Julia and Mr. Page

by Serafina Conti

  3. Take a lover

  Mr. Page had suffered a heart attack—not a massive one, but significant, and very likely connected to his leukemia medicine, which would have to be changed. The physicians praised Julia for insisting that he go to the hospital and getting him there quickly, and Mr. Page himself admitted grudgingly that she’d done well.

  During the four days Mr. Page spent in the hospital, he and Julia learned how their lives would change over the next weeks and months. His cardiologist outlined a program of gradually increasing exercise: sexual intercourse could be resumed after about four weeks if he was making good progress towards recovery.

  Mr. Page’s kink-friendly doctor, however, advised against resuming their kinky activities for at least two months. The kind of play they were used to was much more strenuous and risky than what the vanilla cardiologist was talking about.

  Julia, who had read extensively about heart attacks, was expecting this kind of news. Four weeks without sex and another month without kink would be dreary, but she could do it. She would spend her time nursing Mr. Page and catching up on her reading and writing.

  Mr. Page was concerned, though. The day he got home from the hospital, he talked to her about it over the heart-healthy lunch Suzy Lombardi the housekeeper had made for them. “Like most kinky people,” he said, “you have a high sex drive. I can’t ask you to live without sex and kink for two months: it wouldn’t be fair. You must have a lover.”

  “I don’t want a lover, Mr. Page. I’ve lived without sex before, and I can do it again.” Julia smiled and added, “I can always masturbate.”

  “Still, I want you to do this. We have several friends who are between subs and wouldn’t mind having a temporary one. Eric, Christopher, Teddy—”

  Eric was a handsome young architect and Christopher was an NYU professor in his forties: Julia had played with both of them.

  “Teddy? Really, Mr. Page!”

  “Teddy’s manner is a bit unpolished, but he’d be a perfectly good dominant for you.”

  “Please don’t make me do this, Sir,” Julia pleaded.

  He got up from the table. “I have to rest now. I’ll tell you when I’ve selected a lover for you.”

  Julia sat alone at the table and stewed. When she played with Mr. Page and his friends, they were all Mr. Page, and it was that much better, but she didn’t like having sex without her dominant present. When he’d made her do it, she’d felt bad afterwards.

  She was trying to think up arguments to make to Mr. Page when she got a text message from Mistress Ai: “May I visit?”

  “Yes, please,” she replied. If she had to take a lover, Mistress Ai would do better than either Eric or Christopher, though she was hardly likely to agree to it.

  Mistress lived in the Village, not far away from Gramercy Park; it was just a half hour before Julia ran to open the door to her and was surprised to find Emily with her.

  Julia knew better than to blame Emily for Mr. Page’s heart attack, but she associated her with the scary events of that evening—and their quarrel was still unresolved. Julia suppressed a prick of anger, welcomed them as warmly as she could manage, and took them to the kitchen, where she busied herself making tea while Mistress Ai questioned her about Mr. Page’s condition.

  “He’s recovering well, Mistress,” said Julia, “but he’s got this idea that I have to have a lover. He doesn’t think I can go a couple of months without kink.”

  “I’m sure you can, Julia, but Arthur has a point. Just because your partner is temporarily disabled doesn’t mean you have to live like a nun.”

  “I’m not going to turn into a nun, but it doesn’t feel right to have sex when Mr. Page isn’t with me—and I don’t want any of his friends. In fact, I can’t think of a single man I want. I just want to take care of him.”

  Mistress Ai looked thoughtful. “Perhaps,” she said, “it’s time for me to have my visit with him.”

  Julia tiptoed upstairs to see if Mr. Page was awake. He was, and she sent Mistress Ai up to him while she and Emily sipped their tea in the kitchen.

  Emily said, “I’m sorry for the other night—for what I said and did. And I’m really, really sorry about Arthur. I hope he’s going to be all right.”

  Julia was a little mollified, but she had a lot on her mind and felt burdened by the necessity of conversing with this woman she cared nothing about. She said, “Thanks. I think he’ll be fine. He just needs time to recover.” She sipped her tea.

  Emily put up with the silence as long as she could; at last, desperate to find some common ground, she said, “I know it’s hard, being without your dominant.”

  “I have a dominant,” said Julia shortly.

  Emily had said the wrong thing. She tried again. “I should have said without play. I mean, it’s hard for me.”

  “Well, it’s not for me,” Julia snapped.

  Emily gave it up. She concentrated on her teacup and waited for Mistress Ai to return so they could go.

  But when Mistress Ai finally reappeared, she said, “Emily, Arthur would like a word with you. Could you come with me?”

  Puzzled, Emily glanced at Julia, who was staring stonily into space. She got up and followed Mistress Ai out of the room and up the stairs to the library, where Mr. Page was sitting in a large leather chair with a book in his lap.

  He looked up as they entered, but it was Mistress Ai who spoke. “Arthur is concerned about Julia. He doesn’t want her confined here at home with him during his convalescence; he wants someone to make sure she gets the kind of activity she needs. As you saw, Emily resists the idea. She finds the prospect of being taken over by another man, even temporarily, repugnant. I suggested a woman instead, and in particular you.”

  “Me?” Emily laughed. “Sure, but there are just two problems. One, I’m not a dominant. Two, Julia hates me.”

  Mistress Ai said, “I know you prefer the role of slave to that of mistress, and I’m sure you’ll find the right master soon. But you also know how to function as a dominant: you’ve done a marvelous job with Mouche” (calling Amanda by her scene name).

  Emily said, “Amanda is the world’s most submissive person. Obedience is like breathing to her. It’s no trick at all to be her mistress.”

  “It’s never easy to manage another person,” Mistress Ai replied, “no matter how submissive she is. You may prefer submission, but you have a talent for dominance as well.”

  “As for her not liking you,” said Mr. Page, “that will make the experience of obeying you better for her. It’s an aspect of her kink: submission is more pleasurable for her when it’s difficult. And I promise she will obey you if I tell her to.”

  “Okay,” said Emily. “Now tell me why I should do this. Maybe it’s selfish to ask, but what’s in it for me?”

  “You have a lot of time on your hands,” said Mistress Ai. “Daniel has lined up a job for you, but that won’t begin till next month. Meanwhile, you’re spending too much time stewing about whether to get back together with Frederick. In the end, your decision will come easier if you’ve kept busy and haven’t obsessed about it. Doing this will help.”

  “I’m not asking you to devote all your time to Julia,” said Mr. Page. “Just take her overnight once a week for maybe three or four weeks. Arrange some activities for her. You won’t find it difficult to persuade Daniel and Karen to help out. Use her body yourself, if you like: whether she likes you or not, she’ll serve you well, and she’ll get more out of it than you expect.”

  “And who knows?” said Mistress Ai. “You may end up liking each other.”

  “Not likely,” said Emily. Julia was vain, shallow, and irascible. Emily didn’t want to have sex with her, and she didn’t look forward to spending hours in her company. Still, she liked projects and challenges. She said, “But I’ll try it once, if she agrees. If it works out, then we can do it again.”

  “She’ll agree,” said Mr. Page. “Would you send her up to me on your way out, Ai?”

  A
few minutes later, Julia was saying, “I don’t like her, Mr. Page, and I’m sure she doesn’t like me. And I don’t want to leave you, Sir.”

  “I can’t make you do this,” said Mr. Page, “but I do think it would be good for you. And you’re not leaving me. You’re spending one night away from home. If it’s unbearable, you don’t have to do it again. We’ll make being lent to Emily Burnham a hard limit. But I don’t think you’re going to find it unbearable.”

  Julia wasn’t so sure, but it was just one night, and she did want to obey Mr. Page, so she said, “Okay, Sir. I’ll try it once.”

  “On Saturday at three o’clock in the afternoon. You’ll spend the night and return to me in the morning.”

  To fill the days until Saturday, Julia supervised Mr. Page’s medications, negotiated dietary changes with Suzy, and had a treadmill installed in the library. Mr. Page grumbled about his bossy sub and the invasion of his space, but he took his meds and used the treadmill a little more each day. Julia was pleased that he was approaching the work of rehabilitation with seriousness and discipline.

  In her free time, Julia worked on her fiction. In college, she’d become fascinated with the life of New York’s homeless people and had written several stories set among them. Since then, she’d read everything she could find about the homeless, and she’d stopped to talk to them on the street when they’d asked her for money. She’d visited homeless shelters and had even visited one of their makeshift camps in a vacant lot—her revulsion at the conditions there had been far greater than her fear of the people, for whom she had not only compassion, but also respect. She called them the Abandoned People, because . . . well, that’s what they were.

  She had found that the homeless had stories, like everyone else. They worked, they loved, they tried to raise kids and the kids grew up; and their stories were all the more compelling because they lived on the edge—invisible to the respectable people of the city.

  Julia had written a dozen stories set in the city’s camps and shelters but had never attempted to publish any of them. Mr. Page pleaded with her to let him help her—he had contacts everywhere—but she wouldn’t hear of it. She told him she’d publish in her own good time, but the truth was that she was sure her stories would be as unwelcome in the genteel New York publishing world as the characters who populated them would be in an upper East Side drawing room.

  She spent the week working on her latest, a story about a ten-year-old girl and her mother, both homeless, who get separated. The girl must navigate hostile streets and survive a number of dangers to find her way back to her mother. Mr. Page loved it, but she worried that he wasn’t the most impartial of readers.

  By the time Julia had to leave on Saturday afternoon, she had a complete draft, but it needed a good bit of revision. She copied it to her phone, where she could make notes when she had a free moment, and packed a printout in her overnight bag along with her toiletries and a change of clothing. She took a taxi to 740 Park Avenue and at three o’clock precisely, rang the bell of an apartment on an upper floor.

  4. Playing for stakes

  Julia got home again at around eleven on Sunday morning. She found Mr. Page in the library.

  “So you survived,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir—I suppose.”

  “It wasn’t easy?”

  “She really doesn’t like me, Sir.”

  “And you don’t like her much.”

  “I guess not, Sir.”

  “Sit and tell me everything,” he said, pointing to a spot on the floor in front of him.

  Julia sat cross legged on the carpet and began. “Okay, Sir. I’ve never been inside that building before. Their place really blew me away: I never imagined there were apartments that size in the city.”

  “Back up,” he said. “Start with knocking on the door. Tell it like a story.”

  “All right, Sir. I was on time, the way you’ve taught me to be. I wasn’t surprised that the woman who opened the door was naked, but I’d never seen anybody quite like her before. She was maybe a few years older than me, ghostly pale and starved-looking, with large brown eyes and black hair. The nipples of her tiny breasts were pierced with little barbells, she had a tattoo of a fly above her left breast, and on her right side a large one of a sad girl holding a bleeding heart.”

  “That was Mouche,” said Mr. Page. “I’ve seen her.”

  “Emily calls her Amanda, though hardly anyone else does,” said Julia. “She opened the door and stared at me for a few seconds with solemn curiosity. Then she said, ‘Do you like pee?’

  “Nobody had ever asked me a question like that before, so I had to stop and think. I don’t mind urine, as long as it’s where it belongs and the toilet flushes properly, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t what Amanda was talking about, so I said, ‘Not a bit.’

  “That must have been the right answer, because she smiled and said, ‘Come in.’

  “She led me into a living room that reminded me of rooms I’d seen in English palaces. Emily, dressed in tight black yoga pants and a black tee, was sitting on a sofa with a large woman in a colorful tent of a dress—she had to be Karen. They both got up as Amanda led me to them.

  “Emily smiled at me and said, ‘Hello, Julia.’

  “‘Hi,’ I said, feeling kind of awkward and scared.

  “Karen said, ‘So this is Julia, Arthur’s fuck-toy. She’s beautiful. Such a slender, lovely figure! Such a flawless face! How I long to get a close look at her naked body! You are going to share her, aren’t you, dear?’

  “‘Arthur asked me to share her,’ said Emily, ‘and I suppose I will, but I think I may keep her to myself for a while first.’

  “‘That’s too cruel of you, Famula, and selfish, to deny me the enjoyment of a treasure like this.’ Famula is Emily’s scene name, Sir. Karen always calls her that.

  “Emily gave her a wounded look and said, ‘Selfish, Karen! That stings. I’ll tell you what: you can play me for her.’

  “Karen smiled. ‘Blackjack, dear?’

  “‘I deal,’ said Emily. ‘Usual rules.’

  “Karen said, ‘Mouche, dear, run get the card table and a fresh deck.’

  “Amanda ran from the room, and while she was gone Karen asked about my limits.

  “Emily said, ‘No toilet kinks—sorry, Karen. No whipping. Otherwise it’s all stuff none of us here do.’

  “‘Daniel fucked her a couple of weeks ago,’ said Karen. ‘He’s still raving about her, and I can see why. Her mouth is so pretty, I almost wish I had a cock so she could suck it.’

  “Do you remember how red I used to get when you talked about me that way, Sir? Like I was a picture or a statue that couldn’t hear you talking about me?”

  “I remember. You used to get very embarrassed and very turned on.”

  “I still get turned on, Sir, but maybe not quite as embarrassed. I could tell they were already playing.

  “Before long, Amanda returned lugging a folding card table and holding an unopened deck of cards between her teeth. She set the table up in the middle of the room, pulled two ornate side chairs up to it, unwrapped the cards, separated out the jokers, and set the deck face down on the table. Emily and Karen sat in the chairs.

  “Emily pointed to a spot about three feet from the table and said, ‘Stand there, Julia.’ I stood where she’d pointed. I was getting shivery with anticipation. Emily dealt two cards to Karen face up and two to herself, one up and one down. Karen’s cards were a ten and a three; Emily’s up card was a nine.

  “‘Hit,’ said Karen, and Emily dealt her a six.

  “‘Ah!’ said Karen.

  “Emily turned her card; it was another nine.

  “‘Stand,’ said Emily. ‘You win.’

  “‘Right boot,’ said Karen.

  “Emily said, ‘Take off your right boot, Julia.’

  “I took off my right boot. While I was doing that, I counted my articles of clothing: black pants and a pink top, two socks, two boots, bra, panties.
Eight pieces if they weren’t counting jewelry.

  “Emily won the next hand with twenty to Karen’s eighteen. ‘Put your boot back on, Julia,’ she said.

  “I was starting to think the game might go on for a long time.

  “On the next hand, Emily dealt Karen an ace and a ten.

  “‘Blackjack!’ Karen exclaimed. ‘Both boots.’ She watched as I took off my boots. She was just about licking her lips.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as sexually omnivorous as Karen,” said Mr. Page. “And her kinks are notorious.”

  “Yes, Sir. I know. So Emily dealt Karen a king and a four. ‘Hit,’ said Karen, and Emily dealt her a six. Karen said, ‘Stand.’

  “Emily’s cards were an eight and a seven. She drew a four and said, ‘Stand.’

  “‘Left sock,’ said Karen. I lifted my foot and took it off.

  “Emily got blackjack on the next turn. ‘Sock back on,’ she said.

  “Now the rules were coming into focus. If Karen got blackjack or Emily busted, Karen could make me take off two pieces of clothing, but if Emily got blackjack or Karen busted, Emily could only make me put one back on.”

  Mr. Page said, “A Vegas game is rigged in the dealer’s favor. It sounds like this one was rigged the other way.”

  “It’s a good thing too, Sir,” said Julia. “If it hadn’t been, we might have been playing all afternoon, but as it happened it didn’t take all that long to get naked.”

  “It’s an ingenious game,” he said.

  “Amanda told me later that they perfected it over the weeks after Emily and Amanda moved in. Amanda hates wearing clothes: she likes to be available for sex at a moment’s notice, and she spends a lot of time masturbating without caring who’s around. In fact, the whole time we were playing she was sitting on the floor, back against a chair, watching us and fingering her pussy. But they sometimes make her put on clothing—underwear and everything—and then play Blackjack and slowly strip her.”