by Cynthia Dane
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Judith turned over. Her breaths came back to her. She opened her eyes and saw Miguel propped up beside her. “Anything else I can do for you?”
He chuckled. “Even if there was, don’t you think it best that you get some rest? You may be a pro, but you’re only human.” His touch lingered on her back. “An exceptional one, though. I’m glad I came here tonight.”
Miguel didn’t want cuddles. He barely wanted conversation after fucking Judith in ways she didn’t think she could experience. Instead, he dismissed her to do whatever she needed, whether it was cleaning herself up or resting for another thirty minutes. Meanwhile, he would make quick use of her private bathroom and then settle in for the night.
While he was gone, softening cock still quite impressive, Judith eased herself off the bed and instantly felt his seed drip down her leg. Holy. Shit. Mercy. Pity. Anything. She couldn’t tell if she thought it hot or a hassle to cleanup. With him? Hot. She got to share her bed with him for the night. He smelled good to boot!
In time, reason returned to her endorphin-drunk brain. Numbers coursed across her neurons. Twenty-seven thousand to have him blow that massive load in her and watch it drip from her pussy. That didn’t count the drinks, the massage, the blowjob, and him paying to spend the whole night in her room. That last part especially didn’t come cheap, because as long as she didn’t entertain a client in there, she could make money with another. I’m glad he’s staying. I could not have sex with another guy tonight. Poor Judith was probably too satisfied for the next few days. Good thing her weekend started the moment Miguel left in the morning. A girl’s refractory period could be cumbersome at times.
Cleaning up after a client was finished was always the worst. The mess. The smell (sometimes.) The complete disregard for her belongings when he was in the heat of the moment. Thankfully, Madam Monica employed a full-time launderer who never griped about the stuff she was given to clean. She must be paid super well. Judith thought this as she examined her bedding, wondering if Miguel would want her to rip it off or if he further got off on sleeping beneath his own dried mess. I am always surprised, and yet never am.
As soon as Miguel came out of the bathroom, Judith went into attentive mode, hoping to coax one last service out of him for the night. She didn’t know what, but who knew? Maybe he would like a relaxing massage to drift off to sleep. How about a handjob? Another blowjob? Come on, man!
He declined. Politely, but declined nonetheless. “I think I will turn in for the evening, thank you. Do you have a preference for what side I sleep on?”
Judith shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.” She always slept on the right side, but Mr. Hung Money could sleep on top of her if it pleased him. “If you don’t mind, I’ll use the bathroom now.”
He didn’t care. Judith went in, intent on cleaning herself up, but distracted the moment she smelled that strong cologne in one of her most intimate rooms.
How much money had she made off that glorious man? Judith sat down, using her fingers to go through the most prominent figures. Wow. She was used to making good money in a night, but there was something about this amount… right around fifty grand. The man had spent over fifty grand at the Château in one night. Not unheard of. To be fair, however, few opted to pay for coming inside her.
Judith wandered back into her room, refreshed. Miguel was already in her bed, dozing beneath the soiled covers. At least that answered that question.
It wasn’t unusual for Judith to sleep with her clients. About half of them paid for it, and although it cost double than planning to sleep in a private guest room, many took her up on it. Even so, she was pleasantly surprised when Miguel wrapped an arm around her and went to sleep spooning her. She wouldn’t charge him for that.
Chapter 5
SETH
“There it is. About time, too. Was thinking about turning around, since we don’t get any damn reception up here!”
Seth gestured to the high-tech GPS on Zack’s dash. “There. Right there. Stop relying on your phone for everything.” He swiveled the GPS in his direction and punched in the address for the Château. “For fuck’s sake…” Zack’s technophobia would be the death of them all one day. The man could wield a chainsaw to do elaborate, life-sized wood carvings, but heaven forbid he program his GPS. Me? I had no choice but to be proficient at my job. When hundreds of women and their unborn children put their lives in his hands…
“You’re so uptight.” Zack leaned back in the driver seat as he swerved down a private, unmarked drive. This type of place really values its privacy. For a while, both Seth and Zack worried that they would miss the turnoff entirely and end up on some dirt road taking them into Rednecktopia. Then the flora went from wild to carefully cultivated, and Seth recognized this region to be home to a plethora of isolated mansions. “It’s a good thing we’re taking you to a pleasure house, Dr. Christens. You’re in sore need of a show and a massage.” Zack chortled as they reached the first security gate. “Maybe more, if you finally open that pocketbook of yours.”
Seth rolled his eyes as Zack spoke to the guard on duty. The electronic fence slowly slid open, revealing a long, single-lane road leading through groves of cherry trees. “Seems silly to me. This whole paying for women business.”
The car advanced. “Like you haven’t stuffed some hundred dollar bills down a stripper’s thong and made her night.”
“I was drunk.”
“We could get you drunk here too!”
“At fifty dollars a glass, I’m sure.”
“You really need to learn how to let go of your money.” Zack rolled down his window and let his arm hang out, catching the warm spring breeze. “You doctors are too conservative. So what if we blow some wads here… and I don’t mean wads of money.”
“It’s a good thing these women are professionals, because you’re so crass you would scare them off otherwise.”
“Doubtful.” Zack eased on the gas as they came upon the first bend in the road. “You’re the one who has to watch out. When’s the last time you went on a date? A real one. Taking your mother out to lunch doesn’t count.”
“Why would I count my mother as a date?”
“Because you’re a freaky gyno.”
Seth cleared his throat as the Château came into view. “You’re jealous I know more about pussy than you do.”
“Don’t need to know how they work as long as she’s coming, man.”
“Whatever you say.” Seth would have his best friend know that he was quite adept at pleasuring women – partially because he knew how pussy worked. I’d like to see him find the G-spot in fewer than three seconds. Seth was practically a party trick at this point. “Wait, isn’t this the old residence of that French Marquis?”
“If you mean the Marquis de Sade, then yes.”
Seth didn’t deign that with a response. He was entranced with the simple yet elegant architecture, spanning a good many meters and the type of styling one did not see often anymore. It reminded him of the Château Plessis Vair, which he visited upon his last sojourn to western France. Only this Château wasn’t quite as ostentatious as that one… apparently the old Marquis who had it built preferred to keep his French heritage a subtle reference, not a statement piece.
A simple sign pointed to guest parking near a fountain surrounded by blooming cherry trees. By the time Zack put his Jaguar into park, a doorman was already appearing in the door.
“Don’t worry. I got us the full tour.” Zack bounded out of the car, slamming the door with more fervor than he probably intended.
It was the middle of the afternoon, so the grounds were more active than the inner walls of the Château. Landscapers mowed the green lawns while gardeners snipped this and trimmed that. Their conversations peppered the air until Seth was in the foyer of the Château, taking in the elegant décor and listening to the revered silence befalling the room.
Hope we dressed nice enough. Neither of them wore suits, although Za
ck had left the denim at home and sported a nice pair of slacks and a smart dinner jacket. His dress shirt was Valentino. Surely, that was good enough for the man who could pull off any look. Seth, on the other hand, wore dark trousers and a cashmere sweater that showed off his physique. He was dressed simply, but formal-casual… it took him a good many years to realize that was an actual thing.
“Gentlemen,” came a soft voice from another room. A door swung open, admitting the lady – or was it the madam? – of the house. Oh. Seth was not the best with names. When he heard the woman who ran this place was named Monica, he thought nothing of it. Nobody told him it was the Monica Warren, the former girlfriend of billionaire assholes Jackson Lyle and Ethan Cole… and the current wife of Henry Warren, a man Seth attended the same boarding school with. While Henry had been two years ahead of Seth, that blond giant had left a favorable impression on the young boy already studying premed. It was no surprise when Seth had been invited to the wedding in February. She was a beautiful bride… Already pregnant, too. Now she looked, well, pregnant. That’s my official doctoral analysis. “So good of you to stop by today. You’ve picked a great day for a tour. Wednesdays are generally quiet days, so you almost have the place to yourself.”
She came to them, doing her best to not waddle in her Louis Vuitton flats. Yet Seth’s eyes couldn’t help themselves: he instantly recognized the way a woman with swollen feet walked, especially if she was not wearing shoes that accommodated the daily fluctuations of pregnancy. He saw it a million times in his office. Some women didn’t mind getting fashion advice from their obstetrician, but the others… Five bucks says I know her doctor. Was it Cavil? No, he kept to the Hamptons these days. Hamilton? That guy was so old he thought Seth had been too young to be a proper doctor, let alone for elite women. It must’ve been Jordan. Decent fellow. Knew his stuff, even if his bedside manner was gruff.
“Pleasure meeting you,” Zack said, shaking Monica’s hand. She was a good two heads shorter than Seth, so when they shook hands, he had do his best to not literally look down on her. “We were at your wedding, actually. Distant friends of your husband.”
“Thank you for attending.” That must have left a favorable impression on the madam, for her shoulders slightly slouched and her smile grew softer. “Can I interest you in complimentary drinks? We received a new shipment of Knob Creek.”
“Sounds delicious.” Zack clapped Seth on the arm as they followed Monica into a receiving salon. “Get some bourbon at three in the afternoon.”
The first glass may have been complimentary, but Seth’s credit card was already on file here. It was required for him and Zack to make a first-time appointment. He looked around. What else could he get charged for?
He barely listened to Monica’s introduction to the Château and what they offered. She never once brought up sex, although everyone and their in-heat dogs knew that this was the place to come if a millionaire wanted to, well, come. With great fanfare, anyway. It wasn’t that Seth couldn’t afford any of the “services,” as Monica kept calling them, but he was not the type of man to throw money at a woman unless she was his girlfriend. Even then… well, his last serious girlfriend made sure to call him a cheapskate when she broke up with him. How did she think I stay so rich? She never complained about the sex, though…
“For your first visit, we usually introduce you to all the available girls. After that, if you would like to see a certain woman, you should make an appointment at least two days in advance. Otherwise you will have the choice of who is available, although we usually discourage men enjoying the services of more than two or three women. Politics, you know.”
“Naturally!” Zack was on his second glass of bourbon. Seth had barely touched his. “Since we’re new here, I’m sure you’ll understand if we’re a bit green to the whole system. Also, forgive us if we’re both not necessarily interested in the full breadth of services.”
“Of course. It’s not required. Many of our regular clients come here to drink and talk in a comfortable environment. There are no expectations.” Except spending a certain amount of money somehow, I’m sure.
Monica took them on tour next, showing the various activity rooms – which were not as scandalous as Zack hoped they would be, minus the Dungeon – and even the dining quarters which hosted weekend banquets for clients. Seth was only vaguely interested. He was much more fascinated with the subtle architecture, the views of the gardens and labyrinth hedges out back, and the paintings hanging on walls. So much Leon K. Kim. Kim was infamous for his portrayals of sensuality, which usually included a healthy dose of fornication. When Seth was caught staring at a portrait of a woman getting fucked doggy-style by a wolf-headed spirit, he swore he was caught up in the swirls of the brushstrokes. I’m not lying. He could stare at the Mona Lisa for hours.
He could also stare out the upstairs balcony doors for a long, long time.
Seth wasn’t sure why he was so taken with the view at first. Monica conversed with Zack about the landscaping and the inspiration therein, but Seth was more interested in the blond beauty sitting in a lounge chair on the balcony. She wore a sleek black dress, strappy heels off and resting on the ground as she drew up one slender leg and let the other drape over the other side of the chair. Who is that? Does she work here? Seth knew the women here were beautiful, whether they were supermodel thin or technically plus size, but he wasn’t expecting to see a woman who actually… made him… stare. And not because she was pregnant and he was trying to gauge how many weeks along she was… without asking. Damnit, Mrs. Warren, you’re baffling me with that bulge. Twenty weeks? Twenty-five?
Right, the vixen.
Seth turned his whole body toward the glass door, drinking in the sight of the tall woman soaking up some afternoon rays. Gucci sunglasses graced her stoic face as she twirled some blond hair on one finger. Her breasts – good God, those breasts! – moved up and down in her dress with every deep breath. Occasionally she pushed a mint out of her mouth before sucking it back in. Her lips… were they rose-colored? Luscious pink? If Seth broke out his oil palette right now, would he even know where to begin picking a shade for her lips?
Her. I want to paint her. His breath was fogging up the glass. It only annoyed him because it obscured his view of the woman scratching her outer thigh with manicured nails. One nail snagged on the hem of her dress, pulling it up far enough for Seth to get a brief view of her ass. Something stirred. In his pants.
Shit. Seth Christens was a logical man. Sure, he got hard, and was no stranger to the ol’ orgasm in the shower, but he was logical. He knew why his body did what it did and what it meant in the grand scheme of reproductive means. Deep inside, he was a base creature, but evolution had given him the ability to control himself and think beyond sex sex sex. He was discerning. He didn’t go home with just anyone, and he definitely did not purchase the sexual services of a woman who couldn’t care what his name was.
So why the fuck was his cock screaming at him to mate mate mate?
Seth didn’t have a type. He enjoyed looking at beautiful women, even fantasizing about them… and definitely sleeping with them. But when pressed by friends and even his father to pick a type of woman he would want to pursue should he meet her, he could never answer. Sometimes he lusted after a blonde. Other times a brunette. A curvy girl with beautiful skin. A thin girl with barely-there breasts. Personality had always mattered more to Seth, but when it came to on-the-spot attraction, he was at a loss for words.
Until now.
If someone asked him what kind of woman he wanted to run up and conquer? Her. Whoever she was. A goddess, for all he fucking knew.
“Hey, Seth.”
He turned away, catching Zack’s grin a few feet before him. “Huh?”
Monica repeated whatever she had said. “I’m afraid I must retire for a while, Dr. Christens. The fatigue is too great right now.” She put a hand on her stomach. “I hope you understand.”
“If anyone understands pregnant women
, it’s our friendly neighborhood obstetrician.”
The others ignored him. “I will fetch my number two woman for you to finish the tour with. She seems currently available.” Monica sauntered by, opening the glass balcony door and throwing her voice into the wind. “Judith! Would you mind finishing this tour for me, please? I need to rest.”
Seth’s heart palpitated watching that beauty swing both legs over the lounge chair and sit up. Her glasses popped up her head. His keen eyes caught a delightful shade of hazel from far away.
“Gentlemen,” Monica said, gesturing to the tall woman gliding across the balcony and into the hallway, “this is Judith. She is one of our best ladies, and will probably stage a hostile takeover one of these days.”
“Please.” The woman twiddled her fingers, sizing them up. Okay, sizing Zack up. Her eyes were instantly drawn to him, which wasn’t unusual. While Seth was fine to look at, Zack exuded that extrovert’s charisma that made everyone in the room flock to him first. He screamed alpha male. Seth was more likely to write it in a letter and hope his intended got the message within a week. If she didn’t? No skin off his back. There were other opportunities.
Except for maybe this woman. The fact she shook Zack’s hand first and gave him the biggest smile sent an unfamiliar sensation through Seth.
Jealousy. Bitter, wild jealousy.
“Seth Christens.” He was prompted to introduce himself while the others stared at him, waiting. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Judith.” Judith. There was a strong, traditional name a man didn’t hear much anymore. Let alone on a beautiful woman as young as Judith. Twenty-five? Thirty? Her age was as elusive as the length of Monica’s pregnancy. She looked young at first glance, but there was knowledge in those eyes. Thirty. I will bet thirty. A grand age. Seth always preferred women closer to his age than much younger or older.
