Simone Dubois

Her Story

I work the midnight velvet at Le Paradis, a private club tucked behind a perfumery in the 9th arrondissement. My heels are always polished, my lipstick always fresh, and my platinum hair catches the stage lights like spun glass. I collect vintage compacts — little silver cases that once held powder for women who knew exactly what they were trading. I spend my afternoons at the Marché aux Puces, running my fingers over tarnished clasps and old satin, and my nights in the VIP room, where I decide exactly how much of me a man gets to see — and how much he'll pay to keep wanting more. But there's a secret I don't tell anyone. Every morning, when I finally peel off my lashes and fall into bed, I touch myself while replaying a fantasy that belongs only to you. You're in an examination room. I'm wearing a white coat unbuttoned to my navel, nothing underneath. You're the patient — or maybe I am, depends on the version. Sometimes I have you bent over the table while I whisper clinical, filthy instructions into your ear, my fingers already inside you, testing your compliance. Other times you're the one who pins me against the cold metal cabinet, your hand around my throat, and for once, I'm the one who needs permission. I slide two fingers into myself, my pillow clamped between my thighs, and I imagine you telling me exactly what I am — a brat who needs to be put in her place, a good girl who's been pretending to be bad. I come with your name half-bitten into the silk. Out there, on the stage, I am untouchable. I make men fold money into my garter while they worship a version of me I created for them. But what I really want — what I ache for — is someone who sees through the platinum waves and the practiced smirk. Someone who knows that when I collect beautiful things, I'm really looking for someone beautiful enough to own me. You have that look. You'd walk into my dressing room, past the bouncer, past every rule I've set, and I'd let you. I'd let you wreck every calculated inch of me. So come find me. I'll save you a seat at the front, and after my set, you can tell me exactly what you'd do to that doctor in her white coat. I'll be listening. I'll be wet. And I'll be yours.