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Juliana Ch. 01

By: angiquesophie



Chapter One.

The ancient Greeks blamed Fate for all the twists and turns in their lives. We modern men don't like that. We make our own Fate, we say -- we have our own responsibility. Happiness is a choice. And the Gods laugh.

The cab driver that took Juliana to the clinic must have been from a more gallant era. He opened her door and helped her out of the car. She smiled shyly, accepting his hand. Her foot found the pebbled surface of the driveway.

"Thank you," she whispered, searching for money in her wallet. She would have given him a bigger tip, but things being as they were, well... The man smiled under his moustache and said: "De nada. Thank you very much, and have a wonderful day, señora." The pebbles crunched under his car's wheels as he drove off. She was alone again, except for the load that weighed on her shoulders. Turning on her heels, she walked over to the quiet villa where she had her appointment.

Her name was Juliana Austin, née Enders. She'd just turned 20, but her petite frame and very blond hair hardly gave her 16. She would have been beautiful if she'd dared. But Juliana Austin was too shy for that. If she hadn't had her big blue eyes in her pixy face, she might have been invisible.

Hurrying up the few steps, she looked for a bell on the ornate doors. She found it right over a modest sign that told her she'd arrived at the right address. She pressed the button and stepped back to wait for a response. A ray of afternoon sun slipped around the corner and lighted up her hair. It also gave some transparency to her simple summer dress. Her left hand squeezed a white handkerchief into a moist ball.

The door opened. A woman in the professional whites of a nurse stared at her. She didn't smile or say a word, so Juliana cleared her throat and asked for the doctor she had her appointment with. The woman scanned her from top to bottom. Then she opened the door wider and invited her in.

"Sit over there, please," she said. "I'll inform him when he gets in."

Juliana sat down in one of the designer chairs around a table that was strewn with glossy magazines. She touched the face of a wide-mouthed blonde. The silence around her did nothing to sooth her nerves.

Juliana was used to waiting. The stretching minutes caused a silent frustration to grow inside her, but she could handle it. A childhood of obedience guarded her rage.

She'd grown up on a farm in the Midwest -- lost under immense skies, miles and miles away from neighbors, let alone towns. She was the youngest of five children -- four brothers -- a fragile girl in an isolated world of silence and hard physical labor. There hadn't been television until she turned sixteen -- no sleepovers, no trips to the mall. Travel meant a weekly car ride to church; entertainment was the after-service barbecue. Her mother read a magazine for Christian housewives, her father the local newspaper. Her brothers didn't read at all.

She went to school with her two younger brothers, until a new principal thought that mixing the genders in class would be a healthy idea. She, with a number of neighborhood girls, was home-schooled after that by a woman appointed by their church -- who took all guidance from the Bible.

When Juliana turned eighteen she was introduced to Kurt Carlson. Kurt was 32 and the only son of the owner of the local General Store, annex grain mill. She knew him from church, but as he was male and so much older, she'd hardly ever talked with him. So things became awkward when, one balmy summer evening, her parents introduced him to her, and left the two of them on their porch.

Kurt Carlson was large and sweaty, with a pale baby face and reddish hair that already got thin. He seemed as shy as she, fumbling as she invited him to sit with her on the swing. The swing was an old, rickety affair; it creaked under his weight.

Juliana poured lemonade from the old carafe, handing him a glass and taking one herself -- if only to have something to focus on. She didn't understand why he should be nervous; she even less understood why she herself was.

"So you are Kurt Carlson of the General Store?" she asked, smiling. He blushed and took a huge gulp from his lemonade. He nodded. Then he gushed:

"And you are very beautiful, Miss Enders."

Juliana knew she shouldn't have giggled. It must have been her nerves, or being called Miss Enders by someone so much older than she. For whatever reason, she couldn't stop giggling. It soon turned into laughter, and Kurt Carlson's face colored crimson. He pushed himself out of the swing, almost making it crash, and ran off.

"What did you say, stupid girl?" her father growled, looming over her. His fist grabbed her wispy blond hair. She felt the sting where his hand had slapped her cheek. Tears burned behind her eyeballs.

"I... I said nothing," she gasped. Another intended slap was stopped right before it landed.

"Enough, Carl." Her mother's voice was soft and came from the door. The hand relaxed around her hair.

"You think you can do this?" His voice was gravelly. "Be the princess? Get what you want?"

Juliana's head was in turmoil; she had no idea what he meant. Her father plunged down next to her, making the swing protest again. He grabbed her head in his calloused hands, leaning in until his nose almost touched hers.

"You listen," he said, his breath stained with tobacco. "While you were dreaming your little miss princess dreams, we had two failed crops and a disease that cost us fourteen cows. Brian and Jack will have to leave and find work in town." They were her younger brothers. "Will and Jim and I will break our backs to keep the bank at bay. You?" he asked as if it was a question, "you will marry Kurt Carlson and be off our hands before the year is out. Understand?"

"Carl," her mother said. He growled.

"You keep out of this Marie."

"I...," Juliana squeaked, not knowing what to say. Marry Kurt Carlson? She didn't even know him; she hardly knew herself yet. Her father grinned.

"Aye," he mockingly repeated. "Aye it is."

Juliana knew she could talk with her mother. She could even cry with her, but it wouldn't help. They were both victims of a rude male universe of fathers, brothers and priests -- a world of silent one-track righteousness and medieval morality.

"I won't marry him," Juliana said. "I can't."

"You have no choice, sweetheart."

"It's my life. I have plans." Her mother smiled weakly.

"Those were my words," she said, "when I was your age." She brushed a strand of hair out of her daughter's face. "Now look at me."

For the first time Juliana saw her mother as she was -- pale and tired. How old was she -- in her late forties, maybe? Married at 17 she had five children and two miscarriages in twelve years, doing the household next to working the land with her husband until the first boys were old enough to take over. Her body was the body of a seventy year old; her eyes had lost their sparkle ages ago.

"You must help me," Juliana said. Her mother's eyebrows rose.

"How?"

"To get away from here."

"But you can't!"

"Why not?"

"I'll be all alone."

Once more Juliana saw her mother like she'd never seen her before. She saw a helpless child -- fearful eyes; panic.

"But you'll also be alone when I have to marry this Kurt," she said.

"You'd still be in town," her mother opposed, "in church; close. I'll get to see your children; I can visit."

Hard and bony fingers grabbed Juliana's hands.

"I won't marry Kurt Carlson, mother, " she said. "You must help me run away."

The fear died in her mother's eyes, replaced by a gaze Juliana knew better. She'd always thought it was calmness; now she knew it was resignation.

"Your father will kill me."

Juliana reached out and hugged her mother.

***

Sitting at the table, leafing through the magazines without seeing much of the long-legged models or what they wore, time passed. Juliana had no idea how long she'd been waiting when she heard the clip-clop of clogs on the marble floor.

"Doctor will see you," the nurse said. No excuse, no smile; just an arm gesturing down the corridor. "First door on the right."

Juliana rose, picking up her bag. She sighed and walked to the distant door.

The room wasn't at all like a doctor's office. It was monumental, with high ceilings, abstract paintings and modern tapestries. The desk was a big black table, simple and austere. Behind it, in a high-backed chair, sat the man she'd been advised to see -- Dr. Charrier, neurological surgeon. She estimated him to be fifty. He was large and bulky. His jowls were pink and heavy; his graying hair receded and was slicked back. He rose and extended his hand, smiling. She murmured a greeting.

"Mrs. Austin," he said, gesturing at the one chair in front of the table. "Please sit down." She walked over and sat down, looking across the immense black tabletop. He kept standing.

"I'm so glad to see you," he began. "And yet I'm sad we have to have this conversation." Juliana smiled nervously, squeezing the purse in her lap. The easy authority of the man crept under her skin, finding well-trodden routes.

"As my young colleague told you at the hospital," he went on, picking up a file from the empty table, "your husband's health is, err... precarious."

His words took her back to yesterday. She relived the shock of finding her husband stretched out on the floor of their kitchen. It was followed by a crazy ride in an ambulance, she holding his cold fingers. Juliana still heard his labored breathing, the sirens, and the beeps of instruments. After that she'd been waiting and waiting in the emergency room. Nurses and doctors ran back and forth through white, clinical spaces, mostly ignoring her. Everything seemed more important than her excruciating uncertainty.

After what felt like hours, a young doctor approached her. He was tall and dark, and had a friendly smile, although his eyebrows were knitted into a frown.

"Mrs. Austin?" he asked. She jumped up and blurted out all the questions she'd amassed in her time of waiting, but he raised a hand and asked her to come with him.

"Your husband has suffered a stroke," he said after they sat down in his tiny office. The words sent a cold rush down her spine.

"Is... is he..?" she asked, too scared to finish the sentence. He smiled and shook his head again.

"No, no. He'll live." She sighed.

"He'll live," the doctor repeated. "It was a light stroke, and we are quite confident he'll recover completely. He's a strong man." He echoed her smile that had suddenly appeared on her face, setting off a flood of tears.

"Thank God," she whispered. "And thank you, Dr..."

"Fleming," he said. "Lester Fleming. But there is one more thing I have to tell you."

The cold shiver returned.

"We did scans of your husband's head," he went on, turning his computer her way. She saw rows of similar ovals on the screen. He pointed.

"What you see here -- this dark spot -- is the blood he lost through the rupture of a small artery. It caused the stroke, but isn't a great danger in itself. It will dissolve and, using the right medicine, he might go on living to be 80." He smiled at her and so did she. Then he pointed at another spot.

"This, however, is a different thing altogether." She couldn't see anything remarkable.

"It is the nucleus of a tumor," he said, watching her startle at the word. "It is benign for now." He saw her relax at that. "But when it decides to grow -- maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, maybe never -- it will get dangerous and could be fatal. We might be too late by then." He allowed a silence, holding her eyes with his.

"What are you saying, doctor?" she asked at last. He cleared his throat.

"It might be wise to operate on your husband as soon as he's strong enough," he said. She sat and stared; what could she say? A brain operation? Wouldn't that be dangerous? Why operate? He could live to be 80, he told her just minutes ago.

"That will be a great risk," she said. "Does he really have to? You said he could live to a great age." The doctor shrugged.

"I said he might," he said. "And you are right, Mrs. Austin; this is about risks -- the risk of complications in surgery versus the risk of an inoperable cancer in the near future." He saw how the word 'cancer' made her wince, just like the word 'tumor' had before.

"I," Juliana said, "I have to talk with my husband. Is he strong enough for that?"

"Of course you must," the doctor said. "But you can't just now. We keep him in an artificial coma, so his brain can recover. I think he'll be out of that in a few days." He smiled as he rose. "Before that you must see my eminent colleague, Dr. Charrier. If your husband has a chance, it is with him. Here, let me give you his address, so you can make an appointment." He gave her a card and led her to the exit. "I think you should go home now," he said, taking her hand in his, "and get some rest yourself. This must have been a hell of a day."

Before leaving the hospital, Juliana went to see her husband. He looked small and fragile in the high bed, caught in a web of tubes. She touched his hand and whispered a prayer.

***

What about love at first sight? Does it exist? And even if it does, does one recognize it if love never was a commodity in one's life? If the word love wasn't even used? If words had been in short supply anyway?

Juliana Enders fled the farm, wearing her dark coat and carrying her small cardboard suitcase. Using the few dollars her mother gave her, she went looking for a bus in the nearest town. The first one available took her to Chicago. It happened to be the only one.

The city scared her; she'd never seen so many people at one place. The noise was overwhelming -- the cars, the stink. Picking at a sandwich she'd bought at the station, she sat down on a bench studying the scrap of paper her mother gave her. It held a name and an address. They must be family, although she'd never met them -- a cousin, her mother said.

Walking over to a street map, she tried to unravel the maze it presented. "You are here," an arrow pointed out. It could have been anywhere.

"Can I help you, Miss?" a male voice said. It made her jump. She turned and found the face of an elderly black man. Where she'd lived there were no black men. She'd heard about them and seen them on television. There was always trouble involved, and violence.

"I, ehm... no thank you," she said, grabbing her suitcase tighter and walking off.

The menace of the city grew on her with every step she took -- the cars, the honking, the sirens, and the thick, soupy air. Looking around her she only saw tall buildings, cracked concrete and hurrying bodies. Then she saw a police officer. He was black, too, but there was safety in the uniform.

"Officer," she called out, and showed him the address. He smiled and said: "That's not really close, Miss. You better take a cab..." He looked her over. "Or a bus."

Taking the bus he pointed out, Juliana found herself a few minutes later on a hard bench, surrounded by a throng of people. There were mothers and children, hooded men and teenage boys with headphones over their ears and big gaudy sneakers on their feet. Right in front of her sat a man only wearing a tank top; he drank beer from a can and his exposed skin was tattooed all over.

Everybody seemed to watch her.

After at least half an hour the friendly driver called the street she was looking for and she left the bus, trying to avoid contact on the way out.

The street looked slightly shabby, but there were trees and not so many cars. The houses stood back and had yards; some of them with grass on them.

The number on her piece of paper belonged to one of the nicer houses. It had a porch. She rang a bell.

The woman behind the screen door might have been her mother's younger sister. She looked less gaunt, though -- les tired too.

"I'm Juliana Enders," Juliana said, trying to show a smile among her nervous tics. "I am Marie's daughter." The woman didn't smile.

"Yes?" she said.

"Aren't you Aimée Calouche?" she asked. "My mother's cousin?" The face thawed.

"Aimée Gunther now," she said, opening the screen door. "Come in. Is something wrong with Marie?"

The glass of chilled lemonade tasted as if made in heaven. The kitchen was clean and cozy. The woman called Aimée sat at the other side of the table. She'd picked up her knife and went on peeling potatoes. For the first time in two days a sense of calm descended on Juliana.

"So you ran from home," the woman said, plunging a potato into the water-filled pan. Juliana nodded.

"I couldn't marry him," she said. The woman smiled.

"I ran away too," she said. "Or rather, I eloped with my boyfriend. Isn't that romantic?" Another splash followed her question. Juliana smiled. She'd never heard the word 'elope.'

"Is he your husband now?" she asked. The woman laughed.

"No," she said, sighing. Then she shrugged.

"He was my first. But he was a no-good bum."

Juliana drank. The woman stopped peeling, watching her closer.

"Where will you stay, honey?" she asked. Now Juliana shrugged, saying nothing.

"You just... ran." She nodded. Aimée pushed away the peels and rose, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Our daughter left the house for college," she said. "I'll show you her room. You can stay here for now, if you want."

Juliana stayed for almost a year. Aimée's husband, Jack, was a large man, working in construction around Chicago. They had two children, who were both on their own now. The daughter's room was nice; it had its own bathroom. Through Jack she found a part time job as a filing clerk with his company. Some evenings she waited tables at a small diner. Her shyness didn't generate big tips, but after a while her cuteness made up for that. She insisted on paying rent. And whenever she felt homesick, one thought of Kurt Carlson cured her.

Being around people changed Juliana -- slowly. During her first weeks she moved through the office like a pale specter, but after she started working as a waitress she could no longer avoid strangers. It took her a while to discover that the loud and aggressive behavior of many customers wasn't aggression; it was just what townspeople do. She got compliments that made her blush; and winks that made her heart skip.

At the office two of the secretaries asked her out for lunch. She refused twice, politely, but they insisted the third time. One was a middle-aged woman called Frances; the other was younger. She was called Carol and had big, whitish blond hair, a lot of make up and a penchant for short skirts, loose buttons and even looser language.

"So, how is life on a farm, honey?" Carol asked after they sat down in a place they called a tearoom. "Must be boring at times." Juliana shrugged; how could she ever tell someone like Carol what life on a farm was? "It's mostly hard work," she said, staring at the glass showcase filled with colorful cakes and pies.

"And hard farm boys, I suppose," Carol said, giggling. Juliana had no idea what she meant.

"Well, I guess so," she said. "Hard work makes them hard. Callouses and things."

"Wow," Carol mimed, turning to the older woman, "calloused they are." Her laugh had the charm and sophistication of a billy goat. Frances shook her head.

"Ignore Carol, dear," she said. "She has a one-track mind. Now what shall we eat?"

Life went on. Autumn came, and Juliana got better acquainted with the big city and its inhabitants. At some weekends Aimée and Jack took her out for a meal or a drive. She got to know her distant cousins, and spent some time on the beaches of the big lake. At work she learned how to have small talk with her colleagues, or even how to flirt innocently with her customers at the diner. Carol took her shopping and got her into skirts that exposed her knees. Juliana even bought a pair of two-inch heeled pumps. She remembered blushing like fire when she took her first public steps on them.


Juliana Ch. 01



Once a week, mostly on Friday, some of the employees at the office went out after work to have a drink. It took them two months to get Juliana to join them, and another month to get her to try a gin and tonic. It made her feel dizzy. It also made her giggle and gave her the feeling she was witty. But most of all it made her think she could have a second one.

After reaching the toilet in the nick of time, she felt sick and too ashamed to return to the bar. Stumbling up the steps to the street, a voice stopped her. A hand touched her shoulder and turned her around. She was too dizzy and embarrassed to look the man in the face, but she recognized his shirt. He was the new young man from the studio. What was his name? Alex, or Alec something.

She missed a step and fell against him.

"Oops," he said. "They shouldn't have given you the second one." His hands were strong, holding her up. He smelled of cologne. Being so close to a man gave her the shivers. He seemed to tremble too.

"I'll bring you home," he said. "You can't take the bus like this. Where do you live?"

He took her home in his not very new and not especially cool car. She smiled all the way and made walking from the curb to the porch seem harder than it was. She just liked the way he held her.

Jack thanked Alec profusely for his gallant act; Aimée took her upstairs.

"That was pretty stupid," she said, helping her get to bed. "He could easily have taken advantage of you, you know?" Juliana mumbled a sorry. Aimée smiled.

"But I'm glad it happened, in a way," she said. "You seem to like the young man?"

Alec asked her out the next Saturday night -- a nice simple pizza dinner and a movie. When he brought her home she knew she was supposed to thank him; he might at least expect a kiss, but he didn't insist when she didn't offer one. The moment was awkward, though. She had to run inside to put an end to it -- panting as she leant against the closed door, hearing her heart thump. After a while she heard his car start and leave. Cursing herself, she lay awake for hours.

When he asked her for a second date, she blushed crimson and apologized for her rude actions the time before. He made light of it and took her out dancing. Her only experience with dancing were the chaste maneuvers at church functions. When Alec took her in his arms, though, she followed his lead instinctively. Her knees were too weak to have a mind of their own anyway.

That night they kissed on the porch, and she allowed him to feel her body through her clothes. From then on making out became part of their dates. Afterward she'd sneak up the stairs, shoes in her hand and her head in the clouds.

A few times, back at the farm, she'd touched her body, standing under long showers or lying in her lonely bed. It had always been a secret mixture of shame and excitement. She'd caressed the tips of her little breasts and the hairy folds between her legs, knowing it was bad to do that -- taboo. Allowing a man to do it, out there on the porch, doubled the intensity of her feelings -- the arousal as well as the shame. Just opening her mouth to receive his tongue sent waves of heat to all niches of her body. She didn't resist; he seemed to suck her will out of her. His hand was under her blouse, finding the hot, straining pinpoints at the center of her breasts. Dizziness closed her mind; she fell against him, moaning.

But when his fingers crawled past the waist of her new skirt to slip inside her cotton panties, she woke up and pushed him away. A flash of frustration passed over his face.

"I'm sorry," she said, closing her blouse, trying to keep standing on her wobbly legs.

"Oh no!" he objected in a thick voice. "It's me. I'm sorry. You are so beautiful... so beautiful."

From that time on all they did was kissing and making out. But when she lay in bed, her heart kept racing and her body couldn't wind down. She started fingering the tiny knob at the top of her slit, where her urge seemed to dwell. She had no name for it, nor did she know where rubbing it would take her. But she went on, and was amazed how wet she got. Concerned about her clean bed, she went to her bathroom and crouched over the toilet. Her fingers made squelching noises, and she felt hot moisture run down her thighs. What was it? Urine? Her period?

Bewildered, she tried to stop, trembling on her feet. She sniffed her fingers, smelling a new, musky smell. She turned and watched herself in the mirror, seeing a flushed face and wild eyes. The moisture on her thighs cooled down, and the hot feelings retracted until they only dwelt in the tiny, throbbing button between her legs. Getting cold, she grabbed her towel and cleaned her legs before returning to the warmth of her bed where she lay shivering.

One day, Juliana sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea with Aimée. They often did that, right before she had to leave for her waitressing job.

"You like going out with your beau," Aimée said, smiling. "Alec?" Juliana nodded, blushing. Aimée picked a crumb from the table.

"Is he nice?" Juliana nodded again. "Oh yes," she said.

"Good," the woman remarked, looking up and smiling again. "Is he your first boyfriend?"

Juliana considered the word 'boyfriend.' She guessed he was, although she didn't consider him a boy at all.

"Juliana," Aimée said, losing her smile. "I know this might be prying." She allowed a pause. "But I wonder if you've ever been with a man before."

Juliana stared at her; then she shook her head no.

"You should be careful, then," Aimée went on, placing a hand on one of Juliana's. "Some men seem nice, but all they want is... use you; and dump you afterward." Juliana tried to grasp her meaning, recalling their making out sessions.

"When I say 'no,' he stops," she whispered. Aimée sighed.

"Now does he?" she said; it didn't sound like a question. "Anyway," she went on, pushing a small packet over the table. "Always ask him to use this. If he doesn't want to, send him away. If he still insists, scream."

Juliana knew what was in the package, although she'd never seen a condom. She ran a finger along its edge.

"I would never... do that with him," she whispered. "I'm not supposed to until I get married." She looked up, knowing she blushed deeply. Aimée's hand closed over hers and the package.

"I know," she said. "But put it in your purse anyway."

The next day Aimée told her she'd made an appointment for her with their doctor. Having to lie down and spread her thighs wide was very embarrassing. The doctor was a woman, though, and that helped. She prodded inside Juliana's vagina with gloved fingers. It caused no arousal at all.

When she was finished they sat down and the doctor prescribed her birth control pills, explaining how to use them. Juliana protested that they were against her beliefs. The doctor looked up from her writing.

"Your beliefs?" she asked. "Or your parents'?" Juliana didn't know what to say. She took the receipt and went home.

Alec kissed her. They stood on the dance floor of a loud club where the lights were low. Juliana was the center of a maelstrom of bare limbs and half-naked bodies. Sweaty skin sparkled in the searching spotlights.

They had never been to a place like this before; she wondered if Alec ever had. Juliana felt overdressed in her white blouse and dark grey skirt. She also felt a wave of claustrophobia attack her. Wrestling free from his embrace, she panted that she was too hot. She had to repeat it much louder before he understood. Moments later they wrestled themselves out of the melee, finding a much cooler passage to the restrooms.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Stop saying that," Juliana blurted out, still panting. "It's my fault. I don't belong here; I'm a silly hick." He stepped forward to embrace her, but she turned away.

"I have to freshen up," she said, and went to the restrooms.

Sitting in a stall she cried, letting the tears run freely down her cheeks. She hated herself for not being a cool city girl; for not daring to be like the other girls; for selling sweet Alec short. What did he see in her? She could never be the woman he must be wanting. Look at her now -- a silly, snot-blubbering, backward hillbilly, afraid to dress sexily and make her date feel proud of her.

When her eyes ran dry she sat up. Maybe she should just try and run off, unseen. She opened the door, seeing two girls chatting away at the mirrors. Juliana sneaked past them. When she saw her own reflection she stopped. Her face was blotched, and her mascara had been smeared. Thank God she never used much. She splashed cold water into her face; it felt good. Only then did she see the eyes of the girls on her. She turned and fled, leaving the door open behind her.

"Juliana!"

She didn't stop. She ran out into the fresh night air, greeted by the humming energy of the city. Looking left and right she lost her purpose, if she ever had one. People ignored her, cars rushed by. She shivered.

"Juliana!" His hands gripped her shoulders from behind. He panted from running. "What's the matter, honey?" She didn't turn around.

"Leave me alone, Alec," she said. His hands forced her to look at him; she kept her eyes down.

"What did I do?" he asked.

He put his arm around her shoulder and they walked. She said 'sorry' and that it wasn't him, but her. He gave her his jacket against the cold and they sat down on a bench. She started crying again, hardly hearing what he said. He said a lot. Then he kissed her, his lips sliding on her tears and snot. She shirked closer into his embrace.

***

"Mrs. Austin?"

The smooth, insidious voice took her back to the present -- the posh office of the neurosurgeon who was supposed to save her husband. Her hands relaxed around her purse. The man smiled, or rather, his lips did. He pushed a white sheet of paper across the table. She looked at it and then looked up.

"We, err..," the man said. "We put together a plan of action, say. It has everything needed to save your husband."

Under the fancy heading of a private clinic was a long list of gibberish that left Juliana confused. What she did understand, though, were the amounts of money listed behind each bullet point. Her eyes traveled down to the bottom line. The total sum was staggering. She looked up, raising her eyebrows. His smile was still there. A pig, she thought, he looks like a pig, but his eyes... She'd seen live tigers in the Chicago zoo.

"We have insurance," she said. He shrugged. It made his jowls tremble.

"I know," he said. "This is after insurance, though." The absurdity hit her. She giggled.

"We could never pay that." Her voice sounded higher than she intended. His smile reached his eyes.

"Oh yes, " he said. "You could."



Juliana Ch. 02



Dilemma, we use the word lightly. 'Shall I eat this second slice of pie or not?' 'Should I let him fuck me bare back, or insist on a condom?' So many every-day choices to make. 

Candles spread a soft yellow light over china plates and crystal glasses. The long table was only set at its head and foot, like in old movies. Between the two sparkling clusters stretched an expanse of polished oak. 

Juliana sat in the chair at the foot of the table. Its leather seat pressed cold through the thin fabric of the evening gown she'd been made to wear. The dress left quite a bit of skin exposed, causing goose bumps to rise on her bare arms. 

She'd never seen a dress like this before, let alone worn one. When she found it in her appointed room, she was sure it must be a negligée - one of those wispy nothings she'd seen in magazines. They were meant to wear in the privacy of a bedroom for sure, not in public. But here she was, feeling its cream colored softness caress her naked skin. There had only been a small thong laid out with the gown, and a pair of heeled sandals. Her own clothes had been removed. 

Sitting in that flimsy dress, Juliana was very conscious of her body while her mind returned to a multitude of events. She tried to avoid thinking of the shocking proposal Dr. Charrier made at that huge black table in his office. It had been so shockingly different from what she expected that he'd had to repeat it. Even then its true meaning hardly registered. 

"Mrs. Austin," he'd said, rising from his chair, "I am a very successful man, professionally. People flock to me, expecting miracles - and getting them. But I am also very lonely." 

He walked around the table to stand before her. The bulk of his body intimidated her. 

"I've worked hard all my life, and still do," he said, toning his voice down to a more intimate level. "I need women like every healthy man; women that help me relieve the immense stress my profession involves. But I have no time to date, and no patience to court them." 

Juliana remembered how she'd looked up. His facial details were diffused by the backlight; they were as unfocussed as her thoughts. 

"Mrs. Austin," the man said, "I shall do the operation on your husband for free if you agree to live with me until he has recovered." 

The silence had been deafening. Thoughts rolled and roiled through her mind, one as shapeless as the other. All rationality seemed frozen by the blatant insanity of his proposal. 

"But," she said. "I am married. How could I ever..?" 

He went down, squatting in front of her. His big hands closed over hers. They felt soft, spreading a sense of repulsion though her body. His smile sickened her. 

"I know," he said. "You are newly married, and very much so. But that is exactly the reason why I can ask you this." 

He paused; then he rose again, his shoes creaking as he did. He walked away from her and turned again. 

"Let me be blunt," he said. "You love your husband deeply. He is dying; his fate is in my hands." He raised them; they looked pale and pink in front of his dark suit. Studying them as he flexed his fingers, he smiled. 

"But of course, Mrs. Austin, you are a free woman and you have choices," he said. "You could decide against surgery. But then you'll have to live with a time bomb of your own creation, and your husband will be aware of that too. He'll know that every day could be his last, because you decided not to help him. You could wake up one morning beside a cold corpse. Can you live with that?" He watched her, waiting for an answer. It didn't come. He knew his words sent terror into her mind. 

"I thought so," he said, smiling. "Then again, you could trust the fumbling hands of the regular hospital staff. I'm sure your insurance would cover their cost - at least part of it. But you might also have to lay some money aside for his burial." 

Juliana hated the man. It was the same strangling, powerless hatred she'd felt all her life for the people holding her fate in their hands and twisting it whatever way they liked - her father, her brothers, the priests, even the joyless aunts with their cheap cologne and peppermint breath. 

So she thought she'd fled. She thought she was free - that choosing Alec set her free... 

Her eyes went up along his black-clad body until she found his cruel smile - and his unsmiling eyes. 

"You could ask for a second opinion, of course," he went on. "Or a third." He spread his hands, palms up. "But then I won't help you. This," he said "is a one time offer. It is your one opportunity to save your beloved husband for a price you can pay." 

'A price you can pay,' she recalled, sitting at the festive, yet desolate dinner table, staring at the empty chair on the other side. Her fingers caressed the folded napkin. Her painted nails were like drops of blood. She'd never really had them colored like this before. It made her hands seem alien. 

The woman who did them was small and Asian. She had also styled her hair into a short bob, and plucked her eyebrows. She made up her eyes with liner and mascara, painting her lips and blushing her cheeks. Looking into the mirror, she'd seen someone else - someone as alien as her fingernails. 

Juliana remembered how utterly destroyed she'd felt, back at the doctor's office. She'd asked the man for time. He'd closed his eyes and nodded. 

"Take all the time you need," he said. "But remember it's not your time; it's your husband's time." 

She'd left the villa and took a bus back to the small flat they shared. She had to work that evening, but she decided to call in sick. It would cost her tips, but she had to go and see Alec at the hospital. 

Arriving there nothing had changed - he looked just as small and pale and narrow in his white and lonely bed. 

She went to the nurses' station and asked for the young doctor - Fleming was his name, she remembered. He was there and joined her in the quietly beeping room. 

"I hear that Dr. Charrier is willing to do the operation," he said. "Great news!" Juliana watched him standing at the foot of the bed. 

"Yes," she said. 

"You don't seem relieved?" Juliana sighed. 

"We can't ever pay him," she said, picking up her husband's hand and caressing it. Her thoughts went back to the small chapel. She'd held this hand just like she did now, sliding a gold ring on his finger, right where she saw it gleam now. 

"But," the young doctor said. "He told me he'd do it for free." Juliana looked up and smiled. 

"Free," she said. 

That night she couldn't sleep, just like the night before. Exhaustion melted her body until it felt as if it were smeared all over the bed. She knew she was just fighting off a decision she'd already taken - right from the start, really. 

The next morning she packed a small suitcase. It was the same cheap thing she'd carried when she fled the farm. Using her last money she took a cab to the villa. She wore her best outfit - it had been her wedding gown before she modified it into a cocktail dress. She'd hesitated; do you wear your wedding dress to see a man not your husband? It had taken her half an hour to decide. Then she brushed her hair into spun gold, and even used extra make up to set off the wide innocence of her violet eyes. She hoped it would appeal to his better feelings. Now, sitting at the long, empty table she knew it had been a naïve illusion. 

She looked up when she heard sounds at the entrance of the dining hall. The same faceless butler that had shown her to her room and later on took her to this dining table entered. Dr. Charrier followed him in. He wore a tuxedo; it gave his bulky body some elegance. 

Seeing his smile she preferred his usual scowl - it would look less menacing. She rose from her chair, not knowing why. The doctor nodded and approached her. From close up she saw he must have shaved meticulously; his hair shone with oil. Standing in a cloud of spicy aftershave he looked her over, still smiling. It made her feel naked. Then he took her hand and brushed its back with his lips. A shudder ran down her spine. After he returned her hand she fought the impulse to rub it clean. Her lips searched desperately for a smile. 

"Good evening, Mrs. Austin," he said. "How nice of you to dine with me tonight." She didn't know what to say; she knew she blushed. Her eyes stayed down. He chuckled before walking to his place. She got seated again, finding her napkin to squeeze. There was a loud plop at the other side of the table. 

Charrier's voice boomed: "Dom Perignon! How attentive, John." She saw the butler pour a few drops into his glass. He made a production of tasting it. 

"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Madame will appreciate it; nothing but the very best for her. 

The butler came over to fill her glass first. Juliana had never tasted champagne before, if that was what it was. The foaming bubbles looked festive. The butler walked over to the doctor and poured him a glass too. He rose, raising his drink. 

"A votre santé," he said. She supposed it was a toast and rose as well, glass in hand. It shook slightly. 

"And of course most of all a toast to your poor husband's health," he went on. 

She saw how the bubbles had subsided, but taking a sip, she felt the sparkles on her lips and tongue. The drink's subtle sweetness was lovely. After taking a second sip, more of a gulp, she raised her glass to mirror his gesture. He sat down, taking his napkin and spreading it on his lap. Looking at her through a forest of glasses and candles, he said: 

"Please don't worry. We'll have a wonderful time, chérie, trust me. Do you like bisque homard?" 

Of course he knew she had no idea what it was. It must be part of his humiliation game. She murmured a response. 

"I'm afraid you'll have to speak up," he said loudly. "This is a big table." 

"I don't know what it is," she admitted. He didn't laugh or even smile. 

"I am so sorry!" he boomed. "I must look like a terrible snob. It's lobster soup. You'll like it." He picked up his glass and emptied it. She took her third mouthful. It was the most delicious drink she'd ever tasted. 

The butler entered with a china tureen and ladled a dark brown soup onto her plate. It spread a lovely aroma; soup always whetted her appetite - more so because she hadn't eaten much these past days. 

The butler refilled the doctor's glass and topped hers before leaving. They ate in silence for a while. Then the doctor looked up again, putting down his spoon and dabbing his lips with his napkin. 

"I have the impression that you are afraid of me, Mrs. Austin," he said, keeping his voice smoothly soft. "We can't have that. I need you to be happy for me to be happy. My happiness is important, you know? If only for your husband's sake." 

Juliana's newly found appetite left her. 

Just obeying wasn't enough, she realized. She was supposed to show that she loved making him happy - it was part of the deal. She knew men liked it when she smiled; there would be dimples and her eyes would shine. But she'd never used that smile on purpose - until now. 

"I know, doctor," she said, lifting the corners of her mouth and making her wide eyes focus on him. A slight buzz entered her head; it must be the wine. "I promise I'll make you... happy," she almost whispered. 

"Louder!" 

"I'll make you happy!" 

She felt tears burning behind her eyes. 

"Please finish your soup," he said. "I have a surprise before John serves the venison." 'Surprise' wasn't a word she relished - not here. She took her spoon and stirred the soup. Laying it down, she picked up her glass and finished its content in one gulp. It had lost its appeal, but she longed for the buzz. 

John collected the plates. His eyebrow rose discreetly when he saw she hadn't emptied hers. She lifted her glass; he gave her a refill. A door opened. 

Into the dining hall walked a couple - a slim, elegant girl of about Juliana's age, and a tall, olive-skinned man. They were dressed as if coming from a formal party - a ball, maybe. 

The girl smiled as she looked up at her companion, pushing her body into his. She wore a thin pearly-gray sheath dress and walked on bare feet. When they reached the table at a spot right between Juliana and the doctor, the man lifted the girl up effortlessly until she sat on the polished wood. She giggled; their brows touched as she undid his bow tie and pushed the tuxedo jacket off his shoulders. Then she offered him her lips and they kissed. 

The doctor watched, amused. He didn't introduce the couple to Juliana, and the two of them didn't even seem to notice there were others in the room. Juliana couldn't take her eyes off the shameless kissing. Wet sounds reached her; she saw their tongues flick back and forth. Their lack of shame embarrassed her. The man's right hand covered the girl's breast as his other hand felt her hip. She noticed how the skirt had shirked up, allowing the man to stand between her knees. Being focused on their kissing she failed to notice the girl's hand sliding between the man's legs - until it became obvious: she was rubbing the crotch he pushed against her. 

The doctor cleared his throat, interrupting Juliana's breathless attention. 

"Good girl," he said. Juliana looked up, but the doctor didn't mean her. "Now find what he has in store for you." 

The couple never stopped kissing, but Juliana heard the sound of a zipper. She saw the girl's pale hand slide into the man's fly. When it reappeared, it held a swollen penis. Compared to her hand it was huge, its shining head appearing and disappearing as she started to rub it. 

"Yes, get him nice and hard, honey," the doctor said, and the little hand increased its speed. The guy's face relaxed as he threw back his head. He groaned. 

Juliana was only eyes and ears by now, drinking in what she saw and heard through layers of confusion. A growing buzz muffled the doctor's comments. 

"Yes," she heard him say from a distance. "Now slide off the table and kneel like the good little slut you are, chérie... Good, very good. Now kiss his cock with your sweet lips. Oh yes, lick it. Squeeze his balls." 

Juliana knew the scene was beyond scandalous; it made her feel dirty, wondering why the girl would do a thing like this - taking a hard penis in her mouth, and in public too. 

She watched the pink lips widen and slide down the glistening pole, stretched by its girth. It triggered a nauseating response at the pit of her throat. 

She remembered touching Alec's penis for the first time. It was slender, not half as thick. Compared to this blunt, scary tool it had looked... elegant. But she'd never even thought of kissing it, let alone taking it in her mouth. At their wedding night, he'd fumbled it into her vagina in the darkness of their bedroom. She recalled how full it had made her feel, and how scared she'd been. Alec told her there might be pain, but it would get better. There was and it did. At times, after that first time, she'd even enjoyed him entering her - mostly because of his closeness and for the cuddling afterwards. He held her then, still panting from the few intense minutes of his exercise. 

But she'd hated the slime running from her slit and down her thighs. 

When she was 12, the woman who'd home-schooled her had one day taken her aside. What she talked about had filled Juliana's nights with horror. She'd dreamed how big, hard weapons plunged into her body, giving her a swollen belly until it exploded to produce a stream of blood-soaked children. The teacher told her it was the curse of womanhood and that she should bear it with patience - never complaining. 

Juliana saw Dr. Charrier's face hovering over the girl's bobbing head. He must have walked over while Juliana had concentrated her attention on the sucking mouth and the glistening cock. His hand rested on the girl's hair; his flushed face was close to where her mouth slurped at the penis. 

"Right," she heard him say. "Now take all of it, little slut, right down your dirty throat." And the girl did, gagging and turning red. Two male hands held her down for at least a minute. Right when Juliana wanted to jump up and protest, the girl came up, coughing and panting like a drowning swimmer - slime and saliva gushing from her mouth. 

"Good girl! Good girl!" The doctor clapped his hands. 

"Now do it again." She did. And she gagged. And she did it again until the young man pulled her off his cock and lifted her on the table. He pulled up her skirt and rammed his leaking pole into her crotch. Her cry filled the hall, echoing from the ceiling. 

The man took her knees and pushed them up and apart, all the while pounding his cock into her. Juliana felt the table shake; the glasses tinkled with every push. The girl's moaning turned into a constant wail. She might be in pain or in lust; it was impossible to say. 

The doctor had followed them. His face was now where the man's cock plunged into the girl. He caressed her belly with his hand. His stream of encouragements drowned in the sounds of the fucking couple. Juliana saw his other meaty hand pushing the guy's behind. The sheer violence shocked her. Her eyes search the girl's; they were wide open and staring at her. Then they rolled back - all she saw was the white. The girl's spine arched until she only rested on the crown of her head. Her mouth opened wide, but the wailing stopped abruptly. Then she started shaking. 

Every conscious thought left Juliana's mind. Her eyes and ears registered what happened, but only her body responded. It tingled and trembled. All sensations tightened into a ball that churned in her lower belly. The leather of the chair seemed to melt against her glowing ass. Someone sobbed; it was her voice, but she didn't know. Her hands were fists, pushing her dress into her crotch. 

It was only through a mist that she saw the young man pull his cock from the girl's vagina. Its purple head spewed ropes of white slime onto her face, her throat and the lovely dress. 

The girl lay still now. The young man had sunk down on her, panting. The doctor's red, sweating face was suddenly right in front of Juliana's. 

"You liked that, didn't you, Mrs. Austin?" he said, his breath hot and sickly sweet. She felt his hands cover her fists, softly patting them. "Who would've known you have such a sweet dirty mind?" He chuckled. 

"Good girl." Then he turned and called out: 

"John! I'm hungry! Next course." 

*** 

There is this sensation of being alone in a familiar world. But then there is this feeling of being lost in an alien world, where there is no reference, no frame for even the simplest of feelings. 

Later that night Juliana stared at the ceiling of her appointed bedroom, losing herself in the vast expanse of ancient stucco. Dark and light patterns chased each other, reflecting the cloudy, moonlit sky outside. High winds shook the trees in the garden, making branches scratch the windowpanes. 

Juliana had often felt alone, but never like this. Her nerves were raw from the outrageous happenings of the day. Until this morning she hadn't even known a life like this existed - let alone her being part of it. Her emotions could only follow at a distance. There was no familiar reference. She looked at it all through a bewildering haze. 

After their act the handsome young man had picked up the girl from the table and carried her off. As if nothing had happened, the butler served her a plate of meat and vegetables, pouring red wine in one of the crystal glasses. 

The doctor raised his drink from the other side of the table, toasting. She automatically mirrored him and sipped the dark liquid. It tasted strong, with a bitter edge. The steaming venison caused a hint of nausea. She cleared her throat. 

"Could I leave, please," she said. "I don't feel well." 




Juliana Ch. 02



The smile fell from his face. He rose and pushed his chair back, causing the legs to screech. Rounding the table, he walked over. Her heart raced with sudden fear. 

His big hands grabbed hers, holding them up to his lips. 

"No, Mrs. Austin!" he boomed. "You can't do that to me, especially when I have such an important day ahead." Juliana looked up, past her hands and into his face. It was ruddy and still slightly shining with perspiration. 

"You will operate on my husband, tomorrow?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper. He shrugged. 

"Let's say your leaving would upset me; and it isn't wise to rob a surgeon of his night's rest right before a life-threatening challenge." He let go of her hands and stood back, obviously waiting for her decision. 

Juliana picked up her fork and speared a cranberry; it tasted bittersweet. The doctor smiled and returned to his chair, clapping his hands as he walked. It echoed like pistol shots. 

The girl entering was young; even younger than Juliana. And she was naked. Her body looked spectacular, mostly because of her large breasts; they stood high and impossibly round on her narrow chest. She also had very long legs. 

Dancing to jazzy music coming from an invisible source, she wasn't really moving around - just swaying and gyrating, running her hands over her body. She lifted a breast with one hand, while the other slid between her churning thighs. Juliana saw she was bald there, like a little girl. Soon her fingers were slipping and sliding through the slit of her vagina. The candlelight sent deep shadows over and around her curves, while highlights slithered down her limbs like living snakes. 

Through the music and the moaning of the girl Juliana heard the doctor's voice mouthing crude encouragements from the other side of the table. She wondered what he would do. Would he grab the girl, like the young man had before, and abuse her on the table? The girl's rubbing got more intense; her fingers disappeared into her vagina, and she gasped. Her other hand caressed and squeezed her breasts, pulling at the nipples. Then she rose to tiptoes, arching her back as the music came to a climax. She cried out and started to shudder. Then she crumbled and fell to the marble floor. The music ended. A one-man applause broke the silence. 

"Bravo!" 

Juliana saw the doctor rise from his seat and walk over to the fallen girl. He bent down and caressed her back, reaching for her arm and pulling her up. She leaned into him, her pale body in stark contrast to his black suit. One of his big hands cupped a breast, feeling it as if searching. His thumb circled the areola of her nipple. The girl turned her head and kissed him on his cheek. 

"Amazing," he said. Then, looking at Juliana, he proceeded: "Please, Mrs. Austin, meet Melinda." His hand went on mauling the breast, as his other rested on her belly. The girl leaned back, pushing out her pelvis. She smiled in Juliana's direction. Raising a hand, she sent a greeting with dancing fingers. 

"Melinda is very grateful, aren't you, honey?" the doctor asked. The girl nodded vehemently. 

"Oh yes, doctor," she gushed with a little girl's voice. She pecked his jowl again. "Thank you! Thank you!" He chuckled. 

"You see, Mrs. Austin," he went on. "Melinda is a wonderful little dancer, but she's ambitious. She wants to be famous and make a lot of money, don't you, honey?" The girl nodded again, making her blond curls dance. The doctor pressed her huge breasts together. She squealed. 

"But, alas," Dr. Charrier sighed. "Let's say her err... natural talents weren't big enough to sustain her huge ambitions." He laughed, pleased with his words. 

The doctor gripped the girl's shoulders and pushed her forward. 

"Look, Mrs. Austin," he said, "isn't it amazing what our wonderful clinic can do?" The girl came to a halt a few steps away from Juliana. Her breasts still shook and trembled. 

"Show her, Melinda," the doctor said. 

The girl turned her head around to him. When she looked back to Juliana she smiled shyly, putting a finger in her mouth. It made her look even younger, and rather empty-headed. Then she took a few steps forward, presenting her breasts to the seated woman. 

Juliana had read about cosmetic surgery; she'd even seen pictures. The articles always had a negative tone - about the results being unnatural, about mismatches and ugly scars, sickness and regret. Granted, the girl's breasts had an unnatural size for her small frame, but they looked and moved totally real. 

As Melinda came closer, presenting the round globes by pushing them up with her hands, Juliana felt a growing embarrassment. She looked away. 

"Why don't you touch them?" the girl asked, reaching for Juliana's hand and laying it on her left breast. The skin was amazingly soft and smooth and warm, like a baby's bottom. She watched her painted fingernails slide over the curved top until they touched a nipple. 

"Mmmm," the girl moaned; then she giggled. It made her breasts jiggle. 

Juliana's fingers rounded the girl's left areola and she felt thick, powdery cream stick to her fingers. An angry pink scar shone through the covering make up; it ran along the underside of the areola in a half moon. She pulled back her hand as if stung by a bee. Looking up in surprise she found the doctor's face over Melinda's shoulder. 

"It's been only two weeks," he said. "It will be gone in another month. My baby will look perfect." He reached around, hefting the breasts from behind. "Perfect as if she were born with them." 

The girl sighed. 

"Tell her what they cost, honey," the doctor said, letting go of her breasts. 

"Nothing!" the girl exclaimed, jumping up and down with enthusiasm, and clapping her hands. "Not a penny!" 

The doctor chuckled, watching the after shocks of her jumping. 

"Good girl," he said. "Now show Mrs. Austin how grateful you are for that, while John brings us dessert." He turned and walked to his place at the head of the table. 

Juliana shirked back into her chair, wary of what might come next. The girl just stood smiling, turning a strand of curly hair around a finger. 

"You aren't hungry?" 

It was the voice of the butler. He was busy taking away her still full plate. 

"No, I'm sorry," she whispered. He put down a plate with an assortment of ice cream, mousse and fresh fruit. The fruit appealed to her, and maybe the ice cream. She picked up a spoon; then she looked up to watch the girl. She wasn't there anymore. 

Juliana shrieked when a hand slid up her inner thigh, pushing up the dress. She tried to move her chair to get up, but it didn't budge. Looking back she saw the butler blocking the chair while smiling his apologetic smile. A second hand crawled up her other thigh, forcing her legs apart. She tried to rise, but suddenly two strong hands pushed her shoulders down. 

"No!" she cried out. "Let me go!" 

From the other side of the table came laughter. 

"Don't be a spoil sport, Mrs. Austin," the doctor said. "Give the girl a chance to pay off her new titties." 

Juliana tried to focus in the whirlwind of panic that descended on her. Two hands forced her to stay seated; two much softer ones reached her crotch, pulling at her thong. And at the other side of the table was the man that held her prisoner with his blackmail. 

How could she 've been so stupid not to see what was really demanded of her? Then again, what else could she have done? She'd been naïve in her harmless suppositions of being a companion, maybe once in a while alleviating a lonely man's burden. What did she think? Did it matter what she thought? 

She felt the girl's curls caress the soft skin of her inner thighs. It gave her shivers. She tried to back away from it. Then she felt the narrow elastic band of the thong cut into her hip until it snapped. Moist, weak lips engulfed her vagina. She moaned and wrestled with the restricting hands. They closed around her upper arms now and they hurt. Tears ran down her cheeks as a hot, wet snake entered her, twisting and turning inside her vagina. 

Suddenly a face appeared in front of her, bobbing up and down in the mist of her vision. It was the doctor's; he spoke to her. She didn't want to hear it. She closed her eyes. 

The slap to her face was sharp and sudden. 

"Now you listen, precious Mrs. Austin," Dr. Charrier said. He was close; she smelled the wine on his breath. "If you care for your husband's life, don't force me to remind you over and over again about your situation, understand? You make me feel like the bad guy here, and you shouldn't. You should do this because you want to... you do it gladly, understand?" She said she understood. 

"Understand?" he repeated. She said again that she understood. 

"Show me," he said. "Open your eyes and spread your 

legs." Her heart raced and her mind was numb. Her husband's life hung in the balance. Her face burned from the slap. Strong hands held her in place. There was no way out; she had no choice. She opened her eyes and spread her legs. 

The mouth on her vagina knew what to do; the tongue found the forbidden spot she'd played with while showering. The spot that sent blasts of electricity up her body. Hands slid inside the top of her dress, squeezing her breasts and fondling her nipples. A moan wrestled itself from her throat. 

Once or twice Alec had licked her down there, but it had been awkward and rushed. The last time she'd pushed his head away, and he'd never done it again. 

Juliana kept her eyes open, but didn't see much. The hands on her breasts must be the doctor's. His voice droned on, while incredible sensations made her heart pound. 

"So here we are, Mrs. Austin," he said. "Admit it... you are just a dirty slut like all women... humping your wet cunt... begging to come... ah, yes, such a common little whore you are..." 

Juliana sobbed. Was he right? Did she rub her screaming vagina against the girl's mouth? Nooo... it was just because she had no choice; she had to! Her husband... the hands that held her down... the... 

"Let her go, John," the doctor said. 

The strong hands disappeared; she was free. All she had to do was jump and run... jump and run. But she didn't. Her mind screamed to run, but her pelvis churned harder into the mouth. 'Get up and run!' a voice whispered from somewhere, but she stayed and slowly sank into the sweet, soft quagmire of sensations she'd never allowed herself to feel before. 

Her hands no longer pushed against the man who abused her breasts; her ass slid forward on the leather, her thighs opening wider. Her head fell back and she screamed. 

It wasn't despair. 

*** 

The winds outside reflected the turmoil of her mind as much as the clouds' shadows flying across her ceiling. The fleeting shadows were shapeless - chasing, changing. She tried to cry again, but there were no tears. A branch scratched the window like a witch's long-nailed finger. 

Juliana would be the first to agree she was naïve and gullible. But she would never delude herself with a convenient lie. Tonight it would be easy to deny what really happened in the dining hall. She could say she was forced, even raped, and it would take tons off her heaving chest to believe that. But she couldn't because she wasn't. 

Sure, the butler had pinned her down in the chair. But she'd known even before he let her go, that she would not have fled - or even protested. 

It had all been so confusing - her mind screaming disgust, while her body drowned in waves of pleasure. How could she have known right from wrong when wrong felt so right? Why was she so alone? 

All her life had been like this. All the things she hated or disliked had been the 'good' things. Her parents were 'good,' the church was 'good.' Boring chores were 'good,' exciting things were 'evil.' The mumbled, incomprehensible phrases from the Bible were 'good,' music that stirred her blood and made her feel alive was 'from the devil.' How could she ever find her way in a world like that? She'd fled her home and found love, but all it got her into was a new impasse. 

She wondered if the lives of all women were like this. Did any of them get to choose? She thought of her mother, and the way others had made all her choices for her. But she, Juliana, had made her own choice by fleeing, hadn't she? And wasn't there Aimée, who was perfectly happy with her husband and her children? And Carol, the filthy-voiced, utterly free woman at her workplace? Hadn't she made her own choices? 

Juliana once more studied the ceiling. Her hand crawled down her belly to cup her still moist, still tingling vagina. 'Cunt,' the awful man had called it. 'Slut' he'd called the sweet, big-breasted girl. How could things that gave so much pleasure have such ugly names? Juliana sighed. Her fingers found the place where the soft humming lived, the radiant warmth, the sweet oblivion. 

And she slept.



Juliana Ch. 03



Courage is a virtue highly praised by people who sit in the comfort and safety of their homes. The same people like the spirit of a survivor. In real life, however, doesn't the one often exclude the other? 

Juliana woke up feeling broken. Her head ached and all her muscles felt as if she'd just done the Olympic Decathlon. She stretched her limbs, wincing softly. She was naked under a satin sheet. 

Through a haze she remembered being scooped up at the dining table by the butler, last night, and carried in his arms through chilly corridors. She must have fainted from the massive climax that had swallowed her. She didn't remember having stripped before going to bed. And now she didn't want to remember. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Austin." 

The voice was the butler's. His knocking on the door must have woken her. He stood at the foot of the ancient poster bed, carrying a tray. She saw a teapot, triangles of toasted bread and a silver dome that he lifted off a plate. The aroma of eggs and bacon reached her nostrils; she felt a pang of hunger in the pit of her stomach. 

"Good morning, John," she said, blushing as she imagined the intimacy of him undressing her last night. She sat up, holding on to the sheet to cover her chest. 

John put her breakfast on an old fashioned folding table that he set in front of her. She avoided his eyes. 

"Thank you, John," she said. "It looks delicious." 

He poured her tea. She picked up a piece of toast and spread some scrambled egg on it. It tasted heavenly. 

The butler smiled before turning away. She'd never seen him doing that. 

"John," she called out before he reached the door. He turned towards her. 

"Ma'am," he said, his eyebrows raised. 

"Thank you for taking such good care of me." She hated the rising glow of another blush. 

"It was my job," he said. "And also my pleasure." 

"John?" He once more checked his departure. 

"Ma'am?" 

"What has he planned for me today?" His smile shrank until there was only a thin line. 

"I am not privy of Dr. Charrier's plans, Ma'am," he said. "I am the butler." And he left. 

After eating the last crumb of the delicious breakfast, Juliana showered. She returned to the bedroom wearing the fluffy white robe she found. 

The only item in her closet was a short, baby blue dress. It was thin and felt like cotton. Buttons ran from its collar to its hem. On the bottom of the closet stood a pair of sandals. The heels were taller than she'd ever worn. 

She searched the drawers for underwear. All she found was a pair of string-like panties. She sighed, stepping into them. They felt tight and left tufts of pubic hair uncovered. She put on the dress, closing all the buttons. Would she ever get used to the free movement of her breasts? She pulled the irritating fabric away from her nipples. 

Sitting down at the make-up table, Juliana picked up a brush. Pulling it through her short, tangled hair, she watched her eyes in the mirror. They looked tired and puffed. Remembering the heavily made up face of the big-breasted dancer, last night, she took stock of the table. Was she supposed to use all this: the powders and the shadows, the lipsticks and the eyeliners? There were puffs and sponges and an array of soft brushes. She also saw a number of items she didn't even know the names of. 

Her attention was diverted by a soft knock on her door. It was the small Asian girl that had done her hair and nails the day before. She looked like a porcelain doll. 

"You dress already," the girl said, frowning. 

"Yes," Juliana responded, laying her hands on her chest. "I thought... I found it in the closet... I mean the dress, I..." She babbled. She wondered why. Why was she always on the defensive in here? The woman smiled. 

"Is alrigh," she said with her singsong accent. "But now you take it off again, please." 

The tiny woman walked past her to the bathroom, leaving a sweet cloud of perfume in her wake. Juliana heard taps being opened and water gushing into the tub. She stood undecided. Her fingers were at her collar, touching the uppermost button. 

"You undress now!" the woman insisted from the door. "I have no all day." Juliana's fingers undid the first button and stopped. Why hesitate? After all, the girl was a woman, wasn't she? No need to be shy. 

The second button popped from its tiny slit, followed by the third and fourth. There were so many. 

After the fifth the fabric yielded, showing off the soft curve of her modest breast. She stopped, taking a deep breath. Being brought up to not even dare look at oneself wasn't something that disappeared overnight. With Alec she'd undressed in the bathroom. 

One hand held the gap closed while the other lingered at the next button. Juliana knew she was being silly. After what happened yesterday, every try at modesty was ludicrous, wasn't it? She'd spread her naked thighs wide, showing off her most intimate parts; a butler had undressed her. And now she was shy? Four more buttons went, then another three until she reached the hem. She slowly straightened her back, letting the two halves fall apart. 

The little Asian clapped her doll's hands. 

"Beautiful!" she said, smiling her pearly teeth bare. Juliana smiled. She knew she blushed like crazy. She didn't care. Shrugging her shoulders, she let the thin cotton slide off her body. 

"What is your name?" she asked the girl. "I'm Juliana." 

The girl said she was Mei. Then she waved Juliana closer and into the bathroom. Clouds of fragrant steam welcomed them. When Juliana walked over to the bathtub, Mei clacked her tongue, pointing at the white cotton thong. She giggled and so did Juliana as she pushed her thumbs into the elastic band and slid the panties down. 

"So much hair," Mei said, shaking her head left and right. "No good. No beautiful." 

Juliana looked down. She was a natural blonde. The hair on her mound and vagina was thick and curly. She had no thoughts about it being beautiful or not. It was just there, ever since she grew up. It was like her eyebrows - and her armpits. 

Mei clacked her tongue again, frowning as she lifted one of Juliana's arms. 

"You in water," she said. "I come back." 

Mountains of foam covered the scalding water. Juliana sank down very slowly, an inch at the time. When her ass cheeks touched the water and she shied up again with a soft squeal, she heard the rumbling laughter of a male voice. Crying out, she tried to jump out of the tub and run. But two strong hands grabbed her, and wrestled her down into the splashing water. 

"You stay down, Mrs. Austin," the voice said. Through the clouds she saw the shape of Dr. Charrier. He wore a white bathrobe, soaked with water from their little struggle. He let go of her arms. She sank deeper, covered with suds, and panting. 

"No," she said. "No, no, no." He chuckled yet again. 

"Oh yes, darling," he said. "So very yes." He straightened up and walked over to a bench that stood against the tiled wall. There he sat down facing her, knees wide and big hands resting on them. Like one of those Japanese wrestlers, she thought. Sommo, Summo... 

"Now," he went on, "when sweet Mei returns, you do exactly what she tells you, understood? Exactly." 

She just stared and nodded. Moist heat soaked her skin. She felt dizzy. 

Mei ignored the doctor when she returned. She carried a tray; Juliana couldn't see what was on it. The girl set the tray on a commode. Then she walked over to the tub, smiling and nodding. 

"You rise, please," she said. The girl stood at the foot of the tub, blocking the doctor's view for now. But Juliana knew what he would see, the moment she'd step aside. 

"Do I have to?" she asked, hating the childish whine in her voice. Mei just smiled and nodded again. 

"Have no all day," she said. 

Juliana rose from the water, feeling tufts of foam slide down her body. The chill of the air made her shiver. She put one arm over her breasts and slid a hand between her thighs. Mei once more clacked her tongue. 

"Won't do at all," she said, shaking her head. She walked over to the tray, leaving Juliana exposed to the doctor's gaze. She closed her eyes in a childish effort to wish him away. He chuckled. 

Juliana felt soft fingers touch her hand where it covered her crotch. They closed around her wrist and pulled. 

"You do as told, please," Mei's voice said. She stopped resisting the hand. 

"Now put one foot on side of bath." 

Opening her eyes, Juliana saw the doctor sit right across from her. A strange new feeling replaced her shame. The man didn't laugh, she saw, or even smile. His eyes were glued to her crotch. His mouth hung partly open. 

Juliana didn't see a violent, confident man at all. What she saw, if just for a glimpse, was an overgrown schoolboy, obsessed by what existed between her thighs. 

Maybe it was the way the man looked. Or maybe it was just a deeply rooted urge to survive - an urge handed down to her by generations of stubborn farmers. Whatever it might be, it caused a cool, almost deliberate resolution to conquer her panic. She wasn't here for herself; she was here on a mission. She would do anything to reach that goal - anything. There were important things, and then there was this insignificant fluff between her thighs. There was life and death, and then there was this schoolboy drooling over her. 

Spreading her thighs wider, she searched for the doctor's eyes. When he at last looked up from her crotch, she held his gaze until he looked away. He sneered, but she knew it was just a cover up. 

"We ought to call you Kate Bush, Mrs. Austin," he mocked. His laugh was way too loud. 

Juliana felt Mei's soft hand on her thigh, pushing her open wider. She looked down and watched a shining pair of scissors snap away at her pubic hair. 

The Asian girl muttered while manipulating Juliana's skin to reach every niche and cranny. She handed the lump of hair over to the doctor, who studied it before bringing it to his nose. Juliana turned her head away, rolling her eyes. Then she felt a soft, moist mop against her skin: a brush smeared white lather all over her clipped mound, her labia, and between her crack. In a flash Juliana recalled the crotch of the big-breasted girl from yesterday - pink and bare like a baby's. 

"Stand still," Mei said. "Absolutely still now." Juliana closed her eyes again. She didn't move. 

The tiny woman was good. Juliana hardly felt the blade as it scratched away on her skin. A hand grabbed her left ass cheek first, and then the right, opening her wider to allow the razor to clean her crack. The hands must be the doctor's. His hot breath made her skin crawl. But she fought her disgust and anger until her numb coolness returned. Her shame was unimportant; she had to survive. 

A warm, fluffy towel rubbed the surplus of lather away, and then soft hands oiled her skin deeply, her mound as well as the insides of her labia - and her clitoris. Fingers even entered her anus, making her cry out. 

Little circles of pleasure radiated from the spots the girl rubbed. Slowly but surely Juliana felt how her body gave in yet again - her knees trembled. But the hands stopped. Juliana shook her head to chase away the sweet, warm dizziness. She looked around; the doctor had left. 

"Arm pits now," the Asian girl said, waving the brush. 

*** 

If humiliation were a sword, it would have two edges. Firstly there would be the deep-cutting edge of the actual degradation. But secondly, and maybe even more degrading, would be the knowledge that you participated. 

When Juliana walked into the lounge, the murmur of conversation quieted down. She knew people were watching her, and it made a pink blush creep out of her white lace collar. A life of being invisible doesn't really prepare one for the limelight. She knew she looked posh. The cream-colored suit was true Chanel, and the string of pearls over her lace see through blouse was just as genuine. Knowing what was under it made her feel giddy - a satin chemise with spaghetti straps, a tight lace thong over a garter belt that held up white sheer nylon stockings. She'd never before even seen garters. Let alone worn the patent leather Louboutins with stiletto heels; they made her ankles wobble. 

Words reached her from where the big fireplace was. She knew the voice, of course. It begged her to come closer. 

Juliana walked over reluctantly, avoiding the faces around her. The doctor's large hand took the tips of her fingers, pulling her closer. Her ankle twisted. 

"This, gentlemen," he said, "is Mrs. Juliana Austin." He turned her to be better seen by her audience. Her eyes stayed down. "Please sit with us," he went on, making her turn his way again. She saw the schoolboy look had gone, but his face shone pink, whether from shaving lotion or sweat, she couldn't tell. His off-white smoking jacket made him seem even larger. 

She looked left and right; there were no free chairs. On an overstuffed couch sat a young man with a blonde woman. On the other side was a sofa with another couple. She looked again; the man was the young doctor from the hospital. He smiled at her. What was his name? Fleming. Knowing he knew her deepened her embarrassment. 

The doctor's hand pulled her closer. 

"In my lap, please, Mrs. Austin," he said, smiling. 

She didn't want to sit in his lap. As a matter of fact, touching his hand made her skin crawl. Walking on patent leather stiletto's put her on display. And smelling the perfume Mei had sprayed on her made her feel like a prostitute - a classy dressed one, but still a whore. 

She'd rather not be here at all. But she was, and for a reason. The same reason that made her force her lips into a smile as she thanked him and sat down in his lap. 

It felt soft and warm and wobbly, like an air cushion. She crossed her legs, pulling at the skirt's hem. One of the doctor's warm hands rested on her hip; the other held a glass of brandy. Blue smoke hung in the air; she could smell the acrid perfume of cigars. 

The blonde sitting with the unknown man seemed as nervous as she was. She wore a pale blue mini dress that showed a lot of thigh. The brunette sitting with Fleming had her arms around his neck, whispering into his ear and giggling. She was in black, her dress cut low enough to show generous cleavage. The men all held glasses of brandy and cigars. They talked shop as if the women were not there. 

Then Dr. Charrier put down his glass and snapped his fingers once. 

Both women turned towards him; the brunette rose at once. She walked over to the blonde, reaching out to pull her up. The blonde turned her head from the doctor to the brunette and back. Fat fingers next to Juliana's head snapped twice more. The blonde closed her eyes and also rose, pulling at her skirt. Juliana felt the doctor's hand caressing her thigh. 

The brunette led the blonde to the center of the carpet in front of the fireplace. Eyes were watching them from three sides. When they stood chest to chest, the brunette leaned in and kissed the blonde. A soft moan sounded in the silence. The kiss went on, and the bodies moved closer. The blonde's arms closed around her lover's waist; it made her bracelets jingle. Then the lips parted. The brunette smiled, her forehead touching the blonde's brow. Her hands went round the girl. Juliana heard a zipper open, followed by another moan from the blonde. 

Stepping back, the brunette watched the pale blue dress slide off the girl's body, leaving her standing in bra and panties; they were baby-blue and transparent. Her breasts seemed small and round above her flat belly; Juliana could see her nipples. The girl blushed pink. 

"You are so beautiful," the brunette said. "Now please take off my dress." 

She turned her back to the blonde, raising one hip in a sensual stance. The girl looked around nervously; then she reached out and pulled the zipper in the black dress. The brunette shook her body and the fabric slid down to her ankles. She only wore a black thong and sheer black nylons that held themselves up by a wide lace band. Two seams ran down straight to her lifted heels. From where Juliana sat she could see the bare breasts; they were big and firm, with dark areolas. One nipple gleamed with a gold ring. Another ring pierced her belly button. She looked tan all over. 

"Mabel, take off your bra," the doctor said right next to Juliana's ear. She could feel his voice vibrate where their bodies touched. The blonde, obviously Mabel, stiffened and turned her head their way. 

"Do it, slut," the doctor insisted. His voice sounded gentle. 

The girl blushed deeper as she brought her hands to her back to unfasten her bra. Juliana saw her breasts strain against the white lace. Then the material slackened, and they fell free. Her nipples were as pale and pink as the rest of her skin. 

"Good slut," the doctor said. Juliana felt an increased pressure of his hand on her thigh, making slow, intensifying circles. The friction on the nylons sent heat up her leg and into her belly. She tried to move away, but he gripped her flesh. She looked sideways; his eyes were fixed on the women. His fat lips moved as he mumbled. Then he spoke up. "Right...Now take her panties." 

The brunette smiled and reached for the blonde's thong. It was small and almost transparent. Juliana supposed she must be shaven too. The brunette slid one arm around the girl, while slipping the other inside her panties. Her red fingernails shone through the fabric. 

"Hmm," Juliana heard close to her left ear. "I bet she is soaking wet, the dirty whore." 

The blonde closed her eyes and her hands covered her breasts. But as the fingers increased their movements inside her thong, she pushed her pelvis forward. And she moaned, blushing. 

Juliana could only stare. Her eyes were like burning coals, isolated from her numb body. A second hand slid under her blouse up to her right breast. The hand on her thigh grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it up. She intended to stop it, but her hands refused to work. All she saw were the girls wriggling on the carpet. The blonde was naked now, and the dark-haired woman had her face between her thighs. Juliana heard male voices cheering them on. The voice at her ear uttered a stream of obscene suggestions, laced with demeaning qualifications, like 'slut' and 'cunt.' 

Then the hand reached her panties. It formed into a fist, pushing her crossed legs apart. She had no strength left to resist, it seemed. The hand cupped her shaven vagina, squeezing. 

"Mmmm," Charrier now whispered straight into her ear. "Aren't we wet, Mrs. Austin. Oh yes, soaking. It must be the view." 

Juliana's vision dimmed and cleared with the throbbing of her vagina, and so did her perception of what happened in front of her. The women were both naked now. They had slipped to the floor and crawled into a position at which their mouths were on each other's vaginas. The blonde was below, and her shyness seemed to have disappeared. She sucked and licked the brunette's exposed slit with abandon, groaning all the time. 

As the doctor's fingers fondled Juliana's nipples, she tried to look away from the women, only to find the young man on her left with an exposed penis. He pulled at it with his hand, a purple head sliding in and out of its foreskin. The penis looked large and seemed already hard. Looking over to the other sofa she saw Fleming do the same, his eager eyes glued to the women on the floor. 

"Good slut," the voice in her ear whispered, and Juliana realized he now meant her. Fingernails pinched her nipple. The pain seemed to tear the numb curtain off her sensations, and she cried out. It drew the attention of the young men; they both looked straight at her, jerking off their penises. Juliana realized her jacket and blouse were undone now, and the chemise pulled up to expose her chest. The gold-ringed fingers of Dr. Charrier crawled over her flesh like a pink spider. She cried again, hearing the sound gurgle away into a protracted moan. There was laughter. The hand must have pulled off her panties. She felt a finger slip into her shaved vagina. The room's dim light flickered, before it went out. 




Juliana Ch. 03



When her full vision returned, Juliana saw the blonde kneel in front of the young man on the left. His penis was in her mouth, only the lower half showing. The brunette did the same to Dr. Fleming. Juliana saw she had a tattoo on her lower back. 

There were two fingers up Juliana's vagina now. A thumb rubbed her clitoris, her breasts were mauled and her nipples pinched. It set her entire body aflame. Juliana decided it was beyond her control. 

A voice kept abusing her, but she didn't want to hear what it said. The fingers fucked her into oblivion, but she didn't want to feel it. Her eyes watched the women being fucked now on the couches, but she closed them. Don't see, don't hear, don't feel. But she felt. And she came again, sobbing. 

*** 

More than color, religion or sex, poverty divides humanity - not just in haves and have not's, but in beings and non-beings. It shortens people's lives. It robs them of their dignity and future. It is hereditary, and it turns them invisible. 

When Juliana woke up the next morning, it was more like swimming to the surface of a deep, deep sea. The water was warm and, unlike a drowning swimmer, she would've loved to stay down, surrounded by a slow whirlpool that made her feel weightless. She knew things would be worse once she broke the surface. And they were. 

Memories of what happened the night before attacked her as soon as she opened her eyes. It must be guilt, she guessed, and it wasn't in her mind or in her body; it was somewhere in between, like a sandwich. Her mind knew very well why she was here: to save her husband's life. There was no guilt in that. Her body had no problem either; it felt better than ever. But there was this third nameless entity. It ached whenever she thought back to what she'd done, and what she would be doing in the days to come. 

Juliana threw back her covers, finding that she'd slept naked. Her nipples still looked reddish and swollen; her hand found her bald mound and vagina, caressing them softly. She sighed. Turning over to slide out of bed, she saw the chair and the outfit laid out on it. There was a note on the small pile, written in a steady, elegant hand. 

"Please wear this before showering and go to the gym." Juliana knew there was a small gym at the side of the building. The butler called it the Orangerie. It was all windows, mirrors and huge pots with exotic plants - like a stylish hothouse. 

She picked up the items on the chair. 

The gray and black lycra fit her like a glove, both top and three-quarter pants. She decided to love the feeling; a gentle giant's fist holding her up and together. Soft elastic mules fit her feet like socks. She picked the towel off the back of the chair and walked out. In a corridor she passed a reflecting window and couldn't keep from watching her silhouette in it. She'd always heard it was vanity to do so; giving in to the Devil's seduction. She shrugged - there were so many things she'd heard, and none of them had helped her much; neither here or in Chicago. 

She looked good, she decided, in her tight little outfit. The girlish breasts were pressed against her rib cage. There was her narrow waist and flat belly; her long, slender legs. Standing tall makes you feel tall. A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she walked on. 

There already was someone in the gym, working a machine that looked like mechanical stairs. It was the big-breasted girl, the dancer from the dining room; the girl that had... Juliana winced at the memory, feeling her clitoris respond. What was her name again? Melinda. The girl turned to Juliana and waved. Her ass cheeks churned inside her pink lycra shorts; her chest made her look like a cartoon figure. 

"Hellooo, Juleeanna," she drawled in her baby voice. "So sweet to join me." 

Juliana smiled a forced smile. She considered leaving. Then she walked around the machines, undecided. 

"Your first time, honey?" the girl asked, getting down from her machine. She grabbed a bottle and took a swig of water. Juliana saw that the front of her top was dark with sweat, displaying her breasts even more. 

"Try the bike first, darling," Melinda said. "Just to warm up, you know. I'll ride with you on the second one." She giggled. 

The girl explained things with patience and good humor. But all the time, staring at her lips, Juliana kept thinking where they had touched her, kissing, sucking. She shook her head to get rid of the images. They mounted the bikes, and Juliana pedaled along in a nice, relaxing tempo. 

"You like it here?" the girl asked, working out next to her. Juliana just groaned. Such an easy question and she couldn't find an answer. 

"Well," the girl said, "I guess it takes time. I remember being nervous too." She grinned. "Consider it like a spa. When will yours be done?" 

Juliana stopped her feet. 

"Done?" she asked. "What do you mean?" 

It seemed to confuse the girl. She also sat up and let her hands make curves in front of her upper body. 

"Well, err... you know?" she said. Juliana guffawed, bringing a hand to her mouth. 

"Oh no!" she cried out. "Oh God no. I'm not here for that!" She wasn't able to stop a bout of giggles. Melinda frowned. Juliana reached for her knee, patting it. 

"Sorry!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, but I'm not here for that at all." Melinda shrugged; it did spectacular things to her chest. 

"You could use it," she muttered. Then both of them laughed. It was like a catharsis for Juliana. She couldn't stop; the laughter turned into hysterics. And then she cried. 

When her heaves finally stopped, Juliana felt her face being pressed into warm, moist pillows. A girly voice mumbled things, and a hand patted her back. 

"It's all right darling," the voice said. "Small titties are nice too; some men even like them better." She pulled herself free. 

"Stop it!" she cried out. "You stupid girl. I'm not crying for my tits!" Melinda withdrew from the sudden aggression. Juliana knew she'd hurt the girl, and she regretted it at once. She might be shallow and selfish and a whore, but she had hugged her and consoled her in her sorrow. 

"Sorry," she whispered. She reached out and caressed the girl's face. "I'm not here for myself. I'm here because my husband is dying." 

Melinda's face was a blank. 

"Your husband," she said. Juliana nodded. 

"He has this... thing in his head. The doctor is going to operate, soon he says. When he is strong enough." 

"And you can't pay for it." Juliana nodded. The girl pulled her into an embrace again. 

"I guess you never before..." Melinda began. Juliana shook her head. 

"No." 

They just sat for a while. 

"You must think I'm shallow and selfish, and a whore," Melinda then said. 

"Oh, no, I'd never do that," Juliana lied. "Who am I to judge?" The girl smiled a very small smile. Juliana realized the little girl's voice had disappeared. 

"You must think I am selfish: whoring myself out just to get me some boobs for free - while you suffer for your husband..." 

"Oh, no," Juliana repeated. 

"It's all right; I won't defend myself," the girl said. 

"No need to," Juliana insisted. The girl smiled again, adjusting her breasts inside her top. Then she took another gulp of water from her bottle. 

"I am poor," she then said. "Really poor - the stinking, hopeless kind. My mother is poor, working two jobs to feed her three children. Her husband left her when I was 13. He wasn't my father. He never worked a day in his life. He fucked around on her; and he fucked me when I turned twelve." 

Melinda looked away to the tall windows and into the garden. Juliana didn't think she saw much. 

"Poverty stinks," she went on. "You can scrub toilets and flip burgers and it won't ever make you un-poor. You can take three jobs, but people will look down on you anyway, or even through you. So why be considered despicable and poor if you can be despicable and rich?" The raw logic struck Juliana. Melinda chuckled now, touching Juliana's face. 

"I dropped out of school when I was 14 and pregnant. Four weeks later I was un-pregnant and had my very own pimp. A year later I knew that the only one getting rich off me was he, so I ran off and joined a strip-joint. I didn't have the body, but I could dance. And I put out for money. Another year later I did this audition for porn. And another. And another. Until I realized that all these sleazy 'producers' were just in it for the free fuck, telling me afterwards I didn't have 'it.'" She did air-quotes with the word producer and the word it. 

"Compared to what I did, this here is peanuts, honey," she went on. "And when I get out of here, there is a contract waiting for me to do six porn shoots. I'll be rich!" Her light blue eyes sparkled when she said that. Then her ironic smile returned as she pushed out her chest. "Well, anyway, I won't be invisible anymore." 

She laughed a very contagious laugh. Juliana couldn't stay behind. They hugged and laughed. 

"C'mon, girlfriend," Melinda said, relapsing to her singsong girly voice. "Let's hit some of these macheeeenes!" 

*** 

Juliana showered, letting the hot water massage her sore muscles. Then she ate breakfast in her room. On her bed lay a simple white bra and panties, and a thin, gray sweat suit with wide flaring legs. On the floor was a set of wedge-heeled sandals. There also was a note telling her to be at the doctor's office around eleven. As it wasn't ten yet, she left her room to look for a cup of coffee. The corridors were empty and so was the big dining hall. She avoided the lounge. 

A voice called her name as she rounded another corner, wondering where she was. Over on the other side of the corridor was an open door; it led into an office. She knew the voice. Images flooded her mind and she considered walking on. But he came out of the office, checking her passage. 

"Mrs. Austin," he said, smiling. "Please let's have a cup of coffee. I may have good news for you." He waved her into the room. 

She saw a simple desk and some chairs. He offered her a seat and turned away to fill two mugs with coffee. 

"Your husband is doing well," he said. "We still keep him sedated, but scans show the blood clot is almost gone." He handed her a cup, asking if she wanted sugar or cream; she declined. 

"What about the tumor?" she asked, still recalling what happened only hours ago - the degradations, the obscenities. "When are you going to help him?" 

Fleming sat down in front of her, one hand reaching for her knee. She pulled her leg away. His face twitched a half-grin before it returned to professional sincerity. 

"In a few more days, I hope," he said. "We really have to be very careful. I hope you appreciate that." Now he smiled his more handsome smile; Juliana could feel the attraction, even after yesterday - knowing she'd better not. Would this place ever stop confusing her? 

"When can I see him?" she asked. "I need to see him." The coffee felt hot against her cupping hands. It was too hot to drink. She studied his face, as he seemed to consider what to say. 

"We'd rather you didn't," he then said. "Go see him, I mean. Let's keep disturbances to a minimum." 

"But he's in a coma," she countered. He reached out and took the coffee from her hands, placing the mug on the desk. Then he rose and took her hands in his, pulling her to her feet as well. They stood close between the chair and the desk. She smelled his aftershave. 

"Mrs. Austin," he said in a sympathetic voice, "I like you very much, and I'm impressed with the unconditional love you have for your husband." He left a pause, his eyes searching hers. She knew it made her blush and she hated herself for that. 

"Dr. Charrier is very much against letting you visit Mr. Austin," Fleming went on, his hands squeezing hers. "I, on the other hand, do understand your... well, need to see him. Even at a risk of annoying the doctor, I might... well, I can't promise of course, but..." 

Juliana now tried to hold the young man's eyes with hers. She felt excitement creep into her bones. 

"When?" she asked. "Soon? Please make it soon." He shrugged. 

"You should really understand that I take a huge risk, ehm... Mrs... could I call you Juliana? My name is Lester; please call me Les." Juliana noticed that they had ended up even closer. She stepped back instinctively. 

"I would never jeopardize your future, Dr. Fleming," she said, pulling her hands out of his grip. "I just ache to see my husband, but I understand that I shouldn't go against medical orders just to have my petty needs, err... met." 

Fleming's face hardened. So did his voice. 

"Mrs. Austin," he said, while rubbing his three-day stubble with an irritated hand. "You should keep in mind why you are here, and what may happen if you forget that." 

Juliana took another step back until a chair stopped her. 

"You know I never forget that," she whispered. "How could I?" 

They stared at each other for almost a minute. The big house stood around them like a soundproof bell jar. Then Fleming turned away, faking interest in the items on his desk. 

"You may leave," he muttered. She did.



Juliana Ch. 04



Dilemma is a Latin word. It means so much as having two choices that are mutually exclusive. Dilemmas can bring your life to a standstill; they can also leave you crazy. 

After leaving Fleming, Juliana found a hidden nook somewhere in the puzzling maze of the villa. She sat down on a little bench and fought her tears. Her mind felt just like the labyrinth she'd just followed - a bewildering sequence of corners, stairs, and doors that opened - or didn't. 

It would be easy to blame Fleming or Charrier, but they weren't the real cause of her misery, were they? They only grabbed chances - rewards, you might say; prizes for their unique talents. And anyway, was offering her body such a terrible thing, considering the wonderful gift it would enable - the gift of life for the man she loved? 

Juliana knew it wasn't that easy. Oh yes, if she'd been the big chested, single-minded Melinda there might be no problem: she wouldn't even sit here probing her confused mind. But she wasn't Melinda; she was Juliana Enders, the thoroughly naïve Christian girl that didn't know how to just give her body. She realized, deep down, that Dr. Charrier knew that too. 

She wasn't the elegant butterfly that let herself be fucked on the dinner table, like the girl in the party dress. She wasn't experienced like the tattooed woman, or pliant like the scared blonde she prepared to be fucked in the lounge. Juliana was an ignorant country girl; she had to find her way in a jungle of exotic plants named 'love' and 'sex,' grown into one inextricable knot. 

The problem wasn't that she wanted out; she knew she couldn't. She was prepared to pay the prize of her body for saving her husband. What scared her was that it wouldn't stop at her body. She remembered her feelings while sitting on the doctor's knee being felt up, or being licked at the dinner table by Melinda. She recalled the incredible sensations that shook every nerve in her body and entered her mind. 

Juliana sat in her niche, chewing on her dilemma. She didn't make a sound, but warm tears ran down her cheeks. 

"Mrs. Austin." 

The voice sounded clipped and British. It belonged to John, the butler. She looked up, rubbing the tears from her eyes. 

"You have an appointment with Dr. Charrier, if I may be so bold to remind you," he said. Juliana sighed and rose. 

"I know," she said. "Could you please show me the way? I'm lost." 

The big black table was still there, and so were the abstract paintings and the modern draperies. The doctor rose from behind his desk. He wore a burgundy robe with gold and black print. Under it she saw a black shirt and pants. A sash closed the robe around his bulging stomach. 

"Welcome yet again, Mrs. Austin," he said. "Please, let's sit over there." He gestured to a corner, where overstuffed club chairs stood around a low table. "So much more comfortable, don't you think?" He smiled as he led her there, and waited until she sat before sitting down himself. His big hands rested on his knees; his large pink head was reflected in the glass surface of the table. 

"As for comfortable," he went on, "how do you feel now, Mrs. Austin, after adjusting for a few days?" She just stared at him. He asked how she felt? 

"I feel awful, doctor," she said. His face fell. He leaned forward over the table. 

"I'm so sorry to hear that," he said, his eyebrows frowning. "Did we cause any of your discomfort? If so, please tell us, so we can remedy it." 

Was he mocking her? He looked sincere. She moved deeper into the leather chair, crossing her legs. 

"It is just..." she said. "Doctor, I'm very worried about my husband." His face relaxed into a smile. He sat back. 

"Of course," he said. "But there really is no reason for that. He is doing great, under the circumstances." 

"Dr. Fleming just told me so," Juliana informed him. "He also said you wouldn't allow me to see him." The smile didn't leave, but it seemed to freeze. He rose. 

"That's right!" he boomed. "He needs his rest. Can I get you a refreshment - coffee, tea, anything at all?" 

"But I understand he is in a coma," Juliana said. 

The doctor walked closer, his bulk blotting part of the light that came in through a tall window. 

"Mrs. Austin," he said, his voice tainted with forced patience. "Your husband is in the best hands imaginable. You know that. We do our utmost to save his life, and we do that for free. It is my gift to you. Now I told you before that I didn't want to repeat myself on this, Mrs. Austin, but have you even started thinking about how to recompense us for our unselfish efforts?" 

Juliana sat straight in her chair now, her fingers strangling the hem of her sweater. Everything felt so wrong, and yet: everything the man said sounded reasonable. He stood over her, looking down; his knees almost touching hers. 

"At the dining table, Mrs. Austin," he went on, "and on my knee in the lounge you acted like a dummy, like a blow up doll that I could have bought for fifty dollars. Do you think your husband would have even a fraction of a chance if I treated him like you treat me - cold, absent and aloof?" Juliana felt tears flooding her eyes. 

"Please," she muttered, looking up at the darkened face. The doctor went down on his haunches and took her hands in his. A smile returned to his lips. 

"Are you a virgin, Mrs. Austin?" he asked. 

It seemed a silly question; she was a married woman after all. Her mind went back to the many times Alec's penis had forced itself into her vagina. And yet... 

"Yes, Dr. Charrier," she said. "In a way I still am. I have often given my body to my husband, but as far as real... sex is concerned, I guess I'm still a virgin. Does that make sense, doctor?" 

He rose to his feet again, his joints creaking. 

"Yes," he said. "That makes a lot of sense to me. And I think it explains our little problem." He held out his hand and helped her up. Then he put an arm around her shoulder, hugging her closer. His cologne was sweet and abundant. 

"Now go to your room, Mrs. Austin," he said, walking her to the door. "Your lunch will soon be served. Take a nice nap after that, before you shower and dress in what will be laid out for you. Be as beautiful as you can and present yourself at the lounge around five o'clock." 

Reaching the door, the doctor let go of her. She stopped. 

"What will happen at the lounge, doctor?" she asked. He smiled. 

"Let's say," he said, rolling from toe to heel and back, "you'll be deflowered at last, in a sense." 

*** 

They say fear is healthy; it makes you either run or attack. Juliana knew fear from the calloused hands of her father or the brimstone of hell and eternal damnation. But she never knew the kind of fear that seduces you with its sweet, arousing embrace. Of that fear Juliana knew nothing. 

She was a bunch of nerves, ever since she returned to her room. When her lunch arrived, she could only nibble. Her afternoon nap was a series of shallow nods at best. At three-thirty she washed her hair and took a bath, hoping the hot water would untangle the knot in her stomach. Caressing her slick skin, she tried to imagine what would be waiting for her. Images of the two women last night, didn't help much to calm her down. 

Then her fingertips met the coarseness of regrown whiskers. She rose and stepped out of the bath, shivering from the cool air. She found a small lady shave and stood under a bright light to carefully remove the stubbles. Forcing her hand to be still, she felt her nervousness wane. She concentrated on finding every niche and whisker. Then she shaved her armpits and her legs. 

Rubbing lots of lotion all over her body calmed her down even more. Wherever she massaged her skin, it turned pink; a sweet glow radiated from where she touched herself. 

Returning to the bedroom, she found pieces of garment laid out on the bed. She picked up a black, stretch-satin top. It was not so much a bra, more of a short, tight chemise. The panties were black and made of satin too, more like very short boys' shorts. She pulled them over her smooth legs, secretly enjoying the goose bumps. 

The other parts of the outfit were a black skirt made of fine-knitted jersey and a white see-through blouse. There were no stockings, but she found black pumps with higher heels than she ever wore. 

Juliana sat down at her vanity mirror, only wearing the top and panties. Seeing her reflected face, her nerves returned. She surely couldn't be this, could she? And yet here she was. 

She reached for a silver box and a sponge. Like the girl Mei showed her, she spread the pale foundation thinly over her face, throat and chest. Then she picked up a brush and dabbed sweet-smelling powder into her skin, adding pinkish rouge to accentuate her cheekbones. 

Mei had pointed out which parts of her face to accentuate and which parts to camouflage. She had a generous mouth with good lips. But her main assets were her eyes - large and round and violet-blue, framed in long lashes. 

Mei had shown her how to choose and apply the various shades of eye shadow, and how to draw deliciously subtle lines around them. Juliana's skills were still a far cry from the girl's, but after twenty minutes she knew she had outdone herself - and undone herself. 

Staring at the stranger in the mirror she recalled the women at church muttering about 'painted faces' that belonged to 'Satan's whores.' Back then she'd been secretly thrilled by the phrase, having no idea what it meant. Now looking at the reflection of the smoky-eyed woman with the pale face and the red, sparkling lips, she wondered if she'd found its meaning. She shrugged. Then she freed her moist hair from its towel and took the blower to dry it. Careful brushing she created a golden halo. 

The jersey skirt felt soft and slippery. It hugged her hips and stopped just short of her knees. 

The blouse was transparent. It buttoned up to her throat and had long, wide sleeves. One could easily see the black top and the outlines of her arms and shoulders. 

Juliana slipped into the pumps and rose, trying to walk. She thanked whatever God might still listen for her strong farmer's daughters ankles. As she strutted the length and breadth of her room, she saw it was time. Fresh anxiety made her shiver. She picked up her clutch and left the room, very aware of the perfume surrounding her. 

Juliana's heels clicked on the marble floors, sometimes scratching when she hit an uneven spot. She turned a corner and almost bumped into Melinda. 

"Oh my," the girl said in her high-pitched girly voice. "Don't we look gorgeous today." She grinned and made her finger indicate a pirouette. Juliana felt the glow of a blush as she turned left and right on her impossible heels. The blonde clapped her hands. She looked quite festive herself, in a very short blue dress that displayed her hard-earned assets rather bluntly. 

"I bet you have a date," Melinda said, stepping closer and touching her arm. "How exciting. Who's the lucky bastard?" 

The question brought Juliana's nervousness back. 

"I... I don't know," she said. "Dr. Charrier told me to be at the lounge at five, dressed like this. That's all I know." 

Melinda laughed, now holding both of Juliana's hands. "A blind date!" she exclaimed. "Oh my God, so thrilling. Now rush, honey. Have fun. Don't be late." She let go of Juliana's hands and walked on, swaying her round ass. 

Juliana sighed and turned the last corner. 

Soft music got louder as she opened the lounge's door. Cigar fumes still seemed to linger from last night; they blended with old, musty leather and fresh perfume. Shades were lowered on the windows, she saw, muting the afternoon sun. In the club chair next to the empty fireplace was the silhouette of a man. Some light fell on his hand; it held a glass filled with an amber liquid. The man was clad in a black jacket over a white shirt. His face looked away from her. 

Juliana saw where he looked at. On the sofa across from him was a woman. One of her knees rested on the seat, the foot of her other leg stood on the carpet, balancing on a high-heeled sandal. She wore a black top with spaghetti straps. Her right hand moved inside its left cup, slowly massaging her breast. Her other hand covered her crotch over a thong. Slim black garters ran from the bottom of her top to black sheer nylons. Juliana had seen her before; she was the tattooed, black-haired woman who played with the blonde in this same lounge. She was openly fondling her body in front of a man. 

He noticed Juliana's arrival and turned to her. She knew him; he was the man who'd fucked the fragile girl in the evening gown at the dinner table. He smiled and reached out with his free hand. She hesitated, looking from the hand to the woman and back. The man nodded; Juliana took the hand. It felt warm and dry - strong too. 

He lifted her fingers to his mouth, brushing them with his lips. The sudden touch made her shiver. She turned her attention to the woman again. One breast was bare now, she saw. The hand squeezed and mauled, making her dark, pierced nipple slide through her fingers. The woman's eyes were fixed on Juliana's. Her face was contorted, her mouth opening to let out a moan. Looking down, Juliana saw that her other hand had slipped inside the thong, working vehemently on the flesh below. 

"You are Juliana, aren't you?" the man asked. 

His voice was deep and mellow; his fingers massaged hers. She cleared her throat. 

"Yes," she said. 

"Well," the man went on, "Dr. Charrier wanted you to meet Ellis; I understand you saw her before." He brought her hand to his lips again, his eyes never leaving the masturbating woman. 

"Ellis is very good at... what she's doing, and she has been looking forward to meeting you, haven't you, Ellis dear?" 

The woman smiled, speeding up the rubbing. Both straps had fallen off her shoulders by now; her entire chest was on display. Juliana looked away. 

"Don't look away, please, Juliana," the man said. "It would be rude to ignore her show, don't you agree? She loves to be seen. Tell us you do, Ellis." 

The woman, obviously distracted by whatever she was feeling, returned slowly to reality. 

"Oh yes," she breathed. "Yeeeesss. Being watched makes me feel hot." She moaned again and increased her pace. The thong slid down her thighs. Juliana felt the man's warm hand move up her arm, caressing her through the gauzy material of her sleeve. By now she recognized the buzz entering her mind - and the glow spreading through her body. She should pull away her arm, she thought, but she couldn't. She should run, but her legs never got the message. So there she stood, being caressed by a stranger and staring at a woman degrading herself in public. 

The woman didn't seem to care. The man chuckled. 

He put away his glass of whisky and turned towards Juliana. 

"You are truly beautiful," he said, as he started to undo the button of her right sleeve, moving up the fabric and kissing the soft inside of her lower arm. "So young and sweet," he whispered. She stiffened and looked away. He took her other hand and undid the button there - ah, the damn shivers. 

"Keep looking at Ellis, Juliana," the man insisted. "So much to learn." She returned her gaze to the woman, who was really clawing her vagina. A wet sound counterpointed her stream of moans now. Her eyes were closed, her face showing an almost pained expression. Juliana tried to imagine her feelings. 

"Lower yourself a bit, honey," the man said, pulling softly at her arm. She bent her upper body, looking at him before returning her gaze to the woman. 

A hand pulled at the front of her blouse; he must be undoing more buttons. She tried to empty her head. 

"Now rise again and shake it off, Juliana," the man said. She rose and shook, feeling the thin material slither down her shoulders and arms. 

"Lovely," he commented, placing a hand on her stomach. Looking down she saw her nipples push little dents into her shiny top. She also saw the man's fingers undo two buttons of her skirt. He pulled it down to reveal her panties and thighs. His hand plunged immediately into the slight opening below her crotch, cupping her vagina as he squeezed. She took in a sharp breath and heard him chuckle. 

"Moist," he said. "Hot." 

Juliana imagined herself standing there, slightly bent at the waist, her thighs parting under the pressure of the hand. She groaned, whispering tiny 'no's' under her breath. 

"Yes," he whispered, boring his gaze into her eyes. "And yes, yes, yes..." Each word accompanied a squeeze of her vagina, the tempo increasing. Then a cry from the woman on the sofa tore up the misty heat around Juliana. She looked up and watched Ellis collapse. Her body convulsed; she gasped like a fish on land. 

"Sit in my lap, honey," the man said. "And let's applaud for Ellis." Dazed, Juliana gave in to his hands; they turned her around and pulled her into his lap. Where Dr. Charrier's thighs had been soft and bouncy, his upper legs were firm and muscle-bound. Between them was something hard; it throbbed against her inner thigh. 

Clapping her hands with him, she watched Ellis's return from her orgasmic climax. The woman looked up and smiled an exhausted smile. 

The man's hand begged her to get closer. She groaned and slid off the sofa, crawling across the carpet to join them. Like an animal, Juliana thought. Her free breasts swayed; her limbs gleamed with sweat. 

But if the woman was an animal, what was she? Juliana felt the man's hand roam her bare skin between the tight top and her panties. Being focused on the crawling woman, she hadn't realized how she reacted to his caresses, pushing out her belly. Ashamed, she shrunk away from them, only to feel her ass cheeks ground into a large hard lump between his thighs. 'Caught between the Devil and a hard place,' she thought. The involuntary pun dismayed her. 

The man's hand now dwelt on her breasts, fondling the treacherous nipples. The woman, Ellis, was next to the club chair, sitting up on her knees, watching the roaming hand. 

"She has nice titties," she said with a hoarse voice; giggling. 

"She sure has, Ellis," he agreed. "Let's go and find them." Juliana only watched as he forced his fingers under the tight band, pushing up the black satin until it slid over the pointing nipples. 

"Small, but ever so sweet," he said. "And such nice long nipples. I guess she'd love it when you lick them, Ellis, honey." 

She needed to run; oh God yes, she did... she should. But Juliana let her head fall back against the man's chest, moaning as the woman's lips closed over her left nipple. Shame and guilt mixed with totally different, alien ingredients. Why hadn't she ever felt like this with Alec? Was it because it was wrong? 

She arched her back, earning grins and chuckles from her tormentors. Tormentors she called them? 'Satan is the ultimate seducer,' she'd heard all her young life. Was this what they meant? She couldn't hold back a moan, followed by ever-faster gasps. 

Her chest was totally exposed now; she saw her nipples sparkle with saliva. The woman's eyes caught hers; they were dark and wide-open. A hand slipped into her satin panties; it slithered in, really, gliding over her smoothly shaved skin and her wet vagina's lips. Almost mindlessly she pushed herself into the probing fingers, extracting another chuckle from the man. She felt his laugh vibrate against her back. His cock seemed to get even harder. 

"You are one horny girl, honey," he said, touching her clitoris. It made her cry out and squirm in his lap. 

"Please," she whispered. "Please." 

"Of course," he chuckled. "Anything you ask for." 

But he retracted his hand, letting go of her body. 

She should feel relieved. It was what she wanted, wasn't it? To be left alone? To escape to her room and sort out her chaotic thoughts, her rioting feelings? If so, why was her back arching; why was her pelvis still pushing up? And why was it her throat that uttered disappointed moans? 




Juliana Ch. 04



Juliana looked around, as if waking up from deep sleep. The woman, Ellis, smiled at her. Kneeling close, her face was right next to hers. 

"You are in the way, darling," she said. "Please kneel on the other side." 

Juliana looked up to find the man's face. He nodded, so she slid off his lap and knelt on the other side from the woman, who's hands found the man's belt and opened it. Then she undid a button and unzipped the fly. Juliana saw the man's penis dig a tunnel into the white cotton of his shorts. Could a penis really be this... big? 

Her question was answered when Ellis's diligent fingers pulled it through the gap. It unfurled into a straight pole, capped by an exposed head that shone with slime oozing from the slit. Juliana stared at it, following the thick veins down to the root, where red-tipped fingers closed around it. Shifting her focus, Juliana met the eyes of Ellis on the other side. 

"I'll show you," the woman said. She pulled the cock her own way, sliding its moist top across her face. She made ever-tighter circles until it found her open lips. Her tongue dashed out and swirled around the head. Her hand started a slow up-and-down motion. 

Juliana had never seen a blowjob until she came to this villa, and now it was only inches away. She heard the wet sounds, saw red lips stretch as they sank over the head, and smelled its musky scent. To her amazement there was no disgust - only fascination. The woman seemed totally at ease with her task. She took the penis in as far as she could, then pushed out her tongue to bath the rest of the shaft with it. Her head bobbed up and down, but her gaze stayed steady. It pulled Juliana in, close enough to almost make their noses touch. The smell of sex was overwhelming. The world shrank to a pinpoint. 

"Let her taste some." 

The man's voice had a sharp edge. It penetrated the veil of magic, waking Juliana up. She turned towards the voice, seeing the man's lips; they crawled like pink caterpillars. The woman, Ellis, cupped Juliana's cheek and forced her eyes back to the penis; their faces almost touched over it. 

Ellis's mouth sank down on the cock until she reached its roots. She held her mouth there, her face flushing pink and her eyes glazing over. Then she pulled up with hollowed cheeks, causing a soft 'pop' when the penis slid free. Saliva streamed off its sides. The stem moved slowly left and right, as if swaying in a soft wind. Then the head touched Juliana's half-open mouth. Her eyes widened as they searched for the woman's. Ellis smiled and nodded. She smeared the slimy top over Juliana's lips. 

Shying back, she was not aware of the silvery thread that kept connecting her to the cock. She ran her tongue over her lower lip. The taste was earthy, like mushrooms. She saw Ellis frown; the cock once again touched her lips. 

"Blow it, slut!" the man said, sitting up and grabbing the back of Juliana's head. Fear choked her. She opened her lips and the slick flesh entered. It slid over her tongue and was pulled out again. Without a thought she followed it, taking in even more - and again, again. The man chuckled; his laugh vibrated down his belly, through the cock's stem and into her mouth. 

All the while Ellis's eyes were glued to hers. She imitated Juliana's every movement, pushing the cock deeper with her fingers. Juliana closed her eyes. Her mind was vacant. Her stomach heaved when the head bumped into her throat, but she never stopped. She felt tears drip down her face. But whenever the cock threatened to leave her, she followed it. She caught it and gobbled it up again. Time stood still. All Juliana knew was that she was being filled, being used - being a penis-sucking whore. 

And then the cock slipped out. 

Looking up, she saw Ellis's face again, bobbing up and down on the cock that had only seconds ago left her mouth. She swallowed as she saw the woman's tongue slithering around the stem. It was a very long tongue. Juliana realized that her own slipped out too, imitating what she saw. 

The man encouraged them with a stream of words, but their meaning drowned in the hypnotizing magic of their own game. He had become just a cock, an object of worship for a priestess and her eager novice. Juliana realized she wanted it back; she wanted to feel the velvety-hard pole to massage her mouth - she needed to suck on it, and feel its throb. 

At last Ellis let go and gave her toy back to Juliana. 

She opened her mouth wide, before closing her lips tightly around it, sucking her cheeks hollow. She let the ridges slide up and down the tight corridor between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Then she opened even wider, trying to take the cock deeper, letting her tongue hang out. 

Ellis's eyes widened; she nodded her approval. Then she once more took the penis from Juliana's gasping mouth. The two women just stared at its gleaming magnificence. Then Ellis rose over the head, and, finding Juliana's mouth, they kissed. 

Juliana tasted the man's essence on the woman's tongue and breath. It was the most intimate thing she ever experienced. Their mouths kept wide open as their tongues danced and dashed. Then Ellis took her down with her until both their tongues swirled around the cocks' head - dotting and dancing, kissing and sucking with combined zeal. Their faces almost touched and their eyes were connected as they found all kinds of new ways to fondle the object of their fascination, while kissing each other. 

"Enough!" the man cried out, but he had to repeat it twice before the women heard and subsisted. 

"You," he said, pushing Ellis. "Bend yourself over the sofa's arm rest. And you," he went on, grabbing Juliana's arm, "kneel beside her." 

The loud voice and the pushing brought Juliana back to reality; it was like an icy breeze waking her up. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, shivering as she realized what she'd done. Rising, she muttered that she wanted to leave. She pulled her top down to cover her chest and went looking for the rest of her clothes. A hand stopped her. She looked up and saw the face of Dr. Charrier. 

"Mrs. Austin," he said, slowly shaking his head left and right. He towered over her, holding her wrist in a vice of moist pink meat. His face was flushed and sweaty. It looked disappointed. 

"So you think you are too good for us," he said, and it wasn't a question. "You believe you must protect your saintliness and turn your husband into collateral damage of your Holy War." 

Juliana felt like a trapped rabbit. She pressed the bundle of clothes against her crotch, turning her head left and right to find an escape. 

"You go ride your high horse, Mrs. Austin. But you know very well who you truly are," Charrier went on, pulling at her wrist to hold her attention. "Let me tell you anyway: you are just another sanctimonious slut." 

Juliana could only stare. The doctor's sheer aggression closed down her senses. 'Sanctimonious,' he'd said? It must be true. But that wasn't her fault, was it? And a 'slut?' 

"You loved it. I saw how you loved it," the doctor droned on, mercilessly. "Your greedy slut-mouth wouldn't let go. Admit it! And don't give me this prudish shit about being forced." He pulled her closer; his face was almost into hers. 

"Please," she heard herself say. "Please let me go." But she didn't pull back; she hung against him, frozen. 

He let go of her wrist, making her stumble back. 

"Go and leave then," he said, folding his arms. "What do I care? He's not my husband." The reference to Alec cleared her mind. She saw the image of his narrow, pale face in the hospital bed. 

"I knew you were a prude," Charrier said. "But I never saw this selfish bitch in you." 

'Selfish?' she thought, stunned by the unexpected label. 

"I am not selfish," she protested. Charrier's eyebrows went up. 

"You are not?" he asked. "Then please tell me: how does one call a woman who's more concerned with her own silly reputation than with the life of her husband? What is a simple blowjob against saving a life?" His booming voice echoed in the room. He went on relentlessly. "Is it such a big thing to please me, or my friends? Ah, well, okay. I guess your precious soul is more important than your husband's health. Take it and go!" He turned and walked off to the dark corner of the room, waving his hand as he muttered: "Go...go." 

Juliana's body was just a numb construction, barely able to uphold her burning eyes. They moved from the retreating doctor to the woman that still hung over the sofa's armrest, her ass pointing up obscenely. The man she'd sucked was behind her, resting one hand on an ass-cheek, the other slowly pulling on his cock. His pants were around his ankles, but he didn't look ridiculous at all. 

"Dr. Charrier, please," she whispered. "Please understand that this is very hard for me." The darkness had almost swallowed the doctor when he turned around. He only wore the red, printed robe, she saw now, draped over his fat belly. It didn't look ridiculous either. 

Maybe she was the ridiculous one in the room? 

"Hard?" Charrier asked, walking back to her. "Well, Mrs. Austin, you sure fooled me. From where I looked the only thing hard was Eric's cock. You loved sucking it." He chuckled; then his face turned serious again. "For God's sake be honest, woman; Ellis had to grab it away from you. Blowing that cock was the most wonderful thing you ever did. I saw it in your eyes and your face. Now say it!" 

He was right in front of her again. His big hands grabbed her shoulders now, shaking them. A deep sense of loneliness invaded her. Her eyes burned with invisible tears. 

"I... ," she began, stuttering the word again and again. "I loved it... it was won-wonderful... most wonderful..." 

She fell forward, clutching the lapels of the doctor's robe, and cried into the soft fabric. A hand caressed her hair. 

"Good girl," a voice said, dripping with honey. "Now kneel by the whore like the good slut you are, and do as the man says." 

Juliana let the doctor lead her to the sofa and gave in to the heavy hand that made her kneel. Her face was close to the woman's, who smiled at her and told her to kiss her. They started another open-mouthed, tongue twisting kiss. It sucked the last resistance from Juliana's mind. 

"Turn," said the steely-edged voice of the young man. What did the doctor call him? Eric. But in her tightened vision he was just a cock jutting from a hairy crotch. It had an evil, weeping eye. 

"Take it. Suck on it." 

A pale hand with painted nails reached out. It must be hers; it looked so small. Her fingertips felt the velvet skin that covered the living steel below. Her hand closed around the cock's root like she'd seen the woman do. Then her tongue's tip reached for the sparkling drop that had run from the cock's slit down the veined stem. Following its trail back up she came to the head. She opened her lips wide and inhaled the purple mushroom. Dizziness shook her. The cock moved across her tongue and back. Juliana yet again sank into a shrinking world of magic, composed of rhythm and repetition, of moans and vibrations, of dirt and degradation. 

"Stop!" 

Dazed, Juliana allowed the hands to push her off the cock. Saliva and whatever unspeakable fluids ran off her chin and on to her chest, where it darkened the tight silk of her top. The hands forced her face towards the high ass cheeks that hung over the sofa's arm, and pushed her in. The peachy-soft flesh smothered her. Her mouth and nose were engulfed by moist heat. 

"Lick her," said a muffled voice, way up, far away. She pressed her tongue between the yielding lips and started running them up and down. She sucked on the little button, feeling tremors run through it. She gasped for air, but the hand pushed her back in, and she licked again, sucked again. 

"Enough!" 

The hands pulled her back by her hair. She panted; air cooled the fluids on her face. Looking up, she saw the man's face past his swaying cock. His caterpillar lips did a cruel dance. 

"Take it and push it into the whore's cunt." 

There wasn't much left in Juliana's head - just the urge to take the hard penis between fingers and thumb and lead it to the swollen plum between the spread thighs. She watched the lips give in to the pressure of the head. Then she saw it slip in. There was no resistance. The entire stem disappeared until his hairy balls slapped against her slick and hairless flesh. Watching the fucking, only inches from her eyes, was another thing her mind needn't process - she just looked, and heard, and smelled. The man grunted; the woman moaned, first slowly and protracted, then high-pitched and faster until she cried out, her body shaking with spasms and tremors. 

"Take it out." 

Juliana reached for the buried cock. Her hand was trembling like the woman's body. The penis was still hard and gleaming with slime and moisture. 

"Clean it." 

She looked up, at a loss what to do. The hand once again grabbed her hair and pulled her face to the smeared penis. She understood and started licking. Matters of good or bad, ugly or beautiful had become irrelevant; so had trivial things like tasting good or tasting awful. She licked and swallowed - she just did. 

"Lie with the whore, slut," the voice said, pulling her off the penis and pushing her to the sofa. She hesitated. Then she climbed on the couch, curling her body into a fetal position, her face close to the woman's. Once more they kissed. A shadow fell over their joined faces. Juliana looked up. A huge penis loomed over her, jerked by a fist with ever increasing speed. She turned her eyes back to the woman, Ellis, seeing that her mouth was wide open, her eyes closed. She looked up again and when she did, a splash of hot slime hit her brow and cheek. She closed her eyes in a reflex, feeling them sting from the goo. 

A second and a third splash hit her.



Juliana Ch. 05



Love, they say, is a many splendored thing. It features in a million songs and books and plays and movies. But what about friendship? 

"Stop, honey, it's all right," the voice said. "Everything is fine, it was just sex. You did wonderful." 

Juliana gasped. Then she broke down again, burying her face deeper into the woman holding her. 

The two of them sat like that for quite a while after the men left. Their faces were a mess, as was their hair. They both reeked of the sperm that clung to their skin. 

Juliana tried to squeeze words through her sobs. 

"I... I be-betrayed him," she said, after two failed starts. "He lies there all alone while I... I..." 

Her words drowned again in a sea of sobs. 

"Betrayed," Ellis said. "Such a big word, honey. Who did you betray and how?" 

Juliana sat up and stared at the older woman; her face was blotched and swollen. 

"You... don't know?" she asked. 

"I know a lot." The woman smiled. "But I'm not sure what you mean." She took a tip of her smudged top and cleaned Juliana's mascara-stained cheeks. Then she covered the girl's nose with it. 

"Sneeze," she said. "Clean yourself up, girl." Juliana did. "Now what is this about me not knowing?" 

Juliana sat back on the sofa, pulling up her knees and cradling her legs. 

"Can't say," she said, looking down. "It's too embarrassing." The woman laughed. 

"Embarrassing," she repeated. "After what we just did?" She pulled Juliana back into her embrace. 

"I know why I'm here," Juliana said. "But why are you?" When there was only silence for an answer, she looked up to Ellis. "This place is bad, isn't it?" she asked. It made the woman chuckle, although her face didn't join in. She sighed before speaking. 

"I guess you could say that, in a way," she agreed. Juliana looked closer at her face. The woman must be older than she'd supposed earlier on; maybe in her forties. There were lines around her eyes and on her brow. They touched her and she felt an urge to kiss them. Then Ellis started talking. 

"But bad or good are not the point, honey. We are bound to this place; all the women who come here have a debt to pay." 'All the women,' Juliana mused. How many were there? 

"I have been err... visiting here for almost three years now," Ellis continued. "I don't live here; I come whenever they call me." 

"Why?" 

"Because of my mother," she said, looking away. 

"My mother is a widow in her early sixties. Three years ago she fainted while we were shopping at the mall. I took her to the hospital. They needed a week to find out what her problem was. Then they told us it was a very rare neural syndrome that you could healthily live with for a long time. But you'd need regular shots of medicine, and that was the hang up." She fell silent. 

"What was the hang up?" Juliana asked. 

"She needs twelve injections a year, once every month, and they are two thousand dollars a piece." Juliana gasped. 

"Two thousand," she whispered. Her hand automatically reached out to touch Ellis's face. The woman grabbed it and kissed the palm. 

"Yes," she went on. "Twenty-four thousand a year. And because the disease was so rare, her insurance didn't cover it. She'd have to pay every penny." 

Juliana started to connect the dots. 

"Dr. Charrier..." she began. Ellis nodded. 

Juliana hugged her. 

"Three years," she whispered. "My God." 

Ellis pulled herself free, forcing her face into a smile. "It isn't all bad," she said. "Lots of sex, no strings, huge variety, free health tests... a sumptuous wardrobe and free dining and dancing on a regular basis. See?" she said, lifting the breast with the gold ring. "Free piercing, real gold - and a free tattoo." Turning, she showed it. "Could be worse for a forty-something mom, couldn't it? They even pay for the baby sitter." 

"You have a child? Are you married?" 

"Two; and divorced from a bastard who ran off and can't be found for child support, let alone alimony. I am a single mom and an only child. My mother only has her small widow's pension. We could never have paid for those damn injections." She stopped and stared. "Don't know how long this body will hold, however." 

Juliana hugged her again and they kissed - there was some tongue, and then there was a lot of tongue. When they finally broke up, they both panted. 

"Pheww," Ellis said. "Come on girl. Let's have a shower. We stink." 

They went to Juliana's room and showered. Then they sat on the bed in bathrobes and towel turbans. Ellis filed her toenails. 

"Now what about you, honey?" she asked, not looking up. Juliana didn't answer for a bit, faking interest in the glossy magazine she'd opened. 

"Don't give me that nonsense about feeling embarrassed again," Ellis went on. "This is me, you know." 

Although Juliana met the woman only a day ago, she knew she was right; she could be trusted. And even if she couldn't, Juliana needed to trust her - anyone. 

"My husband," she started. "We just got married. He did have this stroke; a minor one they say, but he went into a coma." Ellis put away the file. 

"They showed me these scans, you know," Juliana went on. "And they said the bleeding would be all right. But there was a tumor." She heard Ellis take in a sharp breath and felt her hand on her wrist. "It was a small one, the tumor. I couldn't even see it. They - you know, Dr. Fleming - said my husband could live to be eighty and never have a problem; but he could be just as well dead by tomorrow." 

"Let me guess," Ellis said, sitting up. "They have to operate and the insurance doesn't cover it." 

Juliana sighed, picking up Ellis's hand. She kissed its knuckles one by one. 

"Dr. Fleming said it would be partly covered if the hospital did it cheaply. But he doubted they would be able to pull it off without complications. Then he mentioned Dr. Charrier..." 

"Okay," Ellis said. "When will they operate and how long do you have to pay?" 

"I don't know," Juliana said. "He has to get stronger first. And then... I really don't know if I can do it." She started crying again. 

"Stop that!" Ellis said. "Of course you can do it. It's only fucking sex, you pussy. He is your husband and he's dying, goddammit." The rude language stopped the sobbing. 

"But," Juliana said. "But for me it isn't, you know?" "What isn't," Ellis wondered. 

"The sex!" Juliana cried out. "For me there is no 'just sex.' I wasn't brought up like that. For me it's the... the whole package, or nothing." Ellis sat back, watching the girl as if she were an alien species. 

"How old are you, Juliana?" she asked. 

"I know, I know!" Juliana wailed. "I am twenty, but I am from a farm in Iowa. My parents are born again Christians from the most conservative denomination. Just thinking of sex is a mortal sin. Liking sex is a shortcut to hell! I never knew anything about sex, did anything until I turned 18 and came to Chicago. I was 19 when I met my husband and all we did was kissing and feeling up. We married three months ago when I turned 20. Alec is 23. All he knows about sex is how to put his penis in my vagina with the lights out. At best it doesn't hurt." 

Ellis's face twitched; she brought her hand to her mouth. 

"Sorry," she said. "I really won't laugh, but this is too much. Two young people in America in 2014 and you tell me this?" She grabbed Juliana and pulled her close. "God, sweetie, you must be frightened to death!" Juliana pushed her away. 

"No," she said, "and that's the really scary part - I'm not frightened. I am bewildered and hurt and nervous, but I'm not scared." She cupped the woman's face in both hands and held her eyes. "I know I should be," she went on. "But I'm not. Today I was more aroused than scared. I was upset, but fascinated - watching you, licking you. I was curious how it would be to handle that huge penis... holding it, sucking on it, and... having these feelings. That is how I betray my husband - by having these feelings I never had with him - and enjoying them. Do you understand?" 

Ellis stared at the girl. She felt old, and very old memories returned to her - teenage thoughts, teenage angst. Then she shook her head no. 

"Of course I understand, honey," she said, brushing strands of hair from Juliana's face. "And it makes me feel sorry to see you hurt like this. But you can't keep thinking this way - it will kill you; and most of all it will kill your husband. You are here to save his life, and if that means tossing your Christian upbringing to the wind, or your romantic notions of marriage - or your husband's vulnerable ego for that matter - you'll have to. There is no choice, really. You'll ruin everything." 

The silence was deep and protracted. 

"I knooow," Juliana whispered at last. "It is what Dr. Charrier keeps saying. I just have to." Ellis smiled. 

"I don't think Charrier's motives are very pure, sweetie," she said. "But in your and my situation it is the only possible choice." 

She once again embraced Juliana and they kissed. Their towels slid off as they sank to the bed. Ellis pushed her knee between Juliana's thighs and sawed her smooth skin over the girl's pussy. Juliana moaned. 

"Shall I kiss your vagina again, like before?" she whispered into Ellis's ear. The woman moaned; then she sighed, sitting up. 

"I call it my pussy, and I'd love to," she said. "But I have to leave and pick up my youngest." She slid off the bed and closed her robe. After collecting her things, she returned to Juliana and kissed her good bye. 

"Be strong," she said, smiling. "I'll see you around. All the best for your poor husband." 

*** 

Being treated as a mere object of lust goes against the very grain of feminism. And yet, after more than a century of fighting, even the brightest of women feel their body melt and their mind capitulate at the simplest insults of rude and senseless men. 

The big table in the dining hall was set for a group. China and crystal sparkled on an expanse of white damask. When Juliana entered, people were standing around, glasses in hand. The men were of various ages, wearing tuxedos; the women were young and looking gorgeous. The evening gowns allowed generous amounts of bare skin that was covered with gold, silver and glittering stones. Juliana counted five men and four women; she was obviously bringing up the balance. 

She had never been an easy mixer, not even at the simple country-do's back home. She knew she looked good in her silver gown, but felt embarrassed by how it displayed her body. The dress was cut comfortably high at the front, but hardly had a back. She'd protested when Mei forbade her to wear anything under it. Her nipples moved against the satin; it kept them tight all the time - and very visible. The sensation of her bare, slick crotch and thighs rubbing together made her blush constantly. It can be quite unsettling to feel this naked in public, even when you're dressed. 

"Mrs. Austin! How very nice of you to come." 

Dr. Charrier separated himself from a group of talking people. He smiled widely, carrying two glasses of bubbly wine of which he handed her one. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. It made the long, sparkling pendant in her ear sway and tingle. Mei had slicked her hair back to show off her neck and ears. After the Asian girl was done with her, she looked in a tall mirror. It was crazy, but her own reflection intimidated her. How could she look like that on the outside, and still feel so insecure inside - knees trembling, ankles wobbling on her towering platform shoes? 

Back in the dining room she blinked and smiled, accepting the drink. She also let the doctor hold her elbow as he led her to the company. 

Dr. Fleming was there, she saw, but not the man whose penis she'd sucked that afternoon. In the blur of names Charrier mentioned, she heard a few doctor titles, so she supposed this was about business. She smiled until her jaws hurt and reached out to touch fingers and receive kissing lips. Slightly dazed, she understood how actresses must feel, playing someone else. 

Of the women she only knew the girl she'd seen being fucked on the dining table on her first evening - by the very man whose cock she'd sucked only hours ago. The girl again looked elegantly fragile in a white, tight strapless dress, blond curls dancing on her bare shoulders. 

Melinda wasn't there. Maybe she was too pornographically sexy for the refined tastes of this snobbish company; Ellis wasn't there either. The three unknown women were tall and gracious; two of them could be twins - auburn hair in French braids, pastel gowns on tall, model-like frames, one salmon, one green, tasteful jewelry; they even had similar frozen smiles flashing perfect teeth. The last one was a butterscotch beauty, her black hair teased straight. She wore a white dress. It set off her skin, but it also exposed most of her breasts. Compared to the refined elegance all around, they looked almost too big. There was a balance, though, with her wide hips and abundant ass. It made her beauty earthy, and more easily accessible for Juliana. The girl just seemed... nice. 

"I'm Juliana, nice to meet you." 

"Selena," the girl said. "Call me Silly." She laughed throatily. Her lips were soft and generous; her eyes sparkled in a bush of lashes. "I guess we all are." 

Her answer confused Juliana. 

"We all are what?" 

"Silly." She laughed again. 

"If you say so," Juliana said. "You are here with your husband?" The laughter stopped, then started again. 

"You may not be silly, honey," the woman said. "You're funny." 

A fiftyish man joined them. He carried two glasses of wine, handing one to Selena. His eyes went up and down Juliana's body; she felt more naked than ever. The man whistled. 

"Who have we here?" he asked. "New I bet - Eugene keeping another pretty one all to himself. Typical! Hey, Eugene!" The man hollered over his shoulder to where Dr. Charrier had gone. 

Juliana looked from him to the butterscotch girl, who just shrugged, amused. 

The doctor joined them, laying a big hand on the shoulder of the fifty-something man. 

"Justin," he said. "How can I help?" 

"You devil, you!" the man exclaimed. "So you keep the juiciest bits to yourself, eh? Introduce me to her, you stingy bastard." Charrier chuckled. He moved over to Juliana and laid his thick arm around her waist, pulling her close. The heat of his hand radiated into her bare skin. 

"Meet Mrs. Austin, Justin, and eat your dirty heart out" he said. He turned to Juliana and planted a wet kiss on her ear. "For yes, you greedy omnivore, this one is mine... all mine." They high-fived like teenagers. Then the doctor turned his attention to Juliana again. 

"Please make him jealous, honey," he said. "Show him what he's missing, the old goat. Get out of that dress." 

The crash of breaking glass sent a hush through the group. All heads turned Juliana's way. Her face glowed like a peony. Her hands hung limp down her sides, the shattered champagne glass at her feet. 

"Mrs. Austin, please." 

The doctor's voice was hardly more than a whisper. Another voice was closer to her ear. She smelled the sweet perfume she'd noticed around the butterscotch girl. 

"Don't be foolish," the voice hissed. "It's nothing." She felt a hand on her lower back. The dress's tightness yielded. Someone had opened the zipper. 

Trembling, she brought her hands to her shoulders, pulling down the dress's top. The thin satin slithered past her hips and thighs until it rested on her feet - a tiny puddle of silver around her platform sandals. All eyes were on her as she lowered her arms, exposing her naked body. 

She closed her eyes. 

A hand touched her throat. Then it slid down, touching a nipple and caressing her belly. She felt a tear run down her cheek. The voices around her were just a murmur. 

"Spread your legs a little, please, Mrs. Austin." It was the doctor; his voice was loud and made her start. She spread her legs. A hand traveled down her mound until it cupped her bare vagina. Fingers slipped in. 

"Aaah, what say you now, my dear Justin?" 

The hand disappeared, leaving a glowing spot. Juliana opened her eyes. Charrier was in front of her, next to the fifty-something bully. They both stared at her. The bully sniffed his fingers. 

"Nice, but it could use a set of real tits," the man said, laughing at his own joke. "Have you had it trained?" 

Charrier did his typical roll from toes to heels and back. He didn't laugh with his guest. 

"'It,' my dear asshole, is a she," he said. "And she is Mrs. Austin to you, if you please." The Justin guy guffawed. 

"Whatever!" he cried out. "As long as she does a halfway decent blowjob, your Missus." 

Juliana decided she wasn't here - didn't see, didn't hear; like the little monkeys. 

Charrier stepped forward, bent over and pulled up the dress until it rested on her shoulders again. She felt his lips brush her face. 

"My apologies," he whispered and left. Three women closed in around her. One was the butterscotch girl called Selena, another one the fragile blonde from the dining table. A hand closed her zipper again, another straightened her dress and yet another dabbed her face with a tissue. 

"Come," Selena said. "Off to the restrooms." 

"I'm Claudette," the thin blonde said. Juliana noticed an accent. "I saw you a couple of days ago at the dining table, alone with the doctor. You are new, aren't you?" 

Juliana leaned against one of the basins, looking at her rescuers. She didn't know why she considered them that. 

"Yes," she said, "that was me. And yes, it was on my first day here. You were... quite a surprise." 

The girl smiled. 

"Ah well," she said. "We 'ave to perform, no?" Juliana held her eyes. 

"Do we?" she asked. Then she sighed. "I guess we do. What is this night about?" 

Selena chuckled. 

"That's an easy one," she said. "These nights begin quite stylish, but believe me: they all end needing a long, hot shower." The two other women laughed with her. 

"Come on," the third girl said. She was the auburn one in the salmon dress. "Let's do our faces and get it over with. I'm Barbara, by the way. Babs will do." 

When they returned, they were just in time to be seated. 

Juliana sat three seats away from the doctor, who was at the head of the table again. On her left was a man of about thirty she'd never met. He looked tanned and quite athletic; he introduced himself as Vincent Gaillardo, 'call me Vince.' On her other side was a gray-haired gentleman who said he was Dr. Harrington, no first name. He complimented her on her beauty; she blushed. Across from her was the girl Claudette, and next to her the rude guy called Justin. His name was Dr. Greene, she understood. He was a surgeon too. On the plates lay small amuses of quail's egg, as the butler let them know. White wine was poured and Dr. Charrier rose, holding his glass high. 

"Friends," he said. 

At first, Juliana listened, still flushed from her public exposure. She tried to understand what was being said. Charrier called them friends and welcomed them with inside jokes and banter. This late dinner was a regular affair, she gathered. But then things got medical, and most of the jargon was lost on her. She started looking around. The men all looked up at the doctor with reference. Watching the big man speech, she admitted that her opinion of him had changed since they first met. 

Sure, the way he blackmailed her was outrageous. But he always approached her with respect, it seemed, calling her Mrs. Austin and saying 'please,' didn't he? He had asked her to take part in sexual acts, yes; and he had made her undress in public just minutes ago. But he had also welcomed her with a glass of champagne and introduced her with flattering terms. No one ever called her beautiful, not even her husband. The doctor had also been quick to condemn the awful brute's offensive language... and had put the dress back on her. 




Juliana Ch. 05



Juliana turned her gaze to the women at the table. They looked, well... pretty bored. The men's attention was elsewhere, so they were off duty, she guessed. Juliana wondered why they were here. Selena, playing with her napkin, didn't seem the type for having cosmetic surgery. The auburn almost-twins might, but if so they must be modest in their wishes - or they were still waiting. The fragile girl with the French accent was the real enigma. She had the body of a dancer, and the innocent face of a child. Juliana had seen how greedily she fucked, lying on this very same table. Short of that she'd never have suspected her to be a prostitute. On the other hand: who would have thought it of herself? She sighed. 

Juliana looked over at her - what was her name again? Claudette. The girl smiled and rolled her eyes, most likely at the doctor's endless speech. Juliana smiled back. Claudette took an eye-pencil from her clutch and wrote on her napkin. Then she shoved it past the silver candlesticks and the glasses to Juliana. 

'Airbag,' it said. She chuckled, getting vivid images of a girl blowing a balloon. For a second she wondered if she would have had the same association yesterday. Then she got her own pencil out and added: 'Needs blowing?' 

The girl read the message; then looked at her. She slowly shook her head left and right, while raising her hand and measuring a very tiny distance between her thumb and forefinger. Then she took her pencil and scratched on the napkin's backside. She pushed it back to Juliana, who laid her hand on it. 

"Mrs. Austin." 

Juliana hadn't noticed the silence until her name fell into it. Looking up, she saw that all eyes were trained on her. She felt busted. A blood-hot wave rushed to her head. She was little Juliana again, caught by Miss Abigail, the home teacher, for forgetting to do up the top button of her blouse. Her fist closed around the napkin. 

"I suppose my speech isn't entertaining enough for you, Mrs. Austin?" 

She turned her head around to look at the doctor, who'd spoken to her. She couldn't read his face. 

"Come here and show me that napkin, please." 

She looked down at her hand. What had the girl written on it? She needed to see it, but she couldn't. 

"Don't make us wait, Mrs. Austin." 

She pushed back her chair and rose. Walking along the table she felt all eyes following her. The doctor frowned when she reached him. She handed over the napkin. He unfolded it and read silently about the airbag and the blowing. Then he turned it around, taking in what Claudette had written last. He didn't look up for a long, tortuous time. Then he did and he smiled. 

"You keep amazing me, Mrs. Austin," he said. "Until yesterday I would never have thought you would develop a taste for cock this quickly." A murmured, collective chuckle came from the table. It made Juliana feel more naked and alone than she had when her dress had been lying at her feet. 

"But...," she tried. The doctor raised his hand to silence her. Then he picked up the napkin and handed it to her. 

"I guess it is best you read it to us, Mrs. Austin," he said. "Please be so kind." 

On the white surface of the napkin was a crude outline of a fat belly and a stubby, microscopic penis under it; no balls, just a tiny worm with a round, slit head. 'Blow it if you can find it!' the caption read. 

Juliana just stared at it, caught in a cloud of embarrassment. A loud bang, echoed by the rattle of plates and silverware, shook her out of her apathy. 

"Read it!" Dr. Charrier's voice wasn't loud, but there was steel in it. A wet stain of spilled wine spread around his fist. 

Juliana's breathing fluttered and so did her first syllables. She cleared her throat. 

"It... it says: blow it if you can find it," she informed the table. A little wave of amusement spread around. 

"It?" the doctor asked. "What could be meant by 'it?' Is there more, maybe, Mrs. Austin?" She felt a knot of sickness form in her stomach. 

"There is... well, there is a drawing, sir," she said. The 'sir' had come automatically. 

"A drawing?" Charrier asked. "Interesting. What is it about?" 

"Err..." Juliana knew she would not be let off the hook. "I think it is a penis, sir," she said, leaving a short hesitation before the word 'penis.' It earned her another little storm of laughs, more gleeful this time. Looking up she saw that of the women only Claudette shared the laughter. When the buzz died, Charrier retrieved the napkin from her hands. He folded it open and showed it to the table. 

"A very, very tiny penis, I'd say," he said, pointing it out with a fat, ringed finger. Would you agree that its tininess might explain the words, Mrs. Austin? I mean the summoning to go look for it?" 

Juliana knew she'd been set up. She also knew there was no way to escape her humiliating situation, or what it might lead to. 

"Would you agree?" he repeated. She nodded. 

"Let's all hear it, Mrs. Austin," he insisted. 

"I agree," she said in a thick voice. 

"Agree to what?" The man had no mercy; how could she have believed him to be not entirely evil? She cleared her throat again and said: 

"I agree the words point at the small err.. penis, sir." 

Charrier seemed content with that. He looked around the table, smiling. 

"Isn't it cute how she says penis?" he asked. He was answered by a loud laugh. Juliana supposed her ordeal was over, and turned to go back to her place. 

"Not so fast, Mrs. Austin." The words stopped her in her tracks, sending a new wave of anxiety through her. What now? She turned to the doctor again, waiting. 

"Don't you think we should take the words to heart, Mrs. Austin?" he asked. She had no idea what he meant. 

"Maybe you should go and find that... penis, so you might do to it what the caption suggests," he went on. 

Juliana stood frozen. She understood what he meant. Standing in a flimsy dress at a very public function, glowing from embarrassment, she was asked to find a cock and suck it - she, Juliana Enders, very recently married to Alec Austin who lay alone in a hospital bed only a few corridors away - probably dying if she didn't do it. 

She took a step forward, but was stopped by a raised hand of Dr. Charrier. 

"Oh no," he said. "Cold, honey. You are cold as ice." 

Confused, she stopped. Cold? She looked into his laughing face. Then she understood. It was a game, a stupid children's game. Cold-warmer-warm-hot! 

She shrugged and turned, walking slowly down the table. The men had picked up on the game. They laughed and repeated the doctor's instructions: "cold... warmer now... just a bit warmer...oh, oh, hot now... good girl...hot, hot, sizzling hot!" 

She stood in front of the tanned athlete - what was his name...? The Italian. He smiled at her and turned his chair to face her. 

"Let's see, Mrs. Austin, how small he is," said the doctor behind her. "You are of course highly experienced and used to the biggest specimen, but maybe he'll live up to your spoiled tastes. Kneel, please, and open his pants. 

The words and the laughter they caused mingled into a buzzing cocktail that drowned her. Juliana felt close to fainting. The face of the man she was supposed to pleasure, hung at the center of a swirling storm. 

"Kneel and do it, slut!" she heard and it must have come from the man's mouth. She felt his hands on her wrists and was pulled down and forward. Her knees hit the tiled floor and it hurt; her face was almost against his crotch. 

Were those her hands rising? Were her fingers undoing the leather belt and the button holding his pants' top together? They must be, but she didn't feel it. Her painted fingertips pulled down the zipper and she spread the fly open, allowing a fat, swollen snake to push its way free from black, white-dotted shorts. He wasn't tiny; he wasn't even big - he was huge. There were snickers and comments all around her. People must have gathered to see her do this. Juliana closed her eyes and pulled down the pants and the shorts inside. When she looked again, a huge purple cobra stared at her, softly swaying left and right - hypnotizing her like the little bird she was. 

"Well, you were wrong after all, Mrs. Austin," she heard close to her left ear. It was Charrier. "I certainly wouldn't call that a tiny... penis," he went on. "I would call it a horse, to be honest. But of course you've been around more." 

Amongst the guffaws were a few female giggles. 

Juliana just knelt there, her powerless hands on the man's muscled thighs, right next to the snake. There was no way in the world she could take that monster - even if she'd wanted to. It had grown while she watched, rising from his crotch, where two enormous balls hung down in a shaven sac. 

"Go, whore: touch it." It was the Italian's voice. Why did he have to call her names; he didn't know her, did he? And she surely never met him. She reached up and laid her fingertips on the shaft. It seemed to thrum through its velvet sheath. Skin retreated from the still swelling head, making the slit look even more like an evil eye. 

"Kiss it." 

Juliana brought her mouth to the shining glans and pressed her lips to it, right when a drop of clear liquid welled up from the slit, seeping into her mouth. 

"Hold my balls, cunt." 

The man took his cock in his fist and moved the slippery head around Juliana's mouth, chin and cheeks, leaving a trail of slime, like a snail. Juliana didn't move. She held the throbbing balls and let the fat mushroom wash her face - her nose now too, and her closed eyes. 

She thought she might find a safe refuge in darkness, but the voices kept coming and the heat kept seeping through her fingers. Like yesterday and this afternoon, her body went first. It heated up and started to tingle as wave after wave radiated from her crotch. The waves seemed to massage her insides with invisible fingers, urging her to let go - opening her up. 

"Open your fucking mouth, slut." 

Juliana did, feeling the monster's head slide in. "Wider!" She tried, her jaws already straining. The ridged head popped past her teeth, hitting her tongue and closing her throat. She gagged. Tears sprang from her eyes. She brought a hand to the shaft to pull it out, but her wrist was caught by someone - her other one too. They were pulled behind her back and she sank deeper down on the cock. A third hand closed over her skull and started pushing. Juliana choked. Dizziness spread through her body. Her mind screamed, but all that came out were choking sobs. 

Then yet another hand crept under her dress, tearing it open to find her naked crotch. Fingers found her soaked clitoris and rubbed it - fast. 

Right before she fainted, Juliana came hard. Her body arched. The cock plopped out of her mouth and a scream made the glass windows ring. 

Then she slid to the floor and passed out.



Juliana Ch. 06



In a neglected garden all you see is grass and weeds and an occasional wildflower. Juliana knew gardens like that, back home. Stubborn plots with hard, parched soil, resisting the plough that broke their surface. 



"You ruined dress."

Juliana opened her eyes slowly. Thank God the lights were low. She looked around and saw she was in the bed that had been given to her. Next to it she detected the smallish figure of Mei, the Asian girl. She held up a limp silvery piece of garment; it was almost torn in two. She frowned, which looked comical on her round porcelain face.

"Sorry," Juliana said, her jaw aching as she shaped the word. She sat up on her elbows. It made the sheet slide off her chest; she was naked.

"You take shower and go to sleep," the Asian girl said, turning to leave the room.

"I'm still hungry!" Juliana called after her, but Mei had already left the room.

Juliana crawled out of the bed to find a bottle of chilled water. The icy liquid soothed her parched throat. It ran down the insides of her chest like a river's delta to fill her empty stomach. He shivered and sank to the floor next to the refrigerator – her back to the wall.

My God, she had to leave this place. These men were barbarians, doctors or not. And then to think she'd thought Charrier was not too bad, really.

The hot water in the tub felt like heaven, relaxing her muscles and bringing peace to the turmoil in her head. She inhaled the sweet perfume and blew tiny mountains of foam from her open hand.

She knew things were wrong – horribly and disgustingly. But even then there were things she could easily get used to – fond of even. She loved the way Mei treated her, making her feel beautiful. She'd loved being with Ellis, finding something she'd never had – friendship. She liked John, the butler. He seemed to care for her within the limits of his position. And what she loved secretly and darkly and guiltily was her body's response to the sexual novelties she experienced. She'd never admit it, she'd bite off her tongue before saying it – but she knew it was the truth.

She also knew that she should resist, be tough like the neglected gardens back home. She should protect her integrity against these dizzying seductions.

But her body had a mind of itself. It instinctively knew there would be wonderful things to come, once she opened up to them – delicious treats and ecstatic marvels. She ran a hand over her slick, soaked belly, finding her slightly swollen lips and the little knob at their top. She rubbed it softly.

Then there was a knock on her door.

"Supper, ma'am, just a little bite." It was the butler's voice. She sighed. Good old John.

"Thank you, John," she said, hearing how the bathroom added echo to her voice.

She waited till he was gone and got out of the tub, wrapping her dripping body in the wide, fluffy robe – another thing she could get used to.

Supper was light and tasty; no doubt leftovers from the dinner she'd missed – spicy chicken wing and steamed vegetables; a bit of cheese and lovely fresh bread. She only drank half a glass from the small carafe of red wine. Then she rose and brushed her hair. She removed the last of her make up, rubbed cream into her face and cleaned her teeth before slipping into the short black negligée – the only nightwear present. Sighing she slipped between the silk sheets, intent on forgetting the bad, and dream of the good. She leafed through a Vogue for a minute, and was asleep before she even knew what she'd read.

*** 

Waking up in the night can be a scary experience, especially when something wakes you up – a bump, a sound. Someone's in your room, by your bed, breathing on you.

Juliana woke with a start. There was a dim light on – the small reading lamp she hadn't turned off. Trying to focus, she saw a pale blob floating a few feet above her bed. It turned into a face – a male face. It was the perfect nightmare. She screamed. A hand reached down to cover her mouth. It only fueled her panic.

"Shhh, Mrs. Austin," a voice said from the foot of the bed. "Don't panic; you know us all." It was the doctor's voice, dripping with honey. The hand left her mouth. She looked around; there were more faces. Faces she'd seen only hours ago.

There was her tanned table-companion: 'call me Vince.' She knew more of him than just his face. Next to him was the foul-mouthed surgeon – Greene, she remembered. His lips curled into a sneer; maybe they always did. Then she saw Charrier with his gleaming jowls, at the foot of the bed. He was like a ghost against the darkness behind him.

Fleming was present too, of course, and another dinner guest she'd forgotten the name of. Five faces she counted, all looking down on her. They still wore their jackets and white dress-shirts, although the bow ties had been undone or lost. She smelled cigars, alcohol too.

A hand pulled the sheets off of her. Cool air tightened her nipples. She knew that the short negligée did little to hide her body.

"Mrs. Austin," Dr. Charrier said, his voice low and friendly. "Would you please give these gentlemen a better view of your lovely body? No need to hide it."

Juliana's eyes flew to his face. He smiled and nodded, but she felt paralyzed. She was tired; why couldn't they just leave her alone?

A hand cupped her right breast, rubbing the flimsy gauze over its nipple and skin. Another hand found her left breast. And yet another slid under the negligée's hem.

"No," she said, making the word float on a sigh. A murmur of chuckles ran around her bed. The hands increased their pressure; a finger slipped inside her vagina. Then there was a tearing sound – the fabric of her negligée split to expose her naked body.

Juliana knew she should resist – she even thought she wanted to. But all she did was wriggle under the probing hands, repeating her 'no's' in ever-decreasing whispers.

There was no longer any fabric between the mauling hands and her breasts. Her clitoris was being pinched, while fingers ran in and out of her vagina. A thumb entered her mouth, just as she opened it in protest.

"Good girl, Mrs. Austin," the voice from the foot of the bed commented. "Now please raise your dainty right hand and find the present we brought you."

Once more she wanted to resist, but her hand left the place where it had halfheartedly tried to stop the big male hand ravaging her vagina. It rose to meet another hand that led her to an erect penis.

"Take it, Mrs. Austin," the voice went on. "Hold it and make it grow. Make it throb and discover how much it loves you."

The hand opened her fingers and placed them around the rod. It was at once soft and hard – it throbbed and it glowed. Feeling it sent a thrill to her heart – a sensation she hated as much as she loved it.

Another hand took her left hand, opened it and then closed it over a penis that was as hard and thick as the first one. She moved her hands up and down before she knew what she was doing: she automatically imitated the rhythm of the fingers that plowed inside her.

"Mmmm, yes," the voice hissed. "I knew it. You are a natural, Mrs. Austin. Now move your body just like you move your hands. Up... down... and round and churn and twist... and up and down, yes. Very good, Mrs. Austin."

The buzz returned, and it drowned the ongoing voice – just like it drowned her thoughts. The pumping fingers in her vagina were replaced by a wet, sucking mouth and an intruding tongue. But it wasn't her vagina, she remembered, it was her pussy, her cunt, and she moaned, arching her back. When she was like this, she had tits and a cunt, and that was fine. Nothing mattered now, really, did it? She could do... nothing. Everything was... as it was. Wasn't it?

Was it her hand that pulled the penis to her mouth, or did the man push his cock and make her do it? Who knew? Who wanted to know? Fact was that the cock in her right hand reached her mouth at the exact moment she opened her lips. Its head slid up her tongue and she sucked on it. She knew she had to suck it – and that she wanted it. She knew things were as they were supposed to be.

When the man on her left rubbed the wet, drooling tip of his penis over her brow and eyes and bulging cheek, she turned his way, letting the first cock pop out before she took the new guest in.

Juliana had become the center of an orgy, although she didn't know it was called that way. She sucked on ever-changing cocks and was sucked herself until her entire being sang with soundless music. Her mouth tried to moan the words to that song – on the few occasions it wasn't occupied. Her wriggling, bending, arching body did the ballet.

Juliana Enders had by then lost touch with reality –as had Mrs. Austin. It hardly occurred to her that the penetrating tongue had grown in length, width and firmness. That it had taken on a piston-like ferocity she'd never experienced before. She felt stretched, very much stretched, but there was no pain; she felt full, penetrated deeper than ever. The pounding was like beating a drum. It set the rhythm to an overwhelming music that invaded her body from all sides. 

The orgy became a merry-go-round that robbed her of sense and focus. Cocks entered and withdrew from her mouth and hands; they also filled and left her pussy with a speed that made it impossible to tell who was visiting her or when. She was man handled and shared. Her body was shoved around and touched, mauled and kneaded. But who cared anymore? The crescendo of the music crashed her into a debilitating orgasm – but she was already climbing to a new one.

Hands pulled Juliana up to her knees, and when they let her down again, she lay on the slick flesh of a male body. A hard cock once more entered her throbbing pussy to nudge her on to yet another climax, while her mouth and hand were filled with silky-skinned iron. She pulled and sucked and rode without a thought in her mind – or a care in the world. Then another sweaty, naked body lowered itself on top of her, and a new and alarming sensation tore her sweet cloud of oblivion away. Something blunt pressed against an opening, and it wasn't her vagina – it was her anus.

It had taken Juliana all her childhood and teenage life to associate men's penises with women's vaginas. It had taken her only days to associate male penises with her hands and mouth. And it took this villa to teach her there was sick and crazy pleasure in all of this. But never in her entire life had she associated sex with her anus.

The blunt object pressed against the tight ring; she tried to close it against the intrusion.

"Relax, Mrs. Austin," Charrier's voice insisted. It had been gone from her consciousness, just like most everything had, but here it was again – soothing, instructing and encouraging. "Relax your sphincter. Trust me. Allow the finger entrance. It will be wonderful."

The body under her laid almost still, its fat cock filling her. Her mouth let go of the penis she sucked. She tried to protest, but a tongue filled her mouth with a deep kiss.

The object was a finger, and it slipped in. It felt wrong, but exhilarating; it was alien to what she'd ever felt. The finger was wet and slippery. It started poking and swirling around in her bowels, spreading warmth. Soon a second finger accompanied it. She knew her opening got stretched, but everything felt slick and oily – there was no pain.

The man below kept kissing her; he took up the fucking again. His cock rubbed the fingers through the membrane that separated her two entrances. It felt intimate and shockingly strange. She moaned into the man's mouth, feeling her tongue vibrate with the sound. Then something very big nudged her anus, pushing to enter. She gasped.

"Relax now, Mrs. Austin. Just let go."

She felt a finger rubbing her clitoris while the cock inside her pussy increased its rhythm. Lips were sucking her left nipple; nails tweaked the right one. A new ball of heat grew inside her belly. It started roiling and rolling towards another orgasm. Her breath got stuck; she closed her eyes.

"If you resist there will be pain, honey," the voice went on. "We don't want to hurt you. Please let go; let it happen and all will be fine."

Tears ran down her face. She shuddered. Resisting the penetration of her anus seemed to stimulate her orgasm. She cried out, losing control when she came, and the cock rammed into her slackened anus.

It started pounding her at once in a place she'd never even thought she could be penetrated. But she floated on her orgasm; the fucking just kept her high. Her body felt like a hot wire connecting every spot that was on fire. She virtually crackled and sparkled. She didn't exist anymore; she was just an arch of electricity, glowing and pulsating in the dark.

Maybe she might remember later how she was fucked in the ass by several cocks – or being spit-roasted in her mouth and anus. Maybe she even might recall being fucked in all her openings at once. But right now she was just coming and coming. Her body twisted and twitched with spasms. Her voice was reduced to croaking moans and high-pitched gasping.

When everything stopped, she remembered lying stretched on the ruins of her bed, covered in sweat. Her eyes were wide open to watch four fists jerking off four cocks, right over her face. 

"Open your mouth, please, Mrs. Austin," the omnipresent voice droned on. "Open it wide, you earned it." She did, and one after the other the cocks started spewing hot strands of goo on her face and chest. Some of it splashed into her mouth. Then more sperm followed as the next cock emptied itself on her face.

Juliana moaned and closed her eyes. There seemed to be no end to the spewing.

"Clean them up, please, Mrs. Austin. Thank the wonderful cocks for their gift."

She looked through the stinging haze covering her eyes. Her hand found a spent cock and she took it into her mouth, licking it and sucking. She smelled its scent and tasted its bittersweet tang. 

"Say thanks, Mrs. Austin," the voice reminded her, and she mumbled her thanks before her mouth was filled with yet another leaking cock.

Then all was over and she was alone. Or was she?

Big hands slid under her soiled body. Strong arms lifted her up and carried her through the dimly lit room. She floated, both her mind and her body. The air got warm around her – warm and moist and utterly sweet.

The steaming water in the bathtub enclosed her. She felt a big sponge cleaning her skin. All tension left her muscles. The sobbing she heard was her own.

"Now, now, Mrs. Austin," the voice said. "No need to cry. My friends feel greatly pleasured. You did very well, my splendid little whore. You should feel proud."

Soft lips kissed her brow.

*** 

"You have good body; good and strong."

The voice hung in the air, somewhere over Juliana's head. Her face was circled by a leather-lined hole in the bench she lay on. Hands were kneading her shoulders – they were Mai's small but surprisingly strong hands.

Juliana had been sleeping long and deep, right from the moment they had laid her down on the crispy fresh sheets of her bed. When she got up, there wasn't a muscle in her body that didn't ache. Even her face and the skin of her skull throbbed with it.

How they knew she'd woken up was a mystery, but as soon as she sat up, there was a knock on the door. A girl she'd never seen brought in a tray of breakfast. 

Clearing up with each spoonful of yoghurt, fruit and cereals, Juliana's thoughts went back to what happened. She'd had sex with five men, and she'd been genuinely fucked, penetrated – everywhere. Things had been done to her that she'd not even thought possible before yesterday. But she hadn't been raped. Maybe she'd like to think otherwise. It might make things easier if they'd used force, but they hadn't. She remembered saying 'no,' but she knew it had been just a formality, a ritual – and so had the men that took her. She'd never intended for them to stop.

Juliana expected to feel hurt and indignant. Closing her eyes she searched her feelings. She found a trace of shame and a remnant of panic. But there was no anger or guilt. There was... awe. Awe for what she'd done; awe for the treatment she'd received, and awe for the intensity of her sensations. She'd never known she could feel like she had – loose control like she had, forgetting her inhibitions so completely. She felt confused. But she also felt she'd grown, becoming a more complete woman – and a sore one, incredibly sore.

After finishing her breakfast, Mei had entered. She opened a closet and took out a leather-covered bench.

"Lie down, head down," she said. As Juliana walked over to the bench, she saw Mei taking off her clothes. Her pale, doll-like body looked toned and strong... so did her hands massaging her now. They slid and slithered with a rich oil, sending deep throbbing impulses into every one of her sore muscles. Sometimes it made Juliana cry out in pain, but most of the time it felt incredibly good. With every knot the girl dissolved, a corresponding knot in Juliana's mind seemed to melt away. After an almost endless episode of kneading, drumming and slapping the girl told her to turn around. Juliana never hesitated exposing her front to the naked girl. Maybe she was just too drowsy to think. But she might just as well have stopped caring.

Mei never shied back from intimate places, rubbing her breasts just as indiscriminate as her belly; her shaven pussy as easily as her thighs and feet.

She pulled up Juliana's legs and pressed them wide to reach her really aching anus. Slathering on a surplus of oil, Mei stretched and massaged the swollen sphincter. She never minded Juliana's protesting shrieks.

"You been busy girl," Mei said, giggling. "Must have made lot of men happy." A sudden wave of shame invaded Juliana, surprising her. 

She'd made herself see the whole orgy as a thing where men gave her pleasure – overwhelming pleasure – in exchange for her pleasuring them. But the Asian girl's words put a strain on that view. In the eyes of the men there hadn't been anything mutual – no free exchange of pleasure. No – the men had used her; she'd been a thing, a doll. She recalled Dr. Greene, the rude surgeon, and Vince, who called her whore and slut. They never cared about her; she'd been just a body, a set of holes. Or had she? It couldn't be... She remembered the hands carrying her to the bathroom. She shivered. 

"Are all right?" Mei asked.

Juliana said she was. And after the wave of disgust cleared, she really was. They may have used her, but the humiliation wasn't humiliation, really – it was a game to get the men more aroused. They cared for her. How else could Dr. Charrier have carried her to the bath himself, afterward? He had given her compliments and sponged the slime off her body. He thanked her and even kissed her brow. He'd changed the bed and laid her down in it. There had been tenderness – for sure.

And right now he'd sent Mei to massage her body and heal it from its bruises and soreness. They cared; they truly did. She sighed.

That afternoon Juliana rested. Around four o'clock she got up and did her hair and face. There was a short flowery dress in the closet, no bra but a white thong. The provided sandals had heels she could handle.

Walking down the corridor she still felt how her muscles tingled. They radiated a glow that was quite satisfying. The sensations were the most intense in her anus and pussy. It made her walk gingerly.

"Hi honey, you were amazing."

The voice was Dr. Fleming's. He stood in a doorway, wearing the white coat of his profession, his arms folded before his chest. He smiled a relaxed smile, stepping back to invite her into the room. She hesitated, remembering the awkwardness of another time.

"I have wonderful news for you," he said.





Juliana Ch. 06



"About my husband?" she asked, stepping up to him. He nodded.

"Please come in. Coffee?" 

She walked past him, declining the offer, and sat down in a little club chair. He pulled another chair closer and sat down right across from her. He reached forward, placing his hands on her bare knees. They felt dry and warm. They also were a déja vu. 

"Mrs. Austin," he began, searching her eyes. "May I call you Juliana?" He had put his cock in every hole of her body and showered her with his spunk – and now he asked if he could call her by her first name? She nodded, very aware of his hands. They distracted her.

"What about my husband?" she asked, trying to ignore the distraction. It seemed to be creeping into every contact she had with men, lately. Remind him that you're married, she thought; distract him. But she recalled last night and saw how futile everything was.

He sat up straight, withdrawing his hands, leaving phantom spots of warmth on her skin. Smiling he watched her in silence.

"Please?" she asked. He just smiled wider. 

"Ah well, yes, your husband," he said. Then he looked down into his lap. Bringing his fingers to his fly, he pulled down the zipper. He laid both hands on the armrests, looking back at her.

Juliana refused to understand.

"What about my husband?" she repeated. He sighed, slowly moving his head left and right.

"Dear Juliana," he said. "Dr. Charrier and I, we have our doubts about you. We wonder if you really love your husband." A hot flash of anger hit Juliana.

"I do love my husband," she almost growled. The knuckles of her hands whitened as she grabbed the armrests of her chair. "What on earth do you know about it?" He shrugged; the annoying smile never left his face. Nor did the gapping fly loose its maddening distraction.

"What we think, dear Juliana, the doctor and I," he said, "is that you want to have your cake and eat it too." She just stared at him, waiting.

"You are a farmer's daughter," he went on. "You should know that life doesn't hand out free presents. Life is hard; lucky breaks are few and far apart – you take them whenever they present themselves. You grab them or you starve." Another minute of silence went by. There were his eyes, and there was the gapping fly.

"What will it be, Juliana?" he asked at last, spreading his knees just a bit more.

Recently, Juliana's world had this way of getting smaller ¬– each day a bit smaller. It seemed to close around her, pushing out things that were important only yesterday. There had been the city, work, people, even the reassuring drone of chores. All gone, it seemed. There had been her husband, the things they did – going out, being together.

Now there only was this place, this villa. There was this relentless focus on sex, pleasure, men, cocks; and the overwhelming response of her body.

Juliana rose from her chair and knelt between Dr. Fleming's knees. Her perfectly manicured fingers went to the open fly. She undid the buckle of his belt and a button before pulling his pants down. His blue shorts tented with his erection. There even was a moist spot. She reached inside, feeling the now familiar softness of the skin, and the hardness below. Pulling the cock out, she contemplated the paleness of her hand against the flushed meat. She also wondered about its primitive wildness beside the cultivated elegance of her fingers. It was ugly, really, she thought, while pulling down the foreskin and exposing the purple helmet. But if it was, why did it arouse her so? The trembling of her hand annoyed her as she closed her fingers around the shaft. Her breath stuck as her mouth reached for the weeping head.

Hands cupped her skull, pushing her down on the cock. She heard him gasp when her lips closed around it.

"Ah, Juliana," he said as she dashed her tongue around his penis. "You're perfect. You're so wonderfully tight. Deeper, honey, you can do deeper." She could, but it made her gag. His chuckle vibrated through his lower belly. She gasped when he at last let her breath. Looking up at him, she inhaled deeply.

"Yesterday we woke your husband up, honey," he said, and pushed her down on his cock again before she could answer. Over the wet sounds of her sucking he went on:

"Last night, while you were so wonderfully busy, he woke up and asked for you. It was the first thing he did. I bet your thoughts were elsewhere." He chuckled again, holding her down for a minute. Juliana coughed and gagged when he finally released her. Tears ran down her cheeks; strands of saliva and snot leaked off her chin.

"I... I want to..." she gasped, but he put her down again, muffling her protest with his hard meat and cruel hands.

"You know," he went on. "He might be wondering where you are right now. He'll go under the knife in a few hours. I bet he'll keep asking where you are, Juliana – why you don't visit him."

With a roar Juliana pulled herself free from the cock and the hands, rising on wobbling legs. She panted and croaked, her eyes wide, her lipstick smeared and her mascara ruined.

"Take me to him!" she cried out. "Where is he? Take me to him!"

The doctor sat back, gazing up at her with his infuriating smile. The monstrous penis in his lap looked obscene. Juliana fell back into the chair and broke down, crying. A hand touched her shoulder.

"Don't you worry, sweet thing," Fleming said. "I'll take you to him. But first there is a bit of unfinished business."

*** 

She sucked him until he came and he gave her no choice but to drink down his sperm. The taste of it still lingered in her mouth when the two of them walked down a corridor. She'd cleaned her face and applied just a hint of make up from her clutch. She wondered what Alec might say about her flimsy dress.

The corridor led to a modern extension of the villa – the part Fleming called the clinic. She'd never been past the doors to it; they always seemed to be closed. They were open now, and led into a different world altogether.

Daylight streamed in through tall windows. All walls and ceilings were white. Quiet nurses moved around, too occupied to give them more than a fleeting smile or a nod.

When they arrived at the room where her husband stayed, a pretty redheaded nurse stopped them. She handed them both shrubs to wear over their clothes, a cap for their hair and a mouth mask. There were also latex gloves and plastic covers for their shoes.

"Sorry for this," the nurse said, "but any contamination can cause complications."

Juliana chuckled when she saw herself in a mirror. She looked ready to enter a disaster zone.

The room itself was as white as everything else. Alec sat up in his bed, looking better than the last time she saw him. At first he didn't recognize her in her disguise. Then he smiled a radiant smile.

"Jules," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Alec!" she cried out, running forward to hug him. But a hand held her back.

"I'm sorry, but you can't," Fleming said, his voice muffled by the mask. Juliana stopped. She stared at her husband as if trying to make her eyes do what her body couldn't.

"Are you all right?" she asked. He shrugged.

"I still feel weak," he said. "I'm so sorry I scared you."

"Don't be," she said. "Just get better." She laughed.

"Don't worry; I'll be better – as good as new!" He reached out. Juliana turned to Fleming. He nodded. She took Alec's hand in her gloved ones.

They were close now. Juliana felt frustrated by the presence of the man who had filled her throat with his sperm only minutes ago. She thanked the mouth- piece for masking her breath.

"Is everything okay at home?" he asked. "Do you have enough money? Are things all right at work?" 

Juliana had feared these questions. And she'd decided to lie.

Before Fleming brought her here, he had advised her to "spare him the truth for his own protection." It had irritated her, but she knew he was right. Why risk everything she'd already sacrificed?

"They are all right, honey," she said. "They send you greetings and wish you well." She felt his hands squeeze hers. "And I'm fine too," she added. 

"Thank you so much for being here," he said.

"Don't be afraid," Juliana said, returning the squeeze. "Dr. Charrier is the best." She turned towards Fleming.

"Could we be alone?" she asked. "Only for a minute?" He hesitated.

"Don't upset him," he then said and turned to leave.

When Juliana was alone with her husband, a wave of guilt swept over her. Her hands trembled in his grip.

"It will all be fine," he said, misunderstanding her tremor. She brought her brow to his, their noses almost touching.

"I love you, Alec," she whispered. "Always know that you are the one I love." She felt tears trickle down her face.

"I know that," he answered, reaching up and holding her shoulders. "And I love you. Be strong, darling, everything will end up fine and we'll have our wonderful life back."

Breathing inside the mouth mask, she smelled Fleming's scent. A faint nausea lurched up to choke her.

They stood for a while holding each other without a word. Then the door opened and Fleming stepped in with the red headed nurse.

"Time to say goodbye, Mrs. Austin," he said. Being called that brought memories of a sickening kind.

"Yes," she murmured. "Yes – just another minute."

*** 

Back in her room Juliana cried. Her grief was a desperate mix of pain, loss, guilt and treason. She felt totally alone and believed it was all her fault. Maybe lying to Alec had been the merciful thing to do – and the wisest decision in his circumstances. Giving in to the blackmail was just as forgivable. She had no choice. One might even call it rape. But... but there were too many 'buts.'

There had been stretches of time she hadn't thought of him at all. Last night he woke up all alone, no doubt scared and lonely – while she fucked and sucked and climaxed in the arms of five men. She had loved it and that was the wrong thing, even in these crazy circumstances. Wasn't it?

She kept telling herself that she'd been forced, but there had never really been any force, had there? She kept telling herself she was offering a sacrifice, but hadn't she been far too eager offering it? Someone had called her a whore. Was he right? Was she a prostitute?

There was a knock on the door. She cried out to please wait before running to the bathroom. She splashed water into her face and dried it with a towel. Looking into the mirror she saw blotched skin and red eyes. She also felt a distant unease that her face wasn't made up. Her eyes were naked, her lips pale – nothing between her and the world. 

A second knocking tore her away from her image and sent her to the door. It was Mei, carrying an armful of clothes.

"You awful look," she said with a smile.

***



Juliana Ch. 07



Was this body the same body she'd been born in – the same body she brought into Chicago? Or, more recently, the same body she lived in when she first rang the doorbell of this villa?

Lying in her bathtub Juliana Austin wondered who she was – or rather who she would end up being. Her right hand caressed her leg under the foamy surface of perfumed water. It travelled from the hollow of her knee around her thigh and up to her crotch, feeling the folds there – baby bare, swollen and tender to the touch. She went up over her belly and felt her sensitive nipples. She shuddered when she touched one.

Juliana knew she was changing – her mind as much as her body. At times it felt scary, but to be honest, she wondered if she really wanted things to have stayed as they were. She'd never been happy with who she was – her shyness and shame had frustrated her, as had her mousy appearance. She'd been ignorant of so many things – unaware of the thrills she kept feeling these last days. People might call them wrong, but it was the sweetest wrongness she'd ever felt.

After she'd returned to her room, Mei had urged her to clean up and dress, as she would be picked up for a dinner date.

"A date?" Juliana asked; the Asian girl's English wasn't always intelligible. 

"Yes, for dinner, outside," Mei said, pushing her into the bathroom to take a shower.

When she came out, toweling her hair, she saw the evening gown spread out on the bed. It looked delicate. It also looked thin and low-cut. She picked it up and held it against her naked body, watching herself in the dressing mirror.

"Who's taking me to dinner, Mei?" she asked, turning left and right a bit.

"Gentleman," Mei said, being busy at the make up table. "Come on – have no time!"

A limousine arrived to pick up Juliana. She'd seen limousines, but never been in one. Feeling quite self-conscious she walked across the pebble-stoned driveway on her high heels. Beside her thong, the flimsy gown was all she wore; the balmy evening breeze pressed it against her skin. By the car stood a huge black driver; he held a door open for her, smiling his teeth bare.

"Good evening, Miss," he said.

The seat was an expanse of soft leather; it sighed under her weight when she sat down. She was the only passenger. The car's wheels crunched the pebbles when it drove down the driveway, but the motor hardly made a sound. Juliana looked out of the tinted window, seeing the villa's entrance fall away. Had it really only been days since she stood there, ringing that doorbell? The setting sun streaked the sky with copper and orange. She sighed; her throat choked on the overwhelming sense of luxury.

The place the driver took her was close to the lake. It looked like a big Victorian house. A valet hurried to welcome her. He opened the car's door and ushered her up a few steps and into the building. 'Cinderella,' she thought, as colorful images from her childhood's fairytale dreams danced around her head. They lifted her spirit, making her blush and smile.

A man waited for her beside a table in the splendid dining room. He wasn't a prince. He wasn't even young or handsome, although he was tall and his full head of hair shone with distinguished silver. He also wore a tuxedo and he smiled. Taking her hand he kissed her fingers, while his eyes roamed her body from her face down to her painted toes. Juliana's nipples tightened. She wondered what it was with men lately. They made her believe that they really saw her. She still blushed and smiled as she sat down on the chair the man had pulled out for her.

"I'm so glad you came, Mrs. Austin," he said, after siting down himself. "I've heard wonderful things about you. By the way, I am Charles Brunswick, but please call me Chuck – all people I appreciate do." She smiled and offered her hand; he took it into both of his.

"Hello Chuck," she said. "My name is Juliana. Thank you for the invitation. This is a lovely place."

She watched the big man; he beamed like a schoolboy. So he'd heard 'wonderful things' about her he said? She wondered what things they might be, and who might have told him – Charrier, no doubt, or one of the others. It wasn't hard to imagine the nature of their recommendation. Maybe that should embarrass her, but it didn't. It would have, only days ago. What she now felt was just an amorphous mixture of contradictory emotions, muffled by a layer of excitement.

The man ordered food and drinks. He did so without consulting Juliana. She didn't mind.

The champagne was just as titillating as it had been the first time. The bubbles tickling her mouth made her want to smile and not stop smiling. She decided to like the man. She also decided she liked being with him in this posh restaurant, sitting at this luxurious table in her sexy, but classy, nothing of a dress.

When the first course came, it was raw oysters. Juliana had never seen oysters, let alone eaten them. She said so and giggled, blushing. It brought a wide smile to his face and he once more took her hand in both of his.

"Dear Mrs. Austin," he said. "How it enjoys me to offer you this delight as a first. At the same time I envy you for it. It is thrilling, you know – and unrepeatable; a virgin moment. Please allow me to be the one to feed you the first oyster of your life!" They both chuckled, and Juliana closed her eyes while opening her mouth wide – like a little bird. 

It made her feel vulnerable – not knowing what would be put in her mouth, or when. She was giving up control. But wasn't that a moot point? She shrugged mentally. She realized that she had no control whatever she did, so why pretend?

The sudden insight made her shiver. A second one hit her spine when a cold, wet object slithered across her tongue. The double sensation went straight to her crotch. She closed her mouth over the morsel and sucked. The taste was salty, like the sea she imagined but had never seen. It also touched a recent memory when the tangy moisture ran down her throat. It gave her another shiver.

"You like it," her table companion said. There was no question in it. "It makes you look so sexy."

Juliana opened her eyes, swallowed the oyster and smiled.

"I love it." 

He fed her five more oysters. She swallowed them all, thanking him after each morsel, taking small sips of champagne. The waiter refilled her glass and she drank some more. She didn't care what might happen. She knew there was a real world, somewhere. But she also knew she wasn't in it.

The man, Chuck, asked her to feed him his last oyster and she did, tipping the shell and watching the grayish creature slide off its shallow bed into the darkness of his mouth. He swallowed and smacked his lips in a most uncivilized way. They laughed and drank.

"I have a short note for you from a mutual friend," he said, searching an inner pocket of his tuxedo. He produced a white envelope and handed it to her.

"Oh," she said. "Exciting."

"Read it out loud to me, please," he said.

Opening the folded piece of paper inside, she let her eyes fly over the few lines. Then she blushed.

"I... I don't know if I... I mean right here... ," she muttered. The man's smile tightened.

"If I'm correct, Mrs. Austin," he said, "the content of that little note doesn't really allow you not to read it out to me, if I insist." His smile returned at once.

Juliana cleared her throat.

"Dearest Mrs. Austin," she read, her blush intensifying. "I'm sure my good friend Chuck Brunswick is every inch the gentleman I know him to be." She looked up, watching Brunswick's smile growing into something quite self-satisfied – or did she just see that?

"For you that might be a comforting thought, as I have promised Chuck he can use you however he likes – short of physically hurting you, of course."

She saw the man nod when she looked up from the letter. To Juliana his friendliness was harder to find under what she considered smugness now. 'However he likes' indeed, she mused.

"Please go on, Mrs. Austin," Brunswick said, picking up his glass. "There must be more."

"I know you won't let me down," Juliana read on, her voice less steady. "I also know you need this distraction on the very night your husband is fighting for his life."

Reality poured iced water over Juliana Austin. Since she walked over to the limousine she hadn't thought of her husband – not for a second. She'd let herself drown in luxury and girly princess fantasies while his skull was being lifted. She had squirmed in a sweet cocoon of sensuality while her husband might be dying already.

Tears welled up in her eyes; her lips trembled. She looked over at the man, but didn't see him.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Austin?" he asked. His voice was far away. She nodded; a tear trickled down her face.

"Then please read on."

Juliana sniffed. Her eyes tried to focus on the letter.

"But don't worry about him," she read on. "He's in good hands – the best. As long as you assure me that my good friend is in the best of hands too."

Her last words petered out into a whisper. Looking up she saw the man's face was beaming more than ever. He squeezed her hand.

"The best," he said. "I can believe that. And the best mouth?" She knew her face was beet red. The letter fell from her hand on her plate.

"I... ," she said. "I think I have to go to..."

She pushed back the chair, but Brunswick didn't let go of her hand.

"I can see I embarrassed you," he said. "Please forgive me."

Juliana ran to the toilets, having to ask twice for directions.

Sitting in one of the luxurious stalls she held her head in both hands, listening to her pounding heart. She tried to silence the storm in her skull. She'd been a prisoner all her young life. It was the reason she ran to find freedom – or something close enough that wouldn't scare her.

Before even being sure she'd found it, she'd fallen in love and married. Marriage to Alec Austin surely wasn't prison, was it? He was a sweet man. Maybe not a strong, self-assured man like the ones she'd met at the villa, but he was the man she loved; he cared for her. Alec wasn't the cause she was here, a prisoner of dilemmas, was he? He didn't even know. But nevertheless, here she was, handed to a man by another man – pushed to give him pleasure in order to save her husband; the husband whose life was right now in the hands of the man renting her out.

"Renting me out," she murmured. Then she sighed a long and fluttering sigh.

Juliana sat up straight. The storm abated; it was replaced by an eerie calm. She rose and straightened her dress. It was a scandalous dress, but it was also beautiful. She wondered why she'd fled. What was the point? Was she asked to perform anything different from what she'd already done before? She opened the stall and walked over to a mirror. Her legs felt weak. Thank God she was alone. She looked at her reflection and saw a raccoon, her eyes circled with the wash of her mascara.

She cleaned her face and repaired the damage.

"Juliana," she said. "Grow up, will you?" Then she took her clutch and walked to the door. The breeze of the air conditioning made her flimsy dress fondle her body.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Austin? You had me worried."

Brunswick stood by her chair when Juliana reached their table. She'd meandered through the vast dining room, keeping her eyes on him. Quite a few new people had arrived; she felt eyes on her as she balanced on her stilettos; it made her feel even more exposed. She never looked up until she came to her chair. Forcing a smile she sat down. Charrier's letter still lay face down on her plate. She picked it up and scanned its content.

"That was about it," she said, folding the piece of paper and returning it to its envelope. Brunswick was back in his chair across from her. She handed him the letter; he placed it next to his napkin. The waiter refilled their glasses. 

Juliana knew she would end up very drunk if they kept up this pace. She didn't care. It might help her enjoy the dinner and do her duty afterwards. Would he take her to a room here – or maybe at a hotel? She cursed the heat building in her crotch; her nipples must show. Raising her glass she produced a dazzling smile.

"To us," she said.

A small salad followed the oysters. There was crab in it, prawns, and a dressing that tasted delicious. The waiter came over with a new bottle. It looked dusty. He showed it to Brunswick, who studied the label and nodded. Juliana watched how the waiter skillfully removed the lead cap, drilled the opener into the cork and pulled it out with a plop. He smelled the cork and then poured a bottom of red wine into a crystal glass in front of her table companion. Brunswick made a show of picking it up; he let the red liquid waltz around in it, making it sparkle with the candlelight. Then he put his nose into it, inhaling the scent. At last he took a sip, closing his eyes and letting the wine swirl inside his mouth. He pouted his lips and smacked. After swallowing he kept his eyes closed for seconds before opening them and smiling.

"Excellent," he said. Juliana giggled.

They toasted yet again. The wine was full and exotic. It seemed to trigger a different sensation at different places in her mouth. After swallowing, a wonderful taste lingered – like an echo.

"You like it?" Brunswick asked, studying her intensely. She nodded and smiled.

"It is delicious," she assured him. "I never tasted anything like it." He smiled at that.

"Ah yes," he said. "A fifteen year-old Chateau Margaux might do that to you. Now please remove the tiny strap on your left shoulder and show me your breast, Mrs. Austin. Its nipple has been teasing me all night." His eyes were calm; his voice sounded as if he'd just asked to hand him the salt.

Juliana swallowed and put down her glass. She looked around. The dining room was quite full now, but nobody seemed to watch them. Her gaze returned to Brunswick. He smiled, of course, and nodded his head in encouragement. The skin of her face was aflame as her fingers reached for the strap. Pushing the narrow strip down was maybe the most conscious thing she ever did. She felt it slide over her clavicle and shoulder bone, her manicured fingernails gently scratching her skin. When the strap at last fell off her shoulder, part of the top followed. For a fraction of a second the thin fabric clung to her long nipple before the tremor of her breath made it slide down further.

Juliana didn't raise her eyes. She just sat there, blushing deeply. A cool breeze kissed her exposed breast; a chuckle penetrated the buzz in her head.

"It's so tiny," Brunswick said. Was he mocking her? He must be, though his voice was friendly. She closed her eyes. Then she felt fingers graze her nipple, making it ache. A moan escaped her lips, too quick to keep back. There was another chuckle – and the sound of someone clearing his throat. Two voices? Her eyes flew open and up. Next to Brunswick stood the waiter. He bent over to Brunswick's ear, whispering. Brunswick's face suddenly turned serious, looking up at the waiter.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed. "But, you know, one always tries to indulge the idiosyncrasies of a female."

The waiter rubbed his hands. He never smiled as he added a murmured comment she couldn't understand. Brunswick frowned.

"I see, good man!" he boomed. "And of course you're right – a fine establishment like this. But you see, she has this sluttish urge to, well, expose herself in public. How does one call it? Exhibitionism yes. She is an exhibitionist – can't help it I guess."

The waiter turned his eyes to Juliana, shaking his head in mild disgust. What's the phrase again? The earth opened under her – yes, it did. But she couldn't bring herself to reach for the strap and cover herself up again. She was paralyzed.

"God, woman!" Brunswick exclaimed. "You are really shameless, aren't you? Now cover up your tit, dammit!"

Juliana caught his eyes and held them. Then her trembling fingers got hold of the strap and she pulled the top over her chest. She didn't even feel the tear trickling down her face.

Brunswick raised his glass. He smiled and took a sip. The waiter had gone.

*** 

The main course was a big entrecote steak for Brunswick, a smaller one for her. The vegetables were delicious. There was spinach and thinly sliced beet. Juliana ate half of her vegetables and only nibbled at her steak. She'd lost her appetite. 

Brunswick was as friendly again as he'd been all evening. Now he frowned and worried about her appetite. She smiled a tired little smile.

"I'm all right," she assured him. "It is delicious, but I am a small eater. I'm sorry." He beamed again.

"That's good!" he boomed. "I'm a glutton, really. I should take your example." And he cut off another big bite.

The man kept confusing Juliana. He was a gentleman, no doubt. His care and friendliness seemed genuine – and then he suddenly said or did these horrible things to humiliate her.

But maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe it was Juliana who confused Juliana the most. She'd wanted to die when she sat there, exposed to the waiter and ridiculed by Brunswick. But at the same time her thong was soaking through. Hot flashes ran amok in her body while her mind felt the torment of public shame. Why couldn't things be simple anymore – black and white, good and evil?

Brunswick didn't seem aware of the turmoil in Juliana's head. He emptied his glass and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. Putting it back on the table, he found the envelope – acting surprised, as if he'd forgotten all about it.

"Ah yes," he murmured, picking it up. He looked at her past the letter. "Before I have my dessert, Mrs. Austin, I think it would be appropriate that you have yours first. You've been so sweet, I think you deserve it." He smiled broadly, his eyebrows raised as if he expected something. Juliana had no idea.

"Now to avoid public disgrace again," Brunswick went on, "I propose you slide under the table quietly. The waiter is gone and no one is watching. Now!"

Juliana didn't move. She just stared into his eyes. He reached out to touch her arm.

"Mrs. Austin?" he asked, waving his other hand in front of her face. It held the envelope.

"What... what do you want me to do?" she asked. He grinned.

"Whatever comes to mind, honey," he said, "after you open my fly."

The damask tablecloth was like a safe little tent around her. On her knees she crawled carefully between his spread legs. Touching his crotch, she noticed his penis was already hard; the evening must have been as exciting to him as it had been horrifying to her. Or had it?

Juliana tried to open the zipper as quietly as possible. The cock was thick, but not very long. She folded her fingers around it, pulling down the foreskin. A drop of moisture leaked from the slit. She touched it with her finger.

"Take it in your mouth." The tablecloth muffled Brunswick's voice. Juliana moved her face over the turgid pole and wrapped her lips around the head. She heard a groan. It encouraged her to take him in deeper. Her cheeks hollowed and she started sucking. All thoughts left her brain, replaced by a flood of recent memories. Her body trembled as it came fully alive. She touched her crotch through the dress, searching for her clitoris.

"Deeper," she heard, and she tried to oblige. Her lips stretched over his bulk. Then there was another voice.

"Has everything been to your satisfaction, sir?"

Juliana saw two legs next to Brunswick's chair. She gagged on the sudden surge of the cock. 

"I would say so, dear man," she heard Brunswick say. "I would say so indeed – excellent, excellent." Juliana felt the cock move now, fucking the tight sleeve of her mouth. A hand closed around the back of her skull, pulling her right down to his hairy crotch. She tried not to gag.




Juliana Ch. 07



"Maybe a dessert, sir?" the waiter asked. "Our patissier recommends the tarte tatin." Brunswick chuckled, making his soft belly bounce into her face.

"I have all the tart I need, good man," he answered. "But the lady might like some cream."

As soon as he said that, he pulled back his cock and sprayed hot sperm over her face and throat.

Juliana sat still. She felt the goo drip off her chin and on to her chest. Then she heard his voice again, this time obviously addressing her.

"Clean it nicely and put it back, please, Mrs. Austin," he said. "Don't clean yourself yet; I want to see it."

Juliana took the shrinking penis in her hand and licked around the head and shaft. Then she took it back into her mouth, sucking it clean before she put it back into his pants and closed the zipper.

"Thanks," she heard. "Now show yourself."

Juliana looked sideways; there were no legs. She crawled back, lifting her bottom until it slid onto her chair. Sitting up she knew her face was flushed darkly, setting off whitish globs of sperm.

"Excellent, Mrs. Austin," Brunswick said. "Now I ordered some coffee. I'd appreciate it if you would stay with me – and stay the beautiful way you are now."

Juliana didn't dare look around or even lift her face. She saw dark stains on the top of her dress. Maybe some of them were tears.

*** 

Brunswick steered her out of the restaurant, holding an elbow. The sperm tightened her skin as it dried. Its smell was all around her, a veil of shame.

The limousine rolled quietly to the steps. The big driver came around and opened a door for her. Brunswick once more kissed her fingers. Clearly visible for the valet and the driver, he pushed a wad of dollars into her hand.

"Thank you, Mrs. Austin," he said. "You were worth every penny."

Totally defeated Juliana slumped into the car. Brunswick waved as they drove off. She grabbed her clutch and found some tissues to clean her face.

"No, Mrs. Austin." A deep voice rolled through the car's sound system. "Mr. Brunswick was adamant for you to not touch it." She slumped back. In her lap the dollar bills had spread out. They were fake she saw. On the backside was a coupon of a super market. Somehow this was the straw. She cried her eyes out. Then the car slowed down. It turned right onto a parking place, where it stopped.

Juliana heard a door open and close. Then the door next to her opened. It was the chauffeur. He asked her to make place for him and sat down heavily next to her. He was immense, very black and smelling of an overload of aftershave.

"Mrs. Austin," he said. His voice was as deep as Paul Robeson's Ol' Man River. "Mr. Brunswick assured me that my tip would come from you."

Juliana stared at him, confused by yet another twist of her day. She grabbed a handful of the dollar coupons in her lap.

"I'm afraid," she said, her voice still thick with recent tears, "I'm afraid all my money is fake." The black man rumbled a chuckle.

"I know," he said. Then he touched her nose with his finger. "But you are not."

Another wave of despondency hit her.

"You want me to suck your cock," she said, not even making it into a question.

"Maybe," he said. "It would be a nice start."

So Juliana took out his massive cock and sucked on it. Then he tore her dress open and snapped her thong in two. His weight almost suffocated her. She thanked God he came soon, his semen bubbling out of her stretched vagina. 

When they at last arrived at the dark villa, she had to open her door on her own and walk to the entrance huddling inside the tatters of her dress. The cooling sperm ran down her legs.

Juliana was pulled inside and taken to her room. She sagged into a corner, holding her knees and crying. Then, after half an hour, she rose and filled her bath.

*** 

Saying 'thank you' is an art. Some people find it hard to do. They have these ideas of pride and independence. Giving thanks diminishes them they seem to think.

Juliana floated in her perfumed little pool, dreaming. She hated what happened to her and she'd love to think it wasn't her fault – she was a victim. Wasn't she? But if she'd been the victim, shouldn't she have hated it more? To be honest Juliana knew she hadn't hated it enough, not really. She'd been weak. There had been moments... She shook her head angrily. Was she a bad woman, seduced by luxury and the pleasures of the flesh? Brunswick called her a slut – she had 'sluttish urges,' he said. She'd never heard the word. She supposed it meant she was what the horrible women back home called a Jezebel, a fallen woman – the devil's bride. She despised those women with their acid eyes and cruel lips – so why should she hate what they hated?

No, she wasn't bad; she was good. She was forced to do this; it was her sacrifice. She would be free again when Alec recovered and the bills were paid. And after that... 

Juliana tried to recall the way they had lived. They had been happy, of course. But why was that all she remembered? 'Happy.' Right now it seemed they had lived just another word; there were no details, no images. There was work and the tedious sameness of days and weeks. There was the small apartment and the scraping to pay the rent while saving for a down payment on a future dream. But what was that dream – to live in a bigger house and work even harder to nibble away at a mortgage? Children? Weren't they children yet themselves? 

No, Juliana thought. She wouldn't go back to the life she'd lived before. Alec and she would live a new life. 

They would become an adventurous couple. Oh yes, they would. They wouldn't save money and scratch and slave and live a stingy, boring life like before. They'd go out a lot, to the theatre, to classy restaurants; they would travel and meet interesting people. She would wear bold and sexy outfits. Her hair and make up would turn heads. She would be seen.

Juliana sighed, letting her head sink under the water. She stared up past the bubbly foam to the greenish tiles that gleamed and sparkled. After a minute the first tiny bubbles escaped her mouth. Her world was silent and safe for one more minute. Then she broke the surface, gasping.

"Hello, Mrs. Austin, I have some wonderful news for you."

Dr. Charrier stood in the doorway of the bathroom. He seemed naked under his short robe ¬– pink and naked. In his hands was a huge, fluffy towel. He held it up.

"Please get out of the bath," he said. "We have to talk." 

Juliana rose from the water. The air was cool on her wet skin; she welcomed the towel's warmth. She even accepted the doctor's hands rubbing her dry.

When he was done he held her off a few inches.

"He's fine," he said. "Your husband is fine."

Juliana didn't think; she just hugged the big man tightly, kissing his face and his fat jowls – and she cried.

"Th... thank you," she sobbed. "Oh God, thank you so very much." She felt him chuckle through his big round belly. 

"You are so welcome," he said, combing her wet hair with his fingers. 

She looked up into his face. She knew why he was here and what he expected. And he deserves it, she thought. The thought did not upset her – it didn't even surprise her.

Sinking to her knees, she went for the sash that held his bathrobe closed. But his hands blocked hers.

"Later, maybe, honey," he said, almost in a whisper. "Right now, please come with me."

Confused, Juliana followed him into her bedroom, closing the towel around her body. She felt hurt at being rejected; at the same time that feeling puzzled her. The doctor sat down on her bed, patting the empty space beside him. Kneeling down on the bed, she slipped into his open arms. Her moist hair rested against his chest.

"It took us five hours," he said. "First we had to monitor his brain by placing probes and testing them, so we'd always be informed about all brain functions, you understand?" Juliana grunted, moving her body deeper into his embrace. 

"Then we opened a window in his skull, right here...," Charrier went on, showing her a spot over his left temple.

"The scans had been accurate. The tumor was very small and safely capsuled; we hardly had to take extra tissue." Juliana slid a hand inside the doctor's robe top, finding a nipple on a round, soft man-breast.

"So, that is good news?" she asked. Charrier smiled and kissed the face she'd turned up to him.

"We can't ever be a 100% sure. But comparing it to what we know, it is amazingly good news," he said. His hand copied hers by sliding into her towel, finding the nipple on her rosy-damp left breast. She pressed her chest into the hand.

"I want to thank you, doctor," Juliana whispered. "For saving my husband's life." He chuckled.

"Yes," he said. "And by now I bet you know how to do that." Juliana joined his laughter. She felt free and relieved. She twisted her body inside his embrace. Then she took his free hand and led it into the opening of the towel, right to her crotch. Spreading her thighs she made room enough for the hand to cup her vagina. It still felt tender from the chauffeur's assault; the skin was slick and soft from the water.

Juliana turned her head and searched for Charrier's mouth with hers.

"Thank you so much, doctor," she said, her words garbled by the kiss.

He found all the spots that electrified her. His tongue was very good too, dancing around hers. Juliana soon floated on the hot, dizzying clouds she was getting accustomed to; the clouds that lifted her up and out of the heavy-handed world and into a sweet heaven of uncomplicated pleasure.

"Thank you so much, sweet doctor," she gasped before attacking his tongue again, and rubbing her wet clit over his fingers. She didn't care anymore what she was thanking him for, exactly. Was it for saving her husband or for making her feel like this? There was no point in finding the difference, really, was there? She moaned into his mouth and came – quickening her ride to find the next climax until she sagged against him, spent and exhausted.

"You have become quite the little slut, haven't you, Mrs. Austin?" he whispered into her ear. Juliana knew the words should offend her. But she didn't have to answer the question, did she? She just sighed. Then she sat up and looked him in the eyes.

"What about you, doctor?" she asked. She sent her hand down to find his crotch inside the robe. "Don't you deserve some pleasure?"

Charrier once more blocked her hand. He smiled.

"You already gave me my pleasure – all the pleasure I need," he assured her. Brushing away a few wet strands of hair, he kissed her closed eyes. "And you'll give me more, these coming weeks – much more. Promise me."

A sobering thought fought its way through Juliana's clouds. 'Coming weeks' he said? He seemed to read her mind. Smiling he kissed her some more.

"Ah, Mrs. Austin... You made me some money today, and I am proud of that. But it is... how do they say it? It's a drop in the ocean, really." He caressed her face now. Then he cupped it with both hands, holding her gaze.

"You are beautiful, Mrs. Austin, and very dedicated," he went on. "One day you'll make a fabulous whore. But even your golden little ass can't pay off an expensive operation in – what? – one day?"

Juliana frowned. Her mind was a basketful of emotions.

"How long?" she asked, not even knowing whether she'd fear or welcome his answer. Charrier sat up, closing his robe tighter. He sounded all business.

"Mr. Austin will stay in his induced coma for at least five more days, so his brain has time for undisturbed recovery. Then he'll have to be in intensive care for another week – plus a fortnight to get him on his feet again."

Juliana sighed.

"A month," she whispered. Charrier reached for her exposed breast, where the towel had slipped.

"You really have amazing nipples, Mrs. Austin," he said, tweaking her left one. Juliana felt tears well up in her eyes.

***



Juliana Ch. 08



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.

"That's good enough," the doctor said. "Hand me the thing and lie back, please. Spread your thighs." Juliana obeyed, relieved in a way: he was taking over. She sighed, closing her eyes as she lay back. No active commitment, no guilt. 

Pillows were pushed under her head and her back until she sat halfway up. Cool, wet metal touched the bare skin of her vagina; it made her start. The doctor shushed her and began moving the slick metal over and inside her slit. He sat next to her, his free arm around her. It felt good. Then he touched her clitoris with the pulsing metal and she cried out. The vibrations spread throughout her lower belly and down her thighs. Even her nipples tingled, coming alive. She moaned.

Then she felt her right hand being lifted off the bed, her fingers folded around the humming object.

"You do it, Mrs. Austin. Show me." 

Juliana opened her eyes; she looked into the doctor's face that was right in front of her. She gazed down, watching the exposed, utter shameless position of her body. Charrier must be looking straight into her spread crotch. He sat watching her most intimate parts, his big hands resting on his thighs. And she let him.

"Show me, please," he said, smiling.

She looked down and brought the object's tip to her vagina, where it had been before. She rubbed the vibrating metal over her lips – ever so lightly. Touching her clit again made her convulse. She felt an overwhelming need to close her legs and fold up around the humming machine, but she didn't – she had to show, he said. She would.

Circling the clit drew gasps from her throat. The muscles of her inner thighs started to tremble; there was no way to control them – no way to control anything. Closing her eyes again, she tried to separate herself from what her hands did.

"Look at me, Mrs. Austin. Keep looking at me." She did. As the slippery metal triggered convulsions, she hooked her gaze onto his like a drowning swimmer – the world shrank into a hot, tight tunnel. Go into the tunnel, a little voice said – a child's voice. 'Don't look and you're not seen.'

"Slide it in now, Mrs. Austin. Push it into your little cunt." She did, and it was easy. 

The slick, streamlined head pushed aside her soaked vaginal lips, slithering past the inner folds. The cylinder was thick and it stretched her, but there was no real resistance. She recalled all the cocks that had rammed down that same hole not even two days ago. This should feel the same, but it didn't. There was a difference. That night strong hands had pushed her down – five men were fucking her into obedience. Oh, after a while she'd welcomed them, bewildered and disarmed – in her mouth, her vagina and even her anus. She'd become a crazy woman wanting more and more. But she'd been... used... maybe not a victim, but an object. 

Today she was an active participant – a guilty party. She could decide not to do this to herself. Oh, there was the deal, of course – her mind had that excuse. But she knew it was exactly that now: an excuse.

"Fuck yourself with it, Mrs. Austin. Fuck yourself deep." And she did.

Her hand plunged the vibrating torpedo in and out of her vagina. She heard wet, sloshing sounds over the muffled humming. She also heard high-pitched moans that became quicker and quicker.

As her body responded, her eyes left the tunnel, starting to take in the man opposite her. There was sweat on his face, she saw. His mouth hung slightly open. One of his hands had left his thigh to cup his crotch. It moved.

A new thought entered Juliana's fuzzy mind. It was the kind of thoughts that overturns things. Usually you only realize much later how it changed your very angle of seeing. 

Juliana didn't realize what exactly happened at that blurred moment, but it relaxed every muscle in her body. The last screeching bat of fear left the grotto of her mind. This man, she knew, was as much under her control as she was under his. His eyes had this schoolboy quality again she'd seen before. His mouth drooled; his hand mauled his genitals. It might last only minutes, but right now he was hers.

Juliana lifted her hips from the bed. She bumped and ground into the vibrator, while increasing her moans. Her fingers rubbed her clit or clawed at her screaming nipples.

While panting and gasping she found out that there are always two sides to everything. The harder she bumped and the louder she moaned for his benefit, the more intensely her own body responded. Her orgasm built into a mountain of hot, seething water. She imagined herself riding its crest, faster and faster until the wave broke, sending her flying with the speed of light.




Juliana Ch. 08



*** 

"I think you are ready now, Mrs. Austin."

The voice came from a distance. Juliana shook her head to clear her ears. She was still on the bed, she saw, lying naked amidst shattered pillows. Her body glowed – her crotch felt sore and was pulsing. Her nipples burned like tiny flames.

She raised her head and shoulders, resting on her elbows. The voice belonged to Dr. Charrier who still sat on the chair in front of the bed. He held the silver vibrator.

"Get into your gown and follow me," he said, rising. She hurried to keep up with him, pulling the gown closed while walking.

The room with the columns was empty.

"I leave you here," Charrier said. "You know what to do." He left, closing the door. Silence returned; Juliana looked around. The room was dark, sparsely lit by candles; the curtains were drawn. It was very warm.

She knew what to do, he'd said. Did she? Then she remembered. Her fingers relaxed, letting go of the gown. She'd kept it closed with her hands. Moving her shoulders caused the smooth fabric to fall. Exposed she smelled her sweat. She raised an arm and sniffed.

"You stink."

The sudden sound startled her. Turning, she saw a woman in the doorway. It was the woman; what was her name? Sophia. She wore the same gray suit, but the jacket hung open, revealing a gray silk bra and a bare midriff. 

"I... I'm sorry," Juliana said.

"Don't blabber," the woman commented, walking up to her. Her movements mesmerized Juliana. The hips gyrated as they propelled long thighs, making one foot end exactly in front of the other. She balanced on narrow ankles and very tall heels.

"Stand straight," Sophia said after reaching Juliana. There was no 'please' or 'Mrs. Austin.' The confidence of the deep voice was absolute. Juliana stretched her spine and pushed back her shoulders. She was ready, Dr. Charrier said. Was this 'ready?' And for what?

"You left without my permission," the woman said. Her thick eyebrows rose.

"I didn't know," Juliana answered.

"You know now?"

Juliana blinked. Did she know? Was knowing required?

"I am... ready," she said. Sophia's eyes widened. Her face was maybe three feet away. Then her red mouth opened and she laughed. It was a cruel laugh – high, sharp, like glass shattering. And it lasted. The woman held her face and bent her upper body, letting the laughter slide into hysteria. She pointed at Juliana.

"You..." she tried, interrupting herself with another gale of glee. "You are... ready?"

Juliana hated the woman. At the same time she knew hate would get her nowhere. The resulting frustration sent blood to her face and chest; she felt like a furnace. What was so ridiculous about what she said?

Cool hands covered her glowing shoulders.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, still sobbing with laughter. "But you are so sweet... being ready..." A new ripple of chuckles interrupted her. Juliana just stared into the contorted face.

"Sorry again, honey," Sophia apologized. She lifted one hand from her shoulder, cupping Juliana's burning face. "You are so much like little Sarah before I broke her. God, I do wonder where Eugene finds girls like you."

The hands irritated Juliana. They felt... possessive – keeping her from fleeing, from moving at all.

"Say it again, darling," the woman said, smiling now.

"About being ready?" she asked. A hard slap hit her face, making her head swing right. The pain was intense; but it passed quickly, leaving a searing spot on her cheek – and a sudden torrent of tears.

"You know very well, slut," Sophia hissed. Woolly balls of dizziness careened through Juliana's head. "Now kneel." She knelt. She might have anyway, her knees feeling weak.

"Now lean back on both hands and spread your knees. Raise your hips." Juliana obeyed, offering her body in a high, open arch – well aware of her total vulnerability. Her head hung back, making it impossible to see the woman. Then she felt a hard-edged object run down her breastbone to her belly. Suddenly the woman's face was next to hers, her voice creeping into her ear.

"Nice girly body, Ju-lee-ah-naaah," it said. "Sixteen at the most...hm, are you even eighteen?"

"Twenty," Juliana breathed, swallowing with difficulty. The thing – it must be a fingernail – now travelled down her shaven mound.

"You could have fooled me," Sophia went on. "Budding titties, bare like a baby girl, and soooo tight too." The finger entered Juliana's slit. She stiffened. A chuckle tickled her ear.

"Don't be scared, honey slut. You know this won't hurt you. Not this – not yet." The finger found her clitoris. The trembling started. "See? Tell me you like it."

Juliana couldn't stop a moan from escaping.

"Thought so," the voice whispered. 

The finger plunged in; a second finger joined the first. A third, maybe the thumb, started rubbing her clit. Juliana's arms ached from holding her up; cramps entered her thighs. But it all ebbed away from her consciousness; there only seemed room for an ever-building arousal. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes and up her inverted brow, but she didn't feel them. She gasped and moaned, but didn't hear it. She was a body, a nobody – and she was ready.

"You are so eeeeasy," the voice murmured. "You are amaaazing." Juliana came. A geyser of heat exploded from her shaking body – again and again. She cried out and the arch collapsed.

A hand pulled her up. She felt like a puppet, trying to control her wobbling knees.

"Well," a voice said. "You are quite the little slut, aren't you? Look at you. Wow." Juliana shook her head, as much as to lose the buzz as to deny the qualification.

"You are not?" Sophia went on. "Then please explain to me: I only pointed at you and you came like crazy."

Juliana looked down at her feet, past her still aroused nipples. The woman was right; she really had no control over her body. Did that mean she was a slut?

"Sorry," she said. Suddenly the woman hugged her. Her fire-red mouth swallowed hers with a kiss. Silk-clad breasts nudged into Juliana's sweaty body. The action overwhelmed her. Shocked stiff she just stood gasping when Sophia let go. The woman grinned.

"Now you do me," she said, sitting down on the throne-like chair, shirking up her gray skirt. "Kneel." Juliana knelt.

The woman's thighs were long and pale and smooth. When she spread them Juliana saw she wore no panties. There was a black patch of hair right over her slit. The inner lips were visible. At the top she saw a pink protrusion sticking out – like a baby's finger.

"Come and taste me, darling," the woman said, sounding friendly. She slid her ass cheeks forward, spreading even more. It was an obscene sight.

Juliana shuffled closer on her knees. She smelled perfume, mixed with a musky scent. When she was within inches, hands closed over her skull, pulling her against the hot, moist crotch.

"So you do this for your poor hubby, you say?" Sophia asked, pulling Juliana's face up and down her vagina. There was no way she could have answered. When she opened her mouth, it was filled with flesh. 

"You are a good girl, you know? Being a whore for hubby."

Juliana was grateful when the soft thighs closed over her ears and she couldn't understand anymore what was being said. A whore, she said? Maybe she was a whore, but a whore for her husband? That sounded so... wrong... so hurtful. 

She started licking the fleshy folds; they tasted salty. Working her way up, she reached the clitoris. It was stiff like an aroused nipple... or a very small cock. Wrapping her lips around it, she started sucking. The thighs opened again. The crotch gyrated against her face.

"Good little whore," she heard. "Harder." And "Bite it!" Bite? Juliana let her teeth scrape softly over the knob. A hand pulled hard at her hair. She let go and looked up, feeling the juices cool on her face. She saw Sophia's dark eyes burn above her now bare chest.

"Bite me, you stupid cunt," she hissed. "Bite hard. Make me come!"

Did she want to be hurt? Was she crazy? The hands pulled Juliana's face to the woman's crotch again. She closed her teeth around the clitoris and bit down. Then she pulled it back, stretching it.

Sophia howled. Her fists drummed on Juliana's shoulders. Suddenly a fan of juices hit Juliana's face and throat and chest. A series of convulsions caused new waves of juice gush out of the pulsing vagina. Thoroughly soaked Juliana sat looking – amazed, overwhelmed. Then the hands gripped her again and smothered her against the soft, drenched crotch. The thighs closed, and Juliana was virtually strangled. She couldn't breath. She struggled, but the thighs didn't open.

The hot, soaked flesh pressed into her nose and her gasping mouth, choking her until she stopped struggling. She hung limply in the vice, her body jerking with spasms.

The knees opened. Juliana fell down to the floor, unconscious. 

***

We despise repetition. We admire originality and the glitter of individual genius. Repetition, we say, is stupid; it only leads to more repetition. Thinking so, we ignore that it's ruling our every-day lives – and we underrate its calm, eroding powers.

Juliana remembered being picked up by someone. She recalled how a robe had been wrapped around her bare body. How hands supported her on her journey back to her room – walking on weak, rubber legs.

She remembered leaning against cool tiles while hot water rained down on her. Hands washed her hair and soaped her skin. The waterfall seemed to never end, but then she was in bed, sitting up.

John was there, the butler, and food was there too. The smell of meat caused a slight nausea in her stomach. She picked at the vegetables and ate some salad. She drank a whole carafe of water.

"You must eat," the butler said. She knew he was right, but she couldn't. Then he brought a bowl of cut fruit. She could eat that. As a matter of fact, it was delicious.

When everyone left, she pulled up the blanket and slept – but not for long.

The faces were pink blobs floating in semi-darkness. They were male, and she knew some of them. When a hand pulled down the blanket, others reached for her breasts and her crotch.

"Good night, Mrs. Austin," a well-known voice said from the foot of her bed. "So sorry to disturb you."

The men chuckled. She heard the thin fabric of her nightie tear. She didn't resist when her legs were spread. She arched her back when a finger entered her. She moaned when her nipples were tweaked. And she stopped moaning when the first hard penis slid down the curve of her tongue.

***



Juliana Ch. 09



Hell, we are told, is a place of torture, where your soul is punished for the sins you commit. Those sins are plentiful and man is weak, so your chance to go there must be close to certain. 



Where Juliana came from, Dr. Charrier would be considered Satan, and Juliana was more than willing to agree. She would like to see the doctor as an evil spirit bent on seducing girls into a life of debauchery. It would be convenient, wouldn't it? It would make her into an innocent victim – absolve her from complicity. 

But Juliana had this little handicap – she was honest to herself. She'd always been that. Maybe it was the one deciding trait that had made her a misfit at the farm – and caused her to flee.

Taking one of her many baths to cleanse her abused body – and maybe her soiled mind ¬– Juliana wondered if this very villa might indeed be Hell. If so, she mused, she'd need to redefine hell – and maybe she'd also have to redefine sin. 

For if torture was supposed to cause misery, then why did her misery feel so much like helpless ecstasy? Wasn't sin supposed to trigger shame and guilt? Then why was it getting harder and harder to feel those things instead of just mindless exhilaration?

Juliana stretched and arched her body in the water, touching bruises and hickeys, savoring the soreness of her vagina's muscles and the stretched sphincter of her anus. Mei had her clean the insides of her bowels, lately... an enema she called it, making Juliana hold in liters of hot water before flushing it out. Another sinful torture that refused to lead to misery.

Sin and misery, she thought. How could she ever crave for those? And what about pain? 

The night before this particular bath Juliana had been invited to a dinner party. It was an event she'd looked forward to, if only to meet and talk to other women. She loved to be with them; to share information and gossip in the rest rooms. She also liked the secret fun they shared. Some of these women she knew well by now – like Ellis, the tattooed mommy who taught Juliana how not to feel alone – and how to suck cock. She often saw Selena, the butterscotch girl, and Babs, one of the tall beauties with the auburn hair. They taught her how to mix and flirt with clients while making fun behind their backs. There were girls she hadn't yet seen at these functions – like Melinda the would-be porn star, and Sarah, the petite olive skinned doll that had sucked the tall fashion model's toes.

Being with the women made her feel like a professional – as if she were part of a business deal, detached and sophisticated. Maybe it was a matter of safety in numbers. Things were less personal, less intense this way. The ironic tone-of-voice the girls used when they talked about their duties seemed to turn their performances into a play – it created the distance you feel when you're on stage or wearing a mask.

Juliana tried to act and talk like them, but she knew in her case it was an act. She wondered if she'd ever be as cool about it as Melinda or Ellis or Selena. Maybe everything was just too... new for her. She could joke and wink and roll her eyes with the others, but when men flirted with her, her panties flooded. And when they fucked her, she dissolved into a puddle of steaming lava. Attention aroused her, and so did degradation. And yesterday night, after dinner, she learned that pain did too.

She was seated between two gentlemen she'd never met before, but across from her was Sophia, the woman she'd seen with the petite brunette – and the only woman at the table who wasn't a prostitute. She was dressed in a black suit. It shone slightly and was very tight. Her décolleté was modest, but the shining fabric modeled her chest quite prominently. She'd smiled at Juliana when they met over drinks. Juliana had been made to wear a very provocative sky-blue dress that didn't allow a bra – or panties for that matter. She'd stopped worrying about it, knowing that in the end it made no difference what she wore or if she wore anything at all.

When they met over drinks, before dinner, Sophia had leant in and kissed her on the mouth.

"So nice to see you again, Juh-leee," she'd breathed in her deep voice. Juliana hated being called that, but pronounced this way it gave her goose bumps. She'd smiled back, feeling her lower lip tremble.

"I asked Eugene to have you exclusively tonight," Sophia went on. "No need to thank me, honey." She moved in again and licked Juliana's cheek. It felt obscene and more intimate than the kiss on her mouth. Juliana shuddered and suppressed the urge to wipe the saliva off her face.

"Ex-clu-sive," Sophia repeated. "Doesn't that word have the loveliest ring to it?" Juliana knew she was supposed to agree, so she did.

"But we won't be alone, darling," the woman went on. "Certainly not!" And she chuckled, turning away to leave Juliana wondering.

"Exclusive?" Selena asked after she and Juliana had retired to the toilets together. "Well, that usually means they'll have you alone for the night." The girl pressed down her generous lips on a piece of tissue to spread her pale lipstick. She wore an off-white dress that left her entire back free.

"But she also said we wouldn't be alone," Juliana said. She talked to her reflection while inspecting the spidery line under her right eye.

"Ah, a group fuck. You've done that."

Juliana looked left to see Selena.

"Yes," she said. "But that wouldn't be really exclusive, would it?" She returned to her mirror, patting the golden cloud of her hair. Selena sighed.

"That woman is crazy," she said. "How am I to know what goes on in her head?"

Sitting across from Sophia at the dinner table, Juliana met her wide smile whenever she looked up. She also felt the woman's stocking-clad foot as it ran up and down her inner legs. It didn't help that her two table companions leant in to talk past Juliana while pawing her thighs and behind. It made her feel like a lump of clay. It also aroused her, even if she tried to fight it. Her hands trembled, making the spoon rattle against her plate. She knew Sophia saw that. It caused her to blush, but what was new about that? All she could hope for was that the moisture leaking from her vagina wouldn't show on her dress. Why couldn't she wear panties, if only a thong?

As dinner went on, Juliana got more embarrassed by the minute. Between the groping hands, the caressing foot and her leaking pussy she felt herself winding tighter and tighter. A cloud of heat hung around her shoulders, choking her. At last she closed her eyes, fighting back her tears.

"Are you all right, honey?" It was Sophia's contralto voice. It sounded concerned, but when she said it her foot slipped up between Juliana's thighs, finding her soaked crotch.

Juliana opened her eyes and saw faces around her – Sophia's and the two men's. They smiled and nodded. A sob escaped her throat.

"What did you do to her?" Sophia asked the men, pushing her toes against Juliana's clitoris, rubbing.

"Nothing!" the man to her left exclaimed, taking his hand off her ass cheek at once. Both men laughed, sitting straight.

"You better," Sophia said, frowning while she smiled.

"The little slut isn't yours, she's all mine tonight. Please tell the gentleman you are mine, Juh-leee."

Juliana fought to get words out of her choking throat.

"I," she started, "I am exclusively Ms. Sophia's tonight." The toes started fucking her now. It was almost impossible to sit still. Her pussy was a swamp.

"No, little slut," the woman across from her said. She shook her head. "That won't do at all, would it, gentlemen? Repeat after me: "Tonight I am Ms. Sophia's exclusive little slave whore."

Letting her eyes fly left and right, Juliana swallowed down a lump of nerves.

"Tonight," she began, her voice sounding far away and trembling. "Tonight I am Ms. Sophia's exclusive little... slave... whore." Her eyes burned; tears started to flow. Sophia slowly clapped her hands. Others took up the mocking applause. Juliana stared over Sophia's shoulder into nothingness.

"Please stand, Juliana," Sophia said after the applause died down. Her foot was gone from between her legs. Juliana rose. The thin satin of her dress stuck to the seat. When she stood straight, she felt a wet spot cooling off.

"Step back and turn around, Juh-leee," Sophia insisted. "So we may all see what a horny little slut you are."

Juliana closed her eyes, feeling she might faint. Then she took two steps and turned her back to the table. Everyone was silent; everyone must be watching.

"My God, you are disgusting, Juh-leee!" A soft ripple of laughter echoed Sophia's words. "Get that dirty, soaked dress off!" 

Relieved that she had her back to the table, Juliana reached behind her for the zipper. There wasn't much to hold the dress up; she was naked in a second, the sky-blue satin circling her feet.

"So much better," the deep alto said. "Now turn around."

Somehow it was less humiliating to present her naked body to the crowd than to be seen with the wet spot on her dress. Juliana didn't even wonder why that would be. She just needed to regain some of her dignity, so she did what she'd seen other do – she put one hand on a hip, while pushing the other hip out in an elegant stance.

"Ah, Juh-leee," Sophia said, teasing, "I see you're not ashamed at all about your faux-pas. Let's see what we can do about that."

The woman smiled broadly as she looked around the table. A few guests joined in with her chuckle. 

"Now spread your legs, honey cunt, just enough so we can see better." Juliana's shoulders slumped as she gave up the sexy stance, placing her heeled feet as wide apart as her shoulders. She tried to forget the faces watching – and not to think about what might come next.

"Seeing how wet you are, darling, you must feel frustrated that I interrupted your little game of secret masturbation." Juliana's eyes grew dark; her arms now hung listless down her sides.

"Thank God I'm not heartless," the woman went on. "So please pick up where you stopped, honey, and never mind us watching."

Juliana hated Sophia since the moment she'd watched her manipulate the petite brunette. She'd pitied the little thing, having no idea what satisfaction could be gained from degrading her.

Now she was in the same position – asked to masturbate in front of people she knew, people that knew her. And her pussy betrayed her. It almost gushed without touching – so far the mystery of humiliation. Her knees went weak, her mind buzzed and her heart raced like crazy.

"Dessert will be served any minute now, darling," Sophia said. "Don't make us wait." There was another ripple of laughter.

Keeping her eyes fixed on her toes, Juliana brought the fingers of her right hand to her crotch. She wouldn't look up; she'd be alone in this little world, an isolated nobody. But as soon as her fingertip touched her clitoris, it released a bolt of electricity. She stiffened.

"Look up, girl," the voice said. "Look at us!" Of course she would say that. Juliana looked up, her eyes feverish. New waves of heat spread from where she touched and rubbed. She gasped. Faces swam in and out of her vision – fuzzy at their edges. The waves came faster now, turning her flesh into a bubbling liquid – a tropical sea that had no boundaries.

Juliana sank to her knees. A mournful cry left her wide-open mouth. She convulsed and came. And she did not stop coming until she lay on the tiled floor like a pink heap of shivering Jello.

The table was silent. All eyes were focused on the fallen girl.

"Let's skip dessert," a voice said. A bout of laughter relieved the tension.

Hands slid under Juliana's armpits, lifting her up. Tremors and after shocks still wrecked her body – she could hardly stand. Her helpers were Ellis and Selena.

"Take her out and let her rest a bit," a voice said. She recognized it as Charrier's. A cloth was thrown over her ¬– a blanket, maybe, or a robe. When she looked up she saw Ellis's face, smiling. Selena frowned.

They took her to the lounge she knew from her first evening. It was deserted, but lighted festively with candles and lamps. Left alone on one of the couches, Juliana crouched into a fetal ball, pulling the cloth around her.

*** 

Most people see pain as a negative emotion, only meant to keep you from burning or cutting yourself. A small minority of people regards pain as an extreme form of pleasure. Which doesn't mean it can't burn you.

Juliana didn't really sleep – too many thoughts crowded her mind. But she must have dozed off, as she was a bit disoriented when voices broke the silence around her. Looking through half-open eyes she saw that most of the diners and their female companions had gathered in the lounge – smoking and sipping brandy, or bubbly wine from long-stemmed glasses.

Dr. Charrier was talking to Sophia. They seemed to disagree, but at the end Charrier shrugged and lifted his hands palms-up, in surrender.

A voice, very close, whispered for her to stay asleep. It sounded like Ellis's, but it was of no consequence; Sophia had already seen she was awake, and hurried over.

"My sweet, incredible whore," she gushed, going down on her haunches, right next to Juliana's face. Her voice was syrupy; her red-nailed fingers removed strings of hair out of Juliana's eyes. "I'm glad you rested for a bit." She raised Juliana's face with the tips of her fingers and pressed a kiss on her lips – a long, deep kiss. Then she rose again, her tight black skirt blocking Juliana's view. "Believe me, you'll need the energy, little bitch."

Sophia walked away, taking a sip from her glass. Then she turned around at the exact center of the room, striking one of her model-poses: one hip higher than the other; one hand cupping the elbow of her other arm; her glass held by the free hand – pinkie lifted. She waited to get the attention of the room, and when she had it, she clacked her tongue – twice.

"Rise little bitch of mine," she said, her deep voice edged with a new hoarseness.

Juliana looked at her. A sudden fear paralyzed her body, making it impossible to obey.

"Rise!" The word struck like the lash of a whip. Juliana slid off the leather couch, leaving the blanket behind. Standing straight, her hands clasped behind her back, she took in the half-circle of festively clad people. Sophia was at their center, two steps in front of them.

"Tell us about you, Juh-lee-ah-naaah," she said, letting the 'aaah' end in a purr. "Why are you here, naked, whoring yourself out?"

The question blindsided Juliana. She'd prepared herself for humiliating acts – licking feet, masturbating in public, anything her traitorous body might provide – and her mind could distance itself from. Anyone could store away physical abuse and keep a modicum of innocence intact, whether real or imagined.

But Sophia cut off that escape route: she went straight for the mind: why are you here, she asked, why do you accept this treatment?

Of course it was easy to answer that question by skating the surface, the safe surface. By telling her about the deal – that she was forced to do this. But Juliana knew the woman would never accept that: she wanted more, because she knew better.

"My... my husband," Juliana began anyway. "I pay for his surgery. There is no other way. He..."

"Shut up, you lying bitch!" Sophia rushed to the naked girl and threw wine from her glass into her face. Juliana recoiled until the couch stopped her.

"I," she said, "but really, I..." She felt the wine run down her cheeks; it stung her eyes. Sophia's face was now into hers.

"You are here because you love to be a dirty, wanton whore. You need it, you relish it. Admit it! Say it."

Juliana's eyes tried to avoid Sophia's, but she couldn't. Her mind denied the woman's words, but her mouth couldn't deny what she said. The words were too close to what some part of her had known for days. Tears mixed with the dripping wine. A sudden trickle of urine ran down her thigh. The woman's hands cupped her face; her lips engulfed her mouth.

"You can say it," Sophia whispered. "Tell me and get it over with." But Juliana couldn't. All she could do was cry hysterically – gasping and sobbing with high, pitiful howls.

"Please end this," a female voice cried out.

Sophia turned on her heels as if bitten by a snake.

"Who said that?" she asked, looking left and right. "Who?" No one answered.

"Stop interfering," Sophia went on, her hands balling into fists. "You can watch, but the whore is mine, you hear? Only mine!" A low murmur rose from the group, but they kept from commenting.

"Fuck your own whores, if you need to," Sophia said. "They are all willing enough. But keep away from mine."

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes," a voice said, low and in a monotone. "Yes, yes, yes." It was Juliana's. She just stared, all cried out.

"Yes what?" Sophia asked, turning toward the naked girl. Juliana was a sorry sight. She pushed her shoulders forward, hugging herself. Her make up was ruined, her face blotched and swollen.

"Yes," she said again. "Yes, you are right. I am a whore, a slut and a bitch. I let myself be used because I crave it. Please use me."

The woman in shining black smiled, but it was a weak smile, soon faltering. Her wide, fire-red lips trembled. Then they hardened into a narrow line.

"Kneel," she said. Juliana went down on her knees, looking up at the woman.

"Walk to me on your knees." Juliana moved her knees over the carpet until she was a few feet away from Sophia, who pushed out her hips.

"Get my skirt off." Juliana reached up and undid the buttons, pulling the tight skirt down. Sophia stepped out of it. She wore dark sheer nylons that were held up by black garters tied to a black garter belt. The straps framed her pale skin and the triangle of a sheer lace thong. Sophia opened her jacket and let it slide off her shoulders. The black bra was long like a corset, and as sheer as her thong; her breasts looked full and round in them, dark nipples shining through. Her chest and belly were tightly held.

"Tell me I'm beautiful," she said. Juliana repeated it.

"Now tell me you need to be punished for lying to me." Juliana fell silent, just looking up into Sophia's eyes.

"Tell me!" Sophia cried out, slapping Juliana's face.

"Punish me. Please."

Sophia turned on her high-heeled, shining pumps and Juliana was alone amidst the discarded clothes. She felt miserable. She also felt relieved. Saying out loud what had been a shameful secret was humiliating. But it also was... liberating.

She looked up, watching her audience. Selena was topless now, she saw. Her companion's hands were kneading her big left breast, while kissing her throat. The woman with the auburn hair, Barb, was on her knees, busy opening the fly of her man's pants. Another man stood behind Ellis, one of his hands in her cleavage, the other groping her crotch through her skirt. She leaned back against him; her face half-turned to kiss him.

She was alone, Juliana knew. No easy little jokes now, no irony. They all deserted her.

When Sophia returned, she carried a leather pouch.

"Stand," she instructed Juliana, who obeyed.

"Straight," Sophia went on. "Shoulders back, you miserable cunt." Juliana pulled back her shoulders, pushing out her chest. Sophia produced a delicate chain from the pouch. It had pendants at both sides, obviously jewelry of some kind. Putting the pouch aside, Sophia stepped closer. She lowered her face so her eyes were level with Juliana's. 

"Look what I got for you, honey cunt," she said, holding up one of the pendants. She pressed it at one side; it opened at the other. Repeating it, the thing worked like a bird's beak. 

"Isn't it lovely?" Sophia asked, smiling. Juliana had no idea what the thing was; she nodded anyway. Then Sophia's lips suddenly closed around Juliana's left nipple. She moaned as she felt it being sucked in.




Juliana Ch. 09



"Mmmm, I can see you like this, horny cunt," Sophia said, letting the morsel slide from her lips. It shone with saliva and stood out half an inch. Juliana closed her eyes, but they popped open with alarm as a sudden pain flashed through the nipple. 

She looked down and saw how the bird's beak had clamped itself around her flesh. She cried out in dismay, but the pain dissolved quickly. A sweet thrill in her other nipple replaced it. Sophia was suckling it vehemently, drawing it out with her teeth. It plopped back into the breast, where it stood out proudly until the second beak closed around it. Juliana gasped. Looking down she saw the fragile chain dangle between her adorned nipples – jewelry indeed.

There was no pain anymore, just an incredible tightness that kept her mind focused on her breasts.

Sophia sank down lower, tracing Juliana's belly with her tongue. It left a track of cooling spittle, leading from her breastbone to her belly button and down to the top of her vagina. Juliana opened her thighs without thinking. The tongue touched her clitoris, still sensitive from the orgasm. Then the mouth sucked it in like it had done with the nipples. Juliana groaned, her hands hovering above the woman's head. A wave of sensations rolled in, followed by a new flash of pain. Something pinched her clit hard, much like the clamps had done to her nipples. 

When she opened her eyes again, they met Sophia's, close up. The woman kissed her, sending her tongue in to find Juliana's.

Then she let go and held up another silver chain. It led from the clamp around her clitoris up to the chain between her breasts. Sophia attached it in a way that tightened both chains, so the clamps pulled hard at her nipples and clit. Juliana gasped, doing a little in-place dance to relieve the tightness.

Sophia laughed and clapped her hands.

"Now turn around and bend over," she said.

Juliana turned around and rested her hands on the couch's stuffed armrest. She felt how her bending slackened the chains and eased the pain.

"Spread wider," Sophia said and she obeyed. Two fingers entered her vagina from behind and started fucking her. She heard sloshing sounds – why did she get so wet so easily? Then the fingers left her, only to reappear at the closed sphincter of her anus.

"Relax," Sophia said. "Save yourself the pain." She knew the woman was right; there was no point in resisting. She would only punish herself. So she tried to relax as the fingers probed her entrance. Soon they were in, quickly accompanied by a third.

Juliana hung forward against the couch, softly moaning. She remembered the procession of cocks that had been there at those crazy nights in her bed – fucking, pounding and coming deep inside her. The memories blended in with the rhythm of the fucking fingers. It took her close to climax, but right then the intruders left, making her feel empty – but not for long.

A much bigger presence replaced the fingers, nudging its thick and slick head against her sphincter. It was huge and insistent. When she thought she no longer could bear the brutal stretching, the object suddenly slid in and stopped. The round muscle of her entrance relaxed around its narrower end. It was an alien presence that filled her completely, hanging heavily inside her. The muscles in her thighs and legs trembled uncontrollably, but there was no pain. There was a tingling feeling, though – all over her lower body.

Arms hung over Juliana – soft breasts, a belly, thighs. Sophia's voice whispered in her ear.

"You are a sweet little honey ass, Juh-lee," it said. "Now rise and turn to me." Juliana did, feeling the weight shift inside her, and the chains tighten as she straightened up. The combination made her feel... controlled. Being controlled made her feel... calm. Feeling calm made her feel... safe. She felt safe. Was that a bad thing? Did it matter?

Juliana focused her attention on the tall woman in front of her. She looked flushed, she saw – her pale body looked magnificent in her dark lingerie.

Then she saw the object in the woman's hand. It was a black, long, crooked cylinder that had a knob at its base. It was attached to a small harness made of leather straps.

"Kneel, sweetheart," Sophia said. Juliana did. Now her eyes were close to the object and she saw more details. It was an exaggerated black copy of a male cock. It had a shining head and two balls at the base.

"Fasten it," Sophia urged. "Tie it around my hips." Juliana hesitated, not at once understanding she was meant to be the one doing it. Then she took it in her hands.

The thing was heavy. Its base was locked in a curved triangle of black leather, where the straps were attached. A round knob pushed through. Juliana tried to figure out how it had to be fastened, encouraged by acid remarks and occasional slaps.

The knob should be placed on Sophia's oversized clit; two straps had to run between her thighs and be attached to the ones circling her hips. She tightened the straps and closed the buckles. 

Sitting back she saw the monster jut out of Sophia's crotch, casting a shadow over her thigh. The thing fascinated her. There was fear, of course, for what the woman might plan to do with it. But the fear was embedded in arousal – just sheer wantonness that wrapped itself around her anguish like a mist, taking away its presence. She just forgot to be afraid, being overwhelmed by the vision of this woman and the monster between her thighs.

"Suck it," Sophia said, disrupting Juliana's thoughts. "Make it wet and slippery."

Juliana crawled closer. Her hands went up to hold the dildo. Opening her mouth, she hesitated.

"Do it, cunt."

Her lips kissed the head. They hardly fit around it, but Sophia kept pushing. She gagged, her throat making clucking sounds – glog, glog. It caused streams of saliva to slosh around the cock, running from her mouth down on her chest. Then the monster was gone. Juliana panted, trying to catch her breath.

"Good," Sophia said. "Now rise and turn around."

Juliana rested her elbows on the armrest. She arched her back and made her ass stick out. A foot kicked her legs wider apart and then she felt the wet, cool cock rest in the crack of her ass, right over the other intruder. A hand slid between her thighs, picking up the chain and pulling at it. There was a rhythm to the pulling that coincided with the cock's sliding through her crack.

"You are such a sanctimonious slut," a voice said. She tried to ignore it, concentrating on the hot, swelling cloud of her arousal.

"Be honest, dirty whore. You love this."

Juliana moaned, feeling perfectly alone in the triangle formed by her body, her arms and the leather couch. Closing her eyes she followed the slow journey to her orgasm, moaning with every new step. 

"This, cunt, is what you live for," the voice said, and the slippery head of the fake cock entered her vagina. Being extra tight from the ass plug, she felt every crag and vein, every ridge and knob on the lifelike cock sliding past as the fucking started. A hand grabbed her hair, pulling her head back.

Juliana had never had a cock as long and thick as this plastic monster. When she at last felt the front of Sophia's thighs bump against her backside, the head made painful contact deep inside her. She cried out. It earned her a chuckle; the pounding increased.

"This is punishment, you know?" the voice said. "Punishment for your dishonesty. Remember always to be honest, slut. Always-to be-trueueue."

One hand kept pulling the chains. It made her nipples and clit fall in line with the chaotic concert of pain and discomfort inside her. The other hand pulled her hair, hurting her skull. And even though she felt used like an object, her arousal grew. Or did it grow because of it? She felt the heat build. Juices ran down her thighs. Creeping closer and closer to climax, the world fell away. Her abuser had no words anymore. They turned into a rhythmic jumble of sounds and gasps. Then the hand tightened around the chain and tore the clamps free. A sudden blast of excruciating pain flashed through Juliana's body. It was followed by a maddening storm of needles as the blood rushed back into her nipples and clit.

Juliana howled and then she came, losing consciousness.

*** 

In some countries they call it the straw that breaks the camel's back. In other parts of the world they use the image of a drop causing a pail to overflow – or a pebble that sets off the avalanche. 

Juliana would have loved to call the days after the dinner party a blur, but everything was painfully clear. She went out on dates with men of varying ages and attractiveness. At night in bed more gentlemen visited her to use her at will.

There also was one orgiastic evening where she was the carnal centerpiece of a performance with Melinda, Barb, Ellis and an Asian girl she'd not seen before. She was ordered to lick and suck vaginas and anuses, nipples and mouths in a heap of entangled flesh, while men sat around drinking and smoking – making rude comments. Of course they all ended up sucking cocks and being fucked in whatever entrance was preferred.

One evening was different. She'd been asked to accompany an old and fragile man to a classical concert where all she had to do was be on his arm, sit next to him in his private booth and listen, wearing a strapless dress and several strings of pearls. During intermission she walked with him to the foyer to have a glass of champagne and bath in admiring glances and sweet compliments. 

What surprised her most, though, was the music and watching who played it – the gray-haired director, the beautiful violin players and the breathtaking singer. 'Mahler Four,' she read in the program, and the music was just heavenly.

Juliana had never been to a symphony hall; it was as far removed from her upbringing as the moon. The cello's and bases vibrated into her body, and the capering flutes somersaulted through her mind. There were horns and bells and a golden harp. The gorgeous voice of the singer brought tears to her eyes.

When she was in bed, later, the music still rang in her ears – so did the murmuring conversations and the light-hearted compliments. The warm lights and sparkling candles echoed behind her eyelids. After the concert they'd had a small supper. It was attended by many of the old man's friends, one of them being the famous director, whom she was introduced to. She also met the singer and complimented her profusely. 

During the whole evening Juliana had been waiting for things to get more... carnal, but nothing happened. There was flirting and winking, even air-kissing, but around midnight she found herself alone in the limousine that took her back to the villa.

It had been a fortnight now since she met Dr. Charrier for the first time. Looking back everything felt like an intoxicating nightmare, mixed with a heady cocktail of fear and ecstasy. There were awful memories, of course, and lingering worries. 

Juliana knew she should worry. But as a farmer's daughter she'd been brought up to first of all be practical. There was religion, of course. Knowing the good from the bad might save your soul, but at stake right now was the saving of a life. So it was hardly productive to dwell on morals. Later, maybe, when she and Alec would be free again. If ever they would be.

Her body's response to degradation puzzled her. The effect was beyond comprehension, as was the way she responded to physical punishment. Back home she'd often been 'corrected' by the hard hand of her father – or his belt for that matter. But he did it simply to remind her how to stay on the 'right path.' There never had been anything involved like arousal or sexual excitement – not even shame, as the punishments at the farm were a common thing, a chore like working and sleeping and praying.

Juliana walked over to the tall mirror in her room, naked. Studying her body, her finger traced her chest and belly, her hip and thigh. The skin felt soft from shaving and lotions; the muscles were firm and toned from a hard youth and recent daily workouts. She'd never looked at herself like this; bodies were never important – souls were. Maybe that was why her body could betray her so easily.

The silk of yet another scandalous dress slithered over her bare skin, making her shiver. Her eyes glowed from the depth of the eye shadows she applied; her lips shone with layers of glossy lipstick. Juliana gasped as she watched The Other Woman appear. She felt safe hiding behind the mask, and the borrowed sensuality.

Juliana brushed her hair and sighed, just watching herself.

After slipping into heeled sandals, she walked to the door, ready for another night of scary promise. Her hips gyrated; her feet found the ideal line. The corridor's breeze made her skirt flare.

*** 



Juliana Ch. 10



Most people don't like a person to change. They compliment someone for 'being himself.' But isn't that peculiar? When do you reach that 'self' stage? On turning ten? Twenty? Fifty-four? And why would it be a good thing to always stay unchanged?



Lying face down on the massage table, Juliana felt how liquid thoughts flew in and out of her head, in time with the hands that kneaded her shoulders. 'Life is good' was one nice thought rolling in. 'Can't go on like this' was quite another. 'Mmmmm, yesss...' was hardly a thought at all. But 'What after he wakes up?' was a question to skirt the worries of reality.

Juliana realized things were shifting. And as they shifted, a lot of important things became... less so? Well, no. They stayed important of course – of course they did. Things like loving your husband, having a house, friends, a job, being together, feeling healthy, being good. Oh yes, they were important still, but why did they feel... different?

The massaging hands dissolved another knot in her back, radiating warmth into her muscles. 'Life is good,' was a pleasant thought – 'I should never give this up' too. 'But Alec...'

Juliana must have drifted off on the table. She hardly noticed being turned over to have her front massaged. She even slept through a mild little string of orgasms when Mei rubbed and fondled her nipples and the lips of her vagina. 

Juliana felt great when she got up from the table – rested and full of energy, her body gleaming with oil. 

"Doctor want see you," Mei said. "He say you make self sexy beautiful."

Juliana was amazed to find on her bed the simple summer dress she'd worn when she first came to the villa. There also was a set of plain white cotton underwear and a pair of flat-heeled mary janes. Next to the clothes lay her old purse. Her heart raced when she put the clothes on. She walked over to her mirror and froze.

How to describe disappointment? Maybe the image of a balloon helps – not the ones that go with a bang, but the ones that deflate slowly, and with a fart. 

Juliana looked at herself and saw a mouse. The flower-printed dress hung around her body. The skirt ended on her knees. And the shoes were almost too painful to even look at.

Embarrassed Juliana recalled how she'd chosen this very outfit to impress Dr. Charrier on the day she arrived. That had been only – had it really? – a fortnight ago. She sighed and opened four buttons of the dress. Watching how the crude white bra spoiled her cleavage, she took it off and let the dress's opening plunge to her navel. Then she lifted the hem of the skirt halfway up to her crotch, tightening it over her thighs. She slowly turned left and right. Maybe she didn't score points with her bust, but her legs were better than most she'd seen here – and so was her ass. Then she heard a soft giggle behind her.

Mei held up a narrow silver belt. From behind she girded Juliana's hips with it and pulled the dress up through it. The upper part billowed partly over the lower very short skirt. The cleavage gapped wide, showing off her gleaming chest. "Better," Mei said. She took Juliana by the elbow and walked her over to her vanity.

"You do face. I get heels," Mei said, leaving.

Juliana started making up her face, using all the tricks she'd learned. Winking with one smoky eye, she painted her lips as red as Sophia's, adding clever lines to make them look bigger. Then she did her fingernails in the same shade.

"Hi Juh-lee-ah-naaaah," she breathed at herself, fluttering her fat lashes. "Don't worry, baby; you'll blow them all away." And she giggled, breathless from her own courage.

Juliana never walked in higher heels than the ones Mei provided. She liked the sound they made on the stone floor as she followed the corridors to the lounge where she had her appointment with Charrier. She also liked the way the heels pushed up her calves and her ass with every step. Mei had done a trick on the skirt. It made the lower piece stretch tight around her upper legs, obliging her to take small steps. The platform pumps wouldn't have allowed bigger ones anyway.

Dr. Charrier waited for her by the empty fireplace, drinking coffee from an espresso cup that seemed tiny in his big hands. Seeing her, his eyes lit up. He put down the cup and rose to greet her. His gaze travelled up and down her body.

"You keep amazing me, Mrs. Austin," he said, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. Then he led her to one of the overstuffed club chairs. She carefully sat down, keeping the skirt from creeping up even further. Mei had replaced the big granny panties with a tiny thong. 

"Coffee?" the doctor asked. She declined. He smiled, sitting down in his chair.

"We woke up your husband," he said.

She felt shocked. She shouldn't, really – the news was expected, wasn't it? And yet there was shock. It was like having a child: nine months in the making and yet there is this shock when finally the waters break. Maybe it's the sudden confrontation with the absoluteness of reality. Juliana's heart raced.

"How... how is he?" she asked after clearing her throat.

"He is fine, considering," the doctor said. "He has been asking for you." He had been asking... had she even thought of him, lately?

Juliana sat straighter in her chair, sliding to the seat's edge. Her hands went to her chest, closing a button – and then another.

"Can I...," she said. "Can I see him?"

"Of course," Dr. Charrier said, smiling as he watched her fumbling fingers. "Let's go."

Turmoil raged in Juliana's head when they rose. She'd rehearsed for this moment, seen it in her dreams. But reality was quite different. Standing on her towering platforms she pulled at her skirt.

"Could I...?" she started. "Could I just run and change? I mean..."

"Come," the doctor said, urging her on. "No time for that. Besides, you look lovely; no need to let him wait any longer."

The clicking of her heels sounded blatant now, as they walked over to the clinic. The draught on her exposed skin made her close yet another button. In passing she checked her face in a mirror – the painted eyes, the full red lips, the bare legs. Alec had never seen her like this; what would he think? Why did she choose this look? And why did she now think she shouldn't look like that – not for him?

When they arrived at the entrance to the clinic, Juliana once more tucked at her skirt.

Alec was sitting up in bed. The tubes and the beep-machines were still there, but a smaller pad on the side of his head replaced the turban of bandages. He looked pale and bony. His head had been shaved, making him seem at once older and younger – a mature child. His soft brown eyes widened when she entered. A smile stretched his lips, but it danced and fluttered as if not knowing whether to stay of leave.

"Juliana," he said, almost adding a question mark.

"Alec!" she cried out, rushing towards him on shrieking heels. "You're awake!" And she reached out to embrace him.

Alec felt stiff in her embrace. She kissed him, but his lips kept closed. She let go, pulling back her head. Looking into his eyes, she heard her own agitated breathing.

"You look...," Alec began, his eyes shifting. "You look so..." A wave of self-consciousness hit Juliana. Standing straight she gathered the still open top of her dress, feeling a flush of heat.

"Sorry," she said. "You don't like..." He rubbed his face.

"It's all right, I suppose," he said, settling his smile more permanently. "As long as you're here." Juliana sat down in the chair next to the bed. Alec found her hands and held them in his.

"You are all right, aren't you?" he asked. Juliana swallowed, trying to calm her nerves.

"I am fine," she insisted, forcing her smile to be wider. "But this is about you. I'm amazed. You look so much better!"

Juliana knew she babbled. How could he not look better than before, when he was in a coma? Her hands felt moist as she fumbled inside his grip.

"Yes," he said. "I do feel... good. Doctors are very optimistic. I still feel confused, though – a bit dizzy too." He smiled. "But you... You look so different. The way you... Did you manage while I was... away?"

His voice hadn't changed, Juliana thought. There was sweetness in it, and real concern. She laughed, but it didn't sound right.

"Don't you worry about me," she said, patting his hand. "I'm a big girl, you know. I'll survive." She knew her words came too fast, but she could not stop or slow them down.

"You get better," she went on. "Never mind about me. I'm good. Get better soon and I'll take you home. Everything will be fine... fine." She giggled. Alec didn't let go of her eyes, and it bothered her.

His hand went to her hair and then to her face.

"Your eyes," he said. "Your lips."

Ever since they married, being together had been easy for them, although they were poor, hardly able to pay their rent. But they'd learned to enjoy small things whenever they could afford them, like movies, music, food – and little exotic things that were firsts for the both of them. They'd found an apartment and furnished it – often with old things, used things, but things they'd found together. They'd built a secure little life, and everything came naturally. Using half a word or hinting at a memory could make them laugh. Just holding each other while watching a movie had been enough. 

Not anymore, it seemed.

Now, there was this... tension, and there was guilt. Juliana wondered why. She'd done what she did only for him, to save his life. And yet it was hard to hold his gaze. Did he always look this... innocent? A nagging feeling entered Juliana's mind – an irritation. Why would he be the innocent? And if he was, why did it feel so... accusing? Why did he accuse her with his innocence? He'd had the easy part, hadn't he – just lying around being fed and sleeping and costing huge amounts of money? She'd been the one to do all the work, to provide the money, hadn't she?

"What?!" Juliana asked. There was an edge to her voice. His eyes fluttered. He lifted his hands as if to protect himself against her aggression.

"Wow," he said.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I only wanted to be beautiful for you." She reached for his face and kissed him.

Dr. Charrier had left them when Juliana arrived at Alec's room. Now he returned, all smiles.

"I'm sorry, but I have to break this lovely thing up, my little turtle doves," he boomed, taking Juliana's hand and making her rise. "Mr. Austin is doing extremely well, but he needs his rest, honey. Excitement isn't good, especially induced by you."

Alec turned his head from his wife to the doctor and back, frowning at the endearment. Only now did he see the whore-hooves on Juliana's feet, and the endless stretches of toned leg rising up from them. But before he could say anything, Charrier spirited her away, his arm around her waist – his hand on her tightly packed ass cheek.

*** 

Juliana lay awake. Her body ached. Her vagina throbbed; so did her anus. After leaving her husband Dr. Charrier had asked her how she felt. She hadn't told him the truth. She'd just raved on about how thankful she was, and how wonderful it had been to see her husband being so much better. Charrier had chuckled, pinching her buttock as they walked down the corridors.

"Don't lie to me, Mrs. Austin," he said. "I always know when you lie." His meaty hand slapped her ass, making her squeal.

"Tonight a good friend of mine wants to sample you," he said when they arrived at her quarters. "He has special wishes, though. Now go to your room and relax – you'll be picked up around five this afternoon."

Of course Juliana didn't relax. She sat and stood and walked around, her mind bursting with images and thoughts. The images were of her husband, his innocent eyes – the... distance she'd felt. The thoughts were about why she'd felt such a blind rage against that same accusing innocence – doubting it, feeling irritated by it.

And then there was the sheer conflict of having to perform with another man, right after seeing her husband.

She went out to go punish her body at the gym. When she returned, she took a long shower, shaved herself meticulously and lathered her skin with lotion.

On her bed was an outfit she'd never seen before. More precisely: she didn't even know what it was. 

"Is latex; is sexy," Mei said. Juliana hadn't seen her come in. She picked up a piece. The blue material was very thin and rubbery. Next to it was a container filled with white powder. She saw no underwear. 

"Sit on bed," Mei said. "I put powder on. Feet and legs first."

The powder felt cool on her shaven skin. Mei knelt and pulled one rubber stocking-foot over her right toes. It closed tightly around her ankle. Then she did the other foot.

"Stand now," she said, and pulled the very tight rubber over her calves and knees; then up her thighs where they stopped. Pulling and rubbing she smoothed out the shining material. Then she powdered Juliana's crotch and hips, and made her step into an equally blue latex garter belt with dangling elastic garters she snapped on to the stocking-tops. 

A blue bra-like top slipped over her powdered chest, pressing her breasts into a modest cleavage. A heady mixture of sweet talcum powder and latex intoxicated her.

"My God, this is hot!" Juliana exclaimed. Mei chuckled, misunderstanding the kind of hot Juliana meant.

"Very hot," she agreed, holding up a transparent, yellowish dress. Or was it a dress? It looked tiny, like a child's, with frills around its collar and girly-type puffed short sleeves.

Pulling it down over Juliana's head and shoulders, it almost took her breath away with its tightness. The skirt needed some stretching to reach past her ass cheeks and crotch.

"Beautiful!" Mei said, turning her left and right. "Now we do make up." Juliana understood there would be no panties. She walked over, moving awkwardly inside the tight latex, feeling it rub and hearing it squeak. Then she sat down in front of her vanity and watched Mei do her face like a child might have done – way too much eye shadow in bright blue colors, exaggerated blushes and lips like cherries.

"Sweet," Mei said. "Now hair."

When her taxi came, Juliana waited on sky-high heels that closed with straps over her rubber-clad ankles. Her hair stood out in very short pigtails, and a big purple latex cape mercifully covered her body. She sweated, and felt like a carnival attraction. 

The address was a high-class penthouse, looking out over the lake and the city. Before she was up there, however, she had to walk lengths of marble, click-clacking past a frowning concierge. An acne-faced liftboy looked her over in the mirrored elevator. 

The apartment was huge, and posh in a smoked-glass-and-shiny-brass way. There were white leather couches on a hardwood floor. People stood around drinking. The men wore Italian suits; the women were all young and wrapped in latex like Juliana. One even had a tight rubber cap on, with a mask that wrapped all around her head.

"Welcome," a thirtyish man said, smiling wide. "Let me get this amazing cape off you and get you introduced."

Juliana felt the weird sensation of being at once tightly dressed and still widely exposed. As she was led around she smelled the sickly sweet mixture of talcum powder, latex and perfume wherever she turned. All the women's faces were heavily painted. Their bodies shone with red, green, blue and purple rubber. The masked girl was in black latex from the top of her skull to the platforms of her shoes – but her breasts were exposed, as were her ample ass cheeks.

The women kept their distance while introduced. Juliana heard names like Kelli and Barbie; she herself was presented as Julee. Melinda was there too, her huge round breasts wrapped in gleaming red latex and her crotch hardly concealed by a thong of the same material. 'Melli' she called herself here, smiling a dazzling welcome.

"So nice to see you here, Julee," she said. "You look amaaazing!" She giggled; it made her balloons jiggle inside their flimsy rubber cages.

The men were of the slick-haired kind, closely shaven. They were rude in their comments and exuded too much aftershave. They also had no concept of comfort zones as far as Juliana was concerned. She was hugged and kissed, and she felt hands everywhere, even on her unprotected vagina. It should make her blush, but she wasn't sure, feeling the sweaty heat of the latex all over.

A girl in a maid's uniform handed her a glass of bubbly wine. Over her shoulder Juliana saw how the rubber masked girl hung head-down over a man's knees. His hand rose and landed on her exposed behind, making loud slapping noises. The girl cried out at each blow, to the laughter of two men watching. They both had their arms around a girl they were fondling. One, in a blue latex dress that left her entire ass and thighs exposed, sank to her knees and started opening her man's fly. The second man pushed down on the shoulders of his companion to make her kneel too.

"Don't they look sweet?" a male voice said, close to her ear. 

It was the man who had welcomed her. She felt his hand on her ass, pushing up her short little dress to find sweaty bare flesh.

'Sweet?' she thought. This wasn't sweet. Sweet was a child singing, a kitten licking its paw. 'Sweet' wouldn't arouse her like this, would it? Degradation did; she knew that by now, even if she might never understand. 'Lovely' wouldn't make her pussy leak. Humiliation would.

"Sweet," she murmured, and pushed back against the man's hand.

The first girl took out a penis; it was big and already hard. She never hesitated to take it in her mouth. The second girl's fingers were inside her man's pants. And the spanked girl's ass showed a purplish hue by now. She'd stopped crying out at the slaps that kept raining down on her.

Watching as she sipped from her glass, Juliana felt her host's hand kneading her ass cheek. She closed her eyes, and when she did, she wondered why. Was it out of shame or to better concentrate? And if so, did it matter either way?

A second hand covered her right breast through layers of rubber. Hot air accompanied the whispered words that entered her ear.

"My cock wants your sweet mouth, honey."

'Sweet,' Juliana thought. She put down her drink and sank to her knees. Once, not long ago, there would have been shock at the order, and a speeding of her heartbeat. There still was a rush, but it never reached her brain. It fluttered around in her belly, where it radiated warmth and caused a trembling. The order itself had become... expected. It spread a soothing feeling of... things being all right. There was a deal, things were as they should be. Juliana 'd been dolled up for sex, she was a puppet of lust. Telling her to suck cock was a natural consequence; it was why she was here.

Her hands undid the buckle of his belt; her fingers popped the button and pulled down the zipper. She felt hands resting lightly on her head. She looked up, smiling; it was part of what was expected – she did it gladly.

His penis was short and fat and circumcised. It hung a bit, feeling soft to her touch. Maybe it would still grow, she thought. She knew it was more than a thought; it was a wish, flaring up and dying away – easy to deny, but it had been there.

Juliana lifted the penis with her finger and thumb, and sent her tongue to the base of the cock, running it up to the tip. She felt the heat, the veins and the ridge of the helmet. The man shuddered and his fingers gripped her skull. A warm wave flushed her entire being – was it satisfaction? She licked the stem some more, making her tongue lap the flaring head. The cock grew longer and harder between her fingers, and it rose. Juliana opened her lips wide and – holding his gaze – let her mouth sink down over it. His scent and taste, combined with the sweet latex cloud that lingered around her, took her into a separate world – a frictionless, thoughtless, mindless world. 




Juliana Ch. 10



In her life there had hardly been places where Juliana could escape the iron conditioning of her upbringing. There had been secret nooks at the farm where she could dream up a world of her own. It was a world without shape, just clouds to float on. She saw no concrete images of freedom or beauty – she just felt... feelings. Later on she realized that the main (or maybe the only) attraction had been the secret privacy; that there had been no one to correct her thoughts or confine her dreams.

When she fled to the city, her idea of freedom was firmly linked with privacy. Maybe she found incidental sparks of it in her room at Jack and Aimée's, or when she walked alone through the streets of Chicago. She wondered if she ever found it in Alec's embrace – or anyone's company.

Amazingly, she found that same floating freedom now, at this most exposed moment. 

Burying her face in the crotch of a man who considered her just another object, set her free. Maybe it was the anonymity, maybe it was the sheer effacing of her personality, but she didn't care anymore. She had no thoughts, she only had needs. She had no mind, she was a body.

Juliana sank her mouth over the stiff cock until her nose touched the man's curly pubes. His hard, pulsing flesh pressed down her tongue; his blunt glans just penetrated the entrance to her throat as his hands forced her down. She was caught and held and gagged, but she never felt as free as she did right then. It was crazy and she knew it. It was too insane to admit; too pathetic to ever confess to anyone... but it was what she felt. 

Dr. Charrier's villa was a prison. The way he forced her was sheer blackmail. And yet it was the place where she felt more freedom than she'd ever experienced. Juliana gasped and let go of the cock, drenching it with her saliva. The hands pushed her down again and she felt a rush of happiness. 

*** 

Lying in bed later, Juliana didn't regret the physical consequences of the crazy night she'd spent at the penthouse – her aching muscles and the throbbing of every entrance to her body. It was part of the deal, wasn't it? She had sucked cocks and even pushed her tongue into anuses. She had been fucked in her ass and she had licked vaginas that tasted and smelled of latex. She had felt hands tear the rubber off her body – and felt the same hard hands slapping her ass and her breasts.

The evening had turned into an orgy, where bodies became just lumps of flesh around gaping holes; knots of screaming nerves and a soft, sweet smelling quagmire of pinkish marshmallow. Juliana drowned in it until she was beyond the point of caring – beyond even knowing who she was or why she was here. 

But now, much later, in the darkness of her room, Juliana knew again. And knowledge brought consciousness. And consciousness brought fear.

Lying on her bed, Juliana felt fear creep into her mind. It entered like a thief, but a thief she knew quite well. It made no noise whatsoever. Dressed in black it cast a silent shadow over her little pink paradise of make-belief freedom. He seemed to know very well where to go and what to steal.

'Freedom' had been her last conscious thought before she'd allowed herself to drown in the mindless orgy. She'd lost her shame and guilt and fear – and what was left she'd called freedom. There was this old song of the woman with the raw voice... 'freedom's just another word for nothing left to loose.'

Now she lay here, alone, and good old fear returned to tear up that illusion. Impotence invaded her body; she couldn't even lift a hand. Fear brought his twin brother panic, who threw a hot, choking blanket over her. Juliana gasped for breath, arching her body. She knew she had to fight, and she fought. She struggled against the fear and the horror and the utter injustice of it all.

And she won – didn't she?

She was free. Maybe it wasn't real freedom, but should she care? If reality was a life in prison, a life lived in shame and fear... who needed reality? 

Lying on her bed, Juliana felt exhausted. She explored her abused body. Her fingertips found aching nipples and a swollen vagina that still leaked semen. She slowly spread the slime over her sensitive, shaven folds. An agitated feeling started spreading with it. Saving Alec was an act of virtue, she thought – her act, her virtue. Why should such an unselfish deed be punished and considered the act of a whore – just because her body loved it? Could one only be virtuous by denying their body its pleasure?

A finger slipped into the swamp between her vagina's lips. Her clitoris was slippery and over-sensitive. She moaned when she touched it.

No, she thought, rolling her head left and right on her pillow. No, the blame wasn't hers. Others had woven the net of dilemmas she'd been caught in – the doctors, of course, and her parents who had never prepared her for a life like this. Even her poor husband's share had been bigger than hers, so why should she be the one to feel guilty? Everybody was profiting from her sacrifice – and she should be the only one to pay for it with misery? No... 

Juliana rose from her bed and took a long, scalding shower. She scrubbed the ruined make-up off her face and rubbed her sore body with healing, sweet-smelling oil. Then she slept for ten hours straight.

***

Is what I call 'red' the same color you call 'red?' When we smell a rose, do you smell the same scent I do? And what about love? 

Juliana sat next to the hospital bed. The man in it was her husband. He sat up straight, looking pale, but alive and healthy. A number of cables and tubes still connected him to an array of machines.

"You look so... different, Jules," he said, reaching for her hand. It lay on the sheets, red fingernails like bloody pearls on the snowy white linen.

Juliana wore a thin jersey top that hugged her chest, showing the outlines of her nipples. Her legs were sheathed in black, shining leggings that left her ankles bare. Narrow straps held up stiletto-heeled sandals. Her hair was slicked back from her made up face. She smiled, looking clean and fresh.

"Don't you like it?" she asked. He frowned.

"What happened, Jules? They tell me I have been in a coma for weeks. How did you cope?"

Juliana saw the worry in his eyes. She'd crossed a river he didn't even know existed, but he saw the change it had caused in her. She was also sure he wouldn't agree. He would be hurt if he knew – disappointed and mad. That irritated her. If he knew, he would judge her. He already judged her now with his soft, innocent eyes.

She sat straighter; it would cause her nipples to show more prominently. She wanted them to. She should have been given more blatantly sluttish things to wear today, she thought. She should have painted her face more obviously. And then she sighed.

"All is well, Alec," she said, patting his hand with hers. "You'll be leaving soon and all will be as it was."

A big part of Juliana's attraction to Alec had been the promise she'd seen in him – a promise to climb on each other's shoulders and grow. In their first weeks he'd felt like an open door into the dynamics of city life. He took her out; they went dancing, dining, clubbing and shopping. But she'd misread him; he wasn't as adventurous as she'd thought. Soon they went out less and less, going to the movies or to the same old boring pizzerias. Going shopping for clothes became a chore for him. Instead of stimulating her to be brave, he encouraged her to make the cheapest and most conservative choices.

Juliana realized that a big part of her disappointment was her own fault – she couldn't blame it all on him. She also discovered that Alec wasn't the self-assured man she'd seen in him at all. He was like her. He grew up on a farm in Nebraska and had only come to Chicago two years ago, living with relatives until he found a small rental apartment on the edge of town. He'd been stood up a few times, in the end finding just enough courage to date shy and innocent girls like Juliana. He didn't make much money, but still saved most of it. After their first few dates he told her they would have to go Dutch. 

Disappointment can be the result of a very slow process when you're in love for the first time. For Juliana true love was a reckless rush, built on the unlimited confidence of two lovers. It allows you to surrender all your fears and reservations to plunge head-on into the unknown – together. When you do that for the very first time in your totally shielded life and it doesn't work out, it is hard to admit failure. When your lover starts to let you down with small discouragements, little signs of critique, you loose steam – and soon you start doubting yourself. You lower your expectations and keep opinions to yourself. In the end you feel like a fool; nobody wants to be a fool.

So they went on going out, making out, being the loving couple. But every date ended up being just a trifle less exciting, just a bit more of the same. The rush of love slowed down, allowing old feelings to slip back in. Fear returned – the fear of failure.

So when Alec asked her to marry him, half a year into their dating, she didn't say no, but she begged him to allow her a bit of time to think it over. His eyes had clouded up and he'd fumbled with the cheap little ring before putting it back in its box.

Juliana talked with Aimée. She knew the woman liked Alec; maybe not because she found him exciting, but for the exact opposite reason: he seemed a safe choice for a girl as vulnerable as Juliana. It irritated Juliana that Aimée saw her like that, but in the end her timidity made her agree. Maybe it was the sweet memory of her infatuation, or maybe the stubborn sense of loyalty that had been ingrained in her. Or in the end it might have been just fear of being alone again, but she accepted the ring and half a year later they were married.

The woman sitting at her husband's bedside, however, was no longer the girl that said 'I do' in front of a priest in a shabby little chapel while hardly two-dozen people attended. These last weeks had pounded the shyness and reservations out of her and removed the baggage of her youth. With it she also lost her awe for the man she married, seeing him now as the exact replica of her own intimidated persona – dragging her down. Could she still love him? Had she ever loved him? What was love anyway?

"All will be as it was," she said, looking up at him, smiling. Was she lying? Would it ever be as it was again? Would she want it to?

She felt his hand close over hers; it wasn't a strong hand – and it wasn't a strong face she was looking into. It was a timid face. Juliana knew she was done with timidity.

"I have to go," she whispered, pulling her hand away and rising. Then she bent to kiss his cheek. As she turned and walked out, she was very much aware of the sound her heels made on the tiled floor. She also felt how the same heels pushed up her buttocks in the tight leggings. Without thinking she gave in to the rolling movement.

*** 

We think it's cruel to dump our lovers. So we invent this new feeling. And even crueler than ever: we hand them our pity.

The rest of that week Juliana was busy paying off her husband's debt. Some of the men she dated were repeats from earlier encounters; others were new. There were two dinner parties at the villa, one of them turning into a regular orgy. But some of her lovers took her out into the city, to their hotel rooms or apartments.

Her wardrobe was still strictly regulated, varying from bare but highly stylish evening gowns to almost- nothing outfits when she was taken out clubbing. 

There had always been a tiny, nagging sting of embarrassment in the back of her mind as she picked up the flimsy pieces of fabric from her bed. But more and more its little voice was blown away by sheer curiosity – and the growing certainty that whatever she wore would arouse her men.

Juliana knew she should visit her husband at least every day – it was expected of her. Oh, there was feeling left, but she was pretty sure it wasn't love. Even if she had a hard time understanding what true love was, she knew this wasn't it. There was an urge to provoke, a need to intimidate him. Sashaying into his room in yet another tight, short-skirted outfit, flashing a bright smile, she knew there was malice in her thoughts. She'd started playing with him – with his jealousy and his growing frustration. It thrilled her to see how easy it was for her to manipulate him. Until she realized she was just plain cruel. 

After two visits of flashing bare skin, showing off the edges of her stockings and her see-through tops, the remnants of an almost forgotten feeling surfaced: embarrassment. Teasing Alec wasn't just too easy, it was a cruel thing to do – it hurt him, and he'd done nothing to deserve that, had he? He was just this bewildered creature, returning from a coma into a world that had taken away the very foundations of his existence.

He'd asked her why she dressed like a whore and she had struck a sexy pose and touched the tip of his nose, laughing.

"Maybe because I am one?" she'd said. "Would that excite you, honey?" And by God, he'd blushed.

On her next visit Juliana wore a bathrobe over her sluttish outfit, and her streak of cruelty was flooded by a brand new feeling – pity.



Juliana Ch. 11



How sure can we be about our eyes and what they actually see? You say you saw something 'with your own eyes.' But do you own your eyes? And will they show you tomorrow what they've shown you today?



As Juliana entered the dining hall, something was different. Not so much the set up. It looked like just another dinner party held at the villa: half-nude women flirting with half-drunk men. It was supposed to be a high-class party: tuxedoed and bejeweled guests sipping bubbles while standing around a damask-clad sparkling table.

Juliana felt slightly tired, having spent the afternoon fucking the man on whose arm she was now making her entrance. He was a real stud in his thirties, tall and dark. The stretched muscles of her vagina and anus reminded her he was generously hung too. She could have done worse. He'd told her not to clean up her pussy while she went off to change for dinner; his spent semen squished in her thong while she walked.

Giggling she pushed her ear into his nose as he nibbled on its lobe. Then she saw Alec Austin, her husband.

He stood at the center of a group of male guests and their female entertainment, wearing a tuxedo. A black kind of bathing cap covered his skull and ears, emphasizing the paleness of his narrow face. His shirt's collar seemed too wide for his neck, while the sleeves of the jacket were too long. He looked like a teenager in the tux of his father. He also looked completely ill at ease. The men talked to him, slapping his back or punching his arm while they burst out laughing. Juliana saw he held a big cigar and a glass of champagne. A blond girl hung on to his arm, flirting with him. He blushed and didn't know where to look. Then he saw her.

Juliana's ankle-long gown looked quite classy, she thought, but the sea green fabric was thin and there wasn't very much of it on top. A rather eye catching feature was the split that opened right from her hip down to her heeled sandals as she walked. It drew extra attention because the man she was with had slid his hand inside it, kneading an ass cheek. She stepped free from his embrace, raising a hand and mumbling "my husband." Then she walked over to where Alec stood, automatically adopting her catwalk gait. The group opened up at her arrival. 

"Alec," she whispered. "You're up."

His eyes wandered nervously left and right.

"Juliana! What is going on here?" he asked. "What are you doing here anyway?" He looked her up and down. "Dressed like this and letting that man..."

The girls giggled around them. Juliana saw Melinda move in, her breasts barely held in check by her dress.

"He's a cute swimmer!" she exclaimed, bringing her hand to his cap. "You seem to know him, Julee. Introduce us, please."

Alec shied away from her touch. Juliana wondered why the girl's actions irritated her.

"He's mine, Mel," she said, amazed by her own words. "He's my husband."

Melinda produced a squeal, clapping her hands. It made her tanned tits wobble in their silk cups.

"Goodie!" she cried. "Even better. Can I borrow him, pleasie-please?"

Alec was totally confused now. He leant back to escape the big-boobed porn star, only to bump into another scarcely clad woman. The result was a flurry of giggles and a half-dozen long-nailed hands pushing him around.

"Enough!" Juliana cried. She grabbed Alec by a sleeve and pulled him out of the pink melee. 

"Enough indeed!" a male voice echoed.

Dr. Charrier stood by the table his arms folded in front of his barrel chest. He wore a purple smoking jacket; his pink jowls shone.

His voice silenced the girls. Juliana saw the male guests look on with amusement.

"I am ashamed of the way you behave, girls," he said. "Mr. Austin is our guest of honor here. He recovered from serious surgery and this is his night to celebrate that recovery before he goes home with his faithful wife." He unfolded his arms and started a slow applause, slamming his ham-like palms together. The other guests picked up on it and the girls added their woops and squeals.

Alec looked confused, not knowing whether to frown or smile, whether to duck the pats on his back or thank for them. Juliana kept pulling at his arm and he followed her reluctantly.

"What is this place, Jules?" he breathed. "This is not a hospital." She led him to a corner where a wide pillar gave them some privacy.

"So you're better," she said, trying to catch his eyes; they were still focused on the group by the table. The cigar hung broken in the grip of his fingers; the glass was empty. He nodded.

"Yes," he said. "This afternoon Dr. Charrier told me I could leave tomorrow. Why aren't you home? Ah, I guess he invited you too for this... celebration?"

Juliana hardly heard what he said. She wondered what it all meant. 'Before he goes home with his faithful wife,' Charrier had said. 'Home,' 'faithful.' Why hadn't he told her things were over? Were they over? Had she paid her debt? Did he tell Alec what she'd done? Obviously not. She'd been fucking her brains out even while he told Alec about his discharge, this afternoon. And then he sent him to this dinner party where she was on the menu. Guest of honor? She let out a long sigh.

"Yes," she said, forcing a smile on her face. "This is our surprise party. Congratulations, sweet husband." And she stepped forward to embrace him. But before reaching him, a heavy, padded body ran into her back, two arms closing around her, hands pressing her chest.

"Stop the lovey-dovey stuff, guys: dinner is served!" Melinda cried out. "Guest of honor and flat-chested wife are expected to take their places."

*** 

A sexy-clad waitress seated Alec at the foot of the table, opposite from the doctor's place at the head. When Juliana wanted to sit down next to her husband, she was whisked away and placed next to Charrier. Melinda took over her chair. A petite redhead she'd met (and licked) at the latex orgy sat down at his other side. Both girls hurried to claim the guest of honor, touching him and flirting relentlessly. He looked like a lost nerd at a high school prom.

Had he always seemed this silly, Juliana wondered, or was it the cap and the oversized suit? Could it be that it was just the way she saw him now? So much had happened; so much had changed. She recalled the time she found her old clothes on the bed – and the embarrassing way they'd looked on her. She tried not to recall the ridiculous sex she and Alec had before she came here. Had she changed so much that even her very eyes had changed?

"Doesn't he look just great?"

It was Dr. Charrier's voice; his big hand rested on hers.

"He looks awful," she whispered. He chuckled.

"Well, considering his surgery..." he responded. She looked up at him.

"Was the rubber cap really necessary?" she asked. "And do his clothes have to be too big?" The doctor laughed.

"Too big? Are they really? Ah well, Mrs. Austin," he said out loud. "Why don't we ask him? Mr. Austin!" Alec looked up as the table got quiet.

"Mr. Austin," the doctor repeated. "Sorry to bother you, but your sweet wife worries about your suit. She thinks it doesn't fit. Would you please stand and show us, so we may check her opinion?"

Alec's eyes went to his outfit; then they flew to Juliana, wide with panic.

"It... no... it is quite all right," he stuttered. "No problem." 

"No-no-no-no!" Dr. Charrier boomed, rising from his chair. "This won't do. Nothing but the very best is good enough for my guest of honor and his beautiful wife. We can't have you look ridiculous at your own party, just because we failed to provide a good suit. Please rise and show us."

Juliana tugged at the doctor's jacket.

"Please," she whispered. "Let it be; it's all right."

Charrier looked down at her, frowning.

"I'd expect better from you, Mrs. Austin," he said. "I thought you cared for your husband." Some of the girls giggled at that. Juliana felt a deep rage forming – the same frustrated rage she thought she'd lost. At its bottom was an urge that surprised her; an urge to rise, take her husband and leave this place forever.

But all she did say was "please,' before sagging back into her chair. Nagging at her deepest consciousness was the feeling that she took a wrong and irrefutable turn.

Alec Austin rose, pushing his chair back. It screeched on the stone floor. He stood and closed his jacket.

"Doctor Charrier," he said, "ladies and gentlemen, thank you for saving my life, but I think I'll take my leave. Have a nice meal." Then he turned Juliana's way, searching for her face – waiting.

"Tell him not to leave," Charrier hissed at Juliana. "Now!"

Juliana's head reeled from a cocktail of feelings. She felt shamed and she felt proud at the same time, and in an odd mixture. Alec had shown a backbone. They'd tried to make him look ridiculous, and it had made her pity him, but not now – not now. She'd almost joined the way they ridiculed him, but now it was she who felt silly.

Juliana saw him raise his arm, palm up and open. He waited for her to join him. Juliana pushed back her chair to run to him, but Charrier's hand pressed down on her bare shoulder.

"You do whatever you like, Mr. Austin," he said, stretching his words, "but Mrs. Austin here has her obligations tonight. At least half of these fine gentlemen have been promised a sample of her well-appreciated talents, if you know what I mean." A chuckle ran like a rivulet around the table. 

Alec's eyebrows rose. Didn't he know what the doctor meant; or was he just getting a clue?

"Jules?" he said, his inviting hand still out.

"Why, Mrs. Austin," Dr. Charrier boomed, cutting off Alec's voice, "why don't you ask the gentleman next to you what his wishes are?" 

Juliana's head was in turmoil. She looked from her husband up to the doctor. Then her eyes turned to her table companion. He was a middle-aged man with a graying moustache. Smiling at her he pointed down with a finger. Juliana followed its direction and found a half-erect penis rising from an open fly.

Looking up to the doctor again, who smiled and nodded, she tried to find her way back to the feelings of pride. It was like struggling through a carwash of huge, rolling balls of cotton, glimpsing the exit before losing it again. Alec's hand begged her to rise; Charrier's eyes forced her to stay.

"She really can't, you know, Mr. Austin," the doctor said, his voice seemingly far away. "And it is all for your benefit. So if you feel the need to watch, you are very welcome." Another rumble of laughter passed.

The bobbing penis was still there, against the black of the man's pants. It seemed to have grown, sparkling with spilling juices. A hand took hers, placing her fingers around the stem – pale against the darker skin. She couldn't withdraw – or maybe she could, but she didn't. Another hand touched her neck and pulled her down. Someone said 'no.' Maybe it was she? Or was it Alec? She tried to look up, but the hand resisted, forcing her deeper down. A humming entered her mind. Her face lowered itself into the warm well of the man's crotch, enclosed by his body and the tablecloth. The purple head with its angry, weeping slit now dominated her view. There were voices all around her, buzzing and rumoring into a general blanket of sound. The sinews of her neck strained one last time against the pushing hand, before, with a sigh, her lips opened and curled around the cock's head.

The man didn't last long. Juliana felt the telltale swelling before his hot sperm splashed against the back of her throat. She drank it down in three swallows and cleaned the penis before looking up. Applause rained down on her. Alec had gone.

*** 

Juliana jumped up. She almost stumbled as she pushed away her chair and started running down the room on her break-neck heels. She cried out Alec's name when she reached the exit. She chose the left turn, in the direction of the clinic. Tears leaked from her eyes as she ran, holding up her gown and calling his name.

At last she met him at the connecting corridor to the clinic. He avoided her and tried to walk past, but she grabbed him and hung on to him.

"We must talk!" she cried out. "I am sorry, but it is really not my fault. Please stop and listen!"

Alec shook her off. He carried a suitcase, a raincoat hanging over his arm.

Juliana slipped on the stone floor; she almost fell.

"Please," she begged. "I did it all for you." Sinking to her knees, she blocked his way. He stood over her, his shadow covering her face.

"You are a filthy, cheating whore," he said. His voice hissed; it also trembled. "And you had to rub my face in it. How many men did you fuck while I was in a coma, helpless and conveniently out of the way?"

Juliana looked up at him. His face was dark, being lit from the back. He still wore the cap, but there was nothing comical about him.

"It wasn't like that," she protested. "It wasn't like that at all." It sounded weak. He was silent for seconds.

"I don't care," he then said. "I saw what I saw." He turned, kicking away her hand when she grabbed his left ankle. The last she saw of him was how he rounded the corner of the main hallway. She broke down crying.

"Tsk, tsk, Mrs. Austin."

The voice mocked her. The stone floor made her shiver in her flimsy gown. Juliana felt utterly abandoned. She looked up at the huge man.

"My God, you look like a raccoon!" Dr. Charrier said. He reached down to pick her up. "You really can't join the table looking like this." She took the offered hand. There was no resistance left in her; not even a thought. Rising on wobbly ankles she saw her dress had a rent down the front that exposed her upper body. She absent-mindedly tried to close it with her free hand.

Charrier took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It felt warm and smelled of male body and cologne. It also was way too big.

"So he left, the ungrateful bastard," Charrier said, wrapping an arm around her.

Was that what he was, Juliana wondered: ungrateful? Maybe yes. She did it all for him and he couldn't even listen, could he?

"He... he doesn't know," she said, after clearing her throat. "I couldn't make him see."

"Oh, but you could, Mrs. Austin! You would have explained it all. He just didn't let you," the doctor said. He started leading her down the corridor.

"Come. We still love you; we always will. You need to freshen up and return in time for desserts. Promise?"

Juliana walked next to his bulk, wrapped in his huge jacket and holding on to his arm. She felt immensely tired.

"Please," she murmured. "Please, I'm tired. Let me go to my room and sleep. I really need to be alone."

Charrier stopped. He held her shoulders and peered into her ruined face.

"Ah, but no, Mrs. Austin!" he said, frowning and sounding worried. "Not now, while you're so down. What you need is some exercise. Listen to your doctor, honey, he knows best! Your body needs to work out the stress and I know just the way to do that. Come."

He walked her to her room. There he took his jacket back.

"I asked Mei to look after you. We expect you back at the table in half an hour, Mrs. Austin – fresh and radiant and dying to give us the best of your amazing talents!"

Standing under a steaming shower she felt the drumming water massage the exhaustion out of her muscles, while the heat seemed to permeate her mind. It straightened out the knots and swirls of panic and stress.

So Alec condemned her without listening, did he, calling her a whore. He dumped her just like that after all she'd done for him. Paying off his surgery, saving his life. Of course it must have been a shock for him to see her like that, doing what she did – no, what she had to do... for him, all for him. Okay, it was a rotten thing for Dr. Charrier to not have prepared him; not have let them talk before... 

She shook her body in a shudder, recalling the horror in his eyes. But to drop her like he did, without one question asked... Leaving her alone... Pushing her away, just like this... 

"You get out, girl! No time. Have to get you back."

The voice of Mei shook her out of her musings. She closed the faucets and stepped into the big open towel. 

The waitresses were just taking away the debris of the main course when Juliana re-entered the dining hall. She wore a new outfit, more of a tube-like cocktail dress. It was silvery gray, stretchy tight and stopping right below her crotch. Platform soles allowed her heels an extra inch. It felt like walking on stilts and utterly sluttish. She kept her eyes down. A soft applause rose from the table and she couldn't suppress a blush.

Resuming her place at Charrier's elbow, she looked around the table. Some of the girls had their breasts out; there was kissing and fondling going on. Her neighbor leant over to her.

"Thank you for an amazing treat," he whispered, smiling. "I hope you're well." She nodded and turned her attention to Charrier. He smiled, laying his big hand on hers.

"You look wonderful," he said. "I'm glad you decided to come. Some more wine?" He snapped his fingers and one of the girls filled her glass. She emptied it in one gulp, savoring the tart taste and the slight tingling on her tongue. She nodded for a refill.

"Not too fast," Charrier warned. "The evening is still young." Juliana just nipped.

The party went like the ones before. Soon her top was down too and someone was licking the dessert off her bare nipples. Coffee sweets were sucked and juggled from mouth to mouth. For brandy and cigars they decamped to the big lounge, where half-naked men and naked women soon populated couches and chairs. There was slow dancing, deep kissing, squeals and giggles. Then there was the zipping of zippers, the rustling of clothes and the wet sounds of lips sucking meat, meat pounding pussies and mouths gasping orgasms. 

Finally Juliana found herself plugged in every hole, her hands jerking cocks. She wondered where all the new men came from – the hard cocks and the sticky spunk. 

And then she stopped wondering.

*** 

When Juliana woke up the next morning – or rather the very late next morning – she felt tired, sore and dirty, which was nothing new, of course. But something was different – a fundamental difference she became aware of when veil after veil of sleep left her mind. She couldn't tell what it was. Let's call it magic – a magic that was missing. 

She wasn't given much time to ponder. There was breakfast and a massage, working out and showering, dressing and making up. A car waited to take her to a lunch date. She wore a wonderful dress. The place was lovely. But she felt nothing, sitting through the meal smiling, flirting and even kissing like a robot. She went up to the hotel room, undressed, sucked cock and rode it, making all the appropriate noises. She didn't have to fake her orgasms; they were real and good, and yet they felt distant – like someone else's.

When she was brought back to the villa, Juliana cleaned herself, sat on her bed drinking tea and leafing through fashion glossies, waiting for her next appointment. Then she looked up, opened her mouth and screamed. It was a loud and desperate scream, followed by another loud and desperate scream – and then yet another one.

Mei came running in, telling her to shut up. Juliana shut up. "What wrong with you?" Mei asked. Juliana smiled.

"I guess I have gone crazy," she said, carefully returning the magazine to her nightstand. She opened her robe and let it slide off her naked body. There were fresh and lingering marks on her breasts and throat. Her shaven vagina was swollen and angrily pink.

"I have to see Dr. Charrier," she went on, sliding off the bed and standing beside it.

"He busy," Mei objected. Juliana nodded, smiling.

"That is all right," she said, going over to the door, naked. "I'll wait for him."




Juliana Ch. 11



She opened the door and walked into the hallway. A cool breeze licked at her skin.

"You wait!" Mei called after her. "You dress first."

But Juliana walked on – straight up and smiling. She carefully placed one bare foot in front of the other, landing on the ball like a ballet dancer.

On her way she saw people – women, one a nurse. They looked, but nobody stopped her. The door to the doctor's office wasn't locked. She stepped inside. Charrier sat behind the large black table; he was talking with Fleming; there were papers in front of them. They looked up when she entered.

"Mrs. Austin," Charrier said, rising from his chair. "Such a delight, but I'm afraid we..."

"That is all right," Juliana said. "I'll wait." She walked over to the stuffed chairs at the coffee table and sat down, sinking into the leather, crossing her legs. Her long nipples stood out; goose bumps covered her skin. The smile never left her face.

Fleming rose from his chair at the table. He collected his papers and left.

"Is something wrong, Mrs. Austin?" Dr. Charrier asked, walking over to Juliana. He wore a double-breasted suit in chalk-striped charcoal – very formal. He looked puzzled, his eyebrows knitting into a frown.

"Please," Juliana said, "I have a question to ask, if I may." She re-crossed her legs, not caring that her vagina showed when she did. Charrier sat down across from her. There was a silence while he waited for her to start.

"Yesterday," Juliana began, "my husband left the clinic. I suppose that means you discharged him." She didn't wait for him to answer. "Nevertheless you expect me to go on... servicing. You made me do it yesterday night and today during lunch. Does that mean I haven't yet paid off my duties?"

Charrier's frown disappeared; he started smiling.

"Mrs. Austin!" he boomed, sitting up with renewed confidence. "You have a famously sweet little body and it is always a treat to see it exposed, like now. You also proved to be a quick learner, honing your talents. Your cock sucking abilities are praised highly, and, to quote some of my friends: 'you are a fantastic fuck.'" His smile changed into a chuckle.

"But, my dear Mrs. Austin," he went on, raising both hands in apology, " even your magic tongue and velvet pussy aren't made of gold. You aren't even half way into paying off the cost of the surgery, my dear." Juliana's eyelashes fluttered.

"Halfway," she repeated. Charrier nodded.

"But with a pussy as popular as yours," he said, "you'll be done in three months – easily."

Juliana knew his mathematics were seriously flawed. She also knew that her thinking this was a sign of change. She'd hardly counted the days or weeks recently. She'd just immersed herself, swimming to wherever the hot, intoxicating river took her. She hadn't cared about her life outside, hardly even about her husband. 

Things were different, though, ever since she woke up this late morning. She had no idea how to explain it. Her body had taken over ever since she arrived at this villa, and she'd felt... at home in it. But now it felt... it seemed as if she wasn't even in it – as if she was standing next to it, watching. Whatever happened to her body was like a delayed signal, an out-of-sync connection.

"Is that what you wanted to know, Mrs. Austin?" Dr. Charrier asked, leaning forward, both elbows resting on his fat knees. Was this all? Juliana asked herself.

"I need a break," she said.

Charrier frowned again, sitting back up.

"A break?" he asked. He spoke as if tasting the word and finding it rancid. "What is a break?"

"I need to see my husband," Juliana said, crossing her arms and rubbing her shoulders as if she felt the cold for the first time. "He has to know." Charrier frowned deeper.

"But he knows," he said. "He saw." Juliana shook her head no.

"He knows what I did; what I do," she said. "But he doesn't know I do it for him. I have to tell him that."

The doctor rose, carefully straightening his suit.

"It's no use," he said, aligning the chair with the table. "He's a miserable little wimp, but he won't accept it. He's the kind of man who's embarrassed with the idea of a woman supporting him. He calls it pride, I guess. And on top he'll be enraged by the source of your income." Charrier stood before her, looking down, his hands folded before his crotch.

"Mrs. Austin," he said, "Mr. Austin is a very small man with a very big ego. He won't ever forgive you for saving him."

Juliana shook her head in denial again.

"He's not like that," she whispered. "He was very brave last night. It was me who let him down."

Charrier suddenly sank to his haunches; it made his joints creak. He closed his big hands around her face.

"If I let you go," he said, holding her eyes, "what guarantee do I have that you'll return and work off your debt?" Juliana just stared into his eyes. They were dark and liquid; there were little veins in the white.

"You have my word," she said. "And my signature under the bill, remember?" His face softened. Once again Juliana saw a glimpse of someone altogether different behind the fat and the flesh and the thick frowning eyebrows.

"I'll return, I will," she insisted. He shook his big head. Juliana reached for it; he didn't withdraw. Her hands closed around his jowls. They felt firm and slick.

"What about the other girls?" she asked. "Ellis? Selena? Melinda? They don't live here. You call them when they're needed. They always come. Ellis has for years now. Why can't I?"

His big hands covered hers, taking them off his face. They felt warm around her chilly flesh.

"They are different," he said. 

She waited for him to explain, but he didn't. He let go of her hands and rose to his feet. His face seemed to shut down again. He rubbed his hands, tilting his head while appraising her.

"What if he gives you an ultimatum?" he asked. "Even if he takes you back at all, that is?"

"Ultimatum?" Juliana asked. Charrier spread his arms.

"Well, you know," he said, "giving you a choice that isn't a choice. Telling you it will be all over if you return here." Juliana frowned.

"But," she said and paused. "But why would he do that? We'll still have to pay the bill."

Charrier chuckled; he was all-business again.

"You are funny, you know that, Mrs. Austin?" he said. "Funny and naïve."

A cold draft made her shiver; Juliana rubbed her bare upper arms.

"It was you who agreed to the deal," Charrier went on. "It is your name under the bill. Mr. Austin has no obligations." Juliana stared at him for a while.

"But he is the one who caused the debt." Charrier again shook his big head no.

"Not really, Mrs. Austin," he said. "He was in a coma, remember? You made the decision; you alone."

"Because I loved him! He can't pull out now. I did it because I loved him!" Juliana cried out.

"Loved?" the doctor echoed, emphasizing the past tense. Juliana at first didn't understand; then she blushed fiercely.

"Love!" she corrected herself. "I love him. I'll do anything for him. I did everything for him and he should know that. He can't leave me now." Charrier chuckled.

Juliana sat and stared, her hands on her knees. She felt shocked by what she'd heard herself say. Loved. It would be easy to shrug it off as being trapped into saying it, but she still wondered why she'd used the past tense.

"I have to go and see him," she insisted. "I'll be back to pay off my debt. Please, I promise." 

Charrier didn't answer. He walked over to his desk, turning his back to her. Watching him she thought he picked up his phone. She couldn't hear what he said into it. After a minute he turned towards her, his face unreadable.

"There will be conditions," he said. She rose from the sighing leather.

"Of course," she said, raising her hands and folding them in front of her chest.

The door opened and Fleming stepped in.

"First condition," Dr. Charrier began. "You'll be back tomorrow, 10 a.m. sharp." Juliana nodded.

"Second condition: you'll wear what we give you – nothing else." She swallowed; then nodded again.

"Third condition..." Charrier looked at Fleming; the two men smiled.

"Third condition: your stay here will be prolonged with three more months." Juliana moaned with dismay.

"I thought so," the doctor said, making an irritated gesture.

"But three more months?" Juliana asked. "On top of the three still owed? It isn't fair." Charrier just shrugged..

"Very well, Mrs. Austin," he said, turning away. "You wanted to see him; it's your decision."

Juliana trembled. A number of thoughts crossed her mind, some colliding. Three more months? Alec would never agree. But if she didn't go see him now, everything would be over anyway. A whore he'd called her, and then he left... he really needed to know why she was here. He needed to know she did it for him, to save his life. He couldn't dump her for that!

"Okay," she said. It was almost a whisper. Charrier turned her way.

"What did you say, Mrs. Austin?" he asked.

"Okay. I'll do it," she said louder.

"Do what?" His smile was insufferable.

"I'll stay three more months," Juliana said, defeated. Charrier didn't let her off, though.

"So that is half a year from now?" he asked.

"Ha-half a year," she agreed.

"You heard that, Fleming?" the doctor informed.

"Loud and clear," Fleming answered.

"Go dress, Mrs. Austin," Charrier said, picking up his phone. "I'll get you a cab."

*** 

Telling the truth and nothing but the truth is an iconic phenomenon in the moral landscape. It has this ring to it – like 'love conquers all' and 'all's well that ends well.' Instinctively, though, we often opt for the best alternative. 

"Why are you here?" Alec said, standing in the narrow hall, looking in. He wore a gray hoody and jeans; the hood covered his skull. His face was narrow and pale.

When Juliana arrived, he hadn't been there. She'd let herself into the apartment. It felt even smaller than she remembered. She took off her coat and walked over to the bedroom. Of course the dress they'd made her wear was tiny, tight and embarrassing; its skirt barely covered her crotch. It was signal red, the same color as her lips and nails, and the whorish heels she wore. A small red clutch contained make up, her apartment's keys and some money.

The bed was a mess. She straightened the sheets and blankets, picking up stray clothes. Then she opened her closet, taking out a long skirt and a sweater. After changing she walked back to the living room, never looking into a mirror. She sat down on the faux-leather couch, waiting. Her fingers traced the worn spots in the cushions.

She'd taken off her shoes, kicking them under the couch. Then she curled her legs under her.

After waiting for maybe half an hour she heard keys rattle in the door's lock. And now he looked at her from the hall.

"So you found time for hubby to fit in between tricks?" he went on. "They call it tricks, don't they?" Juliana rose from the couch, straightening her long skirt. The linoleum floor felt cold to her bare feet.

"Alec," she said while walking towards him. "We have to talk. You despise me, but things are not at as you think; not at all." She reached him and tried to touch his shoulder, but he retreated.

"Come here to lie?" he asked. "What do you think I am?" Juliana pulled back her hand.

"You are my husband," she said in a low voice. "The man I married and the man I love." He winced.

"Love?" he asked, spitting out the word. She nodded.

"Yes," she answered. "I did what I did because I love you more than I love myself." He laughed. Then a frown washed it away.

"Even more than sucking cocks?" She stepped back, blushing.

"I am sorry you saw that," she whispered. He laughed again; it sounded bitter.

"Sorry I saw?" he asked. "Not sorry you did?" She looked up and slowly shook her head no.

"Please sit down, Alec. Please."

Juliana walked back to the couch and sat down, again folding her legs under her and draping the skirt around them. Alec turned left and right, closing his hands into fists, shaking them in frustration. Then he followed her, taking the chair opposite from her; the only place left.

"I am sorry for everything, Alec, but I had no choice," Juliana started. He snorted; she held up her hand to stop his comment.

"I found you on the kitchen floor that day; I thought you were dead. The doctors said you had a stroke. You were in a coma. I waited all day in the hospital – alone. I called Aimée, but they were out of town. Then doctors said you would be okay. I was so relieved." She reached out to touch him; he pulled back his hand.

"Then the doctor showed me pictures from a scan. He said the bleeding would go away; it wasn't much. But there was more." She sat straighter, trying to breath easier.

"More," Alec said.

"Yes," Juliana went on. "There was a tumor – cancer." The word hung in the stifled air of the small room.

"Cancer," he echoed. All life had left his voice.

"A small tumor, yes," she said. "They said it might never bother you; or you might die from in a year." Juliana's fingers strangled the fabric of her skirt as she fumbled. She found his eyes and saw the panic. Reaching out she covered his hand with hers; he didn't pull out this time.

"They... ," she went on; then stopped and went on. "They said you should have an operation. They said the tumor should be removed now; later it might become impossible." She looked up from her hands.

"I had to decide," she said. "You were in a coma. I was all alone; there was no one to talk to." Another silence hung between them.

"So I told them to do it. I told the young doctor, Fleming. He said it was a dangerous operation. He said we should not have it done at the hospital; they were not good enough. There was this clinic with a surgeon who was the best. His name was Dr. Charrier; he is famous." Juliana stopped again; Alec kept his silence, but his eyes were everywhere. 

"There was a problem, though," she said, resuming her story.

Alec had to clear his throat before talking.

"What problem?" he asked. All his anger seemed to have evaporated.

"We only would be partly insured if I choose the hospital, where the operation would be cheaper, but risky. There would almost be no insurance at all if I choose the clinic; the amount was so big, Alec, it was ridiculous. Dr. Charrier showed me the bill when I visited his clinic. I told him it was out of the question: we could never pay that. Then he said that we could... that I could."

Juliana stopped. She looked up again to catch her husband's eyes. Her hands grabbed his. He tried to escape her gaze.

"So I did, Alec," she said. "You understand? I paid."

***



Juliana Ch. 12



They say there is no such thing as falling out of love. All it proves is that you were never in love to begin with. Maybe that's true. But maybe it's just wordplay. The pain can be real enough, though.



Alec Austin was like most men; he didn't want to really know the details. He knew he was cuckolded and it hurt, but so far that was mostly an abstract experience. As long as he didn't ask, awkward images of actual betrayal would not invade his mind. And he would not have to face the consequences really, would he?

But Alec Austin was like many men in other ways too. Seeing his wife suck cock was one thing. But that it had been in public and in his presence, was quite another. He had been there when she made the old man come under the eyes of other men that derided him. They knew that he knew his wife was a whore, and that is something no real man would accept, would he?

Now here she was, ready to tell him everything. Why had she come back at all? Did she want to gloat; first breaking his heart, then making him a fool in front of others and then returning home to rub it in?

"I don't want to know," he said, his voice thick. His answer shocked Juliana. He didn't want to know? But he had to.

"You have to know," Juliana said. "This isn't about me, it is about you. You are alive because of what I agreed to do – and did. I had no choice; I did it for you." She saw his eyes fill with tears. She rose and hugged him, sitting down on his lap. He smelled of a lack of washing.

"I know it hurts," she whispered. "It hurt me too. It still hurts." She kissed his tear-streaked cheeks; he didn't respond. Then he pushed her off his lap, making her slide to the floor.

"I can't," he said. "I'm out." And he left, closing the door with a bang.

Juliana hugged herself on the floor.

She wasn't hungry. She made some tea and went to bed in her old, long flannel nightgown. She felt abandoned – it was an old feeling returning. Darkness crept into the room. On the opposite wall she could still discern a small reproduction of the famous Wyeth painting: a girl lying in a meadow looking up to an old farm. They'd found it at a thrift shop. She remembered the thrill of that moment.

Juliana switched on the small reading light on her bed stand. Hugging her tea glass while taking tiny sips, she let her thoughts roam. So Alec didn't want to know what she did. Did she want to tell him – about everything she did and to whom? Not really. Her upbringing hadn't exactly instilled the urge to share feelings. It had been hard enough to even have feelings, let alone talk about them – as far as anyone was interested to anyway.

But things had changed; the villa opened her to emotions. She'd been forced to have them. Could she live with Alec again and not share what she'd experienced – and how she felt about that? She would become a stranger to her husband, a stranger in her own life if she couldn't share. She might as well not be with him at all. Which brought another question: did she want to stay with him? She ducked the thought.

Who else could she tell? Aimée? Never. Aimée would be enraged. She'd stop Juliana from going back and instead urge her to go to the police. Did she want to go there? Was it worth the hassle and the embarrassment? Was there even a crime? The doctors were highly regarded; they were rich and would pay for the best lawyers, and who was she? Wasn't it just her word against theirs? Ellis wouldn't testify and endanger her deal, nor would the others. No, she would just end up with a ruined reputation and a crazy bill to pay. Juliana sighed and sipped her tea. She'd be on her own.

What about Alec? Would he come back at all before tomorrow? Where was he anyway? Did she care? She got up from the bed and, wrapping herself in the blanket, she started walking around the apartment, drinking her tea. Her new eyes didn't see what her old ones had ¬– not the pride and the warmth; the freedom of having their small but first and very own place. What she saw were old damp spots on the ceiling; the mishmash of furniture, the tiny kitchen – a bathroom with a leaking shower. Why couldn't she still see it like she did before, like they both used to? Had she been spoilt? 

Juliana didn't really care for the posh luxury of the villa. She'd loved the big bathroom and having her food served, the massages too, but that wasn't what she missed now. She knew what she missed: it wasn't the apartment as such; it was how she felt about it. It wasn't their apartment anymore – it had become just another place, and a poor one at that. She remembered how it had been us and we and ours. She recalled the thrilling excitement of finding it, the pride of being able to pay for it, the sweet process of filling it with their very own discoveries. She still knew every little story behind every piece they found, but the magic seemed to have left them – they were just... things now. Her eyes only saw the outside anymore – slightly shabby, very cheap, and nothing special at all.

She cried; it felt like mourning. Juliana returned to the bed. After a while she pulled off her nightgown and rolled into a naked ball.

She must have fallen asleep eventually; a sliver of light woke her. The room was dark. She saw the silhouette of someone against the half-open door. She sat up in panic.

"It's just me," a voice said. It was Alec's. He stood on one leg, pulling off his jeans. She smelled alcohol. When he slid behind her in the narrow bed, his skin felt cold against hers.

"I'm sorry," he said. She wondered what he meant – sorry for being cold, being drunk, or being late. "Sorry that I ran off and left you like that." 

Juliana's heart skipped a beat. She pushed her back into his body. He draped a cold arm over her shoulder. She kissed his hand.

"I'm sorry too," she whispered. "For dumping it on you like I did. It must have hurt you." 

She felt his crotch against her ass cheek; his penis was soft, but it stirred. Juliana took his fingers and sucked on them. Remnants of old, save feelings returned.

"What did they make you do?" he asked, sending a waft of alcohol with the question. His penis seemed to grow. A wave of sadness hit her.

"Do you really want to know?" she asked. He pushed harder into her skin. One cold hand cupped her breast.

"You are my wife," he said. "I have a right to know."

Juliana rolled away from her husband, shaking off his hand. She sat up, looking down into his face.

"Alec Austin," she said. "Do you love me?" There was silence for quite a few seconds.

"What – what do you mean?" he then said. "Of course I love you. What kind of question is this? Didn't I marry you, for God's sake?" Juliana lay back down.

"Show me," she said. There was another long silence.

"What do you mean?" he asked again. Juliana sighed.

"Never mind," she said. 

Her hand went for his crotch, her fingers wrapping around his soft penis. She started rubbing it. He pulled in a sharp breath.

"Kiss me," she said. She knew he kissed all right, but somehow he'd mostly reserved that for making out sessions in the car or at the doorstep, back when they still dated. He hardly ever kissed anymore when they were in bed making love as a married couple.

His mouth came closer and with it the smell of alcohol. It seemed less; maybe she got used to it.

She allowed his tongue in; then she retaliated with hers – greedily. She'd never kissed him like this. Soon she was on top of him. Sliding down she left his mouth and started sucking on his nipples. His body stiffened; she also felt his penis swell. By the time her mouth reached his cock it was hard. When her tongue licked its exposed glans, he groaned and panted – his hands clawing into her skull.

"Oh God, Jules... what are you doing?" His voice was high and breathy.

Before Juliana could sink her lips over his stem, hot sperm shot across her tongue. His cock pulsed and pulsed until the semen ran from the corners of her mouth. She swallowed it and cleaned her lips and chin with the palm of her hand.

"That's quick," she said.

Alec didn't answer. He just lay panting.

"Are you all right?" she asked after a minute.

"Oh God," he sighed; his voice still trembled. Juliana sank back on her pillow, staring up into the darkness.

"Is that... is that what you do for the money?" he asked. She chuckled.

"If that was all I do, I'd have to stay for another year," she said. He didn't answer for a bit. Then he said:

"But you are back now, aren't you?"

It was Juliana's turn to be quiet.

"No," she then said, softly. "I have to be back tomorrow." The silence was really long after that.

The next morning Juliana woke up before Alec. Her back was sweaty from being close to his body. She slid out from under the covers, picking up her ankle-long nightgown. Alec woke.

"Stay with me," he said.

"I have to go pee," she answered. He sat up on his elbows.

"I mean: stay," he said. "Don't leave." She turned around, watching him.

"I can't," she said. "They'll ruin us."

"Maybe the bill is a fake – just a trick?"

Juliana walked over to his side of the bed, sitting down. She watched his skull, tracing the scar. Dark stubbles had grown back to make it less visible.

"This is real enough," she said. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Stay," he said. Juliana retracted her hand and walked off to the bathroom. 

Sitting down on the toilet she considered the jumble of her thoughts. What would happen if she stayed and ignored what Charrier said? Would the deal hold up if she went to a lawyer? Could they ever pay a lawyer? The bill was real; she'd seen it and she'd signed it. There was nothing about the bill that suggested blackmail or in-kind payment. There wasn't even proof of the amount she'd paid off already. Would there ever be? Had she been stupid as well as desperate when she signed? Did she have a choice? Did she want to have a choice?

Juliana knew she wasn't honest. She wasn't really looking for reasons to stay. She just needed reasons to live with a decision she'd already made. All she did was building a construction to prove the impossibility of not returning to the villa. 

She didn't want to stay. When she thought of the apartment, her dreary jobs and her life with Alec, a dark melancholy descended on her. She'd turned a corner and it had changed her view of Alec. It had changed Alec too. 

Her abuse aroused him. Was there really much difference anymore between fucking him and doing clients? Except that he was very clumsy at it? Juliana leant forward. She rested her elbows on her knees and held her face in her hands.

"Juliana?" His voice came through the closed door. She sighed.

When she came back into the bedroom, Alec lay on top of the blankets. He was naked; his erect penis rose from his crotch. She looked at his flushed face and back to his cock. His fist was wrapped around it. 

"Say it," she said.

"Please," he begged.

Juliana shrugged and went down on her knees. She took his penis and ran her tongue from his balls to the ridge of the head. She felt him shiver.

Within minutes it was over. She swallowed his sperm and licked him clean. Then she rose. Walking over to the closet she took off the nightgown. Feeling his eyes on her, she slipped on the tiny red thong, the tight dress and her towering heels. She looked into the mirror of her compact, restoring her make up and painting her lips. Then she picked up the coat and her purse. She took the reproduction off the wall.

"Bye, Alec," she said. He scrambled to get off the bed, but she already closed the front door. 

"Whore!" she heard him yell as she walked down the stairs. She still tasted his sperm when she got into the cab.

*** 

Six months may seem a never-ending stretch of time when seen in front – a mountain of days, an ocean of weeks. And yet the same six months may feel like nothing afterwards – a mere sigh, a handful of heartbeats.

Juliana Austin churned her ass into the soft, warm flesh of her man's crotch. Sipping fruit juice through a straw, she leant into his padded chest and belly, humming. Seen through dark glasses the sun sparkled on the deep blue surface of a swimming pool. She looked up to see the violet sky. Then she tilted her head backwards, smiling. She planted a sticky fruit kiss on the man's cheek.

"When did you know for sure?" he asked. Juliana chuckled.

"I've always known, big boy," she said, caressing his face. He frowned.

"I'm not a client," he growled. "The truth will do."

Juliana took another sip. She laughed.

"Oh my, the truuuth... , really?" she said, letting the last word dangle amongst twittering birds and chirping crickets. Her nostrils flared as she took in the scent of pine trees – ah, la Méditerranée.

"The truth is... ," she started, teasing him with another pause as her fingers picked an ice cube from the glass. She sucked on it. A slap rang around the terrace as his hand hit her thigh. She squealed, dropping the cube into the V of her hairless crotch.

Juliana planted another kiss on his cheek.

"Sorry, Daddy," she said, her lips pouting and her voice in girlie mode. "I was still a very little girl back then, remember? I knew nothing." She kissed him again and repeated: "nuffing!" Then she opened her thighs and let the melting cube slide onto his naked, fleshy crotch.

Eugene Charrier pushed her off his lap with a growl. She giggled, running around the pool on wet slapping feet, her tiny tits dancing. He did a few steps in fake pursuit, his pink flesh bouncing. A wet splash echoed against the white walls of the house; another, much louder one followed.

Juliana moved her slim, strong body through the pool, circling the pink buoy that was a renowned neurosurgeon in another world. She splashed hands full of sparkling water on his bobbing mass, dashing off whenever he tried to grab her.

Minutes later Juliana decided to slow down enough to be caught. Together they drifted off to the side, where they hooked their arms around a metal bar. It allowed them to float, face up.

"Tell me," he said.

Juliana enjoyed the lapping of wavelets against her tanned body. Her brain, although empty of any thought, was filled with soundless music. Was this happiness? Why not? Who said bad people couldn't be happy? She grinned; he didn't.

"Was it when you returned?" he asked.

Juliana shook her head, making the wet hair fly. Hot water left her ears, where it had muffled her hearing.

"No," she said.

"Earlier?" he asked. She giggled.

"Much earlier!" she said, slapping the water with her flat palm to make it splash in colored rainbows.

He turned on his side, freeing one arm. He pushed his hand between her floating legs and grabbed her slippery vagina. She moaned.

"Tell me," he said, squeezing.

Juliana pushed her crotch up against his grip, undulating her hips.

"I love you," she said, turning her head to catch his eyes with hers. "Isn't that enough?"

His face moved closer and they kissed, the wet, open lips slipping and sliding. The both of them gasped when they let go.

"But why?" he asked. She frowned.

"Don't be such a man," she said. "Does there have to be a why?" She slid out of his embrace and swam off, stopping at the other side of the pool. There she turned around.

"I am old and fat and useless!" he called after her, slapping his belly. "You are young and beautiful; and the most perfect lover. So I have to know!"

Juliana returned with slow, lazy strokes; she treaded water right in front of him.

"For a neurosurgeon you can be quite stupid, Eugene Charrier," she said, smiling to neutralize the offense. "I could as well say that I am an ignorant hillbilly with tits smaller than yours." She grabbed her modest breasts in both hands, making the long nipples slide through her wet fingers. "So how did these two losers get together?" she finished.

Charrier chuckled. Was he happy? Oh yes. Did he believe her?

*** 

They sat at a small table on the terrace. Evening fell, cooling down the day's heat. A lazy moon sailed away from the setting sun, and one lonely star blinked at the horizon. It greeted the single candle on the table.

John planted a bottle of cava in its bed of ice, after filling their glasses.

"Bon appétit," he said, and retreated. They lifted their glasses in a mute toast and sipped from the sparkling wine.

"Are you happy?" the big man asked, sitting in his bathrobe on a rickety chair. Juliana smiled as she sat up straighter in her white one-piece bathing suit that contrasted lovely with her glowing tan. Wrapped around it was a diaphanous sarong. She picked up an oyster shell and moved it to his mouth. He opened up and received the slithering gift.

"I am the happiest girl in the world," she said. "Didn't you know?" She let her fingers follow the salty delicacy. He sucked on them.

"Will you see him at the signing, next week?" he asked when she let go. She frowned.

"Not now, Eugene," she said. "Don't spoil this wonderful moment."

She smiled and offered him a second oyster.

*** 

"Juliana?"

Charrier lay naked on the big round bed – a huge pink whale in a sea of white silk.

"Just a minute," Juliana answered from the bathroom.

"Don't make me wait," the man on the bed said, pouting. All he got in response was a giggle.

The door opened. Juliana wore a black bra and a thong of the same color. The bra wasn't just a bra, but an intricate construction of leather straps and laces. It only framed her breasts, leaving the nipples exposed. The thong had a similar construction, but where her vagina would be exposed, a fat black dildo jutted out. It bounced in front of her as she took slow, sexy steps in her high-heeled sandals.

"Je te plais, chéri?" she asked. "Do I please you?" Eugene had taught her a bit of French; it aroused him, he said. She used it with her clients too.

"Ah, mon Dieu," he sighed, folding both hands behind his head and pulling up his knees. "Viens, viens, petite. Vit alors, ne me fait attendre. Don't make me wait."

Juliana walked to the bed, smiling a dazzling smile, framed in blood-red lipstick. She felt the inside knob of the dildo rub against her clitoris with every step she took. Finally her shins touched the bed. She stopped, standing straight. His raised legs were two thick, hairless columns, guarding an equally hairless crotch. Rolls of tightly packed flesh covered his belly and hips, creating folds and crevices where his penis was meant to show. She knew it was there, tiny and sweet, resting with baby-like innocence on a velvety ball sac.

She looked up to meet his eyes. They remembered her of his earlier questions: when she first felt love for him. Juliana recalled the exact moment, in her bathroom at the villa – Mei had been there with her, and Dr. Charrier. Was it the second or third day of her stay? Mei shaved her vagina while Juliana was still wet from her bath. Charrier sat on a low stool in front of her, watching, only wearing a robe. And when she looked at him, she saw his face had turned into that of a boy – a huge little, eager, adorable, oversized, blushing boy.

She smiled, seeing the same face now. It probably was the sudden contrast that had touched her back then; a brilliant, successful, self-assured man that held her fate in his hands, reduced to a vulnerable teenager, begging for attention and... love?

Back then, in the luxurious bathroom, Juliana had been puzzled. She'd been sure she loved Alec, her husband – at least that was how she called her feelings. Until what happened to her at the villa she'd thought love was an exciting way to escape. But after she escaped it had turned into duty, wrapped in romance. It had become an under current of practical life; soon a condition to be taken granted. It had been a calm, save pathway into a predictable future.




Juliana Ch. 12



And then Hell had broken loose.

This new strange and sudden feeling for the big bad doctor was a conditioned revelation, embedded in fear, dampened by reservation. It was also taboo, popping up like a burning coal in a bucket of ice. During her first stay at the villa, amidst storms of emotions and radical experiences, she heard it sizzle and felt its glow spreading. She couldn't believe it; she didn't want to believe it.

When she returned from her disastrous night with Alec, Dr. Charrier had been waiting at the door of the villa, surprising her. She wondered why he was there; he was a busy man. But he had rushed over to her, locking her in a bearlike embrace that muffled the beat of her racing heart.

"You returned," he said. "You are back."

Juliana looked up, seeing frowned eyebrows in the concerned face of a boy. And the glow returned inside her, burning its way straight through the ice. A storm of feelings overwhelmed her. It could hardly be love, could it? Motherly love, maybe, the urge to protect. 

It was silly, she knew – she, Juliana Austin, the captive whore slave protecting her master? Still, there was a sudden exhilaration – was it happiness? But there was also a darker tinge, a sense of... power – was it control?

Leaning into the mighty embrace of her warden, standing there at the entrance to her prison she felt herself growing bigger, until she loomed over his shrinking presence.

"Yes, Eugene," she whispered, establishing her new position. "Yes, of course I'm back." And they kissed.

Now she was here, ready to once more play their topsy-turvy game of power. Not a game, really, but a serious, secret dance denying the charade of their public life. No one knew how she catered to his hidden urges, except for John, maybe. At the villa she stayed the submissive girl, servicing clients, guests and friends, dressing sexy and undressing fast. Charrier often watched. He'd shown her his secret closets and hidden peepholes, but he just as often was present in person, urging on his pets and their guests. He kept renting Juliana out for weekends, parties and once even for a week long vacation on a yacht. She took the regular humiliations gladly; she was a content slave to her body's greedy needs – an enthusiastic apprentice at the school of deprivation.

But this, in the end, was what she came to live for: mothering her big boy, controlling him by making him loose control. As she was on the brink of doing now...

"Come to mommy, baby," she said in a low, sweet voice, gripping the big black snake. "Suck her cock and make it ready for your tight, hungry pussy."

*** 

Juliana never left the villa again. Her divorce from Alec Austin was quick and painless; a bill was torn up and a sum of money changed hands. She knew she'd meet him at the signing of the papers and she dressed outrageously. He brought a girl, young, but quite slutty. After signing, Juliana walked over, extending her hand. He ignored it. She shrugged.

Juliana's peculiar relation with the neurosurgeon who saved her ex-husband's life became gradually closer. Charrier's flippant decision to make Juliana his whore had proved to be the start of something bigger than him – or her, as a matter of fact. They took more and more time off to be together in secrecy. In the end it all led to an evening on the island of St. Kitts when, after a private dinner, Eugene Charrier went down on one knee, presenting her a long black box. She opened it to find a huge black dildo on purple satin. Stuck to its shining head was a diamond ring. She looked up, meeting his eyes; thaey once more belonged to her little boy.

"Mrs. Austin," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "will you become my husband?"

Their marriage was a huge occasion held at an ancient villa in Tuscany. Charrier wore a white tuxedo and Juliana's lithe body was tightly tubed in a white mini dress. People agreed they were an odd couple – the mighty old elephant marrying a sweet little mouse. But they also agreed that the couple's love shone through every glance and movement.

Juliana never stopped performing for her husband, and in the privacy of their bedroom they never stopped turning their world upside down.

Then it all came to a sudden halt.

Ten years into their marriage, Eugene Charrier suffered a massive stroke. It was painfully ironic to see the mighty surgeon slain by an enemy he'd fought his whole life – often successfully. But now he just lay there defeated and in a coma, looking large and pink in the whiteness of his hospital bed. All around him cheerfully beeping machines kept him alive for yet a little while.

Juliana Charrier again watched an unconscious husband, but this time she knew he was dying. She pondered the kind of man he'd been. Juliana loved him, but she never fooled herself. He wasn't a good man, Eugene Charrier. Feeling inadequate to find a normal relation, he had used his talents and his position to force women into a life of prostitution, using their despair to make money out of. But most of all: to make them fulfill his frustrated fantasies. 

She knew that morally he was a bad person, but then again, how much of a moral person was she? Maybe there had been too much morality in her youth to accept it as a blockade on her way to what she wanted. 

Juliana felt sad after Charrier left her, but she knew she wouldn't be alone. She had friends.

Ellis McCormick still regularly visited the villa to service clients – no longer for the money as the medicine for her mother kept being miraculously paid for after Juliana married Charrier. She came for the pleasure, and for meeting a good friend.

Selena Smith, the butterscotch beauty, never stopped either, when Charrier started paying her child's medicine. Now she used the money she made to get herself through college.

Melinda Carter – or Melinda Melon as her stage name was – had reached FF status by now. Juliana decided that the girl could very well keep paying her way into balloon-hood.

Dr. Charrier left her a wealthy widow. She sold the clinic to Fleming and moved to Florida, where she shared a large house with Aimée and Jack, who'd retired. She never remarried. She also never told Aimée about the sunny penthouse she bought in nearby Jacksonville – and the purpose she bought it for. Finally, how could she deny her and her friends' bodies the pleasures they had gotten so fondly used to?



THE END