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Chapter 1
"When the girls
visit," Julia said, "I want them to be treated like queens...."
"Like empresses,"
I said, raising the ante.
"Like women,"
Julia said, winning the hand.
"Strain?" I asked.
"Pain?"
"Strain definitely,"
Julia said. "Pain, we'll have to see."
We have this silly
verse, Julia and I. We call it The Circle of Service: "Brain,
strain, pain, brain." You could call it a mnemonic device
for the submissive classes. But, of course, we submissives
shouldn't need it. I didn't question Julia about "brain" because
it's first and last and there's no submission without it.
You don't have to mention brain. Sometimes we add "chain"
to make real doggerel of it. Just for the rhyme, since Julia
isn't into heavy metal. (But she can work wonders, believe
me, with lashing cords, web belts, and silk sashes. I love
the last of these best: feminine but strong.)
All three of Julia's
sisters were coming to town for a weekend shopping-spree.
I'd met them all before and already half-adored them, but
they'd never had a chance to witness Julia and my life together.
To my taste, there's nothing better than serving a group of
women, especially if they're close friends or sisters. Alone
with your girlfriend, if you get embarrassed after saying
and doing unmanly things, you can always pretend it was some
kinky adventure, some "role-playing game," and strut bravely
away. Of course you want to get past such defensive stunts
as early as you can and just bite the bullet and kiss her
lovely feet. But my point is that, with a clique of women
watching you go under, you can never deny what's happening,
whether you're embarrassed or not. Two, three, four, a dozen
girls have watched your tribulations, maybe joined your own
sweet mistress in causing them. But Julia and I had only been
together for a year. I'm older, I'm more experienced. We'd
shared fantasies about displaying my humility to all kinds
of women, to her friends, to my employees, to strangers on
the train, to entire sisterhoods of women and girls. But we
had never enacted any, and I was too shy to push the envelope
of fantasy and possibly rouse Julia's suspicion that she was
not enough for me. She does have a jealous streak. She certainly
talked a good slave-share. But I wasn't ready to call her
on it.
And I didn't have
to. "Any slave of mine is a slave of my sisters," she explained.
"Understood,"
I said, as though the heavenly words were no different from
all my other marching-orders.
"The girls know
all about our...ah...enlightened relationship," Julia said.
"All you have to do is live up to my boasts."
"I'll do everything
to try, ma'am," I said. My erection grew stiffer at the thought.
It jigged a bit. Julia's eyes glanced downward and briskly
registered the fact, but she didn't bother to comment. Did
I mention that it was "naked hour," the time on weekday afternoons
when I'm expected to shed my clothes and report, briefless,
for a briefing? Basically, this is when I'm given my agenda,
my orders. Everything is businesslike. I'm naked, but I'm
not supposed to expect any sexual attention. The idea is that
serving is the deepest sex, and anything else isn't worth
mentioning. Erection - taken for granted. Droplets on my glans
- nothing new in a man who likes his work. I think I could
shoot a double round of semen right there, and Julia wouldn't
miss a beat. Go right on reviewing, right on instructing.
Of course, it hasn't happened. And I'm not the sort of man
who comes without permission anyhow. But the point holds.
"Naked hour" is for business.
"Pain, we'll have
to see," Julia repeated. "I don't know how far we can go on
their first visit. But we'll certainly cover - or uncover
- the important things."
It was so like
my gifted girl to put it this way. Pain really is the least
of it, although it makes the biggest splash with newcomers.
(Not always a splash they welcome, though.) But in a real
relationship it's like the detente, the neat little click
that assures that everything is in place - everything being
a woman's freedom from fear and a man's freedom from freedom.
"Pain is a flower," a poet said. It's sweet when your mistress
blithely subjects you to a little pain. But why? Because you
show her by the way you endure the trial that she can ask
anything of you and not need to hear your answer.
"Strain" is shorthand
for most of "the important things." Julia takes them seriously.
They're what a woman cares most about, she says, next to "brain"
itself, of course. It's what gives us men an individual bid
on a woman's attention. Submission isn't just show-biz, cringing
and fawning and florid honorifics. It's the dirty work, it's
making her life easier, running her errands, doing her windows.
In my case it's cooking her meals too, a "strain" which, given
my culinary gifts, isn't all that strenuous. I secretly think
that Julia stays with me because she can't resist my cooking.
She's a beautiful young woman, nearly half my age, and she
could have a whole regiment in service if she wanted to. I
admit that I'm also a deft cunnilinguist, and that probably
helps my cause, but a woman as lovely as Julia could make
a fine oral artist out of a clod. She's pure inspiration.
Her delicate lips, her scent, her sweet nub of pleasure peering
from its hood - they're an instant education. I think of them,
merely think of them, and I lose my thread. As the reader
will notice....
"It's the mood
I care about," Julia said, "the humility. No privacy for you,
total privacy for the girls. Going overboard to meet their
every wish. Treating them like princesses...."
"Empresses...,"
I interject, but she's not joking now.
"...until they
feel free to act like spoiled brats with you. They need it,"
she says with feeling, "they fucking need it, Steve." Her
sisters' troubles were getting her down. They've always been
very close, the Bergman girls. They're very close in age,
not more than two years apart, so Daniella, the eldest at
twenty-seven, is only five years older than Michelle, the
youngest. Lilly's twenty-six and Julia's twenty-four.
"I just wish they
could act like bratty little cunts with you," Julia said.
"I'm into it,"
I said, "really."
"Girls need it,"
Julia said, "we just need it. I mean cunty, spoiled things.
The kind of things well-bred girls don't do. Obnoxious, not
sexy - but sexy to you, Steve. I want them to be sexy to you.
Real whiney 'peel me a grape' stuff."
I was finding
the idea very sexy indeed. If you're really into adoring women,
you don't ask them to charm you. They're women, for God's
sake. That's already more charm than you have a right to.
"My sisters are
such sweet girls," Julia said. This was true. Julia's sisters
were both beautiful and gracious. "Such sweet girls, and thanks
to dad they've learned to ask very little of a man. Mark is
such a shit." Lilly's boyfriend, Mark. "And Dani's got a thing
for two-timers. And don't get me going on Michelle and the
beer-bellies she thinks are men."
"I'm flattered
to be the alternative," I said. I remembered Julia's stories
about how she and Lilly, who shared a bedroom as girls, used
to fantasize together about having a naked man nearby who
catered to their every wish. They were adolescent girls, yet
they imagined, not a boy their own age, but a full-grown man
who worshipped and obeyed them. "Your sisters aren't exactly
hayseeds," I said. "They're sophisticated young women. They
must know the score." Julia said they knew it and they didn't.
They have a way of not seeing what's in front of their nose.
"Like most girls," she said.
The thought troubled
her. "Steve, the weekend is only three days long," she said,
as if pleading. "Can we go for broke? Can we show them everything?"
"Believe me, sweet
mistress," I said. And then, shyly, a second time: "Pain?"
"Probably," Julia
said, and suddenly lightened up. "But don't get carried away,
slaveboy. I'm also imagining lots of peeled grapes."
"Naturally," I
said, wondering if Julia noticed the wetness on my glans.
I let a decent interval pass while she collected herself.
"May I describe
this evening's menu, ma'am?" I said at last. She was all ears.
Did I mention,
reader, that all this time I'd been kneeling at her feet?
end of part one
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