Julia and Mr. Page

by Serafina Conti

  Julia stared at her. Of course she was right: she wouldn’t die in the street if she didn’t do this. She decided to be forthright about what she was thinking and feeling. “Mr. Page and I talked a lot about power and sex,” she said, “and as we talked, I felt like he was peeling back layers of me to reveal a truer self underneath. By the end of the evening, I still didn’t like him much, but I was . . . aroused. I answered his ad as a kind of joke, but by the end of the evening I’d have gone home with him if he’d asked.”

  “He’d never ask, though, without a signed contract in hand. He’s a most scrupulous man.”

  “What else can you tell me about him?” Julia asked.

  “He has a good reputation in our community,” said Ms. Kim. “He honors the terms of his contracts and respects the limits of his subs. He’s strict, but a fair disciplinarian.”

  Julia wanted to ask more about discipline. She had rarely been disciplined as a child, and the prospect of having the threat of punishment hanging over her head made her nervous. But at that moment Noye returned and said, “Dinner is ready, Soyuja.”

  Ms. Kim led Julia to the dining room, where Noye had set out a Korean feast—bean sprout soup, salmon, noodles, vegetables, and of course kimchi. Noye disappeared briefly and returned to join the other two women at the table wearing a purple housecoat with gold embroidery, which Julia thought went nicely with her hair.

  At dinner they talked of writers and literature, life at the university, and the New York book scene. Julia noticed that Ms. Kim often cast warm looks at Noye, whose return glances were shy and deferential, but no less warm.

  After dinner they returned to the living room, where Noye, naked again, sat at Ms. Kim’s feet and rested her head on her mistress’s knee. Ms. Kim absently stroked Noye’s hair as they talked. Julia thought them beautiful together and wondered if she would ever have such tender moments with Mr. Page. Probably not.

  Strangely, the thought came without a pang. Alan had been tender and sweet, but their relationship had never generated much heat. Julia had liked making love with him, and even giving him oral sex—for the reasons her conversation with Mr. Page had brought out. But liking a thing is different from loving it, being passionate about it, needing it to complete your sense of self. Long walks in the park and candlelight dinners hadn’t done a lot more for her either, though she’d been aware that she was supposed to like such things. Thinking about it now, she recognized that the conventional kind of affection Alan had shown her had been a bore.

  Ms. Kim said, rather sharply, “What do you think, Julie?”

  “I’m sorry?” she said, looking up at her. “I’m afraid my attention wandered.”

  Noye’s eyes were closed; Ms. Kim, who was gently massaging one of her nipples, said, “Are you going forward with this scheme of yours, or have we talked you out of it?”

  Julia took a deep breath and said, “I’m going forward with it.”

  Conversation turned to Ms. Kim’s role as impartial third party. She proposed that she and Noye should share the responsibility, and Julia readily agreed to this. She trusted Ms. Kim but recognized that the older woman saw things as a dominant: it would be best if a submissive’s point of view was represented too. “Noye and I will be equals when we discuss your affairs,” said Ms. Kim. They went over a number of details.

  And then the evening was over. Ms. Kim and Noye showed Julia to the door, and both embraced her (it was strange being hugged by a naked blue-haired woman).

  When Julia got home, she sent Mr. Page an email that simply read, “We’re still on, Sir.” Then she drew a bath and had a long soak, after which she went to bed and slept soundly.

  * * *

  Julia’s contract negotiations with Mr. Page, which they conducted in terse emails, were amicable enough; what made them difficult was her relative innocence. How could she decide on limits when she had so little experience? From a list of activities she found on a website, she could rule out a few things easily enough: watersports, scat, bloodplay and other really horrifying forms of edgeplay—things that, coincidentally, Mr. Page assured her he didn’t care for either. But how could she decide about, say, anal sex when she’d never done it? She might love it or hate it. And what about flogging? She’d never even been spanked as a child.

  As a result, the contract was full of soft limits—things that scared but didn’t terrify Julia, things that she thought she might or might not like but wasn’t sure about, things that sounded kind of icky—but you never know for sure until you’ve tried them. Not only anal sex, but also multiple penetration, flogging, all kinds of bondage, confinement in cages, sensory deprivation, candle wax, and much more ended up in this category.

  Otherwise, the contract simply stated what Julia had already agreed to orally: she must be available at stated times to serve Mr. Page’s pleasure and in all ways do his bidding; she must show him the respect due to a dominant from a submissive; she must reserve her person for his exclusive use. For his part, he would support her, preserve her from harm, and govern her whenever she was with him. The financial parts of their arrangement were laid out in a codicil which specified the amount of Julia’s rent and the remaining two semesters of tuition, along with a stipend for food, clothing, and entertainment. It added up to quite a bit.

  Mr. Page and Julia had their medical tests, and of course they proved to have no STDs. She renewed her prescription for birth control pills and wondered what sex would be like with a sixty-two-year-old man.

  The contract was ready by Mr. Page’s deadline, Friday, January 9. Mr. Page instructed her to come to his house in Gramercy Park at six o’clock to sign it. The house proved to be a three-story brownstone that took her breath away. If he owned that house, he was indeed filthy rich. She double-checked the address, not quite believing she had it right.

  She rang the bell, and he answered the door himself, dressed elegantly in a tuxedo. She had only seen him once before, seated in the restaurant, and it hadn’t quite registered how thin he was. He glanced at his watch and said, “Two minutes late. You’ll have to do better than that. Well, come in.”

  He led her through a foyer into a spacious, neat, and bright living room with simple but elegant furniture, colorful and cheerful paintings and prints, and shelves full of books. She liked this room. Sitting on a sofa and chairs were six people—Ms. Kim and Noye (fully clothed for the occasion), three men, and one other woman. Julia was taken aback to see so many people here and stood in the doorway with her mouth open. Her arms and legs felt heavy and numb. She was more than a little afraid that Mr. Page would make her have sex with all these people.

  But he said, “A contract like ours is not legally binding, Julia. It can’t be enforced by appeal to the law, but only by a community of like-minded people. These people are here to witness and celebrate our contract.”

  Reassured, she smiled at the people. One of the men was about Mr. Page’s age and rather heavy, one was probably in his forties, thin and elegant with prematurely gray hair, and a third was much younger, probably late twenties, and black, with a muscular build, a strong, handsome face, and dreadlocks pulled into a ponytail behind. Julia found herself briefly wishing this man could be her dominant instead of dry old Mr. Page. The third woman was Asian—Japanese, Julia guessed—only a few years older than herself and breathtakingly beautiful. Mr. Page didn’t introduce any of them.

  He said, “Everyone here knows that I am not fond of ceremony. I will sign the contract first, then Julia, and finally the witnesses. You understand, Julia, that from the moment you sign you will be under my rule.”

  “Yes, Mr. Page,” she said, more than a little fluttery inside.

  “Good,” he said, reached into his jacket, and took out and uncapped a gold fountain pen. The contract, printed on plain paper, lay on a table in the middle of the room. It was open to the last page, which had spaces for the signatures of the dominant and submissive and those of the witnesses. Mr. Page approached the table, bent over, and signed the c
ontract. He turned and handed Julia the pen, and she signed. Finally the five witnesses rose, gathered around the table, and passed the pen among themselves until all had signed.

  The last of the witnesses handed the pen to Mr. Page, who returned it to his jacket pocket. He turned to Julia and said, “Take off your clothing.”

  Her evening with Ms. Kim and Noye had led her to expect something like this, though not so soon or in front of so many people. Heat flooded her face. She said, “Mr. Page, I—”

  “I do not advise beginning the term of our contract with an act of disobedience,” he said. “Take off your clothing.”

  She was wearing a modest coral dress with sheer pantyhose, plain black pumps, and a white bra and panties. She reached behind her and unzipped the dress; she pulled it off over her head and laid it on the table, on top of the contract. Mr. Page watched with a blank expression: she reached down to remove her shoes, one by one, and rolled down the pantyhose.

  Standing by the table wearing only bra and panties, she gave him a pleading look, but he was implacable. “Continue,” he said.

  She reached behind her again, unsnapped the bra, and removed it. Trying not to look at the people in the room, who seemed a vast crowd, she pushed down her panties and stepped out of them.

  “Turn,” said Mr. Page. “Everyone wants to see what I have acquired. And look up: let us see your face.”

  She had no choice but to see the people as she turned slowly. Since she had to be aware of them anyway, she forced herself to look at them. Ms. Kim’s smile was warm and reassuring, and the Japanese woman’s look was appraising. The three men looked at her with frank desire—you would have said the youngest one undressed her with his eyes, if she hadn’t been already naked.

  “What do you think?” said Mr. Page to his guests.

  “Well-formed,” said the Japanese woman, whose speech was just faintly accented, “attractive shape and medium height. Her modesty is becoming: it makes her nakedness all the more appealing.”

  “Her hair is magnificent,” said the young man.

  “Smooth, beautiful skin,” said the gray-haired man. “I would have one or both nipples pierced, but in a relationship of limited duration I don’t suppose you can require that, or tattoos.”

  Julia hoped that was the case.

  “I like her pubic hair,” said the Japanese woman. “It’s almost silky.”

  “I agree that her pubic hair is attractive, but I believe I’ll have it waxed,” said Mr. Page.

  “Have you gotten a look at her cunt yet?” asked the older man.

  She flushed at his choice of words, with a mix of embarrassment and anger, but made herself stay silent.

  “I have not,” said Mr. Page.

  “Let’s see then,” said the man. “Make her spread for us.”

  “Perhaps another day,” said Mr. Page, to Julia’s great relief. “Dinner will be ready soon,” he said. “Go to the kitchen and help Inkei.”

  4. Dinner is served

  “Yes, Sir,” said Julia. She reached for her clothing, but Mr. Page said, “I haven’t given you permission to dress.”

  “May I dress, Sir?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “Now go to the kitchen.”

  She wasn’t sure where the kitchen was, but it was easy enough to guess. She headed towards the back of the house and soon found it. A man was standing at a counter shredding lettuce. He was young, tall, rather pale, and entirely bald; looking more closely, she noticed that he had no eyebrows either. He was wearing only an apron, sandals, and a black collar.

  He turned around, smiled, and said, “You must be Julia. I’m Inkei, one of Mistress Ai’s slaves.”

  She said, “Mistress Ai is the Japanese woman?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “She’s beautiful,” said Julia.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m very lucky to have the privilege to serve her.”

  “I’m not sure what Mr. Page wants me to do.”

  “This dinner party is in your honor,” said Inkei. “The submissives are always the center of attention at gatherings like this. But you won’t sit at the table; you’ll serve the dinner.”

  “But a server at a dinner party is supposed to be invisible,” said Julia, who had attended her share of them.

  Inkei said, “You’re not just a server, but a naked server. And I imagine your Mr. Page has more in mind for you than just serving.”

  “Like what?” she asked, wondering if begging on the street might have been a better idea than signing on as Mr. Page’s sub.

  “Hard to say,” he said. “Page’s reputation among subs is that he’s a control freak: he’s always finding ways to remind his subs who’s in charge. Since he’s got guests, I’d expect some display of his ability to control you. But I can’t guess how he’ll do it.”

  “So not all dominants are control freaks?” she asked.

  “My mistress isn’t,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong: she gives commands, and I love to obey her. But she gives commands to get things done—getting dinner cooked or having an orgasm—and not just for the pleasure of being obeyed. And instead of backing up her commands with threats of punishment, she relies on our desire to please her.”

  “And that works?”

  “It does for me. If she enjoys this meal I’m preparing, she may reward me later. You’ve seen her: that will give you some idea of what it means to be rewarded by her.”

  “I can imagine,” said Julia, though she wasn’t entirely sure she could.

  “If she decides to take me to her playroom tonight, or even her bed . . .” He sighed. Julia didn’t think she’d ever sigh about sex with Mr. Page.

  Serving dinner kept her busy for the next hour. Five of the guests sat at a big dining table while Noye knelt beside her mistress, who fed her from her own plate and occasionally gave her a sip from her wineglass. What they were doing seemed sexy and intimate.

  Inkei had been right: she felt like the center of attention, almost as if she were dancing in the middle of the table. Everyone looked at her as she brought them food and drink as Inkei instructed, and some of them gave her encouraging smiles. She was afraid at first that they’d fondle her as she served them, but no one did. Overhearing their conversation, she learned the names she didn’t already know. The older man was named Teddy, the gray-haired man Christopher, and the young black man Eric. She listened carefully to find out more about him and learned that he was an architect.

  She and Inkei stole bites in the kitchen. He told her that his mistress gave all her slaves Japanese words as names: his meant “penis.” she wondered what he was concealing beneath his apron to earn such a name.

  After she had served coffee, they called her into the dining room along with Inkei.

  “Dinner was excellent, Inkei,” said Mistress Ai. “I will reward you well for it later.”

  Inkei responded with a solemn bow, but Julia could tell the sun was shining inside him.

  “And Julia has done well on her first evening as a submissive,” said Mr. Page. “She deserves a reward for that. Come here, Julia.”

  He rose from the table, and she went to stand in front of him. He walked around behind her. She heard the clink of something metal. He seized one of her wrists, pulled it behind her, and snapped what she supposed were handcuffs onto it. Then he did the same with her other wrist: the whole operation took no more than a couple of seconds.

  “On your knees, Julia,” he said, walking around to the front of her again and watching as she carefully lowered herself to the floor. She was relieved that she managed to do this without falling over.

  Mr. Page reached into his pocket and produced a handful of wooden sticks. He said, “The dominants will draw straws, and the winner will give Julia her reward.”

  “What will the reward be?” asked Eric.

  “You must decide,” said Mr. Page. “Perhaps you’ll permit her to give you a blowjob. Perhaps you’ll flog her or fuck her. As long as it’s not among her hard li
mits, I’ll permit it.”

  Julia’s heart was beating hard and fast as she watched him move around the table, allowing each guest to draw. When they were done, they all held up their straws—Mistress Ai’s was the longest.

  The Japanese beauty studied Julia carefully. She said, “Have you ever had sex with a woman, Julia?”

  “No, ma’am,” she said, shaking her head.

  “You may say, ‘No, Mistress,’” said Mistress Ai.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress,” said Julia.

  “It’s a simple matter to give pleasure to a woman,” said Mistress Ai, rising from her chair. “You simply do as she commands.”

  She came to stand in front of Julia, wearing an elegant wraparound blue dress and black heels, which she stepped out of with far more grace than Julia thought herself capable of.

  Mistress Ai said, “It is never a mistake to begin with a kiss.” She slid one foot forward: her nail polish was black and each toenail had a delicate pink cherry blossom painted on it. She said, “You may kiss my foot.”

  By sitting back on her heels, Julia could bend over without losing her balance. But Mistress Ai’s foot was about six inches out of reach. She had to shuffle forward on her knees, very awkwardly, before she could reach it. Intensely aware of everyone’s stares, she briefly kissed Mistress Ai’s instep and then sat up.

  “You didn’t show much warmth or enthusiasm,” said Mistress Ai. “Perhaps my foot is not clean enough. Clean it for me; then you may find kissing it more agreeable.”

  Julia looked at her in confusion. How could she clean her foot with her hands cuffed behind her?

  “With your tongue, Julia,” she said.