by Cynthia Dane
“What was all that about? What was in the package?”
Ken wrapped a wet arm around her shoulders. Fuck off, this bathing suit isn’t supposed to get wet. She didn’t dare say that out loud. Her husband would take that as an invitation to toss her into the pool.
“Nothing important, Bunny.” His kiss to her cheek was facetious at best. “Boring shit for work that should’ve been sent to the downtown office.”
Lana narrowed her brows as her husband slipped back into the pool and performed some languid backstrokes in the sunlight. If it were for work, he wouldn’t have talked about it with Chloe. That girl was so low on the staff totem pole that neither Ken nor Lana would talk more than five seconds to her. And that would be to give the order. Not… whatever Ken was saying to her in such a low voice that Lana never had a chance of hearing.
There was something funny going on in her house. Before, Lana drank herself into an afternoon stupor out of irrational fears. Now she wondered if those fears were rational after all.
If they were, then Ken could say goodbye to everything. He could get away with a lot of shit, but cheating on his wife – let alone falling in love with some nobody like Chloe – would mean his imminent downfall.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Lana mumbled, heading back into the house. First, a mimosa on the balcony upstairs. She could better admire her husband’s athleticism from there. It may very well be the last time she bothered before the messiest divorce of the decade.
Chapter 4
“Show Her No Mercy.”
The windshield wipers squeaked against the glass as the car ascended the next hill. Lana opened her compact, a light glaring against her mirror and preventing her from touching up her lipstick.
Just as well, for Ken hit the same pothole he always hit every time they went into the mountains.
“That was almost a disaster,” Lana said, putting her compact and lipstick back in her purse. “One of these days I’ll learn that you barely know how to drive.”
Ken turned the high beams back on after passing another car. “And yet you let me drive you everywhere. And have yet to divorce me.”
He was being facetious, but Lana 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.” Lana wasn’t immune to the comments she heard around the club and other social spheres. Everyone called them “the Andrews” because Lana very conveniently changed her name after getting married. What woman wouldn’t? She heard all the feminist reasoning to, ironically, hang on to her father’s last name, but when you were born Lana Losers, you changed your last name when you married whether the man was named Griswold or Habbernacky.
Lana Giselle Andrews. 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 Andrews. She could always change it in her next marriage, if there was one.
Funny. She thought about divorce, she even though about her husband remarrying and shrugging over it, but the thought of remarrying a brand new man? I would spend the rest of my life comparing him to Ken. Lana glanced at her husband. Ken was absorbed in his own world of staying on the road.
They were heading up to Le Château, a regular destination of theirs regardless of the time of year or how they felt deep inside. In fact, Lana 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 Lana first exchanged money for kinky services? A year? It was the natural course of her marriage. When they first heard about the Château opening up 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 girls 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 man or discerning woman wanted nothing more than a warm hole to make love to, 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 cock sucking were off the record.
Ken and Lana were so off the record by now that their mistress Grace knew exactly what to expect. While not expecting anything at all, because Lana was always thinking up something new to do.
They arrived shortly before eight, when the real parties began at the Château. Indeed, two other guests were there, although Lana 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 Lana’s shoulders before ripping off her coat. “It’s so good to see you once again.”
My husband’s tastes in action. Ken picked this girl out for them months ago, and since then he and his wife became her 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 services.
Grace could not look more different from Lana, 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 men salivate and women seethe in jealousy. Her breasts were about the same size as Lana’s, but sported tiny brown nipples whereas Lana admired her own thick, pink ones that her husband could never stop sucking when they made love in a position that allowed it. He rarely sucks her nipples as much. Lana 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.” Lana refused to take the first step. “It’s bad enough my husband puffs on that electronic shit. I don’t need to marinate in the stench of other men’s filthy habits.”
Ken rolled his eyes. “It’s called olfactory fatigue, Lana. You won’t notice it soon enough.”
“That’s what you always say, Kenneth, and 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. Monica Graham stood outside the room in question as another woman escorted an elderly gentleman to the front door. “Please, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, have a drink with me.”
Never let it be said that Monica Graham didn’t know how to keep her frequent clients happy. Hardly a visit went by without the madam of the Château bestowing the couple with her company. Not that Lana ever complained. She appreciated a segue into the fuckfest that was their usual visit to the Château.
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,” Ken said to Monica the moment they sat down. “Business must be better than ever.”
“We can hardly keep up.”
Lana settled on the loveseat between her husband and the mistress. Grace poured a glass of ice water and offered it to Lana, but she declined. “The girls must be kept busy.” S
he 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.” Monica 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. Monica probably felt a kindred spirit in Lana, even though they were on opposite ends of the Dom/sub spectrum. While Lana considered herself a switch with a more Domme-like public persona, Monica was a lifestyle submissive through and through. She was even the fiancée of lifestyle Dom Henry Warren, a man Ken and Lana did frequent business with. In exchange, they were not charged extra for the double-patronage of Miss Grace, even though Monica was well within her right to milk more money out of the rich Andrews.
Lana didn’t chat with lifestyle subs much. Monica was different. She was also a shrewd businesswoman who made her own money independent of her wealthy fiancé. That Lana could respect wholeheartedly.
She also liked her. And after seeing her perform with Henry Warren 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 Ken. Not even the two of them together could satiate the kind of submissive appetite Monica Graham had.
“How is the wedding coming along?” Lana 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 Lana’s shoulder while the other stroked the back of Ken’s neck. Good girl. Lana 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.” Monica politely looked away as Grace’s hand descended Lana’s chest and stroked her through her red turtleneck. Pretty little fingers played with the pendant hanging around Lana’s neck. Ken gave me this pendant for my birthday last year. It was a gold finch, Lana’s favorite bird.
She looked at her husband, currently enjoying his glass of scotch and another woman’s hand combing through his 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. 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, Lana spent most of that night staring at her husband being felt up by another woman. For the first time in a long while, she felt a pang of jealousy. Fuck that bullshit. She looked back at Monica and said, “I suppose it’s the price you pay for marrying one of the most eligible bachelors in the region.” She placed her hand on Ken’s arm. “That would’ve been my Kenny if I let him stay single for much longer.”
“That’s right. You’ve been married what, ten years?”
“Yes. Coming up.” Lana removed her hand and shrugged Grace’s off. “A Christmas wedding for our families. Nothing on the scale of what you have planned.” Anyone who was anyone was going to Monica’s wedding that upcoming February. At least she was the type of woman who could handle the pressure. Especially if her Dom commanded it so. “Seems quaint to look back on it.”
“I’m sure it was lovely.”
“She wore a red and white garter,” Ken chimed in, stealing a glance at his wife. “The most beautiful white gown any man has ever seen. Cheeky of her to wear something Christmassy beneath it. Felt like unwrapping the most perfect gift.”
Lana looked away, hiding her blush. It wasn’t even my idea. It was her sister’s, insisting that she do something festive for her wedding clothes. I only cared about the cake and the sex that night. Ken had not disappointed her. He took her in ways she didn’t know a husband could take his wife – all while making her feel so incredibly loved that she swooned all through their honeymoon.
“I can only hope to have such a grand marriage as you two have.” Monica’s smile was genuine, although still demure as was her nature. “You’re practically legends.”
Neither of them pressed for a reason. Having someone young and nubile like Grace feel them up while they spoke was enough reason on display.
“Thank you,” Ken finally said. “No marriage is perfect or easy, but Lana and I make it work.” His hand curled over her crossed knee. “I can’t imagine having anyone else by my side.”
Those words would usually make her blush more, but Lana suddenly entered a moment of self-doubt. Those sound like stock words, Kenneth. Did her husband hide those kinds of words up his sleeve to use when it was best? Like now? There was a reason some people in the real estate world called him Silver Tongue Andrew. He knew how to charm the pants off a snake. He’s charmed mine off enough times by now.
Monica couldn’t spend much more time with them, not with a busy business bustling with life that night. After she paid her respects and whispered something curt in Grace’s ear, Monica saw herself out.
“And how are you, Kitten?” Ken asked, turning every ounce of attention to the mistress. “It’s unfortunately been a couple of weeks since we last chatted.”
Grace wrapped her arms around his shoulders and bent down low to his ear. Yet she spoke loud enough for Lana to hear as well. “Anything that may have been bothering me is now nothing, sir. A visit from you and your lovely wife is all I need to feel better.”
“And the other men you’ve fucked in our absence?”
Lana could never help herself.
Grace stood up, unfazed. She was probably used to Lana’s inquisitions by now. “None of them compare to Mr. Andrews, ma’am.”
Liar. Grace slept with a good number of men. Even if not now, at least through her life. So for her to pretend that Ken was the best dick of her life was more than absurd. I’ll take her saying I’m the best woman, though.
Yet Ken was placated, his male ego stroked as well as his cock usually was. “You’re always so crude, Lana,” he gently reprimanded. “If I don’t mind other men touching our Kitten, then you shouldn’t either.”
“Who said I minded? It’s your dick, dear.”
His hand tightened on her knee. “Lana.”
“What?” She feigned ignorance with the best of them. “It’s the 21st century. Who said a woman had to be confined to one cock? Or a man to one pussy, for that matter?”
“Nobody. You’re the one inferring things.”
Lana closed her lips before they had an altercation in front of the mistress. That didn’t mean Ken won the argument, though.
“Bunny,” her husband said, growling into her ear while Grace looked on. “You’re tense. Luckily you’re in the perfect place for releasing those urges you’re holding in.” He leaned back again. “What will make you feel good, my love? You’ve got your pick tonight.”
“I do, don’t I?” Lana glanced at Grace, who waited expectantly for an order. “Get over here, Kitty. I want to pet you.”
Only Lana could make a phrase like that not sound cheesy and lame, as evident when Grace responded with alacrity. She stood in front of Lana, hands folded in front of her as she tried to contain a smile. A liar would say she doesn’t like spending time with us. Grace didn’t put up with their whims and demands simply because of the money. Lana guessed the mistress hadn’t faked an orgasm since they started this mutually beneficial relationship almost a year ago.
“Kneel.”
Lana sat up straight while Grace obeyed and Ken looked on, hand still on his wife’s knee. “I knew you were in that sort of mood tonight,” he murmured into her ear. “I had hoped.”
I know. Ken, like his wife, was a switch. One of the only male switches Lana knew, let alone one of the only male switches who encouraged his partner to be as domineering as possible. That’s one of the things I love about him. Not ashamed. Never embarrassed. Ken loved exploring even the strangest kinks, even if he decided he didn’t like them afterward. Even on the rare occasion something flubbed during sex, like coming too soon, going flaccid for no reason, or saying something to kill the mood indefinite
ly, Ken didn’t let it get to him. It probably helped that his wife didn’t care either. Men go soft. They come. They say stupid shit thinking it’s sexy when in reality you want to kill them for saying it.
So for her husband to sit there, commenting on his wife’s growing dominance around another woman, told her everything she needed to know about this situation.
“Show me your tits.”
Lana curled her fingers over the edge of the sofa as Grace pulled down the front of her little black dress and showed them the goods they’d seen a million times. Sure enough, those tiny brown dots she called nipples were there – and hardly excited to say hello.
“You don’t look excited for us to be here,” Lana said, bathing in the attention her husband suddenly gave her. “What’s going on with those little nubs of yours? Make them hard.”
Grace bowed her head and inspected her own nipples. “I don’t know why, ma’am. I always look forward to your visits.”
“Do you think I give a shit? Those nipples are soft and I want them hard. Get to it.”
Her husband’s hand had a death grip on her knee. When she covertly slipped her hand between his legs, she discovered him half erect already.
“Yes, ma’am.”
While Grace deferred to Lana and stimulated herself, the woman in charge pretended to be disinterested to keep up her Domme façade. In truth, she was interested. In everything.
Grace was becoming aroused before her very eyes. Not to mention her husband, who would be on the verge of wanting to do them both within a few more minutes. As for Lana? She came here expecting kinky sex. She was wet when she walked through the front door.
“Look at this slut, Kenneth,” Lana said, squeezing her husband’s cock. “I don’t know how we’re not bored with her yet. We’ve taken her every which way. The both of us.”
“Thank you for the reminder.”
Yeah, I bet you needed it. Lana rarely knew how a night at the Château would turn out. Sometimes she came in with whips blazing, pushing both her husband and mistress around in an attempt to cuckold them both. Other times she begged for Ken to fuck both her and Grace as if they were nothing to him. Once in a blue moon they both took Grace at the same time – and once, when Ken was one of the most relaxed his wife had ever seen him, he let her peg him in front of someone else. It’s a good thing we pay this woman to be silent. Not that half the kink scene didn’t know the Andrews took it in all their holes from each other, but still…
