The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1. Emanuel J.
his eyes, which were no longer a dream but the new reality, now and then so the urges became too pressing. And since he was otherwise a very obedient slave, he allowed himself to keep this little secret as a reward. The hours between his visits dragged.
*
It was a cold grey Thursday at the end of November, when he shaved from top to bottom, as he did once a week, and then washed some of his clothes in the sink. Hand wash as usual, they were delicate and he didn’t even have a washing machine. There was no way he’d be taking them to the laundrette where he went every two weeks with his normal clothes. He carefully wrung them out piece by piece and hung them on the small clothes horse he had set up next to the shower, where the water could drip quietly onto the tiles. His two corselets, two negligees, one in red, one in pink, two pink thongs, a pink bra and fishnet stockings in black and white hung close together in all their innocence. Of course they were anything but innocent, quite the whore’s collection, and he loved it.
Although it was only half past three in the afternoon, the sun was already setting. Snowflakes floated down from the desolate grey sky and a cold easterly wind swept through the streets.. And he had nothing left to eat in the house. There was no option but to go shopping, even if the thought of it was grim. Crawling into his warm black jacket, he hurried to the supermarket with his neck drawn in, bought a little cheese, rice, vegetables - and almost bumped into Isabel at the meat counter. He hadn’t recognized her in her long red jacket. Never before had he met her outside the house, he remembered to his astonishment.
She smiled pleased. "Hello, Daniel. Out in this terrible weather?"
It was as if he had met an acquaintance, not his mistress. And so, he saved himself the subservient address that he loved at home with her, which here in the supermarket was quite inappropriate. "Sometimes a little more global warming wouldn't be so bad." He regretted the reactionary statement. He threw a few more things into his shopping basket and they walked home side by side. She told him that at Christmas she would probably go home to her parents for two or three days to see her siblings, and asked if he already had plans. No, he didn't. His parents lived here in the city, he visited for the day. A bottle of whiskey perhaps if he should find himself alone. He had little interest in Christmas. Somehow it was less cold in her presence and the snowflakes fell, romantic as a kitsch postcard, melting immediately as they touched the ground.
Arriving at Isabel's door, he went to hand her the bag with her few purchases, but wrinkles formed on her forehead. "Have you really forgotten everything?"
Oh. From one second to the next she had become the mistress again. He looked around stealthily. No one to be seen in the stairwell. A moment of hesitation, then he handed her the bag with a yielding curtsey. "Here you are, Lady Isabel."
She smiled a haughty smile. "It's a pity you didn't feel like addressing me properly earlier. But we'll talk about that later... Wear your ordinary red stockings." Gently she pulled the door shut behind her before he found time to reply, and he entered his apartment flustered. How could he have been so arrogant as to treat her like a normal acquaintance? Now he could imagine what would transpire. But why hadn't she made it clear what she expected from him instead of letting him run blunder? He felt somewhat duped. He knew exactly what was required of him, and knew just as well that they would punish him if he did not follow the instructions, so he could not complain, because she had not behaved badly, but he... And if this were not the case, the punishment would still fall upon him, because the mistress was always right and there was no justice for the slave. He didn't want it any other way. Although one was not asked whether one wanted to have such tendencies or not. It was just there, and then you had to live with it somehow. And actually, he lived very well with it, often enough rewarded by the dark frisson of transgression that he loved above all else...
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