“See you when we sign the papers and get the keys to The Grand. Better dress for business and pleasure. I hear the Andrews have quite the party planned for us afterward.”
Whatever we’re doing, his mother better not be there. Or his father. Or anyone with a vested interest in us getting it on every time we have a moment to ourselves.
Chapter 17
IAN
Twilight comes early even for this time of year. Or maybe it has to do with these mountains, which are colder, rainier, and so damned dark.
I don’t have a problem driving in these conditions. Just ease off the accelerator, judiciously apply lights and windshield wipers…
And hope your lady friend doesn’t freak out every time you go around a curve.
“I swear there was a rabbit there,” Kathryn says, grabbing the oh-shit handle and looking back at the darkening road. “Did you hit a rabbit?”
Sighing, I turn off the windshield wipers. “No. I have hit no critters since we left town.”
Kathryn lets out a huge breath. Thank God. Stop bothering me about my driving.
Earlier today we signed papers, shook hands with the Andrews, and snatched away their keys. After celebratory drinks with all the legal team and my father, we got in our cars and began the long drive up into the mountains for the night.
No, not with my father. No, not with the lawyers. Get your mind out of the gutter.
There’s plenty of times to go to Gutterville tonight.
Every so often I see the Andrews’ Ferrari disappear around another curve. Ken is a lot more comfortable on these roads and has no trouble staying half a mile ahead of me. I’ve only been up this way a few times, and only once was I driving. At least I’m better than Kathryn, who is still pretending we’re not driving through “inclement conditions,” as she keeps calling them.
It takes two hours to drive where we’re going. No wonder so many guests simply stay the night, if not the entire weekend.
Me? I’ve never stayed the night before, and I’m not sure I will tonight. It’s up to Kathryn.
Unfortunately, I’m seeing this as a date. I say unfortunately because Le Château is a sexually charged atmosphere. Let alone one focused on the thrills of BDSM. The Andrews know it well. I’m not afraid to say that I’ve hired a lovely lady here once or twice. All right, only once. The other times I was up this way was simply to get drunk and see some breasts.
You see, Le Château is nothing like The Dark Hour, although they both cater to rich people who like domination and submission. The Dark Hour is a club and all those trappings. It’s meant to be a place where you can go with a date or pick someone up. Maybe catch a demonstration. Get some drinks and come and go as you please.
Le Château is an experience.
Remember that TV show Fantasy Island? It’s kind of like that. This is a place you come to in order to feel like a king or a god. That’s because the owner and Madam, the very same Monica Graham I’ve seen around before, is a hardcore lifestyler with her submission. She’s the type who gets off on serving, and that’s the kind of place she’s created. From the moment you walk through the door, you’re an honored guest who can have almost anything he wants.
A Domme? A girl will tie you up and tell you all your shortcomings. A sub? That same girl can fall over on the bed and give you big doe-eyes until you fuck the innocence out of her.
Of course, you don’t pay for sex. It’s very clear when you sign documents before starting any scene. You’re paying for the woman’s time, anything you consume, the rooms you occupy, and any services like bondage, dirty talk, etc. I know the place has been visited by investigators. So far it’s still open.
Just trust me when I say the girls are highly encouraged to have some sort of sex with you. Oral and handjobs galore.
Or if you’re lucky like me, you get to actually fuck a girl. Of course, she persuaded me to give her a very generous tip afterward. Naturally, I obliged. She deserved it.
“I’ve never been here before,” Kathryn tells me again, as soon as we pass through the security gates and onto the main property. “It’s… impressive.”
The building is a lot bigger than a traditional Château. It’s a huge mansion overlooking a private hillside. I don’t recall who used to own it, but since it was purchased by Monica and her benefactors, the whole place has been transformed into this fantasy world. They have valet parking, even though the front parking is rarely full. Especially not tonight. I think we’re the only guests here.
I pop out of my car as soon as it’s parked and help Kathryn out of the other side. It’s starting to drizzle and we don’t have umbrellas. In record time we’ve caught up with the Andrews, who are entering the foyer and chatting with everyone as if they live there.
From what I hear, they practically do.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” a woman – a maid, I think – offers to take my coat and then Kathryn’s. The Andrews have the careful attentions of their mistress, a young, tall woman with black bobbed hair and a svelte silver dress that hugs what few curves she has. I’m not surprised that their tastes skew toward tall, thin, and possibly Russian.
Kathryn hands her coat over to the maid, head craning around as she checks this place out. No expenses were spared when it came to renovating whatever they did. Gold lines the corridors. Tapestries as soft as silk hang on the walls. Crystal chandeliers light the way as we are led to a private lounge for our use.
It’s homier, but still opulent. The Andrews’ mistress – whose name is Grace – offers us all drinks and electronic cigarettes or cigars. The real stuff isn’t allowed in this room, and none of us really smoke anyway. Instead, we each take a glass of sweet wine and order whatever drink we want. I order a whisky.
Kathryn is too enthralled by the environment to properly hear Grace. By the time she does comprehend what’s being asked, all she can do is stare wide-eyed.
“She’ll have an Old Fashioned,” I say. She needs something hard to get through tonight.
I don’t notice the Andrews are glancing at us after I ordered for Kathryn. They’re on a different couch from us, leaving enough room for Grace to join them when she returns with the drinks. I thank her, and she winks at me.
Always working, these girls are.
Grace may belong to the Andrews tonight, but they’re not here every night, and it’s my understanding that these girls take on other clients on a casual basis. If friends happen to share the same girl, well… I don’t think people mention that. For obvious reasons.
I’m grateful that I never employed the services of this lovely Grace. Too close to the Andrews for comfort.
“Relax, friends,” Ken says, leaning back and imploring his mistress to sit on the edge of his lap. Grace looks comfortable settling in there, her fingers going to Lana’s long hair and brushing it with careful attention. What a pair. “All drinks are on us.” He smiles. “Anything else is your own discretion.”
I know what he means. He’s looking at me, after all.
“Ever been here before, Mathers?”
Kathryn looks at me. I know she won’t give a rat’s two-timing ass if I say yes. Most Doms in our circles have been here at least once. Dommes, on the other hand? They don’t bother.
“A few times.” I sip my drink, although Ken continues to stare at me, as if he knows something I don’t. “Those times were a bit busier than tonight.”
“It’s traditionally a slow night, we’re afraid. That means more attention for us.” Lana smiles at Kathryn, who is still staring at the pillows and trying to remember where the fuck she is. “That reminds me, sweet, where are your friends?”
Grace puts a hand on Lana’s shoulder – who taught who that move? “They should be along shortly. They were helping with something downstairs.”
Before any of us can say anything, the door opens and admits two more feminine beauties dressed to impress their clients.