Miss Baxter's Girls Book 1: Julie the Pianist

I’m lying supine on the massage table again. This time there’s a sheet between me and its vinyl-clad surface—to keep my bare flesh from sticking, I suppose.

“Are you ready, Julie?”

I raise my gaze to her, this amazing woman who has opened my eyes to so many things, challenged me in so many ways in the year since my arrival. “Yes, Miss Baxter.”

“Before we begin, Julie, I’d like you to tell me your safe word one more time, please.”

“Yes, Miss Baxter. It’s peaches.”

“Ah, peaches.” Miss Baxter reaches out to cup my cheek in her hand. “Fitting. Juicy and ripe. And so very sweet.”

I smile and turn my head just a bit to more easily rub against the tender warmth of her fingers. “Yes, Miss Baxter, that’s what you always say.”

I watch the corners of Miss Baxter’s mouth turn down ever so slightly. The change was almost imperceptible, and probably would have been overlooked by most people, but this was not my first session with Miss Baxter. I knew I had done something wrong. I was still searching my mind as to what it might be when I felt the familiar leather of the riding crop lightly touching the inside of my bare thigh.

“I don’t recall asking you a question, Julie.”

I almost say “No, Miss Baxter,” but stop myself when I realize that she still hasn’t asked me a question—that she was just testing me again. Instead, I hold my lower lip between my teeth and shiver as I feel the crop sliding slowly over my tender skin.

There would be a price to pay for my mistake—a small price, for it was a small mistake, and Miss Baxter was nothing if not fair—but a price nonetheless. That’s what I loved about Miss Baxter and that’s why I had let her strap me to this table in her extra-curricular room, as she calls it.

I draw a breath and hold it as I wait for the inevitable. I know it’s going to sting, but I also know that I will welcome it in my own way. Being here was my idea after all. My reward for another week well done. I smile and think about that as I wait.

“Have you been having naughty thoughts again, Julie?”

“Yes, Miss Baxter.”

“Tell me all about it, dear.”

* * * *

I remember the day that I stood on the front porch of Miss Baxter’s boarding house with nothing more than a duffle bag slung over my shoulder, and very few alternatives if things didn’t work out. I pressed the bell and waited. A short time later I was greeted by a stunning middle-aged woman, perfectly coiffed and elegantly dressed in a dark trouser suit and heels. Her warm smile had a way of putting me at ease.

“You must be Julie, my pianist,” she said as she offered her hand.

I was a little surprised by her way of addressing me. I vaguely remember listing piano as one of my talents on her application, but it was mostly as an afterthought, something to avoid leaving too many things unanswered. There were a lot of odd little questions like that, and I hardly thought it would be the first thing she brought up.

“Um, yeah, I guess.”

That was the first time I saw that tiny downturn of Miss Baxter’s mouth that was the closest thing to any indication of her displeasure.

“Julie, my dear, I have three rules here at my boarding house. First, as stated on your application, no drugs or alcohol of any kind. Second, I ask that my girls take the utmost pride in themselves and their talents. This means responding with confidence and surety when someone asks you about something you are proficient in, like your piano playing.”

She’s really taking this piano thing a bit far,I thought. Sure, Mom and Dad had sent me to lessons for years, but regular practicing was certainly never on my list of priorities.

“And third, I ask that you always try your very best in everything you do. That’s all really. If these rules are something you think you can aspire to, then please come in and make yourself at home.”

“Okay,” I said.

“And Julie, you may address me as Miss Baxter in your responses. Not one of my rules, only a little courtesy that I ask. Will you be alright with that?”

“Yes, Miss Baxter.”

“Good girl.” She laid a finger aside my cheek. “I’ll take you to your room. Once you’re settled in, I’ll show you to the piano so that you may practice a bit before your performance this evening. Have you decided what it is you’ll be playing for us?”

“Um…” I shivered a little. Something about her touch threw me off and I missed about half of what she said. This evening? Performance? Me? I don’t remember ever agreeing to anything like that.