The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1. Emanuel J.
thick and dripping down her boot. "Get rid of it! And don't let it drip on the floor!"
Get rid of it? How could he do that? But he knew what she meant, he knew exactly what she meant. Yet he was shocked at the thought All lust had disappeared from him, as usual for a man. After a more conventional sexual experience there was some leisurely stroking and then relaxed falling asleep, nothing more. This was not vanilla sex. One of the thick drops was already almost down to the sole, he would regret his idleness in watching it fall. Hesitantly he approached to face her foot, struggling to balance, since he could not support himself with his cuffed hands, and reluctantly he dabbed the whitish slime with the tongue. For the first time in his life he tasted sperm. It wasn't so disgusting at all, salty with a hint of sweetness. Swallowing it was less difficult than expected. Which was a good thing, because he had to dab on the next trickle, which had almost reached the edge With diminishing shyness he licked everything away until no trace of his sperm was left on the damp leather. His mouth felt sticky and as if he couldn't get enough of it, his tongue slipped over salty lips.
Franziska smiled suggestively, as if the boot were erogenous for her. "You really did that neatly. Don't you want to thank me?"
"Yes, my lady, I thank you."
"And for what?"
"For allowing me to climax... and for allowing me to taste it. You are a very good mistress to me."
She told him to get up, to get close to her chair. Her hand reached for his limp penis and suddenly she bent down, enclosed him with her lips and sucked him into her mouth. Once, twice she sucked on him, then she released him again, sank back into the cushion and smiled coyly in a way he had not seen her before. "Somebody had to clean it, too." One could almost have thought that she was finally content, at least she pulled a small key out of a pocket of her jeans and freed him from his handcuffs. It was high time, because he urgently had to go to the toilet.
As they had taught him, he left the door open behind him and knelt down in front of the toilet bowl, watched by both women who had accompanied him to the bathroom. When he straightened up again, he was finally allowed to pull up the string that had clung to his knees all the time with exemplary perseverance, and remove the plug. He washed it off under the tap, then rubbed it dry with a red towel. The women had already thought about where to store it: in the rectangular blue tin can that stood on the microwave. The black tube also found its place in it, then he closed the lid and hoped that no prying eyes would ever peer into it.
The slave was no longer needed today; the slave could go. Both women smiled lovingly at him as he said goodbye, then he peered out attentively and scurried silently through the stairwell moments later, as he had come, but plus a few new experiences. This evening he would probably never forget, so he assumed anyway...
A very fruitful shopping trip
There was much to learn for his mistresses and so he had the next evenings off. He had no desire to be free, would much rather have remained attentively at their service, but could not act on this. He kept it to himself too well educated already to start such a discussion with them. And he could still be a slave, if only in his thoughts and in his messages. Since he could no longer concentrate on his stories, they had all become alien to him, he began to process his experiences into a novel, to make them accessible to the whole world and to preserve them for future generations, or something like that. Anyway, it gave him much joy to write down his adventures, almost as much as the experiences themselves.
Nevertheless he missed his mistresses very much. This time at least he felt some security. On Tuesday evening he wrote Franziska a text message, as she had ordered. Although it was considered unnecessarily formal in modern communication, he paid close attention to grammatical niceties:
My dear Mistress Franziska, I think of you frequently and fondly. Your wish is my command; I remain faithfully at your disposal. Your slave Daniel.
And of course, she also received a message with similar content the following day. Few words that conveyed deep feelings. He happily read her answers, in the first of which she wrote that her boot was beautifully clean and that she liked to think of him, while in the second she said on Wednesday evening that she was looking forward to seeing him again as a devoted slave tomorrow evening at nine o'clock. Oh, my, tomorrow again. His heart pounded with excitement at the thought. He glowed inside with anticipation, fortunately not so much as to endanger the imposed command of abstinence. He floated in a carefree state. Actually, he hadn't felt this good in a long time.
In the evening Sascha came to visit us and of course could not refrain from asking about the mistress, with a broad grin on his face . Daniel, waved his questions away evasively, unwilling to reveal any of it again. Sascha wouldn't believe it, after all, which was better anyway. It was now inexplicable to him that he had been able to divulge his secret so easily at the last meeting, as though under the influence of a truth serum. There would be no more such slip-ups. His two lives remained strictly separated, one of which, the "normal" one, took place at the very edge of society, while the other, beyond all borders, lay in a wide rugged country in which hardly anyone could be seen (he permitted himself the odd Nietzsche paraphrase).
A double life. He regretted the lie of his silence. But he was no hero. The truth would have seemed as strange as fiction, for it would have seemed inappropriate for him to sit here in the armchair and drink wine instead of serving it to his mistresses with a submissive curtsey and watching them drink. That, he suspected, would have been difficult for Sasha to understand.
*
As Thursday evening approached, the more pressing the question of what he should wear became. There was no order for it, no clue, nothing. Doing what? Appear in his normal clothes? This could have quite painful consequences and was also quite unattractive. So, in lingerie? How would he know that the two of them really expected that from him today? What if they didn't and he still showed up? Well, then he had to reckon with mocking remarks. But how much need he worry about that? He knew exactly what they were asking of him, and Franziska had also written it very clearly in her text, saying that she was looking forward to seeing him as a devoted slave. And since it had long been clear that he was not wearing any men's clothing, he was able to stop all his superfluous considerations immediately.
Punctually at nine o'clock he scampered across the stairwell in his ballet shoes, all dressed in black with his corselette, fishnet stockings and thong. He announced himself with a short bell and quickly slipped into the hallway like a fleeing hare into the apartment, not glimpsed by a stranger's gaze, thank God. Ghostly quiet the apartment, nobody here, nothing moving, very strange. Only the door to Isabel's room was half open, yellow light fell out and from inside her voice was heard. "Franziska's in the shower. Come in here."
Carefully, as if she could be harmed by his gaze, he entered. She sat at the table in front of her laptop, dressed in a black knee-length skirt and a pink top. Half her head was turned to him and she looked at him smiling. "You look pretty. But won't you say hello to me? "Oh. Of course, I do. Only he couldn't get to her because she turned back to the laptop. And yet he came close to her when he ... His hesitation lasted only briefly, then he crawled under the table from the side and tenderly kissed the red lacquered toenails, but he immediately had to lift his head again, as she slipped out of her brown sandals - and her naked foot approached his lips. Oh. She hadn't let him do that yet. He greedily sucked her toes into his mouth, sucked on them, let his tongue glide over the instep and sole, devotedly licked the tender skin and then devoted himself to her other foot with the same tenderness.
Franziska's voice startled him. "He seems to really love your feet." She was standing in the middle of the room without him noticing her coming.
"Yes. And I love that he loves them," Isabel said.
But now he had to let go of her to crawl to his mistress, who was wearing elegant blue shoes with small heels, a pair of jeans (his gaze hadn't come any further up yet), and even down here still smelling faintly of her perfume. He had to straighten up and go to the kitchen with her, followed by Isabel, after she had saved everything and closed her laptop.
Some dishes were waiting for him, just a few glasses, coffee cups, two small plates and some cutlery, apparently the two