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Story and Photographs
© Sid_88 2003
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Sedge has been waiting for H's private party in Vegas for three months—we even pierced her clit for the event. Our invitation came to Rink's addressed to "The Twins," as usual. Sid and Sedge, sisters, with our matching shock of white hair, long bodies, and eager pussies.
No one answers at Choi's suite so we break in and smoke Galouses until noon. Sedge changes into her Clockwork Orange gear. "Dom Day Wear," according to the Sedge School of Fashion.
The Stardust is a skankoid shithole, even by Vegas standards. No fancier than a Long Island fuck motel, but with Bondcon in full swing, the leather's out of the closet.
Choi's suite is in the basement of the hotel, a buck-eighty a night, but Choi's mack is a rich fuck, some Rockefeller cousin or something, so Choi doesn't give a shit.
According to the time on Choi's VCR, we've got 12 hours to kill before H's, so we decide to head to the showroom floor. We cross through the parking lot over to the Bondcon showroom. Choi says I have an industry pass waiting at the door so we're good to go.
The floor is packed with the crew: Mistress Antoinette, Edwards, Skin, Fred from SF, Leidermeister's pony girls. House of Gord. Last year Gord wrapped me up for a shoot in a mile of latex and stored me on a shelf overnight. I was in space the whole time, total la-la-land. When he unwrapped me, I came immediately. He's here with his brigade of furniture chicks, showing off his same old tricks: wheelchair girls, table girls, human lamps, the works. I'm sure he loves freaking out all the tourists.
This Chinese photographer keeps following me and Sedge around, showing us his portfolio.
"I like to take pictures of girls in complete armor. I'd like to take a picture of you two in complete armor," he says, pronouncing the words carefully, his dick getting hard under his crouching tiger get-up. His portfolio is pretty lame except for a couple nice ones for Skin. Even so, the truth is that we like the idea of posing in armor, even for him.
All the usual suspects are here. Kumi is sitting on the floor of her booth in her Krispy Kreme panties, getting tied up as the tourists snap her photo. Midori is here, across the way, with her new chick, Shane, hawking her CD and hanging Gwendoline from her bamboo tripod. Of course there are six or seven Dita wannabes with their blue-black dye jobs and powdered skin. And the usual ration of boob-job blondes—who aren't even in the scene at all—getting paddled and faking it real good.
Sedge goes off to stalk Dita. She's in her booth signing autographs—decked out in some Gone With The Wind number and caked-out Harry Winston diamonds.
We walk around to kill some more time before the party. We check out these $1800 vibrators this English chick is selling and pet a "kitty cat" sitting in a cage. Sedge manages to grab a new paddle for me, which of course she knows I'll worship. I'm a sucker for free gifts.
We've seen all that we're going to see and my poor feet can't take another minute in heels, so we head back to Choi's for a disco nap before the party. Choi is still MIA, so we take a bath in her Jacuzzi. I forgot to get my wax so Sedge shaves my pussy for the party. It is the first moment of quiet since last week and I sit back and enjoy the calm rhythm of the razor swiping up my skin.
"Should I leave a little patch or do the whole thing?" Sedge asks; sticking her littlest finger inside me and spreading open the hood of my clit with her thumb.
"Do whatever you want."
I open my knees wide for her, grabbing at the edge of the tub with my toes. Sedge keeps my clit swollen as she does her work.
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