Chapter 3
Miquela
Night sure fell early in this part of the world.
That’s what Miquela Bolivar thought every time she came to America and attempted to drive anytime past six.
If she came in the winter? The good Lord help guide her, because American road signs were so damn tiny and made it difficult for a gal to get around.
And get around she liked to do. When Miquela wasn’t overseeing the expansion of her family’s casinos back in Europe, she was on the test tracks taking every newest model under the sun out for a spin.
Here in America, she had one favorite car that she always drove: an Aston Martin Vanquish Volante, the sleekest, sexiest car a country north of France had ever put out.
Miquela didn’t concern herself with American cars.
In Europe? She was beholden to Italian and German models.
America was an excuse to strut her Vanquish up and down every street she could.
Tonight, she had only one destination. High in the lofty mountains of the countryside was a legendary place she had heard of all the way in France – or more specifically, her home country of Monaco.
There, billionaires and their heirs whispered over cigars and drinks about the only place one should go to in America if they wanted some high-quality… attention.
Miquela always snorted to hear it. Now that she officially split her time between Monaco and America? Moving to the region’s busiest commercial district meant she had the time to check out a little abode called Le Manoir.
She didn’t know much about it, besides that it was extortionately expensive (not a problem when one was heir to an established European fortune) and the women trained in every kink and wonder. True professionals, offering any experience a guest could dream up.
Miquela had many experiences she wanted to have with beautiful women. However, there was one thing that often came in the way of achieving that sort of dream, and it rested in her overnight bag right now.
“Come on,” she grumbled, switching gears as she ventured up the mountain. Her GPS said she was five minutes away. “We’ll see if there’s anyone who can take you on tonight.”
She felt no shame in admitting she had frequented many such establishments all over the world.
She had hired her fair share of escorts and other so-called professional working women.
Perhaps more than most women she knew. For Miquela, it was a practicality.
They weren’t messy, for one thing. Professionals knew to be discreet.
They also had more experience in handling someone like her, and at the end of the day, that’s all she cared about.
“Turn right fifty meters ahead.” The GPS had a silky, feminine voice, custom-created for Miquela. Sounded like her old girlfriend, Rosa. Thinking about her always panged Miquela’s heart. Not what she wanted on a night like this.
The long private roads leading to Le Manoir were probably impressive in the daylight, but at night, all she could see were strings of Christmas lights and the occasional lamp burning a dull, soft yellow in the night.
Security waved her down this driveway and that until she came upon a sizable manor glowing on top of a hill.
Exquisite French architecture at its finest. Miquela was used to hearing places be called Manoirs and then discovering that they were…
well, not what she pictured. Her family owned four French Chateaus as it was.
This one, while still quite American in its sensibilities, could pass.
Now, to see what French wines she could get…
First things first. An attendant smartly dressed in a heavy suit pointed out a parking spot beneath a dormant cherry tree.
There were other cars lined up, including some of Miquela’s favorite Ferraris, Porsches, and Jaguars.
She took a moment to admire them in the chilly night before seeing herself to the entrance.
“Your name, ma’am?” asked a doorman, who looked like he could turn into a formidable bouncer at any moment. “For the announcements.”
“Miquela Bolivar, of Monaco.” She handed the doorman one of her business cards. The attendant glanced it over with careful eyes. “I have an appointment with the madam, although I’m a few minutes early.”
“Very good.” The doorman stepped into the foyer. Within a second, a loud, booming voice declared Miquela’s arrival. A maid popped out of a side room and hustled to the door, where the doorman whispered that Madam Monique had a special guest. “Do come in, ma’am. The lady will be right down.”
Miquela assumed she would be ushered into another room to sit and wait.
Maybe receive a complimentary glass of something.
That’s how it usually worked in these places.
If it were a particularly seedy place, a young woman might show up with the intent of getting ready to get off.
Those places were always about the high turnover.
None of that occurred. Before Miquela could inquire where her coat was going, a woman came down the stairs and extended her hand to her.
This is a sight. The woman was small in all ways but one: her giant stomach bulging out in maternal wonder.
Miquela had seen plenty of pregnant women in her life, but this was a feat.
How is she not falling over? Is she going to pop at any moment?
Regardless of her thoughts, she smiled graciously and shook the woman’s hand.
The finesse with which she moved told Miquela that this was more than a lady – this was a madam.
“Pleasure to have you in our abode, Ms. Bolivar,” the woman greeted with a sweet voice. “I’m Monique Warner. We spoke on the phone.”
“Miquela Bolivar. Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
Monique gestured to the room immediately to their left. “Come, have a drink. We’ll discuss what you’re looking for this fine Sunday evening.”
She followed her, a maid fluttering by Monique to receive orders in her ear.
Where are the ladies? So far, the only people Miquela had seen were the madam and the staff.
Not that kind of staff. Miquela was under the impression that some gorgeous women worked here. Certainly, she would like to see them.
Or, maybe, this was the kind of sophisticated place that kept them behind closed doors, only to be seen by staff and their client of the night.
Miquela sat in a large armchair made of Italian leather.
She knew this because the same leather adorned the furniture in her father’s office back in Monaco.
Javier Bolivar liked his furniture as masculine as himself.
Nice selection. Sure enough, a maid offered Miquela either brandy or wine. She took the brandy.
Monique sat in a chair across from her. Although heavy, she managed to strike an elegant pose, one leg swung over the other while her elbow rested on her knee, and her hair fell softly against her face.
It wasn’t until now that Miquela noticed pearls dangling from her ears.
My favorite. Her mother and sister had an extensive pearl collection between the two of them.
Always made Miquela think of the comforts of home.
“How may I help you this evening, Ms. Bolivar? You were quite insistent that we converse first.”
“Yes, well…” Miquela waited for the maid to leave the room, latching the door behind her. She continued. “I will be upfront with you, Madam Warner.”
“Please. Monique.”
“Madam Monique.” For a woman of her standing to eschew her family name, she must be in a very naughty profession.
Miquela had come to the right place. “I want you to know that I intend on using the full extent of services offered here tonight.” Quite frankly, she had come here to fuck a woman she had never met before.
I know what I want. “Before I meet any of your eligible young ladies, all of whom I am sure are absolutely perfect, there are a few things I want to discuss. Particularly about my… well, do I have to say it?”
“No need to be embarrassed, Ms. Bolivar. Discretion and professionalism are our utmost priorities. Also, I’ve heard everything. I doubt you could shock me.”
That unchanging expression told the truth. At least Madam Monique wasn’t bullshitting. Nothing worse than that in a pleasure house. “I’m glad to hear it. First off, I want you to know that cost isn’t an issue. You already have my credit card on file, I believe.”
“Indeed, Ms. Bolivar.”
“It has no limit. Whatever charges I accrue tonight, please feel free to go ahead and add them to my account.” This could be the most expensive place she had ever visited, although that would be difficult to achieve.
Pleasure houses in France, Italy, and yes, Monaco, charged high prices as well for those of her standing.
“Next, there is the matter of what I want.”
“Naturally.” Monique flicked something out from beneath her nail. “Go on. Almost anything can be accommodated, if it does not endanger anyone.”
“I don’t want coy, but I also don’t want someone who wants to be rid of me as soon as she can.”
“I assure you that we are not such a place. As long as you pay for the whole night, you are free to spend the night either with your lady of choice or in a guest room. Let us know if you would like to be put in a guest room.”
“I will.” Miquela drank more. What was this label? She couldn’t tell. “I have no preference in appearance. A woman of any standing and form will be fine.”
Monique raised her eyebrows, but let her continue. I’m sure you don’t hear that often.
"I want a woman who is eager to be with me.” She was careful not to say have sex with me. That was illegal here in America, and Monique Warner would make sure Miquela knew that she was not paying for sex. “The more into it she is, the happier I will be.”
“Certainly. May I inquire into your preferred role in the bedroom, Ms. Bolivar? We have women who are more inclined to one or the other. That would be helpful information.”
“I am in control. Always.”