Chapter 8
To Serve And Be Dominated
Butterflies danced in Monica’s stomach that Friday night when she descended the staircase to greet the first guest. Contrary to what her invitation to Henry said, it was simply another night in the Château. Two patrons were scheduled to come in for appointments, but otherwise the only business that night was two walk-in clients who happily walked away with Chelsea and Judith to their rooms.
Mr. Carlisle entered, although he was early and thus Sylvia was not ready for him yet. Not until Monica took his hat and coat for him did he speak besides the usual greetings.
“That is a lovely shawl, Madam,” he said, gesturing to the light red shawl adorning Monica’s otherwise bare shoulders. “The color suits you.”
“Thank you.” Monica bowed her head, but Mr. Carlisle’s attentions were soon taken by Sylvia, who bounded down the grand staircase in her little black dress, pearls, and freshly curled hair. Her ecstatic greeting was probably half truth, but Mr. Carlisle didn’t care. He paid for her time, and he was here to take what he paid for.
Monica waited in the front hall for Grace’s patron Mr. Andrews to arrive. He brought his wife with him again. This time Mrs. Andrews, in her fur stole and emerald necklace, looked much more comfortable standing in a house of damning pleasure than the first night she came. And how many times she came… If she believed Grace, anyway. I should start charging by the orgasm if we’re getting more female clients. Monica’s girls were talented.
When it looked as if no other clients were going to suddenly show up, Monica put the doorman on standby, informing him that only one girl was open that night, and she had no idea if and when either Judith or Chelsea would be available again. Their drop-in clients might take the whole night for all Monica knew. Although knowing Judith, she would want to take as many as possible, even if she decided sex was involved. Note to self: don’t hire nymphomaniacs. Of course, some clients paid extra to meet with a girl who recently had intercourse. Whatever opened their wallets. Probably makes them feel cuckolded. She briefly wondered if that was something the Andrews were into.
Monica went back to her room, passing both Chelsea and Judith’s rooms. The first one was silent, but the second came with the sounds of a whip cracking and some poor fool living it up while a beautiful mistress informed him what a bad, laughable boy he was.
The dangerous part about waiting was the sitting around and second guessing her decisions. Mostly her clothing and hair choices. Monica donned a red satin dress, falling to her knees and hugging her svelte curves. There were no sleeves to contain her shoulders – mostly because she wanted to wear Henry’s gift, laced in rubies.
She had few accessories to go with it. Simple shoes – that men rarely noticed – and gold earrings. Monica decided to forego other jewelry in favor of styling her hair in a large, curly bun that rested easily on the back of her head, one carefully released chestnut tendril falling along her neck and stroking her clavicle.
Usually Monica did not wear much makeup. Men always called her a natural beauty, whatever that meant. Yet she wanted her intended to see her in a new way – to blow his expectations into another universe the moment he laid his eyes on her. So Monica opened her makeup tray and considered her options. Smoky eyes, yes. A faint pink lipstick, definitely. Some rouge on the cheeks, of course. The only thing she was unsure about was the eyelashes. In the end, just when the doorman called up that someone had arrived, Monica curled her eyelashes until they made her look like a different woman.
The moment she stepped out of her door, her role in the Château changed. No longer was she Madam Monica, the matriarch of young women looking to make a lucrative career in BDSM. She was Monica, or whatever her Dom wanted to call her. She-Wolf. She stopped in front of the Cigar Lounge and cracked a small smile.
Everything went to according to plan. Henry stepped into the foyer, where a maid took his coat and presented him with a silver tray. On the tray was a piece of folded paper Monica wrote on that morning.
“The safe word is Blossom. Meet me upstairs for dinner.”
Monica raced to the balcony where dinner was already halfway served. By the time she reached the railing overlooking the garden, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Good evening.”
She turned, fingers clutching the railing as if she would fall over. I’m on the verge. Henry Warren wore a pristine suit and tie, his sandy hair combed to perfection and those blue eyes alight even in the setting darkness of twilight. A chill spread through Monica’s skin. She clutched the ruby-studded shawl closer to her body. “Mr. Warren.” She bowed her head.
“You look lovely.” He continued to stand in the entryway even after Monica gestured to the nearest chair. “That color really does suit you. Complements your skin and hair.”
Monica blushed, letting her fingers touch her cheek before looking away again. “Thank you. You are quite handsome yourself. Shall we dine?”
He pulled out her chair for her, and she began putting portions of salad and chicken on his plate. Tonight I serve you. It had been ages since she last served a man for her own pleasure. She served men every day in her job. Poured their drinks. Took their coats. Inflated their egos. Gave them girls to fool around with. Tonight? Monica finally had her turn. She doubted any of her girls felt as giddy as she did at the thought.
Monica did not sit until Henry had enough food on his plate and enough wine in his glass. The closer she got to him, the more she wanted to ask him, “What do you want? How can I serve you tonight, Mr. Warren?” She didn’t say these things because she didn’t want to risk him thinking this was a patron-mistress situation. After all, he had tried it already.
And yet she was disappointed when he began their dinner conversation by asking how her business was doing. “I still wish you would let me invest a little,” he said, eyes lingering on the twinkling rubies in the shawl he gave her. “Name something you want to add to this place and I will give you the money for it.”
Monica held his gaze. “You.”
Henry dropped his utensils and sat back in his chair. What was he thinking? That Monica was already too clingy and that he had made a mistake? That he didn’t want to talk about them at that moment, even though that was the whole point of this evening? I am ready for you to be my Master. Monica forced her visage to stay pleasant, or else she would frown.
“I’m afraid I’m not for sale, Monica.”
She tried to eat, but her body was too distracted by the movements of his arm, his impeccable posture, and that strong jaw chewing tomatoes and tasting wine. Ask me to do anything. Ask me to crawl beneath this table and suck you off. Monica never told people that one of her biggest kinks was getting a man off at the dinner table. She was a master of sliding her hand between thighs or disappearing beneath tablecloths. The game was intensified if her lover could maintain his demeanor and even carry on a conversation on the phone or with guests.
It was too soon to start doing that with Henry. Yet she had a feeling he would like it.
“Isn’t this wine delicious?” she asked, taking a sip before insisting on filling Henry’s glass up more. “It comes from…”
“Monica.” Henry’s voice gave her another chill – or perhaps it was the moonlit breeze tickling her skin again. “Come sit next to me.” He gestured to the empty spot between the table and the railing.
Happy to oblige, Monica shot out of her chair like an eager pup and dragged it forty-five degrees around the table. She didn’t bring her dinner with her… too much in a hurry to sit down and let her knee brush against Henry’s. “Yes, Mr. Warren?”
His knuckles brushed against her cheek, those piercing eyes digging through her own and toward her soul. Monica bit her lip to contain her excitement. Everything, from her chest to her thighs, responded with an alacrity of arousal she hadn’t felt since the last time she was in love.
Don’t think of him.
“I’ve thought about you constantly these past few weeks.”
Monica let her hand roam over his knee, but did not venture farther. “And I you.” His fingers pushed into her tight, fine hair, making it tug against her scalp and arouse her even more. Images of him bending her over the table and pulling her hair flashed before her eyes, and she knew her skin flushed to behold it. Spank me while you’re at it. Monica was far past due to have a proper spanking.
“I had to have my man drive me here tonight because my thoughts were so full of you, it was too dangerous to come alone. I sent him home. I hope that wasn’t presumptuous of me.”
“Not presumptuous at all. May I…?” Monica picked up his wineglass.
“You drink it.”
She wasn’t a sub to disobey. Some were. Girls like Sylvia desired to be brats even on the submissive end. They toyed with men by making them work harder to get them to obey. They both got off on it. Not Monica. Her greatest pleasure came from doing exactly as told. Such a goody two-shoes.
Still, would it be too much to ask him to take her right here, right now? Or at least to ask that Monica get acquainted with certain parts of his body? She was ready to bring him both emotional and sexual pleasure. She didn’t even need anything in return.
The wine was sweet on her tongue. But not as sweet as Henry Warren’s lips on her neck.
He kissed her as she drank the last of his wine. The glass slipped through her hand and landed on the table, her other hand bunching up her skirt to channel her frustration. “Shall we begin now?” she asked, hopeful. Monica couldn’t wait to throw off her public propriety and revert to her natural submission. She needed him to liberate her with his domination.
“Your perfume is exquisite,” he said, words rolling directly into her ear. Henry’s hand lingered on her breast. “I can barely contain myself. Do you know what I want to do to you right now?” Oh God, oh no, here came his hand sliding between her thighs and stroking the line of her slit. Monica whimpered, legs coming together and toes curling in her shoes. “Too many things to keep up with myself. I’m only one man. What can I do? I want to do everything with you.”
It took every ounce of strength she had left to reply. “You are one man, but I am a woman who can take many things. Deny me my pleasure. Force it upon me over and over until I’m so sensitive that I beg you to stop, and then keep doing it anyway. Whether you last five minutes or five hours, Mr. Warren, know that it doesn’t matter. Tomorrow is another day with more possibilities.”
“I certainly hope that I last more than five minutes.” He squeezed her thigh. “If I don’t, I’m sure there will be no problem doing it again tonight. You’re so beautiful, and being here with you wakes me up in ways I haven’t felt in years.”
“Please, Henry. I can’t wait any longer. The moment I told you that I was ready for you to take me was the moment I could no longer live without knowing your touch.”
“I’ll give you more than my touch, Monica. I’ll give you my words and my vigor. Every last bit of them. Do with them as you like.”
“And do with me as you like. The moment we walk into my room, I belong to you. Command me. Punish me. Reward me.”
He kissed her, shutting off her words, but not her passion. The scent and taste of wine lingered on their lips, but all Monica could taste was Henry’s essence, and all she could smell was that powerful cologne. I want it on my bed. I want to wake up every day this next week and smell him in my bed. Even better if she smelled like his cologne by the end of the night.
“I might ruin you.” Henry’s voice was low, but frantic, echoing in her ear in between frenzied kisses. “I might not be able to hold myself back. I’ll think of nothing but claiming you. Every part of you.” He squeezed her breast and bit her ear. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“You cannot scare me tonight. You don’t understand… I need this. I need a man like you to own me tonight. Again and again. I’ll wait in between. Control and own me. I need it.”
“Not as much as I need you, surely.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.”
Dinner was called to an early end, which delighted Monica but also made her nervous. Organic escalations of a relationship were one thing. Last time had been organic. There was nothing to be nervous about in her bedroom, Henry’s cock about two seconds away from thrusting into her. This was planned. Monica didn’t know what he would do to her, but she did know that this was their initiation, and she wanted to die from anticipation.
They walked separately down the hall to her quarters. As she produced the key, however, she saw Henry stop in front of a closet-like door that said “PRIVATE, MDM. ONLY.”
“That’s a security room,” Monica said, fumbling for her key. “It’s…”
“Let’s watch for a bit.”
How did he know what it was? Monica approached the door and unlocked it with another key.
It was her personal surveillance room. In it, which was nothing more than a walk-in closet, were a dozen closed-circuit televisions letting her see every major room in the house. There was another security room that showed the public areas and the outdoors, manned by her security chief and his part-time deputies. This room, however, focused on the private areas, so Monica could make sure no awful business was going on in the girls’ boudoirs.
They knew about the cameras. Some of them even got off on them, although Monica rarely came in to keep an eye on things.
“Do your clients know about this?” Henry said the moment Monica latched the door shut behind them. He sat in the only chair in front of the TVs and zoomed right in on the one featuring Grace’s room.
“No, they don’t. These aren’t recorded to anything. Just a live feed to make sure nobody’s actually getting hurt. Sometimes the girls don’t know when to report something.”
“I hope they don’t report this, because it’s damn fantastic.”
He pointed to the TV, and Monica leaned in to see what he meant. Should have guessed. It was Grace with Mr. Andrews. And Mrs. Andrews.
Henry pulled Monica into his lap as they watched. I’m not supposed to get off on this. She was human, and it couldn’t be helped. Grace was naked, bent over and chained to her wall while Mr. Andrews fucked her from behind, his hand coming down for a hard spank every few seconds. Even on that tiny camera Monica could see how red Grace’s ass was.
“Please tell me there’s sound.”
“No,” Monica said. She wished there was.
Mrs. Andrews slipped off Grace’s bed and approached the fornicating couple, her hand rubbing her husband’s bare chest before going to rub Grace’s bare back. I really need to charge them extra.
“Sex isn’t supposed to be expected, right?”
“No. It’s made clear to every man. Tying up, whipping, humiliation, that sort of thing… legal things.”
“That ain’t legal.”
“It is if they’re not specifically paying for it.”
“Do all those ladies fuck their patrons and clients?”
“The patrons? Yes. Not usually the clients. Unless they want to, but then they risk starting rumors that we’re an actual brothel.”
“Travesty.” Henry’s hand moved over Monica’s mouth, silencing her. She slid farther along his lap and leaned against his chest. “Now be quiet. I want to watch.”
So did Monica. Mr. Andrews was fit, albeit a bit older. He had good endurance too, apparently, since he had been going at Grace for a good three minutes now, and who knew how long before that. The spanking had stopped, but Grace continued to make faces that could only be from moaning in unexpected pleasure. He found her G-spot, I guess. No wonder Grace liked him so much.
He pulled out, still hard, and Mrs. Andrews unchained Grace from the wall. Her husband pulled her arm and brought his wife in for a kiss, their passionate embrace only foiled by the naked woman slumping over and grabbing Mrs. Andrews’s ankle. The well-to-do woman sank to her knees and began sucking her husband. Grace disrobed Mrs. Andrews, even going so far as to rub her breasts and kiss her shoulders.
It came as no surprise when Mr. Andrews took his wife to bed, pushing her down, half-dressed and spreading her legs. After having been inside another woman only a minute ago, Mr. Andrews was now inside his wife, and Grace came to them both, biting the wife’s nipples and rubbing her clit for her.
Something hard dug into the top of Monica’s ass. Henry’s breath was heavy in her ear, his hands groping her through her red dress.
She wanted to unzip him and ride him right there, letting her breasts slide against the table as they watched this threesome unfold, but Monica hadn’t been told to do anything but stay quiet. She took those kinds of commands seriously, especially when they came from a man like Henry Warren, whose large bulge was even harder now.
Mr. Andrews pulled out of his wife and tossed Grace over the side of the bed. He finished inside of her.
I want Henry to do that. Monica shouldn’t on their initiation. The code of conduct for the girls was to use a condom with all walk-in clients and for the first month with a patron. Monica should follow her own rules, but the temptation was too strong to know what her Mr. Warren felt like coming inside of her. Deep, deep inside of her.
She whimpered, grinding against his bulge as he continued to grope and kiss her. “Are you wet, Monica?” he asked, hand covering her mouth again. I won’t talk. You didn’t tell me to. “Because I’m so hard for you that I don’t want to wait any longer. Tell me!”
He released her mouth as she gasped and slammed her hands on the table. “Yes, Mr. Warren,” she said, reveling in his name like that. Henry liked it too, because his fingers dug into her flesh and threatened to push the short skirt of her dress up. “I’m ready.”
All it would take was three movements. Move her lingerie, take out his cock, and thrust upward. At this angle he could even pull her hair as he liked. Even spank her! “I’m ready too.” He released her. “Let’s go.”
It wasn’t what she wanted, but she knew that’s what she needed. Henry opened the door and led her out. Monica barely had time to lock the door before she had to unlock the one to her chambers, Henry taking a look down the empty hallway before wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and whispering something into her ear.
“I’ll show you the night of your life.”