Читать книгу The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1 - Emanuel J. - Страница 5

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 ship; 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...