Читать книгу The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1 - Emanuel J. - Страница 8

Forgiveness

In the following week Sasha came to visit with some new CDs to entertain them, they often discussed music. Even though Daniel was frighteningly unmusical and couldn't keep the simplest rhythm, he was happy to critique music. But he also liked some of what he heard..

In the evening, as they sat with a bottle of red wine, Sascha asked him. "You remember Monika, don't you?"

Of course, Daniel remembered Monika, pretty, dark-haired acquaintance, with whom he would have ended up in bed if they hadn't both been too drunk on that strange New Year's Eve three or four years ago...

"She saw you last week," Sasha whispered mysteriously, in a tone that Daniel read as deeply ominous. “In a department store." Oh dear. "You were there with a blonde... and you held lingerie up for her to inspect. Monika said it looked rather submissive..." He shot Daniel a look, one that said denial is useless. "Your neighbour?"

Daniel also drained his glass and both reached for the bottle. Daniel was faster, which was rarely the case with anything. He poured wine into Sascha’s glass. Caught red-handed, he hated that his warm cheeks showed the truth. Transferred and caught or vice versa. He hated the warmth that crept into his cheeks. "Yes."

A mixture of incomprehension and admiration stepped into Sasha's gaze. "So it's true then, isn't it?"

Daniel took another sip, a small one this time, and Franziska’s words came to his mind: "Stand by what you are doing and what you long for.."

"And they're both your mistress?"

"One more, the other less... But that's right, I'm there for both of them."

Stunned, Sascha's dark eyes sparkled across to him. "You actually find two mistresses right next door? I can't believe this. Do you know how many men on the Internet desperately search for a mistress without ever finding one? It’s inconceivable, miraculous!"

Daniel, somewhat embarrassed, examined his fingernails, which needed cutting again. "I can’t deny it’s unusual. Total coincidence though."

Sascha pondered and stroked over his three-day beard. "You're a real lucky guy... And then they'll even take you shopping for their lingerie... Unbelievable.“

Their lingerie? Now he had the dolls mixed up. But how would he know? He certainly did not hear about it from Daniel, who was of the opinion that there had been more than enough confessions for today.

When the bottle was empty and Sascha was on his way out, he turned back outside the door with a big grin. "And be good, or there'll be a spanking."

Of course, Daniel did not enjoy his mocking tone, the ease with which Sascha denigrated his most intimate activity. Yet perhaps he was being thin-skinned, the mockery stemmed only from longing and envy.

Sascha clattered down the stairs, waving, and Daniel closed the apartment door with a sigh. So, Monika had seen him. And Edith could think about his white stockings. If things continued like this, the whole world would soon know about this aspect of his life. But no, the world was not interested in him, only his acquaintances perhaps, and they would judge. The mistress would already know, what she does, would have thought a really devoted slave, who he was however obviously not, because he wished itself that she may show a little less him. His mistresses would surely take offense at this slave, whose devotion could not be true as he was so unwilling to show it.

That night he dreamed of being led by a faceless person, Franziska presumably, before an endless procession of grey and silent people, in women's clothes and tied up, on a rope. The adults looked scandalized and he was marvelled at uncomprehendingly by children. Fortunately the dream did not reflect reality.at

*

A magnificent Indian summer lasted almost the whole of October before it became grey, cool and rainy. Three to four times a week Daniel scampered over to his neighbours and conscientiously followed all their instructions, greeted them as they were, took the plug in on time at ten on Mondays and Thursdays, without needing to be prompted, sat down on his knees in front of the toilet with the bathroom door open, and licked any spilled drinks from the table. From time to time he was allowed to satisfy himself with Franziska’s boots, then to lick them clean afterwards, and each time she took his penis into her mouth for a few moments afterwards. Otherwise, there didn't seem to be any sexual need in her at all. Not once did he see her naked or scantily clothed, always wearing a pair of jeans and a top like armour, keeping him at a distance from her body. He was not allowed to stroke her, not to mention kiss her, she was chaste or perhaps frigid, but really excellent as a mistress, since it obviously gave her pleasure to educate him according to her wishes, for which she "naturally" needed the crop every now and then.

He worshipped her and at the same time worshipped Isabel, who took less care of his upbringing and preferred to use him for other things: at least twice a week she let him lick her to orgasm and there was nothing he would have preferred to do, except perhaps ... He would have liked to have taken her as a man takes a woman, but that was clearly out of the question. It was as if his feminine clothes would really make him a girl for her, who had but a tongue to play with. But of course he was a man, though sometimes a weak one. As best he could, he kept to the commandment that allowed him to orgasm only with permission. But now and then, lonely in his bed with a parade of titillating images before 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...