Читать книгу Under a Mistress' Spell - Episode 5 - Emanuel J. - Страница 2

Richard

You want me to what? Paint my toenails red? I've never done anything like that before. But that's not accepted as an argument. Ilona says I am still young, so I could certainly try something new now and then. Especially, of course, when it is a mistress's order! She expertly examines how I apply the dark red paint with the small brush, which admittedly gives me a pleasant tingling sensation. With reservation, however. Because preparing myself in such a way for her boss's New Year's Eve party makes alarm bells ring in me. What on earth is she doing to me?

It gets weirder. As soon as the varnish has dried, I have to put on "my" pink negligee and the suspenders. I can't go to a party wearing this. It becomes a bit more normal again, because socks, trousers and a sweater are put on, so that you can't see the underneath. But what's the point of underwear if you can't see it? I don't understand what is happening here, I can only explain it to myself that Ilona suddenly feels like letting me walk around like a woman, and the knowledge of my underwear gives her some tingling feelings. In a way, to me too, which is probably not the point.

At my question what it all means, she shakes her head, so I submit to my fate and am glad to be allowed to at least zip up my trousers before leaving the house.

"Be good,' says Ilona during the journey with a raised forefinger, and I feel even more uneasy...

Shortly before nine o'clock, we arrive at the shoebox-shaped villa. The courtyard is not lit by floodlights and is not filled by cars. The gate is closed, nowhere the security guards can be seen. The house is dark except for a single lit window.

"Nobody came to the party," I say.

Innocently Ilona shrugs her shoulders. "I didn't say anything about a party. You made it up."

Oh. No party? Then what are we doing here?

She takes a remote control from the storage compartment and presses the button. Silently, the high wrought-iron entrance gate opens in front of us. Why does she have access to the boss's villa? Is she that high up in the hierarchy? Or is he more than her boss? A thought flashes through me, hot as a flame: Is she involved with him? Is she about to dump me as she did with her two online slaves? The huge gate of the huge garage opens silently for us. I let the car roll in and park it between two sports cars, a red Ferrari and a black Porsche.

Through a narrow door we get directly into the huge hallway of the house and there the curly-haired and slicked up guy who is Ilona’s boss and maybe more than that is waiting for us. The two fall into each other's arms like Romeo and Juliet. So they do! Ilona is having an affair. Ilona is having an affair with her boss. How upset she was when she caught me cheating. And now she does it herself, and with a natural ease, as if she had every right to. It's as if I'd been hit on the head with a stick.

Greedy and possessive, the man's hands glide over her bottom, probably disappearing right under her short coat and dress.

But then Ilona breaks away from him and looks at me, shrugging her shoulders regretfully. "Now you know." A soothing smile blossoms on her face and she puts her hand in his. "We love each other. For a while now."

Since the beginning of autumn, I suppose, because that's when her change began, she became cooler and more detached.

Her smile becomes almost affectionate. "You don't have to worry, we don't want you to leave. We want you to be there for both of us. You know, Richard has ideas that go well with your wishes."

Ah. I have a thought. Do I have Richard suspenders on? She wouldn't know what to do with them. Maybe he's the reason she changed her mind. He stands next to her, holds her hand, looks at me coldly and otherwise pretends he doesn't belong.

Ilona's eyes become mistress-like. "Take your clothes off."

Actually, I should be angry, disappointed, frustrated, dissolved in lovesickness. All these feelings are also in me and for a moment I think to wish them both to go to hell. But where would I go? Home? And sit there alone with all my unfulfilled longings? Then I would have gone to the hell myself, in the hell of abandonment and unfulfilled longings. Not a pretty picture, not at all.

Ilona tilts her head slightly, frowning. "Of course you can leave if you want. No one will stop you. But if you stay, you will do as we tell you, without resistance, without complaint, without hesitation. It's your choice."

I don't think I have a choice. Who would choose hell? But to obey her order in front of Richard now, that's just not possible. "Ilona... Can't we..."

Her flat hand claps my left cheek, resounding. She slapped my face! Startled, I sob, never been slapped by her before, never expected it. The next moment I get a second slap and her voice sounds bossy: "Do what I tell you!"

I peel off my jacket and hang it in the wardrobe, pull the sweater over my head, don't know where to put it, and just drop it on the floor, show myself in my pink negligee. Richard's look is not as devastating as I feared, at least it doesn't stop me from doing what I have to do. Without looking at him or Ilona, I slip off my shoes, then despondently strip off my socks and trousers. So now he sees me in suspenders. Unbelievable. I ironically resist the temptation to fold my hands before my tiny little cock.

Richard's voice can be heard, softly, devotionally, as if he were in church. "It looks even better in real life than in the photographs."

So I had to take those selfies for him the other day. My hunch that someone would see them had been right.

"It could only be more perfect," says Richard. "A few frills and all." His gaze wanders down to my feet, where under the white stockings the red of the painted toenails shimmers through. "Did he do that without complaint?" he asks Ilona.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Oh, a little bitchiness is part and parcel of what he does. But on the whole, he's obedient."

In the stockings, I have to follow them into the living room and they settle down on the white leather sofa. I'm ordered to get the wine. The bottle, together with huge bulbous glasses, can be found in the futuristic kitchen on the granite worktop. Of course, I have to pour it, starting with Ilona and standing next to her indecisively, guessing what's coming and not wanting to know.

"Right!" says Ilona.

Yeah, right. What else? What has become almost normal at home becomes an almost impossible task under Richard's eyes. Which, to my own amazement, I actually master. Using all my inner strength I curtsey in front of her. It becomes even more fatal. I also have to curtsy in front of him and feel warmth crawling up my cheeks.

Richard smiles amused. "Flushed like a virgin. Very beautiful. But you said that he's wonderfully shy sometimes."

I am allowed to sit down on the blue seat cushion on which Ilona had sat at the party. Now it's next to the low coffee table close to her. I can drink mineral water, but unfortunately no alcohol. I would have liked to taste the red wine.

Richard's gaze rests uninhibitedly on me and his smile is dreamy. "I'm sure we can make it work for him."

Ilona frowns sceptically. "I don't know if I can accept it."

What on earth are they talking about? Work what for me?

He smiles magnanimously at her. "What's the problem? If he's not a real man, he could be made a sissy maid. He will like it. So will I. And you'll get used to it too."

What? I'm not a real man? And should I be made a sissy maid? I know photos of Sissy's from the Internet, and yes, as strange as they seem, they are also enchanting. But also worthy of imitation? I cannot really imagine that. But I couldn't imagine myself standing in front of a strange man in suspenders and serving him wine with a curtsy.

Carelessly, she shrugs her shoulders. "If it's that important to you, then just go ahead."

Shamelessly, he slides his hand under her knee-length black dress. "Have my secretary look for suitable clothing."

Instead of fending off his hand, Ilona nestles cooing towards it. "The secretary? Does she know about such things?"

"It would surprise me. You know how stiff and decent she is. But there's no task she can't handle."

His hand has obviously reached its destination, because a pleasant sigh comes from Ilona’s red painted lips. "That's good for you," she breathes it and grabs him by the lap.

The fact that I am watching them does not seem to bother them, just as you can't let a doll stop you from making love. I look at the TV where “Diner for One” is on. I have never seen it under such strange circumstances, of course not.

When the film ends, the two leave each other and he whispers in her ear: "I want to see him with red lips. Would you be so kind?"

Ilona is so nice. I have to fetch her shoulder bag from the hall, hand it over to her with a curtsy, for which I don't need any extra prompting, and sink to my knees before her, as commanded by the sign of her thumb. It feels strange, thick and greasy, as the pen slides over my lips. No one has ever done that to me before. The tip of my tongue involuntarily explores, and at the same time I notice something stirring down there.

"Look, it turns him on," says Richard.

Ilona puts the pen away again and twists her eyes. "Apparently, there's nothing weird that doesn't turn him on."

I'm embarrassed that my cock is so big down there, but it can't be changed. I long for an item of clothing to cover it up, but it is only a dream, not a hope with a chance of realization.

On television there is now a merry New Year's Eve celebration with weird music, not quite my taste, but that is not important. The sound does not come from the high-end system, but from the loudspeakers of the television, which I find somewhat surprising.

Ilona seems to be having similar thoughts. She wants to know why he doesn't switch on the system, and Richard evasively mumbles something about peace of mind and that he hasn't really got used to the sound yet. Besides there are more important things. Again, his hand slides under her dress and again she nestles up to him. I quickly look away, because this closeness, which excludes me, is hard to bear ...

Shortly before midnight I have to get a bottle of champagne from the fridge and bring long-stemmed glasses, but only two, not three.

Knocking at the bottle top, Richard thinks of me with a lascivious look. "Let's see if he's any good."

Ilona smiles pensive. "He's certainly good with a woman." She lowers her thumb and looks at me bossy. "Be kind to him."

Oh. Let me get this straight. Her flat hand claps my left cheek. "Do it!"

Seems I understood correctly. Before she can slap me again, I sink down on the fluffy carpet in front of Richard. Closely before my eyes I see the dark trousers, with a bulge at the height of my face.

Ilona's voice sounds impatient. "What are you waiting for?"

Do I have to get that thing out myself? Like I read it in a novel once, in which the protagonist felt deeply humiliated by this request? Rightly so, of course, because it's downright humiliating. But I must not provoke Ilona any further. And Renate did it, after all, without raising a ruckus. With a trembling heart I pull down the zipper, reach in, bring out his thing, which is not too big, but not too stiff, much smaller than the giant thing I once did fellatio on, with the tranny Felix, unbelievable. He smells of musk, dusted with perfume.

"Be good to my sceptre," Richard says to me from above.

What? Scepter? Is this guy crazy? - Well, I have to admit that word is not really inappropriate, and maybe not just in relation to me, considering he's the boss of a whole bunch of employees.

A plop can be heard above, a startled "Oh", and wetness splashes on my head. A champagne shower? To celebrate the moment? I ignore it as best I can, bend my head forward, breathe little kisses on the twitching cock. Caressing it, I have no difficulty sucking it into my mouth. In fact, I can do that not only with Felix, but with another man as well. Without any disgust, I start sucking it.

Murmuring can be heard upstairs, apparently directed at Ilona. "It's a pity you won't do such a thing."

Her answer sounds contrite. "Someday I will. I will."

Oh, I know that one. He can probably wait until the Fourth of July. But there's me. I never thought I'd be doing fellatio instead of her, of course not. The glasses clink. Hot and sticky sperm splashes into my mouth, sweet and sour. A lot of it comes and I have trouble choking it all down, but I manage it, I am quite used to it. Surely you can’t start a new year in a more exciting way. I docilely suck it out until not a drop is left and my head is pushed back. No hand comes down to put the cock away. That's probably my job too, just like in the novel. Maybe Richard read it and got his inspiration from it. It's not easy to stuff the scepter in his pants, because it's still swelling up there in all its glory as if there hadn't been a climax. He seems to have amazing steadfastness. But then I manage to stow it away, still chewing on its sticky remains, I quickly pull the zipper up so that it doesn't pop out again, feeling like a lion tamer.

Still full of zest for action, Richard grabs Ilona's butt firmly and she nestles purring against his chest. The two want to be alone as soon as possible and I have to follow them upstairs. There they show me the guest room where I can sleep and the bathroom where a toothbrush, washcloths, and towels are ready for me. Fingering each other, they hurriedly retreat into the bedroom as if they can not lose a second. Abandoned, I get ready and then lie down in the lonely bed, naked and useless. Although I have brushed my teeth, I can still feel Richard's taste in my mouth.

It's funny to have to give a man a blowjob on command, funny and also exciting. I wonder what those two are up to now. But that's not the right question. It has to be: I wonder how they're enjoying themselves. Vanilla sex or something else? But there are other, more important thoughts, that concern me: He wants to make a "sissy maid" out of me. I would like to know what exactly he means by this and whether his ideas correspond to mine. These are very stimulating pictures that arise before my inner eye. Fortunately, there is a box of cosmetic tissues on the bedside table, which I can use because there is a lot to wipe away...

***

I spend the whole New Year's Day in Richard's villa, again dressed in my pink negligee, the red suspender belt, and white stockings, nothing else. And all day long I'm there for them, make them coffee and serve it with a curtsy, as it should have become normal for me by now, or almost normal. Under Ilona's supervision, I make a meal closer toward the evening, which Richard calls edible but not delicious. But he adds with a smile that I have other qualities that are more important than cooking.

Around ten o'clock in the evening, I am allowed to put on my men's clothes over negligee and suspenders. That's it.

Richard weighs his head in sorrow. "I don't think the secretary can get the stuff by the weekend. But I'm not here anyway. I won't be back until two weekends after." His eyes wander from Ilona to me and back to her. "Then you'll bring him back, won't you?"

She nods. "If you want him back?"

"Sure I do. He will give me much pleasure... I mean, us.

Forgiving is her smile. "Us, of course. What else?"

Nobody asks if I want to be brought along. But okay. If I'd been asked, it wouldn't have been hard for me to decide.

When I help Ilona into the jacket, Richard looks strangely and for a moment I fear he might ask for a very special farewell. But no, he wants nothing of the sort, says nothing and does not move, just waves at us as we go into the garage.

Ilona gets behind the wheel and at the push of a button, the garage and yard gates open for us as if we were important people, which is true for her, as far as possible at any rate. While driving through the city at night, she smiles benignly at me: "You were very well-behaved. I think Richard really likes you."

I cannot claim that this is also the case for me. But at least he has not become even more unappealing to me, which seems to me to be a miracle.

She stops near my apartment, lets me get out and bends over to the open door, shrugging her shoulders regretfully. "You don't have to come to my place on Friday. I'm busy."

Oh. The addition sounds like an excuse. Can't she be with me without her lover? Is our time together over? I feel rejected, but I try to console myself with the thought that maybe a little distance might be good for me.

Apparently, she can see my grief and tries to alleviate it: "I'll pick you up the weekend after next. Everything will be fine then." She gives me a warm smile, the unfaithful soul who demanded honesty and betrayed me unscrupulously. Well, maybe I deserve no better.

She drives off as if she wanted to gain distance, and I hurry with my neck drawn in shivering through the empty pedestrian zone to my lonely apartment, feeling the negligee, the suspenders, and stockings on my skin. Funny how things develop, funny and fascinating. Maybe everything will really be alright. We'll see...