Will Mandy be able to tempt the handsome billionaire at a dirty party for rich men?
“Does this dress make my ass look fat?” Yolanda asks, looking at her backside in the mirror with a worried expression.
I glance over and see a very snug, form-fitting blue cocktail dress hugging my roommate’s curves. Her long, curly brown hair falls down her back and her face is so beautifully made up that she looks like a supermodel.
“No, you look great,” I reassure my friend with a wink. “The guys are going to want a bite of that.”
Giggling in the mirror, she adds one last coat of gloss to her plump lips. “Can you hurry up and finish getting ready? I don’t want the bad seat in the limo,” Yolanda says, critically eyeing her reflection. “You know how Lindsey Lockheart can be. That girl almost pushed me out of the way that one time there was a billionaire in the room.”
“I know, I know. One second because I’m almost done!” With a smile, I look myself over in the mirror. The school let us choose our outfits from a catalog, and it sounds bad, but in fact, the selection was stupendous. My sequined gold dress is slinky, sexy and everything a girl could ask for. The bustier top is strapless, and my huge breasts are squeezed together with a tantalizing, shadowy bee in between. The hem is scandalously short, cutting off right below the bottom of my cheeks, so one sneeze, and my goodies are out for the world to see.
But this is how we like it, and Yolanda is similarly dressed. Her violet number is actually a two-piece, and I’d say her outfit is even scantier than mine. She basically has two purple pasties on her nipples, connected by a golden chain, which then links to a tiny purple mini-skirt. That thing shouldn’t even be called a dress. It’s what a harem dancer might wear for a performance before the sultan.
But the outfits suit the occasion, and Hawthorne ladies always make sure they are groomed appropriately, no matter the occasion. With one last spritz of an enticing vanilla perfume, we float out the door, smiling prettily. It’s been a week since we were selected as hostesses, and part of me still can’t believe my good fortune. Yolanda and I know this is our big opportunity and we are taking it by the horns.
After a mincing walk in sky-high heels across the campus grounds, we arrive at the front gates. There, a big black limo idles. The other girls are already milling about while gossiping with excitement, dressed in their own scandalous outfits. We’re all made up to the nines, and I’d bet that quite a few ladies aren’t wearing panties. I know I’m not.
“Ah, finally. Ladies,” Miss Hanley greets dryly. Our guidance counselor looks dour as always, her mouth pursed as if she’s just tasted a lemon.
“Hello Miss Hanley,” we chorus in unison. “How are you today?”
She ignores us.
“Alright, now that everyone’s here, some final words. First of all, I must say, you all look beautiful,” she compliments, looking truly pleased for the first time in memory.
I take another glance around, looking over the ladies. It’s true. Everyone looks wonderful, and there’s not a chipped nail in sight, nor a hair out of place. My heart sinks though. Although I love the ladies here, it looks like competition is going to be fierce tonight.
Shoulders back, chin held high, I push out my bust and return my focus to Miss Hanley’s words, determined to find myself a billionaire tonight. Our guidance counselor continues.
“You are going to a private home, and your driver knows where to take you. Once you arrive, do your very best to make Hawthorne proud. Our future rests in your hands. Are there any questions?” she asks, peering over her glasses and looking at each one of us pointedly.
Nodding our heads in unison, we reply, “No, Miss Hanley. We will.”
With a smile, she gestures to our chariot for the evening.
The girls step daintily into the limo, and Yolanda and I maneuver our way into the middle of the luxurious leather seats. The vehicle is surprisingly spacious and we sit back, marveling at the amenities. There’s sparkling water in the side pockets, as well as a few snacks and even some breath mints.
As soon as the last girl is in, the door is shut firmly, and the limo pulls away from the curb. The windows are heavily tinted so it’s really hard to see where we are going, but I can tell we’re whizzing by trees, and proceeding down otherwise empty roads.
“Do you guys want a drink?” Christy asks, picking up a very expensive bottle of champagne. She’s one of the bottle blondes, although I have to admit, her dye job looks really good with its highlights and lowlights.
Before I can even open my mouth to speak, Yolanda shoots her a warning look. “But remember, we’re not really supposed to drink before a big hosting event. A Hawthorne lady is never sloppy drunk when out in public.”
Christy makes a face but puts down the champagne.
“Okay, okay. You’ve gotten your point across. I’m just nervous, that’s all!”
“We all are, but we just have to stick together and remember our training,” Yolanda reassures the girls in the car.
An awkward, tense silence fills the vehicle, everyone lost in their thoughts. It’s almost as if we’re preparing for war.
“Ladies, listen. Tonight, is going to be a fun night. We don’t want to show up all pissy and stressed, okay? No, we can’t drink, but let’s at least have something to wet our throats. Oh look, there’s juice in here! Come on, we can have some of this,” I chirp reassuringly.
The ladies look relieved at the break in tension. “I think that’s a great idea. Pass me a bottle?” Lindsey asks, holding open her outstretched hand.
I start passing around the plastic juices, thankful that everyone seems to have chilled out a little. We start giggling and talking about the billionaires who might be there.
“I wonder if the blonde one who looks like Fabio will be present?” sighs Mariana, looking dreamy.
“Fabio?” squeals Christy. “Oh my god, that would be a dream! But personally, I like it when they have chestnut hair for me to run my fingers through.”
Nicole merely giggles.
“Or silver. You know I like my men older. A lot older, come to think of it.”
I laugh a bit myself because the truth is that I like my men on the older side as well. Maybe not thirty years older, like Nicole, but I certainly like a man who’s aged well, with experience at his fingertips. It helps balance out my naïveté as a young woman, and makes for a sensual mix.
Everyone chatters excitedly, and we go on laughing and dreaming about the upcoming party. Drinking the apple juice like it’s a hundred-dollar glass of champagne, time passes quickly. Soon, our limo pulls up to a private driveway, and we lean forward with anticipation as the vehicle begins crunching over a gravel pathway.
It’s hard to see where we’re going because not only is it semi-dark out, but there are tall trees shading us on both sides. The forest is so thick that we have no idea where we are, and the drive seems interminable. Finally, however, we pull up before a huge manor. The girls gasp as their eyes go wide.
“Oh my god, it’s a castle!” breathes Nicole.
“I get dibs on whoever owns this place!” squeals Annette, her nose practically pressed to the window. “Ooooh!”
But now, it’s time to make our entrance. The seven of us step into the night, and slowly, the limo pulls away, leaving us in front of the huge castle. It seems even bigger than before, with a large wooden door that looks more like a gate, and elaborate topiaries standing like sentinels. Large trees loom overhead and the air smells like fall with just a tinge of danger.
“Come on, girls,” I say bravely. “Let’s get to the party.”
I knock, and immediately the door is swept open. An elderly man stands there, dressed in a dark butler’s uniform.
“Welcome,” he says bowing. “I presume you’re the girls of Hawthorne?”
I clear my throat.
“Yes, we’re here for the party.”
He stands aside to let us in, holding the door open as we pass into a lavish foyer. It’s enormous, at least triple height, with a large chandelier dripping with crystals. The light refracts as the girls oooh and ahhh.
“This way please,” the butler says politely before proceeding down a hallway. We follow him, mincing in our extravagantly high heels, and finally we’re standing in front of another large, imposing door.
The butler knocks and a deep male voice calls out, “Come!” The door opens, and then shyly, we file inside.
Once I’m inside the room I let out a gasp because it’s easily the most ornate room I’ve ever been in. It’s a sitting room, done up in glinting gold and maroon brocade. There are elaborate curtain swags, and the furniture looks like period Louis XIV, complete with wooden curlicues and spindly legs. But what makes us all gasp isn’t the furniture, but rather the men, because before us are about ten alpha males, all of them incredibly handsome.
They smile, their eyes roving over our curvy forms.
“Welcome,” says one, coming to greet us. He’s wearing a black tuxedo, just like his friends, and they all look incredibly dashing. “Can I offer you a drink?”
I stammer a bit.
“Oh no. I mean, yes. Juice please. Apple if you have it.”
But the other girls aren’t wasting a moment. Immediately, they fan out to speak with the other billionaires, their beautiful faces alight with anticipation. I see quite a few of my friends push out their breasts and cock their hips so that they’re seductive and sexy, like a peacock showing off its feathers.
Meanwhile, I’m feeling a bit awkward. What was that idiotic remark about apple juice? But then the first man returns with my juice in hand, and suddenly, my heart goes crazy because I realize I’ve met him before. He’s gorgeous, with sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, not to mention the build of a Greek god. How did I not remember? It’s clear he remembers me too, and his next words take me by surprise.
“Mandy,” he growls. “It’s good to see you again. Seth James.”
I jolt.
“Mr. James, it’s a pleasure.”
He nods.
“Likewise. How could I forget the most beautiful girl I’ve ever had the privilege of laying my eyes on?” Of course, he’s exaggerating but I blush with pleasure. The man standing before me is tall, devilishly handsome, and has azure eyes I could drown in. They seem to caress my form, taking in my large breasts, curvy hips, milky skin, and curly locks. Our connection is so intense that it feels like the others have disappeared, and that we’re the only two people in the room. OMG, OMG!
But then for some darn reason, I decide to be feisty.
“It was good meeting you two years ago, but why didn’t you call me afterwards?” I’m referring to the first and only time I met him at my friend Francine’s house. Francine had a small dinner party, and she and her husband invited me and Seth over as guests. I guess Seth is a friend of Francine’s husband, Patrick.
The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, like I’ve just invited him to play a game. “Spicy. I like it. Keep it up.” But before I can say anything, he cuts me off. “I’m happy to show you just how sorry I am. Would a written apology make you happy?”
I smile saucily.
“Oh please, Seth,” I coo playfully. “What makes you think we’re going to be doing much reading and writing? We are Hawthorne girls after all, or did you forget?”
Seth licks his lips, his blue eyes flashing as he looks me up and down slowly from the top of my head all the way down to the tips of my toes. Clearly liking what he sees, his eyes are devouring me, undressing me with each passing glance and the air hitches in my chest. Unconsciously, I swivel, waggling my hips as I walk away.
Without even turning, I can feel his sensual stare boring a hole through my dress, trying to imagine what could possibly be concealed by this barely-there outfit. Each step I take is deliberate and slow. My hips sashay from side to side in a rhythm that matches the swing of my hair.
I have no idea where these sexy moves are coming from, but I suppose it must be my training at Hawthorne. They’ve taught us to be vixens, and now, I’m putting those lessons into play. After all, this is just the tip of the iceberg for the evening.
As my heels click to the bottom of the stairs, I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, Seth is two steps behind me, licking his lips as he eyes my curvy booty. Tossing my hair over my shoulder and giggling, I start going up to the second level. After all, we’re here to party and I’m going to show this billionaire a good time.
To be continued …
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