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 beseen.

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.

***