Chapter 3 #2
She nodded. “Of course.” I know. I’m a dime a dozen. To be fair, so was the other type of guest. “My young ladies can give you more details about prices in that regard. Every room is fully equipped for any kind of play or fantasy. The Dungeon is also available tonight, if you would like to use it.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Dungeon, huh? Miquela would have to remember that for the future. For a first meeting, however, it was not necessary. She didn’t like to get into those more intense scenes of BDSM with a woman she had not made vanilla love to first.
“Then what would you like, Ms. Bolivar?”
Miquela was a simple woman, really. She wanted to have sex, and she wanted to have it with women who loved to have it.
Hard to come by in most pleasure houses, surprisingly enough.
Such women tended to be jaded toward the whole ordeal, not that Miquela could blame them.
Nor did it stop her from pursuing their services.
Miquela also had fine tastes, thanks to her upbringing.
Any woman she was with – let alone paying a hefty sum to spend some time with – should be a good blend of sophisticated and fun-loving.
A hard balance to achieve, to be sure. She always put that up front, though, because one never knew.
The reputation of Le Manoir was unprecedented, but such rave reviews usually came from single-minded guests.
Miquela could loosen up quite a bit, but in the early stages of negotiation, she had to be Ms. Business all the time.
At least Monique matched that sentiment.
“That is also perfectly doable, Ms. Bolivar. I already have at least two women available tonight who fit those descriptions, and I think you would be happy with either one of them. Should I introduce you?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Monique had already buzzed for the maid. “Oh?”
“I will trust your judgment, Madam, but there is one last thing I must make clear.”
“Of course, Ms. Bolivar.”
“Whatever woman you choose for me tonight… she must be unintimidated by a woman’s kink to use hefty assets.”
Silence befell the room. The only things Miquela could hear were a ticking grandfather clock and the steps of the staff out in the foyer. “Hefty… assets?”
Miquela motioned to the small overnight bag resting by her feet.
A maid had offered to take it, but Miquela wanted it by her side.
For this moment, really. “I trust I don’t have to explain any further than that.
” Please don’t make me. The last woman she had to explain the size to nearly called the police on her.
The police. To an illegal pleasure house.
“I can assure you that none of the women here are intimidated by any kinks or fetishes.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Monique stared at her. The door to the room opened, admitting the young maid and a stack of folders. Neither of them said anything as the maid deposited the folders and left again. Finally, Monique cleared her throat and covertly glanced into the bag that Miquela had opened.
“I… see.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
Monique turned her head, eyes glazing over and cheeks slightly puffing. She’s reacting better than most.
Eventually, the madam looked at her again. “Ms. Bolivar, I know just the woman for you. I do not believe that anything you’ve presented tonight should be an issue for her.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind signing some paperwork…”
Before Miquela could have her fill that night, she had to sign all the necessary documents stating that she wasn’t a danger, either through violence or disease, that she would not discuss the workings of the business or any conversations she overheard, and that she would honor the payment of any charges accrued over the course of her stay.
Only then was she permitted to enjoy the services of a lady that evening.
Monique excused herself to ready the woman of her choosing.
Miquela elected to stay in that room, declining the entertainment of another available girl.
As nice as it would be to get a lap dance or strip tease from someone she wouldn’t even sleep with, it wasn’t necessary.
Miquela didn’t doubt that she would enjoy the presence of the woman Monique declared perfect.
Instead, she popped into the adjacent powder room and readied herself for her encounter. The contents of her overnight bag were soon mostly empty, and she was so experienced with what she liked that it only took a moment to adjust herself and get used to it.
She had finished her second glass of brandy by the time Monique returned. “She is waiting for you in her chambers, Ms. Bolivar. Allow me to escort you.”
There was probably some cosmic joke about following a pregnant madam to her fate for the night, but Miquela didn’t say a thing as she followed Monique out of the room and up the grand staircase.
They strolled down a large hallway, laden with lush carpeting, elegant paintings depicting Ancient Grecian and Roman revelry, and enough cameras squirreled away along the crown molding for a woman to almost feel uncomfortable.
Although that was quickly offset by a pair of loud moans emanating from another room.
Good to know this was the kind of place where people could hear you enjoying the fruits of your evening.
Monique stopped in front of a room and knocked. “You should be fine to go in, Ms. Bolivar.” She stepped away. “Enjoy your evening. Please do not hesitate to let me know if you can be better accommodated.”
She probably said that to every guest, but Miquela had to laugh.
As soon as she entered the room, however, she stopped laughing. There was no time to think about the outside world. Only the night of fun she intended to have.
The room was large, but barely lit. Lamps were covered in sheaths of pink and red satin, creating the kind of intimate glow that Miquela was used to seeing in these places…
yet it somehow worked. Nothing was covered in flowers, fleurs-de-lis, hearts, or other such nonsense. Just raw, passionate colors.
The same gauze shielded a four-poster bed at the far end of the room.
Within, displayed upon a sea of silk, was Miquela’s friend of the evening.
Not that she could see her well. She was quickly distracted by the intense scent of musk burning from a stick of incense.
Not a bad choice, if there has to be a scent.
There was almost always a scent, but they tended to be, well, feminine.
Musk was a bold choice that instantly reminded Miquela that she was a woman, damnit, and she came here with one goal.
The lady behind the curtain, so to speak. Getting inside of her was the goal.
“Evening,” came a deep, yet flirtatious voice. Long and slender legs moved through the sea of bed silk. “You must be this Ms. Bolivar I’ve heard so much about.”
Miquela stepped forward. Would the other woman get off the bed?
Or were they getting right to it? I’m fine with either one.
She didn’t mind a little build-up, but no fuss, no muss sex wasn’t bad, either.
Then again, she had come to the Manoir. She expected personal concubine levels of entertainment.
As if she read her mind, the woman sat up, pushing aside one part of her sheer curtain. Hair as long as her legs draped upon her shoulders. Blond hair, by the looks of it. Real? Fake? Who knew? Miquela had a hard time caring anymore.
“Please, call me Miquela.”
“Oh… that’s a nice accent, Miquela.”
Accent? Shit. Miquela had spent half her life ridding herself of her many accents.
Plight of growing up in a multicultural community.
Or as multicultural a life as the daughter of a casino mogul could get.
When in Monaco… “You like accents, do you?” Which one to embrace?
The Spanish one? French? If she concentrated hard enough, she could do a mean Italian accent.
Of course, she didn’t plan on doing much concentrating later, so she should stick to something natural yet arousing.
Miquela may be fucking her tonight, but was it a bad thing if she was thrilled about it as well?
That was half the fun. The other half being, well, sex.
“What girl doesn’t like a nice accent?” She sat up on her knees as Miquela rounded the corner of the bed and gazed upon her without that gauze in the way. Her hand gripped the maple sprouting from the end of the bed. “Let me guess… European, absolutely.”
“An easy guess.” Miquela let her hand fall, body following it as her shoulder slumped against the post. Her hands went into her trouser pockets. “Where in Europe, I wonder?”
The lady pulled her hair back over her shoulder, accentuating the cleavage bulging from her simple black dress.
Now those are definitely real. Not bad to look at, definitely.
Neither was her face. Heart-shaped. Jaw as finely pointed as those French-tipped nails sprouting from her nimble fingers.
Her makeup was light, as if she hadn’t been expecting anyone.
Still, Miquela was quite taken with her.
Jury was still out on whether she was in the top tier of beauties she had been with in her life, but she had nothing to complain about.
Seeing her naked would be better, though.
“France.” The woman grinned. “Am I close?”
“Yes, you are close.” Miquela couldn’t help but smile back. “I would’ve been shocked if you could pinpoint a Monegasque accent.”
“Monegasque?”
“I’m from Monaco.”
“Wow.” The woman eased back down on her legs, still smiling. “Never hosted a woman from Monaco before.”
A woman. Not just someone, but a woman. I like her already, and not because she’s hot. “What’s your name?”
She batted her eyelashes. “June. But you can call me whatever you want, ma’am.”