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“Please. Call me Helen.”
Her voice surprised Monique, mostly because she was expecting something lighter.Airier. But Ms. Warner’s – Helen’s – voice was deep and clean, the sort of voice that sounded wonderful to fall asleep to while also giving a vigorous lecture that stirred the hearts of passionate students.
Melting. That was a good way to describe it as if the tone of her voice melted on the air.
“Helen. Of course.” Monique released her hand and averted her eyes from the blond hair that was so dark it was almost brown, and from the strong cheekbones that likewise melted in a seamless line to join Helen’s face and throat. Truth be told, most of the clients who walked through that door weren’t muchto look at. They were rich, charming, and sweet outside of the bedroom, but Monique would call few of them attractive. Maybe in their own ways, but… this Helen was the first she met in her Manoir who made her heart flutter.
“Come this way, please.”
One by one, the other patrons and their guests arrived. The only other surprise that night was a woman showing up with her wife, who happened to be the patron of Grace.Why does this surprise me?Monique knew which patrons were married. It wasn’t her place to judge as long as everyone understood the risks, but to have one be open with the wife about a submissive mistress wassurprising. To bring her to one of the monthly banquets? Not until Monique watched this woman of good standing leer into Miss Grace’s cleavage did she finally understand.I’ll have to consider couples as patrons. Surely there was even more money in that if the worker was up for it. Grace had been scouted in one of the BDSM nightclubs offering her gangbang services to all sorts of parties. She was probably up for it.
"Ladies and gentlemen." Monique stood at the head of the table, wineglass in hand, forcing herself to look taller. Yet she was a petite woman in a room full of tall vixens and handsome strangers. Even in her five-inch heels, she had to stand on the tips of her toes.If only I were 5’11 instead of 5’1.“My extreme gratitude for everyone who could make it here tonight. As you are probably aware, this is the first time we’ve had all five patrons here for one of our festivities. Please, don’t be shy. Eat up, drink up, and make plenty of merry." She raised her glass, and most of the others did as well.
Monique couldn’t rest during dinner. Her job was far from over, and she was aware that every time someone turned to her, it was either to get her guidance or to ask a question. Of course, few talked to her outside of the maids bringing food in and out.And they only talked to her because she made them tell her everything. They would lean down, whisper into her ear, and then depart again, their pristine uniforms fluttering in the air.
Most of the patrons and guests didn’t know one another, but Monique partially arranged these meetings to fix that. Inspiration came from the old courtesan houses of Shanghai and beyond, back in the glory days of the early 20th century when Chinese and Western businessmen alike came together to drink liquor, ogle pretty girls, and talk business. How many professional relationships were forged in those dark and perfumed walls? Monique didn’t fancy herself a matchmaker of capitalism, but she did hold herself to be a fantastic hostess and one who could make all her guests feel relaxed, even in the presence of strangers.
Sure enough, halfway through the first course, Mr. Carlisle introduced himself to Ms. Witherspoon, and the two of them ignored their lovers for the majority of dinner to discover how much they had in common. The only time Chelsea got any attention was when she was asked to cut up Ms. Witherspoon’s food and feed it to her. Nobody thought anything of it.
Well, nobody except for the person sitting between her and Monique.
By some happenstance, Ms. Warner –Helen– sat to Monique’s left, politely staring at the spectacle going on while a young woman fed someone their food. A few others caught on to this staring, and Monique was prompted to ask, "Do you know where you are, Helen?"
"To tell you the truth, Sam only said that this was where her girlfriend lived and we were invited to a party thrown by her, well…"
"Oh, do tell what she’s saying I am." Monique had been told many things. Madam, Mistress, Pimp. Those words didn’t come from the people one would assume, either. The neighbors calledher Madam while the disgruntled clients called her pimp. The police didn’t call her anything but “treading on thin ice.”
"He said you were like a mother."
Monique’s fork clattered on her plate as she failed at hiding a chuckle.Haven’t been called that one before.Strange, since most ancient cultures referred to heads of such houses as one form of mother or another. Hearing it in English, however, was something else entirely. "I’m sorry if you were unprepared for my Manoir, Ms. Warner."
"I told you to call me Helen."
"Fine. Ms. Helen." What? Monique was the head of this household and business. She had to keep some standards, no matter what guests wanted.Does she want a lady for the evening?Monique made a mental note to start hiring part-timers for weekends and these gatherings. They lived close enough to the city that escorts wouldn’t mind coming up the mountain a couple of days a week to make nearly a thousand dollars.They’re here to serve guests as well as patrons. It seems I need more help.“The Manoir is for many things. For many fantasies.”
Helen glanced at Ms. Witherspoon conversing about stock prices while a pretty young woman fed her bits of steak and vegetables. “I see that. Apparently, Sam has discerning tastes.”
“How nice of you to say so.” Monique would take even blanketed compliments to heart. “All our ladies are trained in various forms of pleasure.”
“I see.”
Monique put her utensils down and folded her finger beneath her chin. “Do you not care for these sorts of tastes, Ms. Helen? I would have hoped that Ms. Witherspoon informed you as to what goes on here before inviting you.”
“Perhaps she did tell me, and I wasn’t paying attention. Regardless, it would be rude of me to say anything alarming.”
“If you are uncomfortable, I can secure you a ride back to the city.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Helen picked up her knife and stared at her untouched steak – medium rare, as requested. “Also, I can cut my own meat fine.”
Suited Monique. She was neither Helen’s sub nor her mother.Been a while since I cut someone's food for them.In her last relationship, that’s all she did some days. “We aim to please. They are not obligated to do anything they don’t want. They all have a choice, and they know their boundaries. If you choose to indulge in more intimate activities, they are here for your pleasure as well.”
They both ate in silence while some chatted and others refilled wine and water glasses. When Monique spoke again, she directed her words at Helen. “Are you married?”
“Hm? No. Afraid not.”
“Afraid?”
“That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? My family would like to see me married as soon as possible. I’m the heiress of my father’s line.”
