Vanity Is Never In Vain

Dinara Anya Isyanov

I am horny.

I flopped back on the bed and swiped my hands on my forehead, my fingers disappeared in my hairline. I breathed hard as my legs clenched together.

I am frustrated and perplexed. I’m rolling in a constant sphere of being bored to miserable and then horny. Ready to hunch over… horny!

Two weeks had passed since the occurrence on the Breakfast spread when I officially took over the role of Serena 2.0, everything was back to normal. Freaking ludicrous, rotten, and gross normal. And I was back to being bored which leads to me being horny!

Vanity sure was venomous! I never remember being horny or particularly aroused, I was like I was in the season. Or maybe it was the rebel in me wanting to refute the White’s strict decorum. I wanted a good oral, even old-school banging or humping would do. I could serve myself but I never went solo.

The point being I am bored rigid and vain.

I knew some bast*rd kept watch on me; some maids and guards here were too considerate about my whereabouts. I usually find trackers in my room and I know there is surveillance in my room and it wasn’t Thane White, Serena’s father doing.

No sane man would watch live footage of his daughter’s room, that’s if he isn’t a crack who has incestuous fetishes. So far my evaluation says he isn’t nuts!

Truth be told I didn’t even give a damn who it was. If I was to do something about it, it would alert the culprit to be more stealth and Mr. White seemed to know about them. It was just a theory, but I am sure the resident of this house tends to ignore the skeptical all the while questionable behavior of some of their staff.

This may have something to do with the verity the trained staff was a gift from Serena’s fiancé family. I know for a fact the camera that I just displaced will be replaced in the morning with a better hiding spot.

Scrolling Serena’s phone, I saw the girl was a part of an enclosed circle, hardly people had anything to say to her. Except for her Social Media where she was flattered by all kinds of people but she seldom posted her candid or half-face photos. Her arts and her academics seem to be the only substantial thing about her.

Serena was an elite socialite: meaning a freeloader and a jobless spoilt-kind bitch who made ugly paintings that sold for millions and probably didn’t know how to catch a bus.

As it struck midnight, I wore my robe and stepped outside with an empty glass. As I went around the obscurely darkened and modestly tranquil mansion, I confirmed maids were in their rooms, guards mum on their duties, and everyone else dead asleep.

If I was found out sneaking around I could always say I came for water.

With light steps, I returned with the empty glass. Depositing the glass on the table, I sighed in bliss as a grin crept up on my face.

After 10 minutes I came out of the wardrobe wearing a lace crochet-vintage, azure color knee-length dress. The dress looked even radiant on my pale skin.

I narrowed my eyes in the mirror and affirmed I needed a little sun in my life. I leaped up in action. Making smokey eyes with a matte heavy red lipstick and a little foundation and contour, I left my straight black hair back down; for safety measures, I applied a little serum to keep them there.

Picking the black trench coat, I headed to the vine-covered window. After two weeks of observation, I knew exactly where the guards patrolled and where the cameras were placed.

It took me two minutes to be out of the house. One thing that I was good with was scaling walls and escapes.

I had been just too stressed for the last three weeks that I desperately needed to let loose. Anyway, I was carrying Serena’s identity card, if anybody recognized me I would put on an act!

Once outside I climbed on Charles’s Harley Davidson iron 883. The beauty was a monster. The boy was under strict curfew for a wrong pussy he had thrust so he wouldn’t know. The girl was a virgin, from a catholic family, eight years older than him, and to spice it up sister of a good friend of Mr. White.

I had seen him hiding this beauty one faithful noon and then since he is grounded with guards on his door and windows, I gave in to the temptation and stole the keys. The boy was a too-temperamental-fool that he didn’t even notice.

Certainly, Serena didn’t know how to ride so I’ll be the last of his suspicions. And his Dad didn’t know about this pretty monster, so probably Charles wouldn’t want to screw this up by a ruckus.

I took it far enough not to be heard and then turned on the buzzing engine. I climbed on her and rode it with pride. The fresh air that hit my face was adrenaline-inducing, I sped it up more. The city was enthralling in all its beauty. I went about the city then finally rode to the back of Two Moons, a high-end hotel with a private bar. Many big shots came here. I went to the back door and inserted a key.

It clicked open and for a moment I was shell-shocked. I didn’t think it was going to work. I entered to see congested stairs. Going through a dark hallway with stairs I saw a wooded closed widow with a handle at the dead-end.

The key and access to this door were a gift to Evelyn by a friend who was the son of the owner. She thought she would never need it so she generously gave it to me.

Bless dicks to her, she did!

Inserting the same key inside, I opened the window and saw an empty closet. The ‘window’ opened in a private suite’s closet. Intriguing! Listening carefully with my ear to the wooded wall I heard no movement and got myself in. The dark suite says it’s unoccupied.

Now I was really curious about the relationship they shared.

I took off my coat, placed my helmet and gloves in the closet. Running a hand through my hair and looking one last time in the suite mirror I got out of the room and carefully went out of the private area, this section of the hotel was deserted. The crossing hallway didn’t have cameras so I didn’t have to worry about anyone knowing. It was my first time using the key but I knew it was a shady exit used for underhanded dealings, quite common in Chicago.

Crossing some passages blindly, I was aimlessly trying to locate when the loud music blaring brought me to the bar. Getting inside, I directly went to the bar and sat between two astonishingly handsome men but right now booze was my lover. I needed a drink. Being an imposter is such a frustrating and tiring task!

I sat there and waited for the barman eyes to fall on me so I could rain down some liquor on my burning sanity.

The bartender’s eyes then fell on me, and I could see the blonde’s eyes shining. He signaled a young one on his right who I didn’t notice before, and the boy took over the bar, “What would this gorgeous lady fancy?” the bartender, who now had his complete attention on me asked with a smile.

He was Italian or Spanish, I could tell by his accent.

Placing my bag on the counter, I passed him a smile of courtesy too. Not for flirtatious means rather you should never mess with people who handle your food, it can get nasty fast. “The strongest you have, Moodozvon.”

(Wacko)

I didn’t think he understood, as his eyes lit up with lust and delight, “Well signora; You have me but I think you can make do with something moist.” He spoke suggestively, though he was annoying my smile didn’t falter.

(Madam)

Not entertaining him any further I turned to the loud dance floor where people were twerking, trotting, and humping like animals, It’s hilarious what a man does under influence and what he feels he’s doing under influence. Shame on me as I came to take a breather and landed in a bar.

There were several professionals on raised pole dancing platforms with golden and fluorescent body paints dancing with rhythm and grace.

It was art just as much as it was the muse. They moved with perfection as their labels, I was entranced by their beautiful chorus that I only noticed a man once he was seated next to me.

“I went to a fortune-teller earlier this morning.” I heard the man from my left open his trap unnecessarily. My eyes went to the Bulky tattooed blond bartender who was glaring at the man.

Getting first of my drinks, I turned toward the man. His eyes were stuck to me like a leech sucking your skin does and I can see he appreciated the recognition. He gave me his enamored smirk, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and frowned. Boy, he was trying too hard.

I lewdly assessed the man. A pretty face, warm brown eyes, shoulder-length dirty brown hair, lanky build. Wearing a dress shirt with jeans. Tall, lousy, most probably the artistic type that lured women with pretty words.

Not interested.

No matter how incautious or horny I am, these lusty looks and desperation never got across to me. Such a turn-off! I turned away from him then my eyes swiped across the other stools there were too many men ogling me now, it was getting irksome. So instead of encouraging another brave patron to come up here, I decided to entertain the one Zhopa beside me. Smiling stiffly and raising the liquor glass to my lips I asked with exasperated expressions, “What did you read?”

(Asshole)

By now the bartender and men waiting to call dibs were glaring daggers into the unnamed man whose chest had puffed out miraculously. The man saw his best chance but ignoring the predatory looks, he swung his glass with natural movement and spoke looking at the ceiling dreamily as if realizing something, “Ahhh...You must have fallen then!”

Playing along I took a sip of my drink to hide a smirk, then placed the glass on the counter and asked in wonder with fake wide-eyes, “Fallen? When?”

He turned to me completely and spoke in a serious tone, “Today I was told the doors of heaven would open for me... You must have fallen staring down at me.”

Rolling my eyes I snorted on the man’s antics to flirt. I had to say, he was good. Then turning my eyes back to the dance floor, I audibly muttered, “You are a fine piece of meat, such a pity I am on veges today.”

“Even that’s okay with me, I am available 365 days a year, anytime, anywhere…” The man was startled and desperately rambling.

I tuned him out, though seemingly relaxed I was alert. I didn’t want to be seen or caught. I took another shot and drowned it down and then another. I had high tolerance but I had to stop my hand now. I was going to ride back.

I stood up to have a look at the busy floor when the bartender in front of the bar shrieked, “What?! Mr. Romano is visiting the bar?!” My head snapped in his direction so did many others, the burly man noticed the attention he had gained and turned to a corner, and started debating in what I am assuming is Italian.

I felt sobered up. I need to get out of here!

There’s only one Romano I know that could elicit this kind of fear I could be wrong though. But in precision, I wasn’t taking a risk. Romano’s had the city in their pocket. Whatever the scenario I was still an heiress of Isyanov Syndicate, this is their territory.

Nobody in business had ever seen me but I wasn’t taking a risk. I just had too many hellhounds on my tail at the moment, any one of them could bite me in the back. I quickly paid and hurriedly strode past the desperate man calling upon me.

Once I was out of sight, I changed the path leading to the empty corridor. Leaning against the wall I giggled to myself at my accomplishment, holding a hand to my chest.

Damn close! I needed to get to the White Mansion fast.