MADELEINE BOULLIER<br/><br/><em>Mon dieu</em>, I wondered if he would ever stop talking, or if<em>le chat lilac</em>had an off switch.<br/><br/><strong>"Be silent. Kneel. Now."</strong>I stared at him waiting for him to comply.<br/><br/>(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/MadameBoullier_01.jpg)<br/><br/><strong>"You may have a buyer <em>c'est soir, monsieur chat</em>, but if you disobey, she will lose interest. When you speak to me, you do it always on your knees, and with your knees parted wide, so I can see dangling, the only part of you worth owning."</strong>I downed my third shot of bourbon and lazily passed the glass onto the tray of a passing<em>garçon</em>. Enough.<br/><br/><strong>"Your file says you have been owned before and that you were... ahh... <em>ce qu'il est...? la génétique...?</em> Genetically - <em>oui</em>? Created at birth, not modified with how you say? Fake...? Or... ah, <em>non, le chirurgie plastique</em>, yes? So, <em>Monsieur chat</em>, what can you do, other than fuck?"</strong><br/>