Chapter 8

People who find an excitement in life that we don't understand, we like to call kinky. We label them to separate their supposed aberration from our presumed normality. What are we afraid of?

Juliana stared at the quiet head on the pillow, swathed in bandages. He looked younger than she remembered. A few more days and they would wake him up. She sat back in the chair, closing her eyes. She listened to the beeps and sounds of the machines. Would he be the same man she knew after he woke up? They'd tampered with his head; there had been long hours of anesthesia and now there was this induced coma. She shrugged. Would she be the same woman?

After her unnerving experience at the restaurant and in the limo on the day her husband got surgery – and her talk with Dr. Charrier – Juliana slept till noon. She woke up sore and ravenous. The butler brought her a huge brunch. Mei bathed and shaved her, massaging new life into her limbs and body. Only dressed in a gown-like robe of green silk, she walked the corridors of the villa. Her first destination had been Alec's room at the clinic, but a tall nurse refused her entrance.

Roaming aimlessly after that, she decided to put in some workout time at the gym. Not quite remembering where it was, she found herself in a part of the house she'd never been before. Opening a door she stepped into a lounge-like room; it seemed empty until she passed a column.

A woman was sitting in a high-backed chair. She sat straight, her lower arms and hands on the armrests, her knees and feet together. Seeming about forty, she was dressed in a smartly designed, gray tailored suit. It made her look severe. Her hair was short and slicked back, framing an immaculate pale face. Thick brows arched over dark, painted eyes. Maybe it was the long, straight nose that gave her the classic, arrogant expression. Her generous mouth was glossed with the same shining red as her fingernails. A long, pale neck grew out of wide shoulders; she wore a modest décolleté. Dark sheer nylons sheathed her legs; they ended in patent leather pumps.

"I'm sorry," Juliana said, turning away to leave again.

"That's all right," the woman replied. Her voice was a deep contralto, affected by an upper class British accent. She didn't smile. Juliana took two more steps to the door.

"Wait, please," the woman said. Juliana stopped and turned around.

"I am Sophia," she offered. Juliana smiled and took a few steps back towards the woman, extending a hand.

"I am Juliana," she said. "Nice to meet you. Are you waiting for someone?" The woman ignored the hand – and the smile.

"That is a lovely name; isn't there an actress named like that?" she asked. "And yes, I have an appointment."

Juliana waited for more until the waiting got awkward.

"Well," she said. "I hope you won't have to wait long," and she turned to leave yet again.

"Are you one of the prostitutes?" the woman asked. Juliana stiffened. Didn't Dr. Charrier call her that, last night? 'One day you'll make a good whore, ' he'd said. She also remembered the lapful of dollars, but they had been fake, hadn't they?

"I ... I don't know," she stuttered. "Am I?"

The woman chuckled, but her face didn't participate.

"You should know best, I guess," she said, rising from her chair. She was tall, maybe over six feet in her heels – tall and slender. She looked as intimidating as a catwalk model.

"What's in it for you, honey?" she asked. She stared at Juliana's chest. "New tits?" She laughed without humor. "I can see how they would be quite expensive when you start out having nothing." Juliana blushed, shaking her head no.

"An ailing child?" the woman went on, walking around Juliana. "No ... I don't think you're a mother. A family member, maybe?"

"My husband," Juliana said in a very low voice. The woman stopped in her tracks.

"Husband," she echoed. "Can't the wimp pay his own way?"

Juliana didn't like the woman. She was harsh and opinionated. How could she be here herself and judge others? What was her name again? Sophia – way too nice a name for her.

At that moment the door opened. The butler came in, and a woman – a girl really. She was stark naked, but for a collar around her throat. A narrow chain ran from a steel ring to the butler's hand.

He saw Juliana and frowned.

"Mrs. Austin," he said. "Forgive me, but you shouldn't be here. You can't just walk around and pry into every room you like." His tone shook Juliana. It was flat and business-like, lacking the sympathy of their usual encounters. She stuttered her apologies. He just dismissed her with his hand.

"Stop!"

It was the woman's deep voice. Juliana looked around at her.

"I want her to look," the woman said, pointing at Juliana. The butler nodded.

"As you wish," he said, turning to Juliana. "You heard the lady. But please stay out of the way." 'Lady?' Juliana retreated to the big column. She saw Sophia return to her chair, taking elegant catwalk steps on her high heels. Sitting down she said:

"Come to me, girl. Tell me your name."

The girl looked at the butler; he took off the leash and she walked over, plodding on bare feet.

"Sarah," she said. "I'm Sarah." Her voice was very light and she had an unknown accent. She must be European; maybe from the East. But she didn't look Slavic. She was a petite brunette with an olive skin.

Sophia smiled. It was the first smile Juliana saw on her face. It seemed to melt her traits.

"Sweet name," she said. "Now why are you here, honey?"

"To please you," the girl said promptly, sinking to her knees. Sophia produced another smile; this time it had an evil edge.

Someone breathed, next to Juliana. She'd been so focused on the women that she never saw the butler arrive at her side.

"Isn't she beautiful?" he whispered. She nodded, although she had no idea whether he meant the girl or the woman; they were both gorgeous.

"Who is the woman?" she asked. He looked at her and shook his head no.

"She prefers to stay anonymous," he said. "Client's prerogative."

The woman was a client? Juliana once more absorbed the wealthy details of her clothes, appearance and speech. The woman was rich. Too rich to be a ... She obviously wasn't here for giving pleasure, but for taking it.

Though still kneeling, Juliana saw the girl was sitting back on her calves – her tanned ass cheeks slightly billowing over. Her skin shone, as if oiled. Sophia had crossed her legs, one foot dangling. She leaned forward, one hand and one elbow resting on her knee. There was a glass of white wine in her hand. She urged the girl on in a low voice.

"It needs your tongue, little whore," she said.

Juliana only saw the dark backside of the brunette's head, but the woman's instruction was enough to explain the slow bobbing of it: the girl was licking the shoe.

It was a form of degradation Juliana had never even imagined; it was too alien to even shock her. Yet, she felt her face glow and her breath stick in her throat. How could seeing someone lick someone's shoe excite her like this – let alone arouse her? The woman leaned over even more, her hand caressing the girl's head. The stark white of her skin and the red of her nails contrasted with the black hair; her bracelets jangled.

"Yes, honey, there, yes, and there too ... good little slut."

Juliana felt a hand on her wrist. It might have been there for a while, but she'd focused so hard on the two women that she might have missed it. The hand caressed her through the silk sleeve. She looked left and saw that the butler's gaze was as riveted on the scene as hers. He mumbled things she couldn't hear. And his hand was moving up.

When she returned her gaze to the women, it ran straight into the unwavering eyes of Sophia. It made her heart skip a beat. The woman's wide, red mouth below the long, straight nose stretched into a smile.

"It seems little Sarah's skills make you curious, dear Ju-li-a-naaah," the woman said, stretching her name and breathing the last syllable. The wicked sensuality of the voice made her shiver. She swallowed and blinked. A deep chuckle proved her distress had been noted.

"Come on over, honey," Sophia said, sitting straighter. "Have a better look."

The butler's hand touched her elbow now; he pushed her forward.

Juliana didn't want to go, but her feet did. They carried her sandals over stone tiles and a Persian rug. Her eyes never left the woman's. When she was halfway there, the voice stopped her.

"That won't do, honey," Sophia said. Her low, rich voice had an edge. "Girls don't visit me like that. My girls are naked." The smile returned; it made Juliana feel ridiculous. As if waking up she looked around and over her shoulder. The butler was still there, in the shadow of the column. His hand covered his crotch.

"You don't have to do this, Juliana," the woman said. Her voice made Juliana turn back. She didn't move for a few seconds.

Then her hands rose, finding the top button of her gown. She popped it and found the second one. Still holding Sophia's eyes, she worked her fingers down from button to button. Her embarrassment melted away as she saw the impact of her actions. The woman was captured; there was no arrogance left. Her eyes followed the opening of her gown right down to the last button. Juliana stood straight and let the two parts open wide. Then she shrugged to make the silk fall. Fresh air breathed on her glowing skin. The silence was deafening.

"Are you even legal?" Sophia asked at last. Juliana blushed, letting her arms fall to her sides – she'd never felt this naked.

Kneeling next to the petite brunette Juliana saw that the girl had taken off the shoe. Her full lips closed around a nylon-clad toe, sucking it through the fabric. Then she opened her mouth wider and took in the whole dark triangle holding five painted toes. She planted the heel on her round, soft breasts and started sucking as if the foot was a cock.

"Mmmm, yes ... take it deeper, little whore. Let's hear you gag," said the contralto voice way up over their heads. The girl swallowed the toes, letting the wide base slip past her stretched lips. She didn't gag; not even after half the foot had disappeared.

"My God, you are a good little slut, honey. Oh my." Juliana looked up and into the face of Sophia. Her eyes were closed and her traits had softened. How could having your foot sucked be erotic at all?

Then she heard a loud gagging. The girl's head was being pushed back and the nylon foot was ramming down her throat. The small hands fluttered, as if between warding off and caressing the leg.

When the foot was withdrawn, a long thread of saliva ran from the woman's toes to the girl's trembling lips. Sarah coughed and panted as snot and tears ran down her face.

Juliana then saw the foot turn her way.

"Look, Juli-anaah," she voice said. "Look what a mess the little slut left behind. I bet you have an idea what to do about it?" The wet foot touched Juliana's cheek. She shied away from it, causing a moan of disappointment from the woman. She didn't look up, but slid back and rose.

Juliana picked up her gown, wrapping it around her body. She let her eyes sweep the room, stopping at the three surprised faces.

"Sorry," she said, having to clear her throat first. "This isn't for me." And she left.

Control, we think, is a one-way road. There is the controller and the controlled – the aggressor and the victim. There is black and there is white. Ah yes, how simple we sometimes are.

"You still don't get it, do you, Mrs. Austin?"

The doctor smiled. His tone was gentle, but his words weren't. She didn't answer.

"She's a client," Charrier went on. "One of our best clients. If she'd been Brunswick, would you have left?" Juliana just sat, naked, wringing a tissue in her hands.

Dr. Charrier had entered her room and told her to undress. His voice had been harsh. She'd obeyed him immediately. Now she sat on the edge of her bed, exposed and feeling slightly nauseous.

So the fake dollars may have been a joke, but Brunswick did pay for her after all. She was a whore. She'd known that all along of course; she was here paying for her husband's surgery. But the actual knowledge that people were paying to fuck her was a fresh shock. The Sophia woman, whatever her name was, had paid too, for her kinky afternoon with little Sarah – Juliana had just blundered in, becoming a nice addition; collateral damage. The villa was a brothel.

"I ... I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know." He laughed.

"You don't know much, Mrs. Austin," he said. "We made a deal, remember? I guess you never took it seriously." Juliana looked down at the lump of moist tissue in her hands. She plucked at it.

"I never thought that women too ... I mean," she mumbled. Dr. Charrier sat next to her on the bed, making the mattress sag. His arm slid over her shoulder. She felt the heat of his body through his suit.

"One small advise, Mrs. Austin," he said, his mouth close to her cheek. "Stop assuming – or rather, only assume this: everyone in this house has a right to your body. Everyone, no exceptions. So stop thinking ... just accept that we robbed you of the word 'no'. Do you understand that, Mrs. Austin?"

Juliana understood. She'd understood from the beginning. Since she'd chosen to go along with the deal, she knew she'd given up choice. She could live with that; it kept her innocent – she had no say in it.

But she never expected what it would do to her. That there would be this undercurrent that started flowing the first time she gave in. She'd been so naïve. She'd never thought what it would do to her body, bypassing her mind. How it would push her to go beyond acceptance. It made her like it; she craved it – and not just the arousal and the orgasms.

Ever since she fled the farm, Juliana thought of herself as courageous, a bold, free spirit. Now she knew she wasn't – not at all. Here, at this bizarre villa she liked being told what to do – she liked the taking away of responsibility. Or was it the other way around? That her body liked so much what was being done to it because she was powerless? How could she ever have known that? How could she resist?

She looked up at the doctor. Her eyes swam in tears, but they didn't fall. She sniffed.

"I understand," she whispered. He smiled.

"Show it," he said, handing her a silver object.

It was shining and heavy – a metal cylinder, about ten inches long and quite thick, tapering at the top. It felt cool to the touch and quite smooth. Juliana weighed it on the palm of her right hand, running a finger over its gleaming skin. She looked up at the doctor. He nodded and pointed a thick finger to his mouth.

"Suck on it." She looked down at the object. Her fingers curled around it. Painted nails reflected in its silver skin. Juliana's chest tightened from a flaring rush; her mind was in turmoil. Sitting here like this, exposed to this man, asked to stuff herself with this ... thing. Next he'll ask to fuck herself ... to orgasm in front of him ... to masturbate.

"Do it."

Juliana brought the cylinder to her mouth, making it clink against her teeth as it slid onto her tongue. Moving it in and out, she turned it slowly. It was big, fat, and suddenly started to vibrate, giving the odd impression of coming alive. She let out a surprised squeal.