Chapter 6: Terms of Service

Chapter 6: Terms of Service

The velvet curtain fell shut behind me, muffling the decadent sounds of Elysium and sealing me inside the intimate booth. The air was charged, a static field of unspoken intentions. My gaze flickered from Madison’s triumphant smirk to Melissa’s anxious, hopeful expression, and finally landed on the man beside her. Mark. The fiancé.

He wasn't the obstacle. He was the stage manager.

The confident, easy smile he wore didn't waver as he raised his glass of amber liquid in a slow, deliberate toast. "Jade," he said, his voice smooth and resonant, completely devoid of the jealousy or anger I would have expected. "I'm glad you could make it. We have a lot to talk about."

My carefully chosen armor—the leather jacket, the defiant tattoos—felt paper-thin. My internal 'cheat code' for reading a room was screaming, but it was giving me too much data to process. This wasn't a simple seduction or a secret affair. This was a corporate boardroom disguised as a velvet cage.

"I seem to be at a disadvantage," I said, my voice steady despite the frantic drumming in my chest. I remained standing, a deliberate choice to maintain some semblance of control.

Mark chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. "On the contrary. You hold all the cards. Please, sit." He gestured to the empty seat beside Madison. It felt less like an invitation and more like a summons.

I slid into the booth, the leather cool against my skin. The three of them formed a semi-circle around me. A panel interview for a position I didn't understand.

"I want to thank you," Mark began, setting his glass down with a soft click. He looked at Melissa, his expression softening with genuine affection, before turning his piercing gaze back to me. "For the other night. Madison told me everything. You gave my fiancée a… gift. An awakening. Something I've wanted for her, but never knew how to facilitate."

My mind reeled. The carefully constructed narrative of a secret, forbidden encounter was being rewritten before my eyes. I hadn't been a corrupting influence; I'd been an unwitting contractor.

"I wasn’t aware I was on the clock for you," I said, the words sharper than I intended.

"Not yet," he replied smoothly, completely unbothered by my tone. "But that's why we're here. To discuss the terms of your employment."

This was it. The pitch. Madison leaned forward, her red dress like a slash of blood in the dim light. "Lissa needs a teacher, Jade. Someone to guide her. She's spent her whole life being the 'good girl,' and it's killing her. You broke through that."

Melissa, who had been twisting a napkin into shreds, finally looked up. The timid bride was gone, replaced by the woman I’d seen in the aftermath of her climax—dazed, but resolute. "It's true," she said, her voice soft but firm. "That night… with you… it was the first time I felt like myself. My real self. I don't want to lose that feeling." Her eyes pleaded with me, a raw vulnerability that was more potent than Madison's dominance or Mark's cool control.

"And what is it you want, Mark?" I asked, directing my question to the man who was clearly the architect of this whole bizarre fantasy. "To watch?"

His smile widened, a flash of white in the crimson gloom. "Watching is a part of it, yes. A very enjoyable part. But it's more than that." He leaned forward, elbows on the table, creating an unnerving sense of intimacy. "I want to see my wife happy, fulfilled, and uninhibited. I want her to explore every facet of her desire. And I want to be a part of that exploration. I want you to teach her. And I want you to play with us. Both of us."

The words hung in the air, audacious and absolute. The whispered proposition from the bedroom—I want you there. With us—had been made manifest. This wasn't about hiding from the fiancé; it was about performing for him, with him. I was to be their beautiful, well-paid secret. A shared partner. A living, breathing key to unlock a door they couldn't open themselves.

My head was spinning. The sheer scale of the proposition was staggering. This went beyond a one-night stand, beyond a simple transaction. They wanted to weave me into the very fabric of their marriage.

"You're asking me to be… a professional third," I stated, trying to put a name to the insanity.

"We're asking you to be an essential part of our life," Mark corrected gently. "And we understand that your time and your… unique talents… are valuable. We are prepared to compensate you accordingly."

He slid a slim leather-bound folder across the table. It looked like a checkbook holder from a bank that didn't serve mere mortals. My desire for financial stability, the engine that drove me to take these high-paying gigs in the first place, roared to life. My hand was shaking slightly as I opened it.

Inside wasn't a check. It was a contract. A simple, one-page document. My eyes scanned the legalese, but my brain only registered the numbers. A monthly retainer that was more than I made in six months of bartending. A "signing bonus"—payable upon agreement—that was five times the amount currently sitting in the envelope on my kitchen counter.

One hundred thousand dollars. Just to sign.

I snapped the folder shut, the sound unnaturally loud in the booth. My breath caught in my throat. This wasn't just freedom from rent. This was freedom from ever having to worry about money again. It was a golden cage, and the door was wide open, beckoning me in.

"What are the rules?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The thrill-seeker in me was clawing its way out, drawn to the sheer, terrifying audacity of it all.

"Discretion is paramount, obviously," Mark said, his tone all business now. "Outside of designated times and places, we don't know each other. Your life is your own. But when we call, you come. We want you available for weekends, for travel. You will be a beautiful secret that only the three of us share."

"And Madison?" I glanced at the woman who had started it all, who sat watching me with an unreadable expression.

"I'm the facilitator," Madison said with a shrug. "The project manager. I make sure Lissa gets what she wants. Always."

The emotional stakes were suddenly clearer, and infinitely higher than the financial ones. This was about Melissa's happiness, filtered through the possessive lens of her best friend and the controlling generosity of her fiancé. And I was to be the catalyst. I would be paid to break her, to remake her, all while navigating the desires of all three of them. Could I do that? Could I handle being a well-cared-for pet, a beautiful plaything in their twisted games, without losing myself completely?

I looked at their faces. Mark, the calm, confident architect, his eyes filled with a collector's possessive gleam. Madison, the predator, her smirk daring me to accept the challenge she had laid at my feet. And Melissa, her face alight with a desperate, pleading hope, her entire sexual future seemingly resting on my answer.

I thought of my apartment, my bike, my carefully constructed independence. All of it felt small and insignificant in the face of this. This was the excitement I had craved. This was the chaos that would break my boredom forever. The question was whether it would break me, too.

Mark seemed to read the conflict on my face. He leaned back, spreading his hands in a gesture of magnanimity that felt anything but.

"The offer is on the table, Jade. There's no pressure," he lied beautifully. "You can take the contract, walk out that door, and we will never contact you again. But think about what you'd be saying no to. Not just the money. The experience."

He paused, letting the weight of the choice settle on me. His eyes locked with mine, cool, certain, and endlessly deep.

"So," he asked, his voice dropping to a seductive, final murmur. "Are you ready to sign?"