Chapter 4
“Show Her No Mercy.”
The windshield wipers squeaked as the car ascended the next hill. Lara opened her compact, a light glaring against her mirror and preventing her from touching up her lipstick.
Just as well, for Kennedy hit the same pothole every time they went to the mountains.
“That was almost a disaster,” Lara said, putting her compact and lipstick back in her purse. “One of these days, I’ll learn that you barely know how to drive.”
Kennedy turned the high beams back on after passing another car. “Yet you let me drive you everywhere. And have yet to divorce me.”
She was being facetious, but Lara didn’t have much patience for it. “Just don’t kill us before we can get laid.”
“I love how you always speak of us as a single unit.”
“Why not? Everyone else does.” Lara wasn’t immune to the comments she heard around the club and other social spheres.
Everyone called them “the Anderssens” because Lara very conveniently changed her name after getting married.
Who wouldn’t? When you were born Lara Losers, you changed your last name when you married, whether the other person was named Griswold or Habbernacky.
Lara Giselle Anderssen. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and patted the top of her bun.
That’s what I look like. The more she thought about divorce recently, the more she wondered what she would do about her name.
Besides keep it, of course. Wouldn’t that get confusing?
Sure, it was lazy and convenient to stay an Anderssen.
She could always change it in her next marriage, if there was one.
Funny. She thought about divorce, she even thought about her spouse remarrying and shrugging over it, but the thought of remarrying a brand-new person?
I would spend the rest of my life comparing them to Kennedy.
Lara glanced at her spouse. Kennedy was absorbed in her own world of staying on the road.
They were heading up to Le Manoir, a regular destination of theirs regardless of the time of year or how they felt deep inside. In fact, Lara would go as far as to say they were the biggest regulars at the local BDSM brothel. Excuse me. House of pleasure.
How long had it been since Lara first exchanged money for kinky services?
A year? It was the natural course of her marriage.
When they first heard about the Manoir not so long ago, they talked at length about what they wanted out of it.
A cursory inspection told them that it was tasteful, safe, and discreet.
A more thorough exam revealed that the ladies working there were professionals of the chameleon variety.
They could be any type of woman you paid them to be.
Dommes, subs, sweet, sassy, bratty… if a solo flyer or discerning couple wanted nothing more than a warm body to play with, that could be arranged behind the scenes as well.
Of course, on paper, the women there only traded dirty words and smacks of the whip for money and gifts.
Intercourse and oral pleasure were off the record.
Kennedy and Lara were so off the record by now that their mistress, Grace, knew exactly what to expect. While not expecting anything at all, because Lara was always thinking up something new to do.
They arrived shortly before eight, when the real parties began at the Manoir. Indeed, two other guests were there, although Lara did not recognize their cars out front. Nor did she garner anything from the coats hanging up in the front hall, where Grace came to meet them for their appointment.
“Let me take that for you, Madam,” she said sweetly, running her hands across Lara’s shoulders before ripping off her coat. “It’s so good to see you once again.”
My partner’s tastes in action. Kennedy picked this girl out for them months ago, and since then, she and her wife became Grace’s primary patrons, a title bestowed upon only the lucky few.
Being Grace’s patrons meant they could monopolize her time, take her out on dates like to the club, and expect certain services to always be available.
Like sex. Lots and lots of sex that Grace did not always give freely to other clients who purchased her time.
Grace could not look more different from Lara, however.
For one, she had long, coarse dark hair she always kept parted to one side.
She was petite, with thin legs propped up by stiletto heels and a waist that made one either salivate or seethe in jealousy.
Her breasts were about the same size as Lara’s, but sported tiny brown nipples, whereas Lara admired her own thick, pink ones that her spouse could never stop sucking when they made love in a position that allowed it.
She rarely sucks Grace’s nipples as much.
Lara smiled at the thought as she accepted her usual glass of Chardonnay from Grace’s lithe hands.
Hands that gave amazing, fantastic massages.
“The Cigar Lounge is currently open,” Grace said, heading toward the grand staircase. “Unfortunately, the other private rooms for socializing are full tonight.”
“Ugh. No.” Lara refused to take the first step. “It’s bad enough she puffs on that vape shit. I don’t need to marinate in the stench of other people’s filthy habits.”
Kennedy rolled her eyes. “It’s called olfactory fatigue. You won’t notice it soon enough.”
“That’s what you always say, then the next thing I know, I’m gagging until I puke.”
Grace tried one of her easy smiles on them. “All right. No Cigar Lounge. Shall we go straight to my room?” Well, someone was antsy to start the threesome.
“The Receiving Room is open, Grace,” came a voice from behind. Monique Grant stood outside the room in question as another woman escorted an elderly gentleman to the front door. “Please, Misses Anderssens, have a drink with me.”
Never let it be said that Monique Grant didn’t know how to keep her frequent clients happy.
Hardly a visit went by without the madam of the Manoir bestowing the couple with her company.
Not that Lara ever complained. She appreciated a segue into the fuckfest that was their usual visit to the Manoir.
Grace served them all in the Receiving Room, a quaint corner furnished with Victorian wares reupholstered to look more “sophisticated grandmother” than “dusty ol’ shit from the attic.
” At least the place was well insulated, making it a toasty, warm haven for those wanting to have quiet conversations.
“Place looks busy tonight,” Kennedy said to Monique the moment they sat down. “Business must be better than ever.”
“We can hardly keep up.”
Lara settled on the loveseat between her partner and the mistress.
Grace poured a glass of ice water and offered it to Lara, but she declined.
“The girls must be kept busy.” She glanced at Grace, who didn’t flinch or say a word.
She merely served, as she was paid to do right now. “Or have you hired more?”
“Not yet.” Monique leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and finally letting go of her rigid stance.
While nobody in that room would say they were friends, they got along well enough.
Monique probably felt a kindred spirit in Lara, even though they were on opposite ends of the Dom/sub spectrum.
While Lara considered herself a switch with a more Domme-like public persona, Monique was a lifestyle submissive through and through.
She was even the fiancée of lifestyle Domme Helen Warner, a woman Kennedy and Lara did frequent business with.
In exchange, they were not charged extra for the double-patronage of Miss Grace, even though Monique was well within her rights to milk more money out of the wealthy Anderssens.
Lara didn’t chat with lifestyle subs much. Monique was different. She was also a shrewd businesswoman who made her own money independent of her fiancée. Lara could respect that.
She also liked her. And after seeing her perform with Helen Warner at the club a few times…
well, maybe she had a sexual crush on her as well.
I couldn’t give her what she wants, though.
Neither could Kennedy. Not even the two of them together could satiate the kind of submissive appetite Monique Grant had.
“How is the wedding coming along?” Lara asked, afraid to let the silence continue.
Grace got up, turned the corner of the sofa, and stood behind her patrons.
One hand snaked across Lara’s shoulder while the other stroked the back of Kennedy’s neck.
Good girl. Lara had to contain a smile of pleasure.
“I hear it’s going to be the event of the season. ”
“Just what I need. More pressure.” Monique politely looked away as Grace’s hand descended Lara’s chest and stroked her through her red turtleneck.
Pretty little fingers played with the pendant hanging around Lara’s neck.
Kennedy gave me this pendant for my birthday last year.
It was a gold finch, Lara’s favorite bird.
She looked at her spouse, currently enjoying her glass of scotch and another woman’s hand combing through her hair.
Grace knew how to please them, that was for sure.
For the past few months, she had learned the idiosyncrasies of her patrons and put them to her advantage.
For example, she knew that they got off on being treated as one sexual unit.
So she always, always made sure to show them an equal amount of attention.
Even so, Lara spent most of that night staring at her spouse being felt up by another woman.
For the first time in a long while, she experienced a pang of jealousy.
Fuck that bullshit. She looked back at Monique and said, “I suppose it’s the price you pay for marrying one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the region.
” She placed her hand on Kennedy’s arm. “That would’ve been my Kenny if I let her stay single for much longer. ”
“That’s right. You’ve been married what, ten years?”