Odalisque

No, Kai hadn’t told anyone the specifics, only that he was taking a much-needed vacation to France for a week. God, he had shitloads of work to do. Why was he doing this?

Because all you do is work. And you’re lonely. Your wife gutted you and you’re not capable of surviving another relationship anytime soon. Why let a woman in, why try to get to know her when it would inevitably end up where his marriage had ended up? Betrayal, bitter accusations, humiliation.

An odalisque might be the answer to all his problems. If things worked out, what a wonderful lifestyle it would be. Sex--hot, willing sex-- whenever he wanted it. However he wanted it. Quick, slow, raunchy, affectionate, nasty, endless, kinky or vanilla, upside down or up in a tree or rolling down the side of the mountain he lived on. Kai would lead and she would follow obediently, because that was her code, according to what he’d read. Submissive, available, enslaved to his cock by choice.

He would buy--or rent--her services, and bask in her loyalty and patience, her subservience and admiration, all sandwiched in between marathon sessions of depraved sex. Best of all, there wouldn’t be a lot of emotional minefields to tiptoe across to get to what he wanted. He could lay her down and lose himself and not waste what little free time he had on relationship issues.

By the time he got in his rental car in Paris and started on the hour-long trip to Maison Odalisque, he’d gone from feel

ing embarrassed and skeptical to feeling almost jubilant. He’d made an embarrassing amount of money for someone in his mid-thirties, and in this one thing, he would spoil himself. If he found the right girl, if he found the whole odalisque thing to his liking, he would plunk down a cool million without a second thought. If even half his lustful daydreams came true, a million would be a small price to pay.

In this state of hopeful elation, Kai arrived at the Maison. He shook off creeping jet lag and produced his passport in order to be buzzed through an arching iron gate by a stone-faced security goon. The house certainly gave an appearance of respectability. He’d half expected to arrive at a ramshackle dive and be robbed and left for dead, but the impressive edifice of Maison Odalisque communicated wealth and fastidiousness, not danger.

It was more than a house, actually, but not quite a mansion. There were twenty or so windows just on the front, and six imposing columns. Around him, rural fields and forests glowed with the gold of a late winter sunset. A long cobblestone drive circled to the front of the house.

A valet took his rental car and luggage and directed him politely up the stairs to the massive front door. He undoubtedly knew why Kai was here, but his expression gave away no opinion. He had the deferent manner of someone accustomed to serving the rich. It was something Kai was only starting to get used to in the years since he’d started his digital technology firm as a poor, ambitious twenty-something with visionary dreams.

But none of those dreams had ever involved French manors and odalisques.

As soon as Kai dropped the ornate brass knocker onto its base, the door swung open. He was guided into a soaring foyer by another impeccably proper employee. The third one now, and all three were nearly as wide as they were tall. Their strength was emphasized by the fitted, understated suits they wore. It occurred to him that a country house full of sex slaves would require some pretty heavy security.

As polite as the man was, Kai had no doubt the giant could have him in a headlock on the floor at the first threatening word or gesture. That didn’t worry him at all. It was one more sign that this Monsieur Gaudet had his shit together. One more sign that this crazy stuff was for real.

As if on cue, a well-dressed man strode around the corner, his hand already extended in a gesture of greeting. “Mr. Kaivalyan Chandler, I presume? I am Sebastien Gaudet.”

Kai sized up the man. He was impressed that he’d pronounced his full Indian name without tripping over the syllables. That Gaudet was Indian himself was not remotely possible. Kai had never seen such a pale, white-blond man. His short hair framed an aristocratically angular face, and his eyes were a piercing blue. His smile was warmly disarming as he shook Kai’s hand. Kai immediately felt at ease in his company. “Hello. My friends call me Kai.”

“Well, let’s not stand on formalities. My friends call me Bastien. It’s very nice to meet you. I trust your trip went well?” Mr. Gaudet’s--Bastien’s--English was flawless. Kai nodded in response.

“It’s gone smoothly thus far.”

“And hopefully will continue on so. Would you like to take some time upstairs to rest before dinner? Or perhaps there are some questions you would like answered first?”

Kai looked around the foyer, to the winding marble staircase, to the gleaming tile floor. More chateau than dungeon, really. The building was welcoming and cheerfully lit. Artwork and sculpture covered many of the surfaces. He smiled at his host.

“I’m kind of relieved you aren’t in black leather, holding a whip.”

Bastien laughed. “I assure you, the feeling is mutual. Fortunately, we manage to head off most of those types before they make the trip.”

“Am I the only, uh, gentleman here at the moment?”

“The only one seeking, yes. A few friends may come and go during your stay, but only because I deem them utterly discreet and trustworthy. On that count, you must feel at ease. We are a respectful society here, and we value discretion above all.”

Kai got the message loud and clear, although Bastien never lost his easy, genial tone. It was the same easy tone he remembered from chatting on the phone, the same easy tone that convinced him to fly over just to chat, just to have a tour and ask some questions about the Code d’Odalisque. Kai looked around once more, as if he might glimpse one of the mysterious odalisques he’d come to see. But no, they were kept in occlusion, Bastien had explained. Odalisques were trained to live in confinement, wet and waiting for Master and whomever Master chose to share them with.

“I think I will take a few minutes to rest before dinner,” said Kai, clasping his hands in front of his pants to hide his burgeoning arousal. A few minutes to rest, or masturbate furiously. Probably the latter.

“As you wish.” Sebastien Gaudet inclined his head with a smile.

Kai was shown to his second-floor room by the same gentleman who’d let him in the door. He found his luggage neatly arranged beside the bed. Kai reached in his pocket for a tip and was waved off with a low, obsequious bow. “I am at your service, monsieur,” said the servant with a pronounced French accent. “If you need anything, simply call.” He indicated a red button beside the light switch, and then melted out the door.

Kai lay back on the full size bed. The ivory padded headboard was silk and absolutely pristine. The whole room oozed propriety, from the crisply pleated drapes to the dark, heavy, polished wood furniture. There was no way in hell he could possibly jack off in this stately space.

If not for Bastien’s easy, relaxed manner, Kai might have felt threatened by the strangeness of the whole situation, but instead he was able to lay back and close his eyes. His mind drifted to thoughts of undulating sex goddesses and willing, wanton women. Was there one in the room above him? One on either side?

Next thing he knew, a sharp knock awakened him. The manservant had brought a dinner jacket in the event he needed one, but Kai had his own after being told it was customary at the Maison to dress for dinner. Less than an hour later, Kai was escorted downstairs to a cavernous dining room.

Even with Bastien’s considerable social skills, Kai found the formal dinner uncomfortable. As wealthy as he was, he didn’t usually dine on bone china with real silver utensils, at a twenty-foot table lit by shimmering candelabra. Each course was brought in by yet another grimly respectable and all-too-masculine servant. For a house that boasted scores of submissive slave women, men did a lot of the work around here. Bastien caught him looking around the dining room after the third course, and grinned at him.

“You are wondering when you will see one of the lovely ladies of our house.”

Kai raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps they’ll bring the dessert course...”

His host chuckled. “I’m afraid not. Odalisques are not servants, not in a household sense. This is what separates them from their BDSM-lifestyle sisters. A slave in a Master and slave relationship might be expected to perform any manner of drudge tasks or chores in the name of ‘service.’ The Master perhaps sees this as a way to test her devotion and submission, or exert power over her. With an odalisque no such tests are needed. A lifestyle slave might endure humiliation, degradation, even contempt at the foot of her Master, but an odalisque is treasured, never tested. She is a slave of sensuality, not drudgery.”

“So I understand. But what if they enjoy being degraded or set to unpleasant tasks? None of them are masochists?”

“That surprises you?”

“I just thought a woman willing to give up everything to live for the pleasure of a man--”

“Would have masochistic tendencies? Many do. But they are trained to pair self-respect with submission. The owner of an odalisque desires a beautiful, admirable woman, not a cringing vessel to be defiled and abused. When a masochistic woman wants to live as an odalisque, we encourage those tendencies to be satisfied in the course of sexual interactions. For instance, a woman may like to be whipped as foreplay, or have her nipples tortured to reach orgasm. This type of masochism relates directly to sensuality and sexual crav

ing, and excites both Master and odalisque. But if a woman wishes to live as an abject creature, humiliated and hurt and denied pleasure, she does not really have the air of erotic majesty we seek.”

“Erotic majesty. I like that. But doesn’t that make the slave pretty much an equal to her Master? Or perhaps even more powerful?”

“Not at all. The odalisque submits--always. But only sexually. She submits her body to her Master’s use. Her mind, her self-respect, her personality remain her own. I assure you, many men find it more alluring than the self-effacement of the typical BDSM slave. You get all of the sexual submission you desire, with none of the need to micromanage your slave or develop tedious protocols. You may enact all the sexual protocols you wish, but afterward, you can walk away knowing your slave is self-possessed enough to manage herself until you wish to make use of her again.”

“And you can take her out, right? You don’t have to keep an odalisque hidden?”

“Yes, you can take her out as a companion, or share her favors with discreet friends. You can take her to work if you might have sexual need of her there.”

Kai grinned. “Time to tint the office windows.”

“Precisely,” said Bastien. “But of course, an odalisque must never be compelled to make money in the outside world. When you acquire an odalisque, you sign an agreement to keep her in comfort, and to not require any work above and beyond that of sexual service. It goes without saying you would not accept money from others for her use.”

“That would make her a whore.”

Bastien nodded curtly. “Exactly so. That is not a word we like here. People often misunderstand. We are not in the business of exploiting or degrading women. If that is your desire, I hope you will choose not to take an odalisque into your care.”