Sudden Wealth

The pleasure of this story will be enhanced for you by listening to the following tracks in order while reading (all of which are easily available via YouTube) - Taylor Swift 'Style'; Richard J. Aarden 'Not This Time' Christian Launier Bootleg mix; Moonbeam feat Avis Vox 'The Lilt' original mix; EcueD & Roald Velden 'Moments.'

*****

"Whatever you do, just don't send that gear here, any of it."

The mayor of the seaside town in Mykonos was referring to the half a million dollars worth of Behringer sound equipment for rave parties lying in a London pre-shipment warehouse in their hard-shell transport boxes.

Before the Euro crisis, Mykonos was one of the places where masses of summer tourists would gather, do E's and alcohol, and murder their eardrums.

Sandra was taking the phone call on her worn and definitely last-season mobile as she did her usual walk-through of the expensive boutiques, especially that one in particular - her favourite - which had its window display of faux eastern or oriental but nevertheless premium and de luxe clothes.

She never saw the other woman watching her.

The situation in Greece now was that the German kids in particular didn't come in the same numbers anymore, nor with the same lack of financial or any other kinds of restraint, and the locals certainly didn't have the money to go to raves -, and if the town council itself claimed the equipment they would then be forced to take responsibility for running something - even if they could actually market it. And then the money would be taken off them anyway. The original consigner was on the run for being part of the hyper-loan scams going on in Greece.

So the long and short of it was no one wanted to claim ownership of the equipment now.

For her part all that Sandra had ever done was to 'webmaster' sites that located short-term warehouse space in and around London for overseas or distant clients.

Now she possessed a bunch of expensive equipment.

It was never totally hard though, for 'a webmaster' to solicit for and to attract a bit of interest in 'moving something...'

Eventually the ubiquitous London 'kid from Dubai' came in his black Lamborghini with a brief case full of cash - after all: 'it was fun to drive around the east-side of London in a Lamborghini...' 'To remind yourself that there is always something more valuable than money: and that is knowledge...' Or so Tai Lopez might have opined in one of his YouTube videos about the matter of money and wealth; and in this regard London certainly was every bit as good as L.A. of course.

That evening, Sandra had a half a million dollars in cash in her hands, and all the equipment in the warehouse had been moved out by the Dubai kid who had contracted his own removalists and truckers.

So she sat there down on her haunches on the pavement, outside the front door of the empty small warehouse space, a little in shock and thinking back to just a day or so ago, when she was struggling to even make rent...

*

She could see the car slowly coming up the side of the road towards her had its headlights turned off. And she could see that it was a black car, a Rolls Royce. When it stopped, the driver's side suicide door opened and two bare feet were swung out down to the ground first before their owner - a diaphanous fabric pants-d driver - got out. The strange juxtaposition of ethnic clothing and its rare colour tone struck Sandra immediately and she had to take a long hard look and not just because it was a stunning new Rolls Royce Wraith she was looking in the direction of.

It was clearly the figure of a woman, trim but nonetheless shapely, wearing the ethnic salwar kameez - traditional pants and jacket pairing typical of Northern India. And she was wearing that golden chain-string thing from the middle of her head over her hair and down to dangle its jewelled end-piece right over her 'third eye.' But where usually these kinds of ensembles were of contrasting colours with the jacket being some brighter or more prominent colour, this woman was dressed all in an ice-white affair, with the pants made of some kind of fairly see-through cotton jute perhaps, and the jewel tikka, a completely clear crystal stone. The jacket was extremely well-fitted.

There was something awfully familiar about this woman, Sandra thought.

But then again as she walked right up to her Sandra was sure she didn't know her; and she wasn't some celebrity or prominent person either. She looked superficially a bit like your Eva Green assassin type with those high cheekbones and dark eyelashes but then she was more filled out too though; way more muscular, maybe like a svelte female track-and-field athlete type and not so much of the Ronda Rousy type. Her eyes - were piercing blue-gray, almost like jewels themselves.

Sandra was pretty sure that she herself was no lesbian, never had a serious girl-on-girl thought in her whole life. Anything even vaguely close had always ended up with her being saved by some imagined vigorous male character, whose strategy for rescuing her from such ways was a primitive and violently orgasmic heterosexual hyper-fuck.

Yet all the same she still couldn't help but have her eyes drawn to this woman's crotch, for some strangely delicious sexual reason, certainly of course because of the obvious and generous triangle of golden brown pubic hair visible through the diaphanous linen pants. But not just because of one woman's critical eye for another sexy woman; oh no, this was definitely something more than that.

But why; why was she thinking like this at all?

How old was this woman? Not old. Twenties maybe, only; not more...

And then in a moment the girl-woman was right there in front of Sandra, looking down at her and then extending a hand, not to help Sandra up but as if in an expectation of shaking hands.

Sandra got herself up, feeling a little bit under-dressed in her jeans as she was, standing before someone dressed as if for a State function in some foreign embassy. Without thinking she also put her hand out to the other and felt the soft firm grip of someone in total control take her extended hand.

"Hi."

The voice that reached her ears was even and steady, with an out-breath driving the 'h.'

"Hi." Sandra exchanged.

"I watch you from my office up there." The girl-woman indicated with a glance and a half-extended hand upwards toward the skyscraper across the street. "...Most every day; and today I see you've had a brief experience of the famous, or infamous, if you will, young Daoud." She smiled wryly when she said the name 'Daoud.' "So now... I gather you must be rich. Like me. Because I am also rich."

Suddenly the thought of actually being rich struck Sandra fully - which in terms of all of her past life up till now -she was indeed, now certainly rich by comparison with.

Sandra said the next words quietly, almost just to herself: "Yes, I guess I am rich... now."

"That's good." The other woman said. "Because I've wanted for a while to come down and talk to you; like, you know, meet you. Get to know you, maybe... And maybe become friends. I've noticed you for weeks from up there. I worried that perhaps you wouldn't be happy that we could be on an equal footing if you knew that I was really extremely wealthy. I know people say these things shouldn't matter, but they do, you know, practically speaking, they kinda do when it all boils down to it."

"What have you noticed about me," Sandra inquired, squinting one eye at the girl. "Or is that a leading question?" Why'd she even asked this girl that? Sandra caught herself starting to blush.

But the answer that came was innocent. "Well one day I saw you pick up a hatchling dove when it was raining and replace it on the window sill there with a towel wrapped around it."

"Oh." Sandra remembered that. "Yeah I did do that."

"That struck me as a really nice thing to do. I thought you must be a really nice person and I've wanted to meet you ever since."

They stood for a moment just looking at each other in silence before the girl spoke again: "Why don't you come up with me and have a look at my simply amazing offices. Come up and take a look at the lifestyles of the wealthy - now that you're one of us," she jibed. "We can even get dinner up there. If you want..."

Of course Sandra said 'yes.' It was such a seduction, had been such a seduction; Sandra didn't really even care to underline to herself that it was indeed or might have been a seduction. It felt so good to just go along in the moment, to just be talking with this unusual girl-woman, with the piercing gray eyes, who owned the Rolls Royce, and the skyscraper offices. Well certainly compared to the way previously she would have had to have averted her eyes if she stared too long at the obvious wealth of some of the people who walked around London; just out of sheer good manners and not wanting to be seen to be staring.

*

"So what's on the schedule for you now," the other woman said, when they were both seated in the Rolls Royce. "You know what I mean -now that you are rich... Sex - maybe...? That's all that we rich people have left to challenge us, you know." She averred, laughing.

The woman started the car and this time turned the headlights fully on. "You're going to find it presents its own problems to find a man now, I hope you realise - now that every time you meet someone, in the back of your mind you are going to have questions about what they actually see in you once they know you have a lot of cash."

Maybe just fucking? Sandra posited in her head.

"Is that how it is for you?" Sandra questioned. "I must confess though I have never been in this position myself before... But maybe I'm not that wealthy anyway."

"See? You see what I mean? You're already starting to talk and think like a rich person. Ask yourself, last week, would you have thought about the amount of money you have now - is it a small amount, or a very large amount?"

"Oh god yes..."

The Rolls Royce was driven by the woman smoothly just around and around the block, apparently for no absolutely necessary purpose, as far as Sandra could see, since the entrance to the skyscraper's car park was out the front where they had already been to begin with.

"Have you seen the little lights in here?" The driver remarked, casually. "If you fiddle with those switches you can change the intensity, and the colours. But mind you, you have to be careful with that control there -" She leaned an arm across and pointed directly at something Sandra thought looked a bit complicated.

"Why?"

"Ah well because it works this high tech neural-electromagnetic field that increases your sexual receptivity for who-ever you're with, in here. But I can see you're not that type of girl." She winked at Sandra.

Sandra stared at her. "Rubbish. There's no such thing."

The other woman raised an eyebrow. "What? You think there's no such thing? Not even in a Rolls Royce?" Her sarcastic smile gave the joke away.

Sandra chuckled back. "Are you, that type of girl then?"

"Well, I'm not known for having relationships with men." She looked ahead at a set of red traffic lights. The lights turned green and she let the machine amble forward. "Though there was this Greek sailor one time... Not too many people know everything there is to know about that however."

In her head suddenly Sandra had this thought that it might have been fun if that switch device thing really was capable of doing what she had said... Just to see what it might feel like. Curiosity and all that... But no way could she get turned on by a woman compared to the prospect of a meaningfully-sized, stiff cock in a masculine Savile Row-made pair of pants, being unbuttoned for her lips and then eventually led to her fanny.

No way...

As if reading her mind, the woman behind the wheel gave her a darting look and said: "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking?" Sandra softly countered, one hand going up to her thin silver chain necklace, with her fingers beginning to play with the little cross charm carelessly.

"Well, don't worry about that. Let me ask you this instead - what chances do you give me of having you in bed tonight: no chance at all, a wild outside chance, or maybe you want to just go ahead and turn that switch and see what happens next."

Sandra, being the sort of ever so slightly self-willed, explorative, and mildly adventurous type that she was, put her hand out tentatively towards the clutch of controls, but not really knowing which one was what...

And then the girl-woman's hand was hand-over-hand controlling hers, and leading her to the knob and moving it, edging it around, and 'upwards' on the rotating axis graduated numbers.

Sandra was sure she sensed the warmth of the other woman's arm as she withdrew it again across Sandra's front, not quite touching her breasts as the woman slid her arm and hand past. There was the distinctive odour of female armpit. Not strong, but not unnoticeable, and definitely not neutral.

"So what happens next?" Sandra tested.

"What happens next is we park the car. And I take you with me upstairs where I have a personal chef, and we choose what we are going to have for dinner or supper, whatever you locals like to call it, and I get my masseur up, and then I have some decent eveningwear brought up for you to put on, fitted, styled, and the whole time you let me try to seduce you, and seduction, as you know, is all about -"

The car went down into the maws of the skyscraper's basement garage.

"Well, at minimum you should let me help you organise how you're going to get a man now."

"Well some of those things sound okay."

The woman neatly placed the car in a bay and turned the engine off deftly.

"So rude of me... I haven't even given you my name." She touched the switch for the door-opening mechanism and the door on Sandra's side opened. "I'm Sarah," she said, for a second time extending a hand elegantly, if firmly.

"I'm Sandra. I'm pleased to meet you." The shock she felt as she held the other woman's hand and felt something like a vast frisson of liberty unleash itself and run warmly, then blushingly, even embarrassingly, somewhat, through her whole body, but especially her mind, and she also knew, at that moment, in her cunt, that feeling of certainty of physical intimacy about to happen soon, or certainly going to happen; that it was allowed to happen by both of them. And suddenly she felt released from any previous inhibition whatsoever about sex with another woman, and she already knew she was going to be naked in bed with this woman now before her. And therefore, there was that other feeling of 'let it happen soon' now that it was going to happen.

Oh god. She thought to herself. Cunt was for males. Yet she's going to know me intimately. And I'm going to know her too. In that way. Like - oh god!

Sarah was around the side of the car now. Smiling. Even laughing. "What are you doing?!" She laughed. "You're flapping your hands like you're autistic or something."

"I think I'm going to faint."

"No you're not!" She laughed.

*

Her office was lavishly appointed in dark woods and leather - yet it was spacious and not closed in, not cloying. It was broad and open plan, and way over in what seemed like the very far distant north wall, there was a man dressed in a dark robe, a baker's scapula and a monk's hood but pushed back down onto his shoulders. Sarah claimed he was a genuine Trappist monk who worked for money for the abbey as her private chef... He actually was from a beer-making abbey - so she said.

Sandra didn't really know what to make of all or any of it.

"You like music?" Sarah asked. "...'cause I like music." She answered herself before Sandra could say anything.

"D'you wanna dance..." It was a statement.

It was Richard J. Aarden and Dance Bridge with Not This Time. Sandra loved the tune. She'd been playing it loud through her earphones regularly a few weeks ago but in the last week or so, because of the business with the disposal of the equipment in storage, she'd very nearly forgotten all about her music playlists and her 'active wear' and the mp3 player.

Which remix was this -, she thought to herself.

Sarah replied as though having read her mind: "Christian Launier Bootleg remix."

Sarah was moving her hips, virtually flicking them with the rhythm, an almost off-beat rhythm, very solicitous, insinuating; eventually inciting of course.

"You like men, Sandra?" She asked, smilingly ironically, licking a lip casually. "What kinds of men -?"

There didn't seem to be any lights on in the office. But there was plenty of luminescence coming through the windows from the night-time city outside - from all the other tall buildings, the upwards glowing streets, the 7-eleven stores' Neon signs... Boots Chemists...

...And reflections.

It was like there were shafts of wan coloured light falling through the window panes and falling over them as if they were inside the cathedral at Chartres. Sandra was able to make out large wall hanging pictures - photographs, in fact. Large matte prints of things all beautifully composed. Parking lights of fast and glamorous cars, a couple of that guy who sky-walked between the corners of the World Trade Centre twin towers back when they still existed - what was his name, she thought to herself; Blondeau? Or something...

And then there was one big close-up of vaginal jewellery, a drop chain with a locket.

There was a strange intoxicating odour in the place. Something that was mixed in with the warmish, ordinary plain air from the softly humming air-conditioning... A little sweet spicy, slightly anti-sceptic, and vaguely heady little thing like that bitter-sweet scent from fresh citrus fruit marzipan just baked.

"Now don't get frightened, babe, but there's going to be this big guy walk right in here in about a minute or two, and he's going to want to place his very large hands on you..." She was talking straight through Sandra now, as if she was just an anaesthetized patient about to undergo surgery. "Because I've ordered the world's best masseur to put you in a zone where you won't worry about anything at all..."

It ought to have sounded sinister but it was more the way Sarah was gyring slowly and yet purposefully around in front of her, in time with the heavy beat of the music. There was a certain restrained passion in her moves. Something in her movements that were too much in control to be anything other than comforting and re-assuring. ...Something eminently sober even in the emotional depth of the heartbeat of this particular music.

All the things that happened next, whatever really happened, Sandra ever couldn't say for certain later from her memory - which bits came first, which came next, and then next and so on, but she knew she was seated in an ergonomic front rest massage chair at some point, and yes the man's hands fell onto her shoulders and stroked down across her upper arms, and she could see that he was a very dark-skinned person, well nearly quite black, really. And then when he spoke to her softly to inquire whether the pressure of his touch was too light or firm enough, she giggled inside because his voice sounded high-pitched and lilting and English-accented rather like that guy from the 'Shwopshire, really?!' advert from some years ago.

Her head was swimming. Sarah was still there, in some space in front of her not that far away. But she had become a lithe, sinewy figure like a dance gymnast silhouette in the window of space and fairy light behind.

There had been warm soft towels. Her clothes had piece by piece come off. There was essential oil - or oils, in fact. Several, each with a different scent, and each successively stranger than the one before... She was lost, totally lost in some kind of mysterious place where people were taking care of her and taking her muscles and her body in hand and placing everything back where it was really supposed to go.