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."
Incredibly ashamed, I removed all of my clothes but for my sheer white panties, the metal of my chastity cage clearly visible beneath the delicate fabric. At that moment, Anna came down the stairs of what was obviously a duplex condo.
"Fancy meeting you here, Professor Rollins!", she giggled.
My cock throbbed uncomfortably in its cage. How could something so incomprehensibly humiliating -- standing in skimpy female undergarments and a chastity device, in a position of utter powerlessness, before two of my students -- be arousing? Yet it undoubtedly was, and the shame of it brought tears to my eyes.
Anna was dressed similarly to Paul except she was wearing tight, black yoga pants as opposed to his loose fitting sweatpants. About 5' 8" tall with what I could see was a slender, athletic build, she had straight, long blonde hair. I later learned that she was co-captain of our college's women's volleyball team. In class I had noticed that she was attractive, of course, but I had never really taken stock of her until that moment. Since Brooke had entered my life, I had quite consciously paid less attention to the attractive students in my classes; why did I need to fantasize about any of them when I was married to my dreamgirl? However, as I regarded Anna that afternoon, it was clear that she was a quite lovely, sexy, young woman. I would soon come to learn that she had the imperious sneer and contemptuous smile down pat. Perhaps these qualities were not attractive to everyone, but to a masochistic male such as myself, they were quite alluring. I had to reluctantly admit that she and Paul made a remarkably attractive couple. A quite formidable one too, especially when it came to tormenting people with submissive natures. People like me.
For my book, I had been researching a fetish, sort of an offshoot or variation of the cuckold fetish, that had been rapidly growing in popularity recently in online forums and on social media: submissive men in service to "alpha couples," who were typically young, attractive, athletic and dominant. Characteristically, the physically inferior, submissive male in such a relationship suffers from unrequited love for the female member of the couple, his "crush," and simply accepts that a more deserving rival is worthy of her affections. This acceptance may happen after he is dumped by her (usually before the passive creature even makes it to first base), but just as frequently she makes it crystal clear from the very start of their relationship that he will never be more than her friend (or even her simp). It then becomes his duty to serve not only the object of his unrequited affection but to also serve the man whose affections she does return. Sometimes the rejected "beta male" is kept around by the woman in "the friendzone," almost like a neutered pet whose presence is tolerated by the alpha male because he so obviously represents no threat. At the other extreme, the rejected male becomes a virtual slave to the couple, performing demeaning chores for them or even buying things for them in a form of financial servitude. Interestingly, in these extreme cases, the beta male sometimes develops a worshipful sexual attraction to the alpha male as well; surely the physical attributes that win the heart, and bed, of his beloved are worthy of his desire, too? And not only the physical attributes. Also the alpha male's confidence, his dominance, perhaps even his cruelty. Usually such relationships fall somewhere between these two ends of the spectrum. However, as you can see, many similarities to the chivalric love triangle and to certain types of cuckolding relationships.
Well, Paul and Anna were right out of central casting for the types of alpha couples I had been reading so much about. In fact, I later discovered that two of the other submissives in their stable almost precisely fit the description I just gave of servants to such couples. One was a young man, Issac, who was hopelessly in love with Anna but who had grown quite abjectly devoted to Paul as well. The other was more unusual, a female "friendzoned" by Paul, who had quite enthusiastically embraced her role as Anna's lackey and doormat. This individual, Cindy, was a variant of a submissive cuckquean. Issac and Cindy differed from true cuckolds and true cuckqueans in that they had never had a sexual relationship with their beloved to begin with. In that way, one could argue that they were even more pathetic than I was. Never fear, Paul and Anna found creative ways of making me feel inferior to them as well.
"Well, aren't you going to say hello?", asked Anna.
"It's just that I don't know how to address you, miss."
"Outside of the classroom, you may address me as Princess Anna or simply as princess. Kneel before your princess and kiss my foot, professor."
I got back down in my knees, bent over and kissed her right foot through her sock.
"Now the other one."
"Yes, princess."
After I planted a kiss on her left foot, Anna said, "What about the feet of your prince?"
