘Mother of Emily’. As she stood, a feeling of intense longing seeped through Emily’s body and she was surprised to find tears slipping down her face. Fuck him, she thought. Fuck him totally.
Tad was at least looking presentable. His hair was washed and combed; he was clean shaven; he had on a clean shirt and his slacks were pressed. When he had it together, he still looked pretty good. The production crew welcomed him to the set; they only knew him as one of the people putting this together, so Tad was treated with respect.
He sat back out of the way and watched the goings-on. What many people don’t know, was that the actual shoots could be tedious…and work; not a lot of glamor here. After a while the need within him made itself known, a little at first and Tad was able to ignore it; but he knew the deal. Within an hour it had grown and he headed out, back to Raisha’s.
At least he had put in an appearance.
Carman looked across the table at Emily and had to smile. Both women had ‘dressed up’ a little tonight, and Emily was one of those that when she did she looked spectacular. Carman looked really good too, in a stunning red dress that set off her dark hair, eyes and caramel skin.
People eating at the Rustic Canyon Wine Bar & Kitchen (they were in Santa Monica) at tables near this couple found themselves staring at them, intentionally or not. Although it was early June and pleasant, they had decided to dine inside.
At one point a pretty brunette, late thirties, strolled over to their table and excused herself, then inquired if she was addressing Emily Hawkins.
Most people in life would find this interesting, alarming, humbling even. For Emily, it was just another day and she smiled at the woman and thanked her for dropping by. A short while later, the server dropped off a note from the woman, with her name, email and cell number.
“You have a fan.” Carman commented, smiling.
Emily regarded the note for a moment, took a piece of paper out of her bag and jotted something down on it, then signalled the server, who came and in turn dropped this note back off to the brunette.
“What was that all about?” Carman asked with interest.
Emily smirked. “Why not have some fun, heh? I mentioned that I always spank my lovers.” She laughed, but just then the server returned with the note. Emily opened it and smiled, then smiled at the woman who was sitting and grinning at her from across the restaurant.
“Ok, what’d she say?” Carman asked.
Emily smiled, “She just wrote one word; ‘please’.”
After this interlude, the two women settled into wine (a lovely Reverdito, red), appetizers of fresh, crusty bread with beet hummus, then a selection of mangoes and passion fruit. Shishitos, roasted pepper and chimichurri over bar-b-cued chicken breasts filled them up, before they concluded with green tea for Emily and specialty dark roast coffee for Carman. It was indeed wonderful.
“I am stuffed,” Emily groaned from the passenger seat of Carman’s Lexus, then continued. “You are coming in when we get to my place, right?” she asked.
“Of course,” Carman smiled. “I have been thinking about you all day; and that’s the truth.” And it was, although not necessarily as Emily might have guessed. “But I do need to be at work tomorrow.”
“It’s not too late, sweet buns. Let’s not mess around with anything; my dessert will be your pussy.”
Carman laughed out loud. “Hey, tell me what you’re really thinking. You’re like the sphinx, completely inscrutable.”
Emily sat quietly for a minute. “I’m not sure what all that means, but I’ll take it for a ‘yes’, to the getting down to business.”
For the second night in a row, Carman lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, her mind running amok. Beside her, a lovely woman lay breathing deeply in sleep.
The sex with Emily had been engrossing and fulfilling, with Carman having a very lovely series of small orgasms that left her smiling. They were quite different from some of the explosive ones Folake had coaxed out of her, but maybe that was to be expected. It had also put her mind at ease that she could still respond to sex without all that Folake was laying on; that had troubled her. What if she couldn’t simply respond to Emily.
Well she could, and she did.
For her part, Carman was able to produce a vigorous climax in Emily, who shoved her face into her pillow to lessen her cries.
And now Carman lay, considering, debating, wondering and reflecting. Her tightrope act was beginning to take its toll. Keeping track of what she told whom and what she was supposed to know and not know, to always be concerned with slipping up was weighing on her.
And if she slipped up, there would be a fall.
Carman awoke to Emily sliding out of the bed. When she heard the shower running, she sat up and looked at the clock; five forty-five. She got up and went to Emily’s laptop, but before turning it on she lifted it up on a hunch and was correct; under the device, written on a piece of paper, were eleven passwords; no doubt for the off record bank accounts of Hawkins. She took a photo of these with her phone.
Several weeks back, included in a stack of documents she had received from Hawkins himself, was a sheet she should not have received. She realized instantly that it concerned Cayman Island banks, so she removed the sheet and stashed it away for a later time. That time had come, as she was sure the passwords would be for those accounts. She would find out soon, but in her gut that was the feeling. It made sense.
Creeping quietly around, Carman next located Emily’s cell phone and opened it (luckily the girl used no password on it) and browsed the call history. There were four numbers on there that didn’t have names or that Carman didn’t recognize; one was likely cousin Tad’s, but she wrote all the numbers down for her reference.
Hearing the shower water stop, Carman closed up the phone, got dressed in her last night fancies, and went downstairs to wait. In fifteen minutes, Emily, wearing only a thin robe, joined her. They were standing and saying goodbye when they noticed a car pull up outside.
“Holy fuck, it’s the Daddy-kins,” Emily announced.
“Will he be coming through here?” Carman asked with alarm?”
“Naw,” Emily replied, “Relax. There’s an elevator that he uses that goes right up to his room. It’s just outside there, by the kitchen patio.” As they stood listening, they heard the elevator launch into operation.
“Well fuck.” Emily said again. “The great man returns.”
After spending a couple of hours on company business, Carman finally had a break where she could follow up on the information obtained at Emily’s. Starting with the bank accounts, she retrieved the hidden sheet, pulled up one account and began to type in the password when she paused. There was no guarantee the list was in the same order as the passwords.
She retyped the bank accounts to see if there was a pattern, then she looked at the passwords looking for a pattern there. Playing a hunch, she spent about ten minutes pulling up each account and looking for any reference dates, and she was able to locate the first account opened. She went to that account and tried the first password.
To her great relief, such that she needed to control herself from jumping up and shouting, the account opened. She sat staring at her screen and the page that showed a bank balance of eleven million dollars.
Emily was also playing a hunch, as she was driving back to the senior’s complex of Mrs. Vargas. There was something that she should have thought to ask her, but had not brought up, likely because of the excitement caused by the information she had been given.
As usual when one is impatient, the drive seemed to take forever, and then Mrs. Vargas seemed to take forever to get down to the lobby, but at least she remembered Emily and greeted her warmly. The two sat on a wicker couch with the sun streaming down on them from a skylight.
Emily’s question was, had Alex ever sent Mrs. Vargas any photos when he was employed as a gardener. To her disappointment, Mrs. Vargas said ‘no’. The two chatted for a moment or two, and then Emily got up to leave.
As she started off, Mrs. Vargas’s voice stayed her. “But you could maybe check his stuff. He left a duffel bag, ‘cause he was travelin’ light. Course he never came back for it,” she murmured.
Her heart pounding, Emily asked, “So where could I find this bag. Is it still around?”
“Course it is, dearie. It’s in my storage locker.”
“Can I get to that locker; would you give me the address?”
The woman looked at her vaguely for a moment before saying, “Well, that’s easy, ‘cuz it’s right here. The storage lockers are in the auxiliary building.”
Several minutes later, Emily was carefully rummaging through the large bag, before finding an envelope that contained pages of ‘stuff’ and some letters; plus some documents. And several photos.
She sorted through the pictures and then stared transfixed at one, taken clearly at Christmas, that showed a man and woman in their fifties, most likely, with a shorter, Latino woman, undoubtedly Mrs. Pena, and finally a smiling Alex Vargas. On the back someone had printed Christmas staff ’96 and then names. The names that Emily wanted were staring at her; Ivy and Cecil Bennett.
“How long we gotta’ baby-sit this douche?” Brianna complained, looking at the sleeping Tad.
“Hey, I thought you said he was cute.”
“He was. He is. But this is all he does all day. Fuck.”
“Well, the lady said for a while and we’re getting’ paid plus we got booze and drugs, so shut the fuck up will ya’?” Raisha replied.
“I’m going for a walk,” Brianna said, getting up.
“Hey, go grab some eats. Maybe some sodas.”
“Sure. Got some dead presidents in your jeans, bitch?”
Raisha laughed and tossed Brianna a bill. Brianna looked at it, “A Benjamin!” she exclaimed.
“Who’s ‘da bitch now, bitch?” Raisha countered.
To which Brianna replied,
(End of Chapter 10)