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“Sorry about that. Didn’t want her to be even more annoying than she already is. The cat is cute. Look forward to seeing her at your place sometime. ;)”

Why am I so jittery? Why does the thought of Ira being in my apartment for a change make me want to pet the shit out of this cat?

“See you when we sign the papers and get the keys to The Ace. Better dress for business and pleasure. I hear the Anderssens have quite the party planned for us afterward.”

Whatever we’re doing, her mother better not be there. Or her father. Or anyone with a vested interest in us getting it on every time we have a moment to ourselves.

Chapter 44

Ira

Twilight comes early even for this time of year. Or maybe it has to do with these mountains, which are colder, rainier, and so damned dark.

I don’t have a problem driving in these conditions. Just ease off the accelerator, judiciously apply lights and windshield wipers… and hope your lady friend doesn’t freak out every time you go around a curve.

“I swear there was a rabbit there,” Kathleen says, grabbing the oh-shit handle and looking back at the darkening road. “Did you hit a rabbit?”

Sighing, I turn off the windshield wipers. “No. I have hit no critters since we left town.”

Kathleen lets out a huge breath. Thank God! Stop bothering me about my driving!

Earlier today we signed papers, shook hands with the Anderssens, and snatched away their keys. After celebratory drinks with the legal team and my father, we got in our cars and began the long trek up into the mountains.

No, not with my father. No, not with the lawyers. Get your mind out of the gutter.

There are plenty of times to go to Gutterville tonight.

Every so often I see the Anderssens’ Ferrari disappear around another curve. Kennedy is a lot more comfortable on these roads and has no trouble staying half a mile ahead of me. I’ve only been up this way a few times, and only once was I driving. At least I’m better than Kathleen, who is still pretending we’re not driving through “inclement conditions,” as she calls them.

It takes two hours to drive where we’re going. No wonder so many guests simply stay the night, if not the entire weekend.

Me? I’ve never stayed the night, and I’m not sure I will tonight. It’s up to Kathleen.

Unfortunately, I’m seeing this as a date. I say unfortunately because the Manoir is a sexually charged atmosphere. Let alone one focused on the thrills of BDSM. The Anderssens know it well. I’m not afraid to say that I’ve hired a lovely lady here once or twice. All right, only once. The other times I was up this way was simply to get drunk and see some boobs.

You see, the Manoir is nothing like Midnight, although they both cater to rich people who like domination and submission. Midnight is a club and all those trappings. It’s meant to be a place where you can go on a date or pick someone up. Maybe catch a demonstration. Get some drinks and come and go as you please.

The Manoir is an experience.

Remember that TV show Fantasy Island? It’s kind of like that. This is a place where you come to feel like a king or a god. That’s because the owner and Madam, the very same Monique Grant we’ve seen around before, is a hardcore lifestyler in the sub scene. She’s the type who gets off on serving, and that’s the kind of place she’s created. From the moment you walk through the door, you’re an honored guest who can have almost anything they want.

A Domme? A girl will tie you up and tell you all your shortcomings. A sub? That same girl can fall over on the bed and give you big eyes until you fuck the innocence out of her.

Of course, you don’t pay for sex. It’s very clear when you sign documents before starting any scene. You’re paying for the woman’s time, anything you consume, the rooms you occupy, and any services like bondage, dirty talk, etc. I know the place has been visited by investigators. So far it’s still open!

Just trust me when I say the employees are highly encouraged to have some sort of sex with you. Of course, you’re persuaded to give her a very generous tip afterward. Naturally, you oblige. She deserves it. Ask me how I know.

“I’ve never been here before,” Kathleen tells me again as soon as we pass through the security gates and onto the main property. “It’s… impressive.”

The building is a lot bigger than a traditional Manoir. It’s a huge mansion overlooking a private hillside. I don’t recall who used to own it, but since it was purchased by Monique and her benefactors, the whole place has been transformed into this fantasy world. They have valet parking, even though the front lot is rarely full. Especially not tonight. We’re the only guests.

I pop out of my car as soon as it’s parked and help Kathleen out of the other side. It’s starting to drizzle and we don’t have umbrellas. In record time, we’ve caught up with the Anderssens, who are entering the foyer and chatting with everyone as if they live there.

From what I hear, they practically do.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” a woman – a maid, I think – offers to take my coat and Kathleen’s. The Anderssens have the careful attention of their mistress, a young, tall woman with black bobbed hair and a svelte silver dress that hugs what few curves she has. I’m not surprised that their tastes skew toward tall, thin, and possibly Russian.

Kathleen hands her coat over to the maid, head craning around as she checks this place out. No expenses were spared when it came to renovating whatever they did. Gold lines the corridors. Tapestries as soft as silk hang on the walls. Crystal chandeliers light the way as we are led to a private lounge for our use.