Meanwhile, a new village was forming that would also be making unreasonable demands upon my time (and dignity).
The following Monday evening, I met Paul Betz at O'Riordans again to finalize the schedule of my impending, part time servitude to him and Anna. Given Luke's and Brooke's schedules (she was still waitressing at the restaurant three to four days a week at this point), it was decided that every Thursday afternoon I would present myself at their condo with a specific set of cleaning supplies and then clean it from top to bottom. I would be expected to wash and fold their laundry for the week as well. We also decided that the third Tuesday of each month would be the target date for me to spend a minimum of four hours at their apartment preparing and serving them dinner and completing any other miscellaneous chores I was assigned. Paul brought along some clothes of his and Anna's for me to take to the dry cleaners that afternoon. I was to pick up the clothes and bring them on Thursday when I showed up to clean for the first time.
It was left unsaid but was understood that I would be responsible for paying for the cleaning supplies and dry cleaning (and, later, for the food I prepared for them and their friends). That this was primarily another form of control and domination became clear when I showed up at their condo for the first time. At 2300 square feet (considerably larger than Brooke's and my house), the condo was in a luxury high rise building that had been built a few years earlier in the town adjacent to the college. It was without question the most upscale residential building in the area with a large inground pool and gym on the third floor. I learned that Paul was a trust fund kid from an affluent family in northern New Jersey. Anna was also the product of a privileged upbringing and clearly fancied herself a princess. Paul's parents had purchased him the condo as well as his BMW. So they didn't need me to buy them anything; in fact, the financial sacrifices I made to do so, while not huge, were clearly noticeable on my professor's salary. I was a serf paying tithes to my feudal lord and lady. And like the budding Medieval literature scholars they were, that's exactly how they referred to me (at least some of the time).
My servitude to Paul and Anna was qualitatively different than my servitude to Brooke and Luke. For one thing, it was the first time that my subjugation was involuntary. I suppose one could argue that I was so in thrall to Brooke that my servitude to her -- and, by extension, to Luke -- was not entirely voluntary either. But, in fact, it was. As Brooke made clear, not following through on my vow of being willing to subjugate myself to her lover would result in me losing her, but that was still my decision to make (unthinkable as it may be). By contrast, I was being blackmailed by Paul. Failure to comply with his demands could very well result in me losing my job, not to mention in widespread public exposure, and ridicule. Those aspects ultimately proved to be academic (no pun intended), as you will learn, but I did not know that at the time, and they were powerful motivators in my early capitulation.
Another way it was different is that it did not involve the direct participation of Brooke. And while Anna certainly made her presence known to me -- in ways that were routinely humiliating and often painful -- it was Paul who really pulled my strings. So, although Luke was clearly my primary master, he held that position by virtue of his hold over Brooke. By contrast, Paul's mastery of me was a more straightforward affair.
Our relationship was different for Paul and Anna as well. The other three submissives in their stable (all of whom I was eventually to meet and serve alongside at various times) were their contemporaries. As Paul pointed out at our initial meeting at the pub, I was old enough to be their father. The fact that they had an older authority figure under their thumbs, or to be more accurate, under their feet, was an endless source of amusement to them. This was reflected in some of their many nicknames for me: old man, professor page boy, professor serf, professor pantyboy, Dr. Deviant, professor pet, professor maid, Dr. Cuck, the old loser, etc. Another distinction was that their relationships with their other submissives were more or less consensual, I believe -- closer in nature to my relationship with Brooke and Luke. They were driven by sexual obsession, masochism or possibly even some twisted form of love (or some combination of the above) on the part of their supplicants. And by what on the part of Paul and Anna? Sadism? Entertainment? Brooke would probably say they were driven by their love of the game. As an inveterate masochist, it was difficult for me to get into their heads. In any case, I was somewhat of an experiment for the young sadists; perhaps they had concluded that some form of coercion was required to ensnare the older victim they coveted.
When the doorman asked me my name that Thursday afternoon during the third week of November when I first showed up at their condo in my jeans and L.L. Bean jacket, mop and bucket in hand, I answered simply, "Walter."
"Walter who?"
"Just Walter, please."
"Mr. Betz, a Walter to see you. He doesn't want to give his last name."
The doorman was a skinny guy, roughly my age, dressed in a traditional doorman's uniform such as one would routinely see on the Upper East Side of Manhattan (which somehow seemed a little absurd to me in a small city in Ohio, but Neil would probably say that observation was yet another manifestation of my elitism).
He smirked at me. "He said you must be the new maid. He said in the future that you should announce yourself that way -- the maid -- to avoid any confusion. Apartment 11B. The elevator is around the corner." He spoke in a dismissive tone, thus establishing the hierarchy of servants in the building.
When I rang the doorbell to 11B, Paul answered it. He was dressed in a T-shirt, sweatpants and sweatsocks.
Would this be the point when Paul said, "Hi Professor Rollins This is all just an elaborate practical joke. Thanks for being such a good sport about it. Welcome to our home. Let me get you a drink.", or something to that effect? Not that I really thought that was likely, but I did allow myself to hope momentarily.
Those hopes were quickly dashed when Paul said, Get on your knees."
I looked at him, unbelieving, and said, "Out here? In the hall?"
"Yes, out here. I expect you to be waiting on your knees every time you come here until we open the door. You might consider getting yourself some kneepads, since you're going to be spending a lot of time on your knees when you're here."
"But what if one of your neighbors sees me?", I said, looking around the hallway apprehensively.
"How do you address me? That's twice you've fucked up already."
"Sorry, sir. But what if your neighbors see me, sir?"
"That's really not my concern. But you shouldn't worry too much about it. We only have two neighbors on this floor and, believe me, they've seen a lot more memorable things than someone kneeling at our doorway. They're cool with it. And none of them have any connection to the college. At least none that I'm aware of."
I dropped to my knees and looked up at him, now perversely hoping that he would admit me into the apartment as quickly as possible.
"You may enter. Shuffle on your knees." I did as he commanded. He then inspected the contents of my bucket: Murphy's Oil Soap, Lysol All Purpose Cleaner, scrubbing brushes, sponges. "Everything seems to be here. Where are our dry cleaned clothes?"
"In my car, sir. I didn't want to wrinkle them, sir, with my hands full. Shall I get them now, sir?"
"No, you can get them later. Now stand up and strip."
