The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1. Emanuel J.
came the quiet, the moment he had longed for. She let her hand sink to her side and he heard her voice through his light-headed world of pain. “When you beg for mercy, it gets worse. Remember that! And maybe someday you'll realize that I'm not asking you to do anything that can't be done. Now you may thank me.”
He was still lying on the table, abject and mistreated, and it was hard for him to form his sobs into words, “I thank you for the punishment, my mistress,” and suddenly more words appeared to him, how easily they came from his lips, with no effort or thinking required: “And I thank you for letting me be your slave. I love you, my lady...”
Isabel's voice sounded astonished, “Strange. The more you humiliate him and let him suffer, the more he eats out of your hand.”
A smile permeated in Franziska's voice, “That's just the way it is with submissive people. That's what the good Lord or whoever has given us for the taking.
Confession
At the weekend Franziska had a friend visiting, who was staying with her for two nights. Some acquaintances also came by, so it was too busy at their place for a slave. And, indeed, no time for Daniel. The two were probably inseparable for Franziska anyway. He saw her only as mistress, if he was honest. Nevertheless, it was a little galling to be so obviously reduced to this one role and not to be allowed to keep them company while chatting and joking with the visitors. Well, if he’d been more sociable. It would have been nice to be given the benefit of the doubt, at least. He wasn't a party animal; he was a little shy. Perhaps it was better to be able to stay home alone and finally get back to writing, for example. But once again he couldn't think of anything, not even his beloved Simone, who experienced highly charming adventures in a whole series of short stories.
Longingly the thoughts wandered to his two mistresses, who were no longer his mistresses and became more distant with every passing minute, as far away from him as if they lived on another continent. He wondered if they'd ever accept him again. That Saturday night, he doubted it. Presumably it was the end, the charming game that hadn't been a game at all, but (according to Isabel's interpretation), the unveiling of the unadulterated and real social mechanism that otherwise remained hidden under the veneer of civilization. But he could not complain, because it had given him such intense and glorious feelings, which he would cherish in his memory... It cannot be denied that Daniel sometimes tended to feel sorry for himself.
He surfed the Internet for a while, but avoided “his” forum and the pictures with the tied up and abused slaves, because that would only have awakened unfulfilled longings. Pictures of male slaves, which also existed in reasonable quantities on the Internet, did not appeal to him, he found them somehow unaesthetic. This distaste did not extend to men in general, especially not to men in the dominant role, which he found fitting and thus most appealing. In some of his fantasies he had already served a man in a very humble way... His thinking on the subject was rather confused, but that was not exactly a new insight. Far after midnight, the whiskey bottle was half empty and he could sleep like a rock, ridding himself of anxiety for a few hours, for a few hours. On Sunday afternoon Sascha, a friend of his, came by. His only friend. He was a little smaller than Daniel and very good looking, slim, athletic, dark hair, three-day beard, he was a man for mothers-in-law and daughters simultaneous, who could equally have modelled in fashion shows or for cheap whiskey advertisements. They listened to some jazz that Sascha had brought with him, and in the evening, when darkness settled over the rainy day, there was spaghetti carbonara. They talked about music, politics and football, but not about themselves and their lives. This was nothing out of the ordinary, they never did, men who preferred to sweep their problems under the rug, rather than deal with them. But it would also have been impossible to tell Sascha about the events of the last days, because he, the musician, was also a member of the normal world, which could not countenance any hint of a man’s submission to a woman, this being “unmanly”. One should be ashamed of such things, no matter how enjoyable, one should never admit to them. As they settled into the evening, Daniel produced the half full whiskey bottle. And they started to drink. And when the bottle was almost empty, late in the evening, the fragrant alcohol loosened their inhibitions.
“How's your neighbour anyway?” Sascha asked casually in the middle of a meandering bass solo. He had met Isabel some time ago in the stairwell and apparently had not forgotten her.
“Well, I guess.” Daniel took a sip and turned his glass in his hands, pondering. Would he ever tell anyone what he'd experienced with those two? But why should he? Was it really that important? Somehow, because otherwise there wouldn't have been a need to talk about it. And who would he tell if not his beast (and only) friend? He took a deep breath and casually started to tell his secret tale, “I have become quite close to her in the last days... Was allowed to fulfil her wishes and her roommate’s also... That is, hers particularly, and only then Isabel.”
Sascha paused a moment, with a quizzical look on his face, then he grinned, “Make their wishes come true? Did you wash their dishes?”
How did he come up with that idea now? “Yeah, that too. But there was a lot more...” Sighing, he sipped his whiskey. If he wasn't careful, he really would betray the whole scenario. But wasn't that exactly his need, a compulsion to confess? And hadn’t he not already betrayed her?
Sasha's eyes squinted knowingly, the cogs turning behind them, “Could these wishes also be described as orders, perchance?”
It was like a career counselling session. Daniel nodded his head.
“Then they are your mistresses?”
Daniel nodded again.
To his surprise, Sascha made no derogatory comment. Instead, he sighed as though the weight of the world were on his shoulders, but then he waved his index finger defensively through the air, “Fantasies. Are you writing a new novel? There are really no mistresses.”
“Oh. How'd you know?”
Sascha pursed his lips, “I read it somewhere on the Internet.”
“Ah, yes. And what you have read somewhere on the Internet becomes the truth?”
Sascha looked at the bottle like an arrested drug dealer who would be willing to reveal information about his sources, if you could help him out a little. He waited until Daniel had more or less evenly distributed the last of the bottle and coughed a little, “I once posted an ad... on an internet forum...”
“You were looking for a mistress?” Astonished, Daniel stared at him. For years, he had known Sasha, but he had known nothing of this tendency. Likewise, in the opposite direction, mind. Sascha, embarrassed, turned his glass in his hands, “You're not the only one with such fantasies.”
“And?”
“Only professional dominas answered. Education in person or by phone or e-mail, you can have anything you want so long as you can pay for it. One even sent me a contract in which I would give her control of my bank accounts. I couldn’t believe it. I wonder if there really is a man who would sign such a thing,” he sipped his drink, “And then you tell me you found a mistress next door, not just one, but two... Sorry, but are you also going to tell me that the Holy Virgin appeared to you?”
Daniel understood his perspective. If someone had told him a story like that, he wouldn't have believed it either. It really sounded like a miracle. But just as the Blessed Virgin did not remain everywhere she appeared, so could his mistresses have vanished from his life. And so, the two masterless slaves commiserated, drank the rest and were now whiskeyless as well.
With the whiskey gone, Sasha had apparently lost all reason to linger. He had to get up early in the morning, he claimed, and had a stressful life and all. Daniel showed him out and almost stumbled over the white bag standing on the floor next to the apartment door, half-filled with something. It wasn't Christmas yet.
“Probably from your neighbours,” Sascha joked with a grin. “A gift for her slave.”
Couldn't he shout that a little louder, just to make sure everyone in the building heard? Waving, he rumbled down the stairs, swaying visibly like a captain on a rolling