Chapter 50: The Path

Madison pulled out her phone and showed me their website. The place looked like a fucking palace designed specifically for rich women to escape their unsatisfying lives.

"My mother drops three grand a month there," she continued. "Jack’s mother probably spends twice that. These women go there for everything—deep tissue massage, hot stone therapy, lymphatic drainage, couples counseling when their husbands disappoint them, which is constantly. Looking for satisfaction they don’t even get anyways."

"A target-rich environment full of women who desperately need exactly what I’m offering?"

As she talked, I could feel knowledge flowing through my mind like divine inspiration. Every technique she mentioned—Swedish massage, deep tissue therapy, neuromuscular work, myofascial release—I understood them all instinctively. Pressure points that can induce euphoric states, essential oil combinations that awaken dormant desires, breathing techniques that can make women feel reborn.

I was born knowing how to heal these women and their problems regardless of what it is.

"They employ male wellness consultants," Madison explained, "specialists who understand women’s bodies and stress patterns. The pay is incredible, but more importantly, they don’t know what to do to these women the way you do, that too... you’d have direct access to frustrated wives, lonely divorcées, and wealthy women whose husbands treat them like expensive furniture."

But she was missing the bigger picture. This isn’t about targeting rich women because they have money—that’s thinking like a peasant which I wasn’t. Not anymore. The truth is so much deeper than that. This was my calling and my responsibility. Not just money!

Wealthy women are the most sexually starved creatures on Earth.

Think about it: these women are trapped in marriages that are basically business contracts. Their husbands married them for their looks, their social connections, their ability to play the perfect wife at charity galas.

But when it comes to actual intimacy? These men are fucking disasters.

Rich men think money substitutes for knowing how to touch a woman.

They have everything money can buy—personal trainers, private chefs, expensive therapists in wellness centers like one I was about to go to—but they’re starving for the one thing that actually matters: a man who can worship their bodies the way they deserve.

’And unlike working-class women, they have places like Voyeur where they can gather and seek help.’

That’s why these wellness centers exist—they’re sanctuaries where sexually neglected elite women congregate, desperately seeking any form of meaningful human connection. Madison’s connections don’t just give me access to money; they give me access to the most sexually frustrated women in California; all concentrated in one location.

It’s about efficiency, not elitism.

Working-class women need liberation just as desperately, but they’re scattered, isolated, dealing with their sexual frustrations alone. They can’t afford three-thousand-dollar monthly spa treatments or exclusive club memberships. They suffer in silence while their men watch football and ignore their needs.

But I won’t abandon them either. Every woman deserves salvation.

The wealthy ones are simply my starting point because they’re accessible right now because of the sitting next to me, my woman and strategist in building this empire. Once I establish myself as their sexual messiah, once I build my reputation and resources, I’ll expand my divine mission to reach every neglected woman who needs me.

This is about liberation, not profit. This is a holy calling, not a career choice.

The money these places will pay me? It’s completely irrelevant. The real reward is watching a woman’s eyes light up when she finally experiences what she’s been missing. Seeing her rediscover her own sexuality after years of being told to settle for mediocrity.

Money means nothing when you’re saving souls! Oh, great me!

"Mrs. Morrison alone," Madison said with a knowing smirk, "that woman hasn’t had proper attention in literally sixteen years. Her husband completely destroyed her sexual confidence, and now she spends four hours a week at Voyeur getting massages just to feel human touch that isn’t disgusting her."

The injustice of it all is starting to hit me like a fucking freight train.

"Second option," Madison continued, "Meridian Elite Modeling Agency. My aunt Victoria runs it—my mother’s youngest sister who basically said ’fuck marriage’ and built her own empire instead."

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "On the surface, it’s a legitimate modeling agency representing high-fashion models for magazines, runway shows, commercial work. But the real money comes from their exclusive ’companionship services’ division."

"Now we’re talking about the big leagues."

"Damn right! Ultra-wealthy women hire male models as escorts for events, travel companions, personal trainers, even just arm candy for social functions where they want to make their husbands jealous," Madison explained. "But Victoria’s pickiest about who gets access to those clients. You need the looks, the body, the stamina, and most importantly—the ability to make these women feel like goddesses instead of neglected wives."

I had everything any male could need, not just limited to my special abilities to but I understood seduction psychology, conversation techniques that make women feel heard and valued, touch therapy that awakens dormant desires, even advanced sexual techniques that can give women experiences their husbands never dreamed of providing.

I’m not just physically enhanced—I’m a living manual for female satisfaction.

"Given your... specifications," Madison continued with a grin that suggested she was still thinking about what just happened in the back seat, "and your supernatural ability to satisfy women in ways their pathetic husbands never could, getting accepted would be a formality. Victoria would probably offer you her top-tier clients immediately."

Though money isn’t really the point anymore.

"The third option is the Crimson Club," she added, "but that’s more exclusive than Fort Knox. Members-only establishment where the wealthiest women in California go when they want to... explore their options. But managing all three plus maintaining your cover at school would be impossible even with your abilities."

Two paths to liberation are better than spreading myself too thin so soon when I have Peter Carter.

"I’ll take the wellness center and Meridian Elite," I decided without hesitation. "Those give me the best access to women who need what I’m offering."

Time to step into my destiny as their sexual savior!