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Vixen grabbed onto the pole and leaped up, gripping the cold steel between his powerful thighs. Releasing his grip from the pole, he used his stomach muscles to extend his body and eventually contort himself into an upside-down “C.”
Several of the men sitting next to the platform groaned as their eyes focused on the bulging package struggling against the thin purple lace.
One man, an Asian CEO of a pharmaceutical company located in mainland China, stood up and placed a hundred Euro note inside the band of Vixen’s panties.
Smiling, Vixen reached his hands down onto the floor and carefully backflipped off the pole, landing with his ass directly in the man’s face.
“Thank you, Ren,” Vixen whispered, slowly rubbing his ass up against the man’s chest as he got to his feet.
The man nodded, then went back to his seat and continued sipping on his bourbon.
Two other dancers, both wearing jungle cat masks, joined Vixen on stage, thrusting and grinding and simulating sexual positions and acts that should only ever be seen in the darkest bowels of hell.
When Vixen and his brethren weren’t working, they were practicing dance moves or learning new poses from many of the erotic and burlesque dancers their boss had flown in so that they could be trained by the best in the industry. And judging by the packed house in attendance tonight, their patrons enjoyed their shows.
Twenty minutes later, Vixen’s show ended, and another set of dancers replaced him and the others on stage.
“You always manage to take my breath away whenever I see you dancing up on that stage.”
Vixen turned and smiled when he saw Matteo sitting at the bar, sipping a martini.
The man was dressed in a black and white pin-striped Hugo Boss suit, complete with a black vest and deep purple tie. As the owner of this establishment and master of this château, Matteo was always well-dressed and impeccably well-mannered.
“You always know how to make a young man feel special,” Vixen, whose real name was Levi Harris, complimented, leaning in and giving his boss and father figure a hug.
The château had been in Matteo’s family for six generations. He came from a long line of aristocrats, each generation wealthier than the last until his generation. Matteo was the last living heir in his family. Not much was known about Matteo and his family’s past, only that he was the last of his family and seemed to carry with him a heavy heart.
Matteo opened La Maison de M ten years ago and hand-picked each person who he employed at the château. Levi was found five years ago and has been living at the château ever since.
“Busy night tonight,” Levi said, thanking the bartender for his bottle of water. He took a swig and let the cool, refreshing liquid coat his throat as it made its way down.
“It is. I see Mr. Lenoge is sitting at his usual table, looking rather lonely,” Matteo said, giving a slight nod over his shoulder. That was the thing about Matteo—he was nothing but discreet. In this line of work, discretion was key.
“I was just going to go over and say hi.”
“That’s a good boy. Why don’t you see if he knows anything about that potential merger between Solace Consortium and Richer Diamonds? Keep the conversation discreet. Perhaps while you’re both snuggling in the bath.”
Matteo knew everything about everyone. It was one of his superpowers.
Mr. Lenoge was a high-powered lawyer doing business with many of the powerhouses in Europe and East Asia. He had his hand in several different deals that were highly confidential and very lucrative. The man was also a closet homo who loved to cuddle while taking baths—something about the intimacy of washing someone’s body while seeking comfort in others.
Levi gave his cock a few pumps to chub up his member, then adjusted the lace panties that he was wearing. He always felt so sexy wearing women’s lingerie. The smoothness of the lace, the softness against his skin. It was all so… erotic.
“Sounds good, boss. I’ll take him to the west wing.” With that, the violet-eyed beauty began his walk over to the man he would be comforting for the night.
Mr. Lenoge only came to La Maison for one man, and he paid handsomely for access to the young man in purple lace.
2
CHASE
Flipping through the file, an uncontrollable growl escaped Chase’s lips.
What a piece of shit.
Photo after photo of every woman: busted lips, puffy eyes, smeared mascara. Each photo, evidence of a heinous crime that was committed. Each photo, evidence of the unjust world we live in, where punishment is only for those who live below the poverty line or those who were born with the wrong color skin.
In this case, the man in question had hit the golden trifecta. He was rich, white, and well-connected. Of course, there was no chance of any of these women getting justice.
