I run a brothel staffed by men.
But my courtesans don’t cater to men with a taste for other men.
They serve women with perfectly ordinary needs.
I named the place the Hundred Stallions House.
I don’t actually have a hundred male courtesans, of course, but I do have quite a few.
Gentle, aloof, strapping, dangerously obsessive—we have every type imaginable.
Our clients range from widowed officials’ wives to farm women who have lost their husbands, and even wandering swordswomen.
Now and then, a noble young lady sneaks out to satisfy her curiosity.
All in all, business is booming.
But there are complications.
Take that judicial officer from the Capital Prefecture, for example.
He has tried every trick in the book to shut down my Hundred Stallions House.
So when the opportunity presented itself, I drugged him.
Then I locked him in the woodshed out back.
