“Doubtful.” Zara eased up 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.”
Sette cleared her throat as the Manoir 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 we’re coming, yo.”
“Whatever you say.” Sette would have her best friend know that she was quite adept at pleasuring women – partiallybecause she knew how pussy worked.I’d like to see her find the G-spot in fewer than three seconds. Sette 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.”
Sette didn’t deign that with a response. She was entranced with the simple yet elegant architecture, spanning a good many meters, and the type of styling one did not see often. It reminded her of the Château Plessis de Vair, which she visited upon her last sojourn to Western France. Only this Manoir wasn’t quite as ostentatious as that one… apparently, the 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 Zara put her Jaguar into park, a doorman was already appearing in the door.
“Don’t worry. I got us the full tour.” Zara bounded out of the car, slamming the door with more fervor than she probably intended.
It was the middle of the afternoon, so the grounds were more active than the inner walls of the Manoir. Landscapers mowed the green lawns while gardeners snipped this and trimmed that. Their conversations peppered the air until Sette was in the foyer of the Manoir, taking in the elegant décor and listening to the revered silence befalling the room.
Hope we dressed nicely enough. Neither of them wore formalwear, although Zara had left the denim at home and sported a nice pair of slacks and a smart dinner jacket. Her dress shirt was Valentino. Surely, that was good enough for the woman who could pull off any look. Sette, on the other hand, wore a svelte dress, tights, and a cashmere sweater that showed off her physique. She was dressed formal-casual… it took her many years to realize that was an actual thing.
“Ladies,” came a soft voice from another room. A door swung open, admitting the lady – or was it the madam? – of the house.Oh. Sette was not the best with names. When she heard the woman who ran this place was named Monique, she thought nothing of it. Nobody told her it wastheMonique Warner, the former girlfriend of assholes Jaqueline Love and Etta Coleman… and the current wife of Helen Warner, a woman Sette attended the same boarding school with. While Helen had been two years ahead of Sette, that blond Amazonian had left a favorable impression on the young girl already studying premed. It was no surprise when Sette was 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 not to waddle in her Louis Vuitton flats. Yet Sette’s eyes couldn’t help themselves: she instantly recognized the way a woman with swollen feet walked, especially if she was not wearing shoes that accommodated the daily fluctuations of pregnancy. She saw it a million times in her 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, she kept to the Hamptons these days. Hamilton? That man was so old he thought Sette had been too young to be a proper doctor. It must’ve been Jordan. Decent fellow. Knew his stuff, even if his bedside manner was gruff.
“Pleasure meeting you,” Zara said, shaking Monique’s hand. She was a good two heads shorter than Sette, so when they shook hands, Zara had to do her best not to literally look down on her. “We were at your wedding, actually. Distant friends of your wife.”
“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.” Zara clapped Sette on the arm as they followed Monique into a receiving salon. “Get some bourbon at three in the afternoon.”
The first glass may have been complimentary, but Sette’s credit card was already on file here. It was required for her and Zara to make a first-time appointment. She looked around. What else could she get charged for?
She barely listened to Monique’s introduction to the Manoir 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 Sette couldn’t afford any of the “services,” as Monique kept calling them, but she was not the type of woman to throw money at sex unless it was for her girlfriend. Even then… well, her last serious girlfriend made sure to call her a cheapskate when they broke up.How did she think I stayed 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 guests from enjoying the services of more than two or three women. Politics, you know.”
“Naturally!” Zara was on her second glass of bourbon. Sette had barely touched hers. “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, I’m sure.
Monique took them on tour next, showing the various activity rooms – which were not as scandalous as Zara hoped they would be, minus the Dungeon – and even the dining quarters, which hosted weekend banquets for clients. Sette was only vaguely interested. She was much more fascinated with the subtle architecture, the views of the gardens and labyrinth hedges out back, and the paintings hanging on the walls. So much Leon K. Kim. Kim was infamous for his portrayals of sensuality, which usually included a healthy dose of fornication. When Sette was caught staring at a portrait of a woman going doggy-style with a wolf-headed spirit, she swore she was caught up in the swirls of the brushstrokes.I’m not lying.She could stare at the Mona Lisa for hours.
She could also stare out the upstairs balcony doors for a long, long time.
Sette wasn’t sure why she was so taken with the view at first. Monique conversed with Zara about the landscaping and the inspiration therein, but Sette 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 side of the chair.Who is that? Does she work here?Sette knew the women here were beautiful, whether they were supermodel thin or plus size, but she wasn’t expecting to see a woman who actually… made her… stare. And not because she was pregnant and Sette was gauging how many weeks along she was… without asking.Damnit, Mrs. Warner, you’re baffling me with that bulge.Twenty weeks? Twenty-five?
Right, the vixen.
Sette turned her 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 Sette broke out her oil palette right now, would she even know where to begin picking a shade for those lips?
Her. I want to paint her.Her breath fogged up the glass. It only annoyed Sette because it obscured her 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 Sette to get a brief view of her ass. Something stirred in her stomach.
Shit. Sette Christie was a logical woman. Sure, she got horny and was no stranger to the ol’ orgasm in the shower, but she waslogical. She knew why her body did what it did and what it meant in the grand scheme of carnality as socializing. Deep inside, she was a base creature, but evolution had given her the ability to control herself and think beyondsex sex sex. She was discerning. She didn’t go home with just anyone, and she definitely did not purchase the sexual services of a woman who couldn’t care what her name was.
So why the fuck was her body screaming at her tomate mate mate?
