The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1. Emanuel J.
he was not the most hardened drinker.
Daniel eyed the bag suspiciously. Did someone lose it? But how could you lose such a big bag? And right outside his door, too? That didn't sound very plausible. Carefully he looked inside as if into Pandora's box, out of which untold ills could arise at any given moment. Hmm. Well it certainly didn’t look like poverty and misery, quite the opposite. What he saw was pink and white. He carried it into the living room and unpacked it with growing delight, revealing small delicate things: a skimpy thong, a lace-trimmed bra, a short negligee, filled with lavish frills, all in pink. White, on the other hand, were the fishnet stockings as well as the ballet shoes and foam bra pads, which he already had in black. A yellow sheet of paper lay there, written in a dashing hand:
Our beloved slave Daniel, even though we didn't hear from you yesterday and today, we hope you were good. We'll expect you tomorrow night at 9:00. Of course, you're wearing the things you find here. We have a surprise for you, too. She'll be very attractive to you. Your Lady Isabel + your Mistress Franziska.
They were still his mistresses! They even called him their beloved slave. Infinitely relieved, he let himself sink into his red armchair. He could have saved himself all his worries. Apparently, their relationship was not a mere mirage. But pink? Didn't that look a bit girlish, somehow kitschy and not quite suited to him? Actually, it didn't matter, because these things in black or blue or any other colour wouldn't have actually suited him, would suit a woman he couldn't be, even if he wished for it at times. And if he was really honest with himself, then he had to admit that this girlish pink was even a little more compelling than anything else...
But what did the complaint mean, that they had heard nothing from him yesterday and today? Were they waiting for a message from him, as he was from them? Most likely his concerns had been unfounded. as the letter revealed, doubt could form in the mind of a master, not only in that of a slave. What kind of surprise did they have in mind? There were many reasons to be curious about the coming evening.
On Monday morning, he made his way to the small supermarket, which was within easy reach, about ten minutes’ walk away in a petit bourgeois quarter that had once been a fishing village. He had replaced the rain jacket with his black jacket, under which he wore only a T-shirt, because it had become warm, almost spring like overnight and the sun was shining from a bright blue sky. He bought some groceries, no whiskey, because he had no need to drown his sorrows, and a pack of razor blades.
The shaving was now a less complex procedure than the first time and already after a good half hour he was again an almost flawless doll, just as his mistress wished. If Sascha only knew...
Becoming Daniela
At a quarter to nine he was prepared and looked at himself shyly in the mirror. The white stockings were large and comfortable, the waist-short pink negligee was arched by the bra almost like a real breast and the little string was puffed up like a sail, almost swept aside by his swollen member. If only it would stop. Pink, of all colours! Yet somehow, for being more shameful, the pink and lace was all the more arousing. He had to wait a little longer because he wasn't allowed to show up too early. Seconds ticking by and he was conscious of every single one, the young people were dawdling by, bored adolescents kicking stones in front of them with their hands in their pockets. Then it was finally nine o'clock. Carefully he cracked the door and peered out into enemy territory. No danger, just silence. He slipped out and heard footsteps on the stairs. Immediately he retreated into his apartment and a few moments later the footsteps quieted as they continued their path up to the next floor.
When everything was quiet again, he took all his courage together, ventured out again and scurried almost inaudibly in his ballet slippers over to the neighbouring apartment, like a deer fleeing hunters. Sooner or later, he feared, some incredulous onlooker would bring him down to earth. Not today. Briefly, he rang the bell, hurriedly opened the door and sequestered himself in the dim hallway. Hesitantly, he entered the kitchen, which was lit differently than usual, not by the yellowish ceiling light, but by a fluorescent tube mounted above the sink on the underside of the wall unit It cast white light over the dirty dishes, there were not too many of them this time. Franziska leaned against the oven, dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt, and Isabel was sitting at the table with a thick black butt plug in front of her! The oval base allowed it secure footing as it bobbed intimidatingly on the table and next to it lay a black tube, probably containing some sort of lubricant. Daniel did not have time to stare at it, immediately falling to his knees to greet his mistresses appropriately. He started off with Franziska, licking her new boots with devotion.
Her voice sounded benevolently down to him. "Pink looks really good on him."
Isabel sounded a little sceptical. "I don't know. It's pretty girlish..." He crawled over to her on all fours and tenderly began to caress her brown sandals, the red lacquered toenails. Her voice was thoughtful. "I would never have thought it possible that someone would greet me like this and I would like it."
Franziska's answer sounded amused: "Really all women should be greeted like this as a matter of course."
Mistress fantasies! Imagining that all men might sink humbly to their knees before any woman was a strange and disturbing concept to him, as he could scarcely imagine greeting any women but these two in this way. As he raised his torso, his worst fear was realized - his hard cock reared up, sweeping the hopelessly overburdened scrap of lace to the side to stand uncovered in all its glory.
Franziska looked at him smiling. "Don't show off. And pull your panties down. They’re only getting in the way." Down, as he had recently learned, meant down to the knees. When he had done it with superfluous shyness, since the little bit of cloth didn't cover anything anyway, she pointed to the plug with a big gesture. "That's your surprise. Do you like it?"
"It’s beautiful, my lady."
Smiling, she tilted her head a little and alarm bells began to sound in him. "Our humble slave loves to joke. We’ll soon rid him of the tendency... Have you ever used one of these things before?"
"No, my lady. "
"Then it's high time. But first, greet it, so it can get used to you."
Greet it? He could only guess what she meant and slid hesitantly on his knees to the table, Isabel pushed the plug to the edge so. He licked it carefully.
"Put it in your mouth!" Franziska ordered.
He did as she said and began to suck on it in surrender.. He continued to suck it as Isabel squeezed some lube onto his obediently outstretched index finger. Without getting too close for comfort he slid it between his buttocks.
Franziska required more: "Get your finger in there!"
Oh! Are you serious? For a moment, he thought of refusal and rebellion, but then surrendered to their power, hesitatingly groping for the entrance. Gently, he screwed a forefinger into the tight hole. It was easier than he had thought, more pleasurable than he could have imagined.
Franziska's voice mingled with his agitated sigh. "Is it in there?“
He lifted his head a little and loosened his lips from the moist plug, shining with saliva. "Yes, my mistress."
"Deeper. And move it. I want you to enjoy it." He did what she wanted, and his groaning filled the kitchen. Isabel's hand stroked his hair soothingly. "Poor slave, you are so horny yet you may not allow yourself to come... What was happening at the weekend? Why haven't we heard from you?"
"I thought you didn't want to know anything more about me..."
"Really? And we thought the same of you."
These words stirred in him both joy and contrition. Joy, because she told him that he was as important to them as they were to him: contrition, because she sounded reproachful. "I'm sorry, Lady Isabel ... but I didn't know ..." He ran out of words, which was no wonder, given that he had to continue moving his finger in and out of his asshole, stirring a new and exotic lust. Franziska intervened. "A misunderstanding, apparently. To avoid this in the future, every day we don't see each other, you write us a text expressing your devotion. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my mistress,