The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1. Emanuel J.
he waited for the evening to come, all the while trying to mitigate his expectations. There was no way she would give him that ultimate excitement, which his imagination played out longingly in the small hours. He would never experience his most cherished fantasy, to be educated by a lady to be an obedient slave. If such a thing even existed, at any rate, it was reported in the relevant Internet forum, which he read more or less regularly. There, however, you could also read how many male subs longed in vain for a mistress who was apparently as elusive as ideas for his novel. And he of all people had found one right next door? No, he still didn't believe in miracles. And yet, his heart pounded more and more nervously as the hand moved closer to the agreed (no, the ordered) time.
Some minutes beforehand he was already pacing restlessly with the phone in hand. A tram rumbled past below and one car after another rolled over the cobblestones of the road. It wasn't exactly a quiet residential area, but he hadn't even looked for one, and at least the apartment was on the second floor of the three-storey apartment building, so passers-by couldn't stare in. At exactly nine he let himself sink into his red armchair and called Franziska's number from the attic. He had already entered the number some time ago, even if it was absurd to call the apartment next door, which could be reached faster on foot than by telephone.
After the second ring the phone was already answered. Had Franziska waited, perhaps even as impatient as he? Her voice sounded delighted, “I'm glad you called.” But the next moment she became a bit cooler, he thought he detected a bossy tone, “And you are commendably punctual.”
Even this touch of severity was enough to stir up a pleasurable tingling sensation in his body, spreading from his stomach downwards. What to do now? How to signal his readiness for the game (if indeed there was a game) without being too forward? “I had no other choice, did I?”
It seemed to work, “No, you didn’t,” a moment’s silence, then a deep breath. “You washed the dishes very nicely yesterday... And you were very good. You want to be good, don't you?”
Well now it was unambiguous, far more unambiguous than he had dared to hope. It took him a moment to collect himself, “Yes, I do.”
“Then you will obey my orders?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Let's give it a try. What are you wearing?”
“A pair of jeans and a sweater.”
“Well... Is your cock hard? Answer me honestly.”
He baulked. No one had ever asked him that before, especially over the phone. What to say? Should he pretend, salve his ego and lie to her, preserve in her some illusion of his masculine power? “No... I guess I'm a little too nervous for that right now…”
He could feel her smile down the phone, “You don't have to apologize for that. All you have to do is get it hard. Open your pants, take out your cock, play with it,” oh, God! How'd she get it? She couldn't ask him to do that. Again, her voice sounded to his ear, very determined now, “You have the choice: Either you do what I tell you, or we end the phone call.”
Was this blackmail? Well, yes, of course. But it was fitting. She clarified the situation by immediately pulling out the big guns, so to speak. The end of the phone call would also mean the end of her game, which hadn't even really started yet (he hoped, anyway). As if she had a remote control, he pulled down the zipper of his jeans with his right hand, while his left held the telephone by his ear, and gently prised his soft dick from his underwear nestle.
Franziska's voice sounded tense, “So what does it look like?”
“I have it in my hand...”
Her relief was palpable. Apparently, she also had an interest in continuing this game, “Fine. Stroke yourself. And tell me when you get hard,” gently he began to wank his cock, stroking his hand up and down the shaft. Never before had he done this on command, never before with the phone to his ear, never before had there been an observer, let alone a listener. But she didn't just listen, she would not remain passive. “What are you thinking about? What scene is playing in your imagination? Tell me. But be honest!”
He inhaled sharply. That was a lot to ask! He hesitated, wrestling with himself. Then he was as honest as she wished, “Well, I imagine... kissing you.”
“What kind of kiss? And where? On the forehead, on the mouth or somewhere else?”
“Well ... I kneel before you ... and kiss your… between your legs,” he struggled to find the right word, not wishing to appear vulgar.
“Oh. You want to lick my pussy? Do you like to give head?”
“Yes, I do... it’s hard now.”
“Really? That was fast,” Franziska's warningly raised index finger was practically visible through the telephone, as if there were no walls between them. “Make sure you do not come! But keep masturbating. Touch your cock, I want you to stay horny. That's what you are, isn't it?”
A small involuntary moan of arousal escaped his quivering lips, underscoring his shameful confession, “Yes, I am.”
“Well at least I know you aren’t lying. But continue. What else is in this porn film of yours?”
“Well... you're wearing something nice.”
“What am I wearing? Speak clearly!”
“A corset. Or a corselet. With suspenders.”
“Oh, with suspenders? Do you like suspenders?”
“Yes, very much...”
Her voice took on the harsh tone of reprimand, “So you think I'll play the doll for you? You must've gotten a little confused. You'll be the doll! Tomorrow night at nine o'clock, you can come to my place. It has already accumulated a lot of dishes... Your entire body will be shaved, very thoroughly and really, everywhere. You got that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And by tomorrow, maybe you'll have figured out how to address me. I'll be curious. And remember, you may not allow yourself to come! See you tomorrow, Daniel,” the connection was terminated before he could say goodbye.
With the feeling that a train had just thundered over him, he put the phone down. Dead silence in the room, disturbed only by the squeaking of a tram, and his quickening breath. It was hard for him to tear his hand away from his throbbing penis. It looked as if he had found a mistress, just behind the door next door, and what a mistress! He would shave his whole body to become her doll. Never before had a woman spoken so condescendingly to him. And that tone stirred him more deeply, excited him more than even his fevered and lustful dreams. This made it impossible for him to follow her instructions. The command was inhuman, and he disobeyed it not once, but twice in a row that night, frantically stroking his inflamed prick and bringing himself to yearning, breath-taking orgasms, spurred on by the tantalizing images in his mind’s eye. But each time he was severely punished by his own gnawing doubts, gasping and damp as the lust subsided. What was he doing? Should he really wash Franziska's dishes again and let her turn him into a “little doll”? Was he out of his mind? If he looked at his activities with the eyes of the “normal world”, then it was shameful, degrading, completely incomprehensible. But the thought of having to address her “correctly” dispelled the doubts with new lust. For the third time, he jerked off, after which he could finally fall asleep ...
*
It took him more than an hour the next afternoon to shave his whole body, only the hair on his head was spared. Half a can of shaving cream went and a whole pack of blades. The shower afterwards felt strange, smooth skin everywhere, as if he was a statue, no, a doll. The word was fuel to the fire of his lust, awakening his desire. His cock hardened anew as he ran his hand over the newly shaven surrounds. It was with difficulty that he pulled himself together enough to avoid yet more frenzied masturbation.
At nine o'clock he stood opposite her at the door, dressed in his best jeans and a white shirt, discreetly smelling of men's perfume. Franziska opened the door fractions of a second