by Aria M. Gray
His Madam
A Steamy Romance Short Read
Aria M. Gray
Copyright © 2017 by Aria M. Gray. All Right Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Write to [email protected] for permission to use.
All persons, names, businesses, and places in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real life in any way is coincidental. Real locations, such as city names such as New York, are used for setting.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1. Rhys
Chapter 2. Rhys
Chapter 3. The Madam
Chapter 4. Rhys
Chapter 5. The Madam
Chapter 6. The Madam
Chapter 7. Rhys
Chapter 8. The Madam
Epilogue: Rhys
About The Author
Chapter 1. Rhys
I’ve always been told life sometimes throws you a curveball. The biggest of my life came today when I met Madam Marcella Lane, owner of Black Tie Escort Services.
I’ve never met a woman like her.
But let me back up to two weeks ago.
My landlord discovered my roommates stash of marijuana, and like that, the two us and all our stuff sat on the corner of Main Street and Fifth Avenue. My roommate didn’t care. He packed his stuff in the back of a buddy’s truck and left for Ohio to move back in with his parents.
I’m not as lucky. I’d been raised in ten different foster homes after my mother gave me up for adoption. I lived off odd jobs while taking classes at Northend College. Thankfully I managed to get a sizeable scholarship, but I still had to pay rent and buy groceries.
There is nothing among my belongings I care to keep. Everything came from thrift shops or online, most of it finishing its lifespan years ago. My living room recliner is held together with duct tape, and a brick takes the place of one of the legs.
I leave all of it there except my cellphone, car keys, and wallet. Somebody will take the rest, and I don’t care.
Heading down the street, I duck into my favorite bar. I turned twenty-one last month, and since then frequented this place. I don’t come to drink, not always anyway. Sometimes I buy a plate of nachos and hang out in the back playing darts or pool. I won a championship game of darts a week ago, and since, I’ve become a celebrity in the bar.
“Your usual, Rhys?” the bartender asks.
It is midday, so the bar is pretty quiet. “Yes.”
“I saw a commotion outside your apartment building this morning. What was that about?” he asks, sliding a beer across the counter.
“Got evicted.” I take a gulp of beer. I have a feeling this won’t be my first drink of the day.
“Sorry, man. Got any place to go?”
I shake my head.
“A job?”
“A delivery shift at Romero’s Pizza, but that’s not going to cut it. The apartment was the cheapest rent I’ve found in the city.” Finding cheap places in a suburb of New York City is harder than finding a needle in a haystack.
The bartender leaves to take the order of a drunk at the end of the bar. I’ve never not seen him in here.
I’ve got to figure something out. I’m not sleeping on the streets tonight. Maybe a friend would let me crash with them? I shake my head. I have a few friends from college and work, but none of them will offer their couch until I get back on my feet.
The bartender comes back over a few minutes later. “I may know of a job for you. It would provide a room and pay well, but it’s a selective program. I think you might fit the bill, though.”
It sounds like the solution to all my problems. “What kind of job is it?”
He leans his elbows on the counter and lowers his voice. “Don’t react until I tell you about it. It’s an elite escort service.”
I rear back in disgust. An escort service is a fancy word for prostitution, isn’t it? I’m not that desperate.
“I was part of their program before I opened this bar. Paid well and the ladies were modeling kind of material. Occasionally I got a strange client, but most were reasonable.” He hands me a card.
It’s black with white lettering and reads, “Black Tie Escort Service,” followed by a phone number and email.
“I started out at $7000 a month with an apartment in upper Manhattan rent free. The apartment was to impress the ladies.”
$7000? Hell, I don’t make that in six months of working at Romero’s.
“Started at?”
He nods. “When I left a year later, I made $9000 a month.”
That’s a whole lot of money. I’d like to say I have a strict moral code that keeps me from considering the offer, but that is a whole lot of cash. Not to mention everything I own is being carried off by strangers right now.
He continues, “You have to be willing to do whatever the clients ask and get through training, but you’re a smart kid. It’s simple anatomy used to the clients’ tastes.”
I don’t want to think about what those tastes might be. I hate ask, but I do anyway. “What sort of training?”
He grins. “You’ll see. Madam Lane, she runs the place, has a strict policy. If you don’t mind taking off clothes, you’ll do fine.”
I don’t have a lot to lose. Well, I do physically, but I’ve lost everything else today, and no other options exist.
“Do I just call?” I ask.
“Yes, and the secretary will set up an appointment for you to meet with one of the heads of the company.”
___________________________________________________
I leave the bar after two more beers and taking a newspaper the bartender had. I tuck the card in my pocket, unsure what to do. First thing first though.
Collecting my car from the parking garage, I drive two blocks to the motel on the corner. It hasn’t been renovated since 1950, but it’s cheap at $49 a night.
After checking in, I go to my room, #13 ironically. Today isn’t finished crapping on me yet.
The room smells like smoke, but that’s not new. My roommate smoked all the time as did half of my foster parents. Placing the card on the table, I settle down with the newspaper scanning the job section.
As nice as the money might be, I’m not thrilled at the idea of joining an escort service. I like to think I have a little dignity left.
Until I hit rock bottom, which though I’m close I’m not quite there, I’m going to try to find another job. I’ve five hundred saved up, though I spent $35 of it in the bar. It will last a while.
Chapter 2. Rhys
A week goes by with no luck. Without a permanent address, most employers won’t even look at my resume. It’s not like I have many skills. I’ve worked plenty of jobs, but without a degree, most snub their noses.
I’m down to two hundred dollars, and that will never be enough to get an apartment. Landlords want the first month’s rent and a deposit, and that will be closer to $700.
I’m out of luck.
As I sit on the bed, head pressed against my hands, I notice a card on the floor. Frankly, I’d dismissed the escort idea after day two. I guess the card fell off the table sometime and I’d forgotten about it.
Picking it up, I read the number again. Do I dare call? This is an all-out low even for me.
But hell, there’s n
ot much left to lose.
It’s after five p.m., so I expect to get an answering service when I call. However, a young woman picks up. She rattles off the company name as well as her own before asking what she can help me with.
“A...uh…friend told me to call. He said you might have a job for me.”
“Of course,” the woman clips. “You’re interested in becoming an escort?”
“Yes.” Just saying it gives me the creeps. An escort?
“Mrs. Dodds can meet with you on Thursday at 2 p.m. or Saturday at 9 a.m. She will conduct the interview and see if you are a good fit for the company. Shall I write your name down?”
Thursday is four days away.
“Is there any chance I can meet sooner?”
“I’m afraid we’re booked.”
“Thursday then. My name’s Rhys Carter.”
There’s a momentary pause until she says, “I have you down here, Mr. Carter. We look forward to seeing you at 2 p.m. at 900 East Street on the fourth floor. Please be punctual.”
Before I can ask any questions, she hangs up.
I take a deep breath. I hope I didn’t get into something over my head.
___________________________________________________
I arrive at the address the secretary gave me fifteen minutes early. The building isn’t impressive. It looks like one of those buildings you see all the medical buildings in: modern, brick, and white.
The first-floor lobby is surprisingly nice, though, with marble tiles and gold pillars. There’s a sign for a law firm to my right. This building must be shared among a few companies as I suspected.
Riding the elevator, the doors open to reveal a black hall with white carpet. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the building, to say the least.
A secretary sits behind a desk further down the hall. I pass what looks to be a waiting room and stop at her desk.
“Excuse me, I’m here to see a Mrs. Dodds,” I say.
She smiles, pearly whites flashing. “Take a seat, and I will call you when she’s ready, Mr. Carter.”
As I take a seat, I fish my phone out and waste time checking my emails.
“Mr. Carter?”
My head snaps up.
A middle-aged woman stands before me. “I’m Mrs. Dodds. Follow me to my office please.”
She leads the way to a spacious office, an entire wall looking out at the New York skyline. Frankly, it’s not what I expected. I thought I’d be walking into some shit hole on a back alley when I imagined this place a few days ago.
She gestures to a seat as I notice another woman sitting on a couch in the corner. This second woman is much younger with gold hair fixed into a tight bun. She’s gorgeous, but also interesting. A black, velvet mask covers her eyes, matching her tight-fitting dress. She seems to be ignoring us, sipping on a latte and staring out the window.
“You’re interested in working for us?” Dodds asks.
I nod. What do I say in an interview like this? My eyes wander to the woman on the couch, transfixed, until Mrs. Dodds frowns, a clear chastisement.
She slides a stack of papers my way. “This is our official contract, but I will tell you the basics. We reward all our employees if they obey our directions and stay out of legal trouble. Legally, we cannot offer sex to our clients as that is prostitution. However, you may address it with your clients and work out a rate for services beyond escorting. Think of anything beyond escorting as your commission on top of your normal pay, and we like to take 20% of it under the table. All such transactions must be carried out in cash.”
“How do you know? What if your…employee doesn’t tell you about an arrangement?”
She smiles. “We know, and anyone to break the rule is severely dealt with. You might think of it as we offer the escorts, and what happens between client and escort is your business, except for our little fee. We have a list of suggestions for what you might charge.”
She continues, “You are required to visit a doctor regularly and procure male birth control beyond condoms. We do not require our clients to use birth control. It is entirely your problem, and we don’t want any clients pregnant. I mean, I assume you prefer women? We have escorts for all tastes, so it matters little.”
It might sound stupid, but how many other forms of male birth control are there other than condoms?
“Um…yes, I prefer women. I don’t have to…I mean men…”
“You never have to sleep with a man unless that is your taste. We pair escorts and clients depending on tastes. We want our clients happy, but we also want our employees to feel completely comfortable.”
That’s a relief. I was going to leave if it wasn’t.
“You are to have regular tests and screenings as well for we don’t want any diseases passed between client and employee. Clients are required to get screenings and blood tests as well, so you will never have to worry about contracting anything from a client. We keep a high standard to ensure the protection of all clients and employees,” she says. “As I said, some of our clients have certain…requests. Do you understand?”
One of my foster moms read erotica books and left them lying around. I picked it up one day out of boredom and curiosity because she’s expressly told me never to touch it. I get the gist.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’re willing to try these things?”
“Yes,” I answer.
She leans back in her chair. “Strip.”
“What?”
“Take off your clothes. We have to know what you look like undressed.” She eyes me warily. “If you can’t even take your clothes off, you’re certainly not suited for us, Mr. Carter.”
I swallow. I knew it would come to this some time, but not like this. I’m facing a giant window. Anyone could see even four stories up.
“Shy?” the woman on the couch goads.
No, she’s part of the reason I don’t want to strip. She’s beautiful, and undressing in front of her, well…
I want to undress in front of her, but only if I get to spread her legs shortly after.
It could be I’ve never slept with anyone. Sure, a blow job or two from a girl in high school, but never all the way. It’s embarrassing at this point.
Slowly, I peel off my jacket followed by my shirt and shoes. I hesitate when I reach my belt, but Mrs. Dodds gives a little nod.
I dare a glance at the other woman, but she stares, smirking. God, she’s perfect, curvy and large breasts, all snuggly outlined by her dress.
I look away before my body starts to respond in a rather embarrassing way.
The jeans follow, but I hesitate again at the waistband of my boxers. Do they have to see everything?
“Off, Mr. Carter,” Dodds prompts.
She’s older than my mother for Heaven’s sake.
With a deep breath, I take off the rest of my clothing. The two women stare at every part, the woman on the couch not hiding the appreciation on her face. Her eyes wander from my face down my chest, finally resting on my cock. It’s unsettling and stirring, to say the least. A woman like that has never looked at me in that way.
Mrs. Dodds nods. “Put your clothes back on.” She glances at the woman on the couch as I dress, having a silent conversation. The woman on the couch nods slightly.
When I’m dressed, Dodds says, “Welcome to Black Tie Escort Service, Rhys Carter. We look forward to working with you as long as you pass all your medical tests and routine background check.”
She hands me a key. “You will be sharing an apartment a block from here. You will live there until your training is over. Either Madam Lane or I will oversee your training. When you’re finished with training, probably a month or so from now, you will move to upper Manhattan. Speak with the secretary for the address of your current place. If you need help moving, she can recommend a moving company as well as a doctor. Good day, Mr. Carter.”
Chapter 3. The Madam
Earlier That Morning:
The room f
alls silent as the attorney enters the room. Yesterday I thought I’d be spending this day forgetting the anniversary of his death. Instead, I’m here along with his family and closest friends listening to his will being read again, the same as when he died six years ago.
“Why are we reading this again? My son is dead,” his father, General Montgomery, says.
I received the phone call to meet at the attorney’s office yesterday with the only explanation being a new clause had come up. That isn’t even possible, is it?
“Before he died, your son left a contingency regarding Miss Lane’s inheritance,” the attorney says. “I’d like to read it with all present.”
Corporal Rhys Montgomery died two months after we married. We’d met in college, and knew we were meant for each other. He was killed in action in Iraq and his body shipped back after his father pulled strings. His family comes from a long line of politicians and businessmen. To forget, I went back to my maiden name and opened the business, Black Tie Escort Service, becoming a madam almost overnight.
Though he has been gone six years, I think of him every day, imagining he will walk through the door and fuck me on the couch.
The attorney tugs me back to the present. “Shortly before Corporal Montgomery married, he asked me to write a clause into his will. As we all know, Miss Lane inherited all of his belongings and bank accounts.”
His father grunts. General Montgomery wasn’t pleased to find his new daughter-in-law gained a large part of the family fortune. We never did get along, the old buzzard. I put up with him for Rhys, but with him gone, I don’t pretend anymore.
“Miss Lane, unless you remarry by the time you turn thirty, you will lose all of your fortunes and all belongings will be impounded,” the attorney says.
“Excuse me?”
“Corporal Montgomery said he wished Miss Lane to remarry. I suggested such a clause ridiculous, but he said he wished to make sure Miss Lane found another corner of happiness.”
“He said no such thing!” I shout. Yes, he probably had, but a clause? How cliché and ridiculous and over the top.
