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Oldridge smirked. He wondered if Simone even remembered what sunlight felt like against his skin. It was funny how quickly humans could forget things, like how a child slowly forgets the facial features of a parent who has passed away.
That was the power that Peabody held over his guests… his friends… who would never leave him. Who would never abandon him. Inside, he was smiling.
“Simone is a history professor,” Oldridge chimed in. “He tells the most fascinating stories of things that happened long ago. You wouldn’t believe how monstrous human beings can be. I mean the wars they fought, the blood they spilled, it’s just all so… barbaric.” Oldridge’s eyes glazed over as he lost himself in some far-off memory.
No one dared to move or make a sound. When he got into this sort of headspace, it was always safer for everyone to just remain invisible.
Everyone held their breath and prayed.
1
LEVI
Overhead, two bare-chested men in tight leather pants swung over the audience upside-down while clinging to large black hoops with their powerful thighs. It was those thighs and tight, firm bodies that kept the thirsty men below gazing up and salivating as the twin Scandinavian brothers showed off their strength.
The brothers touched their perfectly sculpted chests in unison as they swung over the audience, trying to seduce every man who fell victim to their gaze.
Some gentlemen acknowledged the brothers’ presence with a slight tip of their champagne flutes, while others remained distracted by the abundance of other delicious men walking around in very little clothing.
Flesh and debauchery were on the menu—offering only the finest cuts of beef that Europe had to offer.
Cut, uncut, hairy, or smooth, there was a dish for every appetite and a price for every meal. La Maison de M offered only the finest guys to the wealthiest of men.
Evenly scattered throughout the room were four silver poles, each proudly displaying the physical stamina of the men they carried.
Tonight’s theme was “Jungle of Eden.” Each dancer was dressed in an outfit that represented one of the majestic animals one might find in the jungles of Brazil or perhaps the rainforests of Australia. Each outfit was sexy and seductive, providing clients with an experience they would never forget.
The star of this evening's show was Vixen, a black-haired, violet-eyed seductress born to please men and relieve them of their life savings.
Vixen was just one of the many sirens who lived and worked at La Maison de M—a twenty-thousand-square-foot château snuggled in the countryside just outside of Paris, France. It was the perfect location for rich and powerful men who liked to dabble in the more exotic pleasures to come and enjoy themselves without the prying eyes of the public or fear of judgment from backward-thinking civilians.
There were strict privacy and security measures imposed while attending an event at La Maison. No cameras, no cell phones, no electronic recording devices. As long as you followed these rules, you were allowed to enjoy the wonderland that La Maison de M offered. A celebration of lust, sin, and every possible sexual fantasy imaginable.
Around the room, the lights dimmed, and all eyes fell on the large platform in the center of the room.
Rising from the floor was the main attraction for the evening—Vixen.
The violet-eyed siren smiled at the sea of horny men, all mentally undressing him and ravishing him in their minds.
This was the part of the evening that he loved—the moment men’s hearts stopped in their chests when they first laid eyes on his firm, toned body.
He could almost hear the dirty, lustful thoughts overloading their brains. The things they wanted to do to him. Talk about making a guy feel good about himself.
Some took their time, mentally peeling away the thin layer of fabric that barely covered his manhood, while others were not as patient, tearing away the fabric like an excited little boy on Christmas morning.
It was scary the thoughts that ran through men’s minds—especially the minds of powerful, horny men like the ones in this very room.
With wealth and power comes a certain god-like sense of entitlement and untouchability. On more than a few occasions, entertainers at La Maison have had to remind clients of the Maison rules. Rules that included consent, treating the entertainers with respect, and, of course, always obeying the exit word. If a client ever disregarded the exit word, they were immediately ejected from the premises and banned for life. An exit word was used whenever an entertainer or guest wished for their time together to end.
In this sort of environment, where fantasies run amuck, and limits are tested, guests and entertainers alike need to be able to trust one another. If that trust was lacking, that was when people got hurt.
Dressed in light purple lace panties and nothing else, he extended his arms, spreading the two majestic wings he had attached to his back—a proud macaw parrot on full display. The feathers were turquoise in the center, then drifted into a darker blue, leading out to the edges. Close to his shoulders was a hint of yellow and red to make the magic wings really pop.
As he stood on the platform, his face sparkled as the light hit the glitter splashed just above his eyes and across his cheeks. He looked like a mythical creature sent by the gods to seduce all men, especially those who craved the attention of one of Matteo’s boys.
At La Maison de M, entertainers like Vixen were formally referred to as “companions” since the guests who visited the château came in search of male companionship. A “special friend” who would take care of all their needs and indulge in their every fantasy.
Unofficially, the boys at La Maison referred to themselves as Matteo’s boys, an homage to Charlie's Angels, a classic television show that had been remade into a few feature films that never really seemed to take off… in his opinion, that was.
