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There were a few things they needed to get straight. First of all, Monique was not one of the available ladies looking for a patron. Her job was to keep the Manoir running smoothly and ensure they all drowned in dollars. What had ever given Helen Warner the idea that she could send Monique a gift like that?
Shedidunderstand that Monique wasn’t available, right?
Monique thought back to their tour multiple times, wondering where she had dropped some hint that Helen Warner was free to bid for the madam’s prolonged services. She didn’t seem interested in any of the others. Why would she come out there to turn around and head home? Then to buy something that costthousands of dollars and send it to Monique, asking if she would like to… to…
Every time Monique’s thoughts reached this part, her eyes glazed over, and she imagined herself naked, shackled to the bed with that silver and diamond-encrusted collar wrapped around her throat. Blindfold optional. She tried to cut the thoughts off before Helen Warner entered in her summery dresses –no, jewel-toned… no, slate gray dresses –her feminine hand spanking Monique before whispering what she wanted to do.Fuck me.
Monique didn’t have a lot of crushes, but she was still human. When she fell for someone, she fell hard, usually for the most random reasons she never understood. Her first time with Jacqueline only happened because of such blinding charm. Her other ex, Etta Coleman, had a brooding badgirl thing going for her that Monique liked – especially since Etta was a puppy inside.Wish I ended up with Etta over Jacqueline. It was a ménage arrangement back then until Etta decided she didn’t want to share anymore. Foolish Monique ended up moving in with Jacqueline full-time… and ended up where she did.With a gun in my hand.
So why Helen? She was beautiful and charismatic, but so were a lot of the other millionaires and billionaires who came to the Manoir. They all talked to her. Some even expressed romantic interest in her. Monique rebuffed them all. Then here came Helen, grazing her fingers against Monique’s skin, kissing the top of her hand with those soft lips, and giving her a submissive’s collar in a black box.
She wants to dominate me…
Monique canceled her one appointment that afternoon, told everyone she wasn’t feeling well and sat alone in her office. The sunshine slowly descended behind the garden. By the time it kissed the horizon, she still didn’t know what to do. She wantedto call Helen and ask her the meaning ofthis. Except that was silly. She didn’t have Helen’s number!
I shouldn’t be talking to her anyway.No, she should definitely be obsessing over Helen and her motives instead. That was a good use of Monique’s time, especially when all she did was sit at her desk and watch the day go by.
She made an appearance at dinner. Then she took a bath, hoping the hot water would soak away the absurdity of her situation. Yet it was dangerous sitting in that tub by herself, naked. Monique imagined the collar around her neck, the chain dangling over the side of the claw-foot tub as Helen’s long fingers walked down her bare chest and pinched her nipple.“Get clean,”she would say like a true Domme.“I want to get you dirty all over again.”
Monique went to bed completely beside herself.I haven’t felt this way in so long. Not since before Jacqueline went off the deep end. Rarely did Monique feel such a sexual attraction to a woman she barely knew. There was so much trust involved in being a sub! These young women who worked for her had the fortitude to forego knowing someone for more than ten minutes. Besides, it was a job for them. For Monique, it was her lifestyle.
She wanted a woman to take control, both in the bedroom and out. She wanted agency, but she also wanted to be taken care of and never have to worry about things again. She wanted a woman to overpower her in the bedroom and tear her apart at every seam.
The problem was that most people who fit that bill turned out to be assholes.
Next time I talk to her, I’ll tell her it’s off the table. Until then, Monique was plagued with the images swarming her head. Helen Warner.Ms. Warner.Grabbing her from behind and kissing her skin, tasting the sweat her anxious heart pumped from her body; bend her over the bed and pulling away herclothes; teasing her with fingers until she was forced to beg for it; pulling her hair and trapping her against the bed while she fucked Monique, hard.
Her eyes opened to the realization that her hand was in her underwear and that sexual sting she felt wasn’t only in her imagination.
Monique didn’t touch herself often. Not unless her Mistress commanded it.In the end, it was always about Jacqueline’s pleasure instead of mine.Her hand came out, and she turned over in bed.I’m weak. I don’t deserve any of that shit. She knew she didn’t deserve it, yet Monique always blamed herself. Because then it felt like she had an ounce of power over her own life.
That settled it. She wasn’t attracted to Helen Warner. Monique was attracted to the idea of escaping her past and getting into more trouble. Telling Helen to go away was the plan.
If she could.
“Ms. Helen Warner is here to see you.”
Monique’s head turned from the statements she read on her desk. “Send her in,” she said, flipping the top letter over and emblazoning it with her signature. “Tell her that I’ve been expecting her.”
The maid escorted herself out of Monique’s office. It wasn’t even a full two days later after she received the box. The patron’s gift. The ode to her sweet nectar. Monique had rewrapped the gift and put it in one of her drawers. No use for it now.
A knock came on her door, and she waited before catching sight of the woman from her deplorable fantasies.Good God. Adorned in a dark navy-blue dress and jacket with a silk beltwrapped around her pronounced waist and sapphire earrings dangling from her ears, Helen stood straight and proper in the doorway, dark blond hair neatly pulled back and her nails slick and blue. She offered Monique no knowing looks, instead choosing to bequeath neither a friendly nor business-like demeanor that the madam couldn’t read. She was too busy wondering how quickly she could shove everything off her desk so Helen could take her right there.
Get a hold of yourself.Monique stood up from her chair. “Have a seat.”
Helen's graceful legs brought her closer. Monique smelled that cinnamon perfume emanating from her body. She imagined Helen, on top of her in bed, that scent overpowering her as she thrust between Monique’s legs.Helen. That would be her scent. Whenever Monique was out and smelled it on someone else, she would think of Helen and all the wonderful ways she...
"You saw the news this morning," Helen interrupted her thoughts with a point to the newspaper on the desk. "Terrible what happened to those people on that plane."
Monique shook out her inappropriate thoughts and glared at the plane wreckage in its colorful square. "Yes. Terrible." Just that morning, she was reading it to feel better about her life. Now here came Helen to take away Monique’s Schadenfreude. "Can I help you?"
Helen took her seat. Even sitting down, she was still a good two heads taller than Monique.I have a weakness for tall women. Monique could barely remember what it felt like to curl up next to a woman over a foot taller than her.
"You know why I am here."
Monique folded her hands on her desk, kept her back straight… but could not keep her lips from thinning. "I’m guessing it’s about this." She opened a drawer and pulled out the black box. It landed with a thud on the desk between them.
"I’m glad you received it. Did you take a look inside?"
