A Fragile Wife(13)

By: Cynthia Dane

How long had it been since Lana first exchanged money for kinky services? A year? It was the natural course of her marriage. When they first heard about the Château opening up not so long ago, they talked at length about what they wanted out of it. A cursory inspection told them that it was tasteful, safe, and discreet. A more thorough exam revealed that the girls working there were professionals of the chameleon variety. They could be any type of woman you paid them to be. Dommes, subs, sweet, sassy, bratty… if a man or discerning woman wanted nothing more than a warm hole to make love to, that could be arranged behind the scenes as well. Of course, on paper, the women there only traded dirty words and smacks of the whip for money and gifts. Intercourse and cock sucking were off the record.

Ken and Lana were so off the record by now that their mistress Grace knew exactly what to expect. While not expecting anything at all, because Lana was always thinking up something new to do.

They arrived shortly before eight, when the real parties began at the Château. Indeed, two other guests were there, although Lana did not recognize their cars out front. Nor did she garner anything from the coats hanging up in the front hall, where Grace came to meet them for their appointment.

“Let me take that for you, Madam,” she said sweetly, running her hands across Lana’s shoulders before ripping off her coat. “It’s so good to see you once again.”

My husband’s tastes in action. Ken picked this girl out for them months ago, and since then he and his wife became her primary patrons, a title bestowed upon only the lucky few. Being Grace’s patrons meant they could monopolize her time, take her out on dates like to the club, and expect certain services to always be available. Like sex. Lots and lots of sex that Grace did not always give freely to other clients who purchased her services.

Grace could not look more different from Lana, however. For one, she had long, coarse dark hair she always kept parted to one side. She was petite, with thin legs propped up by stiletto heels and a waist that made men salivate and women seethe in jealousy. Her breasts were about the same size as Lana’s, but sported tiny brown nipples whereas Lana admired her own thick, pink ones that her husband could never stop sucking when they made love in a position that allowed it. He rarely sucks her nipples as much. Lana smiled at the thought as she accepted her usual glass of Chardonnay from Grace’s lithe hands.

Hands that gave amazing, fantastic massages.

“The Cigar Lounge is currently open,” Grace said, heading toward the grand staircase. “Unfortunately the other private rooms for socializing are full tonight.”

“Ugh. No.” Lana refused to take the first step. “It’s bad enough my husband puffs on that electronic shit. I don’t need to marinate in the stench of other men’s filthy habits.”

Ken rolled his eyes. “It’s called olfactory fatigue, Lana. You won’t notice it soon enough.”

“That’s what you always say, Kenneth, and then the next thing I know I’m gagging until I puke.”

Grace tried one of her easy smiles on them. “All right. No Cigar Lounge. Shall we go straight to my room?” Well, someone was antsy to start the threesome.

“The Receiving Room is open, Grace,” came a voice from behind. Monica Graham stood outside the room in question as another woman escorted an elderly gentleman to the front door. “Please, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, have a drink with me.”

Never let it be said that Monica Graham didn’t know how to keep her frequent clients happy. Hardly a visit went by without the madam of the Château bestowing the couple with her company. Not that Lana ever complained. She appreciated a segue into the fuckfest that was their usual visit to the Château.

Grace served them all in the Receiving Room, a quaint corner furnished with Victorian wares reupholstered to look more “sophisticated grandmother” than “dusty ol’ shit from the attic.” At least the place was well insulated, making it a toasty warm haven for those wanting to have quiet conversations.

“Place looks busy tonight,” Ken said to Monica the moment they sat down. “Business must be better than ever.”

“We can hardly keep up.”

Lana settled on the loveseat between her husband and the mistress. Grace poured a glass of ice water and offered it to Lana, but she declined. “The girls must be kept busy.” She glanced at Grace, who didn’t flinch or say a word. She merely served, as she was paid to do right now. “Or have you hired more?”

“Not yet.” Monica leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and finally letting go of her rigid stance. While nobody in that room would say they were friends, they got along well enough. Monica probably felt a kindred spirit in Lana, even though they were on opposite ends of the Dom/sub spectrum. While Lana considered herself a switch with a more Domme-like public persona, Monica was a lifestyle submissive through and through. She was even the fiancée of lifestyle Dom Henry Warren, a man Ken and Lana did frequent business with. In exchange, they were not charged extra for the double-patronage of Miss Grace, even though Monica was well within her right to milk more money out of the rich Andrews.