Sappho Intl (Songs of Silk Book 1) Read online

  “Thank you…Thank you…and you gotta lotta moxie yourself, toots.” The Trio cracked up, as I did my best Bugsy Siegel impression and straightened my red, silk pocket handkerchief. ”…and all that jazz.”

  “…and all that jazz, huh? You are too crazy, boss…But I gotta say, Pharaoh got you at a close second. I just love her mohawk. Ooh, She makes me wanna cream...”

  “Okay, calm down, luv...come back to us...” Kendra snapped her fingers in front of NinaStarr's eyes.

  "Oh, sorry about that—I got caught up in it!”

  “It’s cool, as long as you caught yourself.”

  “You know I would rock her sexy ass…”

  Lolita and Kendra both looked at each other. “We know!”

  “Anyway, boss, let’s talk business for a sec.” NinaStarr got real serious and leaned closer to me.

  “I hope you’re ready to make some serious dough, cuz there’s an overwhelming buzz on your behalf without us even having to really campaign.”

  “A little bird told me that the young, Dutch Alice is commanding a strong lead and is making it known that she wants to have you first AND if she wins the first leg she would be willing to give up her whole purse to you—so don’t be surprised if she’s the one in your bed tomorrow night. But we’ll keep you posted on her and the other poker leaders.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, Lourdes is the one that books all of our event transactions, personal pleasure calls and house calls. I’m sure he's set you up with one of Sappho's private international bank accounts by now—as we all have one.”

  “You’ll receive a text that says ‘Booking Inquiry Initiated’. This text means that a bid or request for your presence has been initiated. You will receive a summary of the details which includes a very brief background on the client, if there’s information to supply, as well as the amount. You send a text back saying ‘Accept’ or ‘Decline’. He sends back a text saying "Booking Completed" to confirm that the money has been booked and credited to your account.”

  “We’ill also be giving you updated information as to the potential clients, as well as any clients that we prep for you or that you may want us to prep to send your way. And that's how each transaction works.”

  “Cool.”

  NinaStarr took a sip from her chocolate martini and gazed at Pharaoh while one of the waitresses had made her way up the stairs.

  “Would you like anything to drink?”

  “Yes, can you bring a bottle of Moët, sweetheart?”

  “…and another chocolate martini.”

  “I’ll be right back with that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Pharaoh won the first year, but Sir Sheik’s won the last two.”

  “Bet.”

  Although the corporate culture of Sappho Intl was pretty casual, it seemed that there was an organized system in place for everything. I couldn’t help but wonder how Sir Sheik was able to sustain her corruption, in such a systematic environment; and even more importantly WHY she would be drawn to operating underhandedly, in such a rich and efficient environment—what would compel a person to swindle and hustle in paradise?

  “I like those gigantic martini glasses. Those are a nice touch.”

  “At each event there’s a platform present so that if a few Sapphians want to engage in a little public display of sexual gratification, then they may do so. The platform may be a whimsical sleigh or a cage, or in this case a martini glass—it varies based on the theme and is usually scattered throughout the location.”

  “But there are unwritten rules to this public display. To take advantage of someone who is very much so under the influence or otherwise incapacitated is just tacky. It's embarrassing and spoils the party for everyone. Upper level Sapphians, stallions and select staff such as PrimaDonna and Flourish rarely takes part in public fornication with each other unless it’s with burlesque or pin-up girls.”

  “And this is especially true of the stallions. If you guys take part in pleasuring on any of the public platforms, then it's considered to be taken as a slant or an insult on that individual. Mid-Level Sapphians have free reign. Burlesque and pin-up girls have free reign. All of us crowns on your team—thank God—have free reign!”

  She didn’t need to explain further as to the reasoning. The art of pleasuring a woman is simple to me. But even in a rule-less society there are unspoken understandings and rules of etiquette, as it pertains to maintaining a sense of honor with a woman—especially amidst the various class systems. It would be like Lolita getting caught skinny-dipping in public versus a mayor’s wife getting caught doing the same thing—one is a girl gone wild moment and the other is simply shameful.

  “Alright, I think I got it.”

  The waitress had returned with our drinks and at that moment I caught a glimpse of PrimaDonna passing down below.

  “C’mon, girls, let’s join the party.”

  As soon as we descended the stairs to reach the floor, I felt a peck on the side of my neck and a soft brush of supple lips on the rim of my earlobe.

  “Hey you, you look dashing.”

  Time stood still as I breathed the subtle scent of jasmine into the hallways of my nasal cavities. I turned to meet a silver-screen flapper with a silver, sequined Halter neck dress, matching satin gloves, and gleaming studded stilettos. It was PrimaDonna twirling a long pearl necklace and wearing a small diamond studded headpiece.

  “I dare say, PrimaDonna, YOU look ravishing.”

  I could’ve stayed frozen in time, despite the merriment that was occurring around the two of us.

  “So, Silk, are you gambler?”

  I began to smile. But before I could respond Pharaoh and Sir Sheik snuck up on me from the other side.

  “Oi oi savaloy! Anybody up for Blackjack? Prima? Silk? What about you Sheik?”

  “Everything’s going smashingly. I wouldn’t mind playing.”

  Their presence couldn’t be more ill-timed. So far Sir Sheik had been on her best behavior, but I trusted her glee about as much as a thief in a bank vault—she was sure to switch and steal our bliss, within the batting of an eyelash.

  I quickly took the invitation, in order to move away from PrimaDonna—especially in the presence of the Sheik’s crazy ass. She was fickle and I was not about to stir up anything this early in the game. We had nine days of Cloud9 and I ruled in favor of exercising patience to get to the truth of all things considered.

  “Silk? Prima?”

  “I'm not really a betting stud, but tonight I'm game.” That would be the first of many bluffs tonight.

  “Tonight I’m game as well.”

  We all took our seats at the blackjack table and the dealer welcomed us. She dealt the first hand and I received a queen of diamonds and an ace of hearts out of the gate. Everyone else would hit to bust, while I would be the only one to stand. And as I took the first hand as a good omen, I would hope that I would rack in money all night—for it would be a sign of things to come.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I awoke in my colossal antique four-poster bed in a daze. I looked around and there was a huge wad of neat bills tucked into my shiny, silver money clip and coupled with another large, neat stack that was sitting on one of the nightstands. I had instantly remembered that Cloud9 had indeed started out on the right foot, as I’d made a total of thirty grand at Blackjack last night. That would amount to about a thousand an hour since arriving at the Palace less than 30 hours ago!

  My luck was high, as I’d cleaned out both of the other stallions for the night. PrimaDonna had cut her losses early and was honorably content in watching me hand it to Pharaoh and Sir Sheik.

  As I got out of the bed and stretched, I vaguely remembered ending the night semi-drunk; but with enough sense to bid everyone adieu for the early morning, after the whole night of revelry, and making my way to my own room alone.

  I even woke up this morning to meditate, soak in a bath and change into the silk pajamas that I was now wearing, before I retur
ned to sleep. And with such a prosperous start to Cloud9, I couldn’t wait for the next event and the bidding to begin.

  But right now, I was feeling a little curious.

  I stumbled out of my corner room and into the hallway to stare up and into heaven—or a version of heaven that peaked through faux-broken and rib vaulted arches that’d been painted overhead to make it look like an ancient stone-arched ceiling. It was dramatic and breathtaking and I quickly decided that I wanted to see more of the Palace. So, I went downstairs and began to peak into the galleries of the first floor.

  Even though it had to have been the middle of the afternoon, it was deserted and quiet. Everyone must have still been asleep or hung over. So, it would seem that I had the pleasure of the Palace’s ornate beauty all to myself.

  With the emphasis on abundance and luxury, each gallery was a palatial style, swimming in bliss. And in keeping with the ambiance of the rest of the mansion, the ivory-white Venus de Milo sculptures, cupids and landscape-filled paintings, and exquisite vases of the galleries provided a sumptuous opulence for my viewing pleasure.

  I arrived at and opened a door with a heraldic coat-of-arms etched into it. Metal plates made of bronze and precious metals immediately greeted me and the overall theme of the room suggested that this was a room of great personal legacy. Grand wall tapestries of landscapes and crimson red and black silk damask curtains sought to obstruct the natural sunlight and preserve the delicately curved shapes of gilded floral arrangements, carved and silver-leafed wood busts, and gilded stucco reliefs of frolicking putti and grapevines strewn throughout the room.

  In the corner of the room, I found an ivory white chaise longue surrounded by a wall of portraits. I slid onto the elongated seat and studied the older pictures of an adolescent Sir Sheik standing with her dad, mom, and what looked to be a younger sister. This was obviously a more innocent time for her, as she smiled brightly and appeared much younger, childlike, and more like a Samantha than the current Sir Sheik.

  I smiled to myself, as I surveyed the more recent pictures of her with a more youthful Flourish, Pharaoh, and PrimaDonna at various Manhattan clubs and high class events. They must’ve all been in high school because they all seemed so juvenile and carefree. They all looked like they couldn't have had a care in the world, as they each hugged each other with huge Kool-aid smiles, played pranks, drank and smoked weed joints in utter merriment.

  I looked in a mirror that held golden feathers around its rim and thought to myself before leaving—-how lucky and blessed Sir Sheik had to have been to be surrounded by people who have loved her over the years and still remained by her side. How many times did she sit at that chair and reminisce? How many times had she looked into this same mirror and wondered if that joyful individual had remained inside of her and simply disappeared deep into the recesses of her spirit? And what had happened to cause this disappearance to occur? I didn’t have the answers yet, but one thing was certain—this room was living proof that a sliver of humanity, as well as the love and happiness of her former self, might’ve still remained, in spite of her current pain and anger.

  I closed the door behind me and made my way down the hallway to return to my room.

  “Hey! You’re up!”

  I turned around to find Lourdes striding quickly and a few paces behind me.

  “Just admiring this wall—it makes the hallway look much longer than what it really is.” I pointed at one of the corner walls. The wall’s mural mirrored the hallway ceiling and also depicted an antique, stone doorway with a grand window to a faux landscape.

  “It’s like the one on the ceiling. It’s called a trump l'oleil.”

  “Yes, I remember the term now from my art history courses.”

  “Yep. It means to deceive the eye. It seems that it had you fooled, huh boss?”

  “Maybe intrigued–but definitely not fooled.”

  It seemed that deception was one of Sir Sheik’s strong suits, but I would not be fooled into living in denial, as it seems everyone else had done. My eyes were far from blinded to the truth. And I intended to keep my third eye widened, despite the revelry of Cloud9; since the truth always had a way of coming to the light when you least expected it.

  “Sir Sheik had the spatial illusion murals custom painted. I think it’s a nice addition to the Palace.”

  “It’s pretty interesting.”

  I continued to study the mural.

  “So how did you like the Roaring 20’s?”

  “It was cool. I had a lot of fun playing a gangster for the moment.”

  “They’ve already wrapped up the second day of poker, so your inquiries should be coming in, at any moment. So be on the lookout for your texts.”

  “Yeah, NinaStarr already briefed me, so I’ll be looking for them.”

  “Oh, here goes an inquiry now.” Lourdes took out his phone and read a text. ”Yeah, they started the bidding, so I gotta go. Masquerade Parade is tonight so get plenty of rest, boss.”

  “I will.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I glided; winding through a labyrinth of radiantly dramatic demonstrations and highly sensualistic displays of theatrical lust.

  If lascivious carriage applied in this state, we would all be guilty of the offense.

  It was as if it was unanimously decreed a public decorum and of general decency to exercise our lustful passions unrestrictedly. Therefore, every single body’s libidos were at last free to be ignited with a high sexual drive and prompted with signals to commit wanton acts of libidinous feats and carnal deeds.

  And for once the power of the pussy was without limits and reigned supreme.

  This was the Masquerade Parade. And ironically, there were no charades, despite the procession of masks, as genuine intimacy overtook the halls and ballroom of the Palace.

  Inquisitively, I found myself reveling in the evening’s carnival, as I awaited the go-ahead text that was to alert me to meet my first Alice.

  While strolling through the hallway and into the main ballroom, a mix of Andrea Bocelli’s ‘Verdi Requiem’ and ‘Carmen’ echoed loudly throughout and served to provide an audio intoxicant to dizzying scenes of theatrical gaiety.

  Studs in tuxedos, covered with black-hooded, floor length capes and elaborately sculpted masks, ushered in femmes, replete with Italian masquerade ball gowns and colorful masks, adorned in the grand Venetian carnival tradition.

  And I glimpsed masks of every kind as I strode past.

  Elegant studs nodded at me in stark reverence, as they glided by with Phantom of the Opera masks, harlequin patterned half-face masks, jester masks replete with beads and bells; and even black and polished gold papier mache masks with long noses.

  Groups of femmes giggled and strutted by, with black lace and cerise butterfly masquerade masks of red, white, pink and purple; and half-face masks of gold, silver, bronze and red glitter adorned with gemstones, intricate gold leaves and plumes of feathers.

  I, in my purple velvet and hooded, floor length cape, and the other two stallions, were the only ones without a mask. And we were the only ones whom could be easily identified.

  And I continued to glide by—and watch as a voyeur would—as some femme crowns and burlesque girls chose to wear nothing but masks and black bejeweled thongs. In corner chairs and platformed beds, some studs had chosen to wet their appetite early and to taste these unclothed delights, as they moaned in gratifying consent; to kiss and lick sex-charged lips and nipples to the delight of not-so-innocent passersby’s. And some had even chosen to tickle and penetrate these individual appetizer treats, with their trance-induced legs widened and accepting glistening wet fingers; to become the entertainment for a small gathering of onlookers, whom, like a domino effect, would be turned on to delight in their own means of gratification.

  I, the willing observer, grew wetter and wetter by the moment; overwhelmed by the sheer intoxication of pleasure that swelled the hallways and ballroom, like dense fog in the night. And like a match striki
ng, to light a fire in the mist, someone had gingerly shifted my samurai knot and kissed me hypnotically on the back of my neck. It was a subtle, yet sweet, gesture amidst the seductive atmosphere that was now thoroughly soaked with decadent sex.

  I turned with the gentility of a Venetian prince to peer into the eyes of who I’d already known was the originator. As I had immediately picked up the scent of jasmine that had already entered and filled my system, PrimaDonna smiled through twinkling sapphire eyes; gripping my soul like the delicate hand that held the pearl stick of the ivory white, ostrich feather mask that covered her face.

  She was slowly seducing me and I was falling for it.

  Since the beginning of Cloud9, it seemed that PrimaDonna was torn between maintaining a certain level of professionalism in leadership and following her heart’s desire. Split between publicly upholding a sense of loyalty to the ideals and command of Sappho Intl, while privately possessing a desire to surrender to her own body's wild urges. She was toying with it safely and at an unpredictable pace, while practicing a form of restraint that I hadn’t experienced with any woman before her.

  And you could tell that she was a professional at it; having been groomed to exhibit a regal disposition, with which she was conditioned to maintain at all times. Therefore, hers was a stoic strategy of cat and mouse. And mine was a see-saw strategy of taunting her to give into her longing with a boyish charm, while pretending to at times display apathetic indifference—all the while quelling my own torturous thirst for her.

  She, at present, firmly controlled the pace of this secret tryst. And sometimes it became agonizing to wait for the next time that I would taste her lips and feel the creamed softness of her skin.

  Indeed it was a slow seduction; however patience was my strong suit.

  “Are you enjoying this?”

  “I am.” I placed my hand to the back of her gown and whispered into her ear. “But I could be enjoying it more.”

  I could feel her smile brighten with the things that we could be doing right now.