Читать книгу Under a Mistress' Spell - Episode 5 - Emanuel J. - Страница 3

The Offence

Even though it is quite mild for the time of year with almost ten degrees, I freeze when I wait for Ilona at the station on Saturday afternoon at a bus stop, I have nothing under my thin trousers. I should have known she wouldn't be on time and could have arrived a little later at the meeting point. I knew it, but I didn't dare to be late, because the mistress can afford that, but not the slave. Am I afraid of her? Not at all. But respect, there is respect for her dominance, her riding crop, her slaps. Our game has not been a game for a long time now, but bitter seriousness, no, not bitter, but real seriousness.

Finally, she comes, stops close in front of me, lets me get in and smiles contrite. I"m a little late. Have you been waiting long?"

"It’s alright."

Her gaze becomes mistress-like. "What's it again?"

Oh, I didn't know she was being formal. "I had to wait a while, my beloved Ilona."

A mocking smile flits across her face. "I hope you're not cold."

The car joins the dense traffic, turns left before the station, makes a loop of one hundred and eighty degrees and heads toward the posh district. From there it only stops on traffic lights. Her coat is open, underneath she wears jeans and a blue sweater.

"There are no new clothes," she says to me with a gloating look. "The secretary screwed up. Actually, Richard did, but since he's the boss, it can't be his fault. She was on holiday at first, and when she came back, she said she couldn't possibly get clothes without knowing the measurements. Which she's right about. Anyway, she's coming by later to measure you.

Oh. You want me to be "measured" by a secretary? Like I'm important? I almost feel like I'm about to go to the dentist. But I don't think it's going to be that awkward - I try to console myself...

Arriving at Richard's, she drives right back into the garage. Which, if I'm not mistaken, is heated. Room temperature, so the cars don't freeze. There's no shortage of decadence.

Richard awaits us in the hall and helps her out of her coat after a deep embrace. Meanwhile, I have taken off my coat without any help from anyone.

"The secretary should be here soon," he says to Ilona, with one hand on her backside, the lecher, who apparently can't get enough of her. "He can take his clothes off."

Ilona gives me a stern look. "You heard!"

If only they would treat me with a little more empathy and not as cool as a lackey for whom one has no feelings at all. But I think it best to keep my complaints to myself. Surrendering to fate, I pull my sweater over my head, then my T-shirt.

Both stare at my freshly shaved breast in consternation, and it is Ilona who first finds the words again. "Where is the negligee?"

The negligee? At home. In the laundry, which I haven't been able to get to yet. "I didn't know... nobody said anything..."

Her eyes turn dark. "Shall we be to blame now? - I don't suppose you wear suspenders either?"

Helplessly I lift my armpits. "I didn't know..." No, don't put the blame on her, it won’t go down well, I realize. But I had no idea this outfit was so important to them. Although... even I could have understood that Richard would like to see something like that on me. "I'm sorry..."

"I suppose you're wearing panties under all that misery?" So disgusted, she says it like it's pretty much the worst perversion a person can commit.

At least in that respect, I have a clear conscience. "No, my beloved Ilona. Of course not."

Wrinkles have formed on Richard's forehead. "We cannot let him get away with this offense so easily. "Punishment must be administered. - He should suck my dick."

Doubtfully Ilona looks at him. "This is not really a punishment for him."

"Perhaps. But it's good for me."

Do I really have to do this now? Just like that? - No, I don't have to, because the doorbell rings just in time.

"Bad timing," Richard says sadly and goes off to open the door.

A slender woman comes in, about forty. And stern-looking. Dark blonde hair, combed tightly back and tied with a black bow. It is accurately parted at the sides and leaves the ears completely open. Square face with thick nose and narrow lips. She is not a beauty. She is dressed in a dark turtleneck, black trousers, and a black jacket.

Richard greets her with a handshake and her grey-blue eyes look at me with irritation. If only I still had my shirt on.

Ilona also greets her with a handshake and takes a rolled-up tape measure from her handbag, hands it to her and digs out a notebook and pen. "Let's start with the neck size." Her voice is dark and soft. She doesn't seem to be causing any trouble.

Ilona puts the ribbon around my neck and tells the woman the result: "Forty-one."

I am systematically measured, arm and leg length, the circumference of the chest, waist, abdomen, also the wrists and ankles, everything is conscientiously noted down by the secretary. She wants to know the shoe size, then she closes her booklet again and turns to Richard. "This will do the trick now. I'm going to order the pink dress and matching clothes. The delivery is supposed to be fast." She puts the measuring tape in her bag and walks towards the door, gives Ilona a collegial smile, reaches out to Richard and marches out with her head held high, focused on nothing but the essentials, it seems to me.

Richard looks to her benevolently. "A faithful soul. "and doesn’t complain about coming to work on Saturday as well. A role model for everyone else, if she doesn't forget one has to know a size before buying a dress." His eyes are on me. "What are we gonna do with him? He can't walk around here like that." He looked at Ilona. "He has to be properly dressed. Would you go shopping with him?"

She shakes her head. "You want to put him in women's clothes, not me. So you take care of it."

"But you got some before."

"Yes, and afterward I asked myself why." A virtual foot stomp can be heard in her words.

Perplexed, he raises his eyes to the ceiling. "I hate shopping." Then hope springs up in him. "Would you at least go with me? ...for advice?"

Ilona agrees.

While I put on my T-shirt and sweater, I think with relief that my punishment has probably been forgotten about, at least for the time being.

Since Richard's sports car won't fit three people, we'll have to drive Ilona's small car. He takes a seat on the passenger seat and looks around suspiciously, probably wondering why one would get such a vehicle at all.

"I'll order a car for you," he says to Ilona. "Would you rather have a Porsche or a Ferrari?"

At a walking pace, we crawl along the congested road towards the city centre and in disgust she looks over at him. "What would I do with such a flashy car?"

He looks back at her without understanding, with his right hand clasped to the handle above the window like a grandmother on her Sunday drive. "Why flashy car? It has nothing to do with showing off"

"Then what is it?"

"Driving comfort. And style... Besides, without a decent car, you're not taken seriously."

Oh. Is there some sort of inferiority complex in smart, confident Richard? This is something I never thought I'd see.

Ilona thinks differently: "Oh. Aren't you taking me seriously?"

"It's different with you, you're a woman."

With a critical side glance, Ilona explains to him that he is currently on very thin ice and that he should never say something like that on Facebook if he doesn't want to harvest a shitstorm. During her talk, we drive past the traffic jam. An accident. One car collides with another. Fender bender. The left of the two lanes is blocked. Big drama. A woman cries, a fat man gestures furiously, a policeman makes placatory gestures.

"Oh wow, it is a clunker," says Richard as we agonize over it.

Ilona wouldn't object to a new car, but a normal one. Middle class. Not a huge thing.

"Upper middle class, okay," nods Richard. "It'll be here within the week."

The deal is done. Must be nice to have a lot of money, I guess. Others, including myself, might negotiate the purchase of a new coffee maker that way. But I have to beware of social envy, because somehow I'm one of the rich people now, albeit in a questionable role and anything but at eye level.

Ilona leaves the car in the car park that is close to my apartment and I think of suggesting to them that I could just get negligee and suspenders quickly. From the dirty laundry. And that it got a little stained. No, maybe it's not a good idea. So I follow them silently to the next department store and then straight to the lingerie department.

Halfheartedly I take part in the process. Actually, it's incredible what I'm doing here: I come shopping for lingerie with my mistress and a filthy-rich CEO. A lingerie for me! So they can see me in it later. Of course, all this is incredibly attractive, on the one hand, while on the other hand it frightens, embarrasses, confuses me. How do I put up with all that?

Ilona, too, seems anything but enthusiastic, is not keen on seeing me in ladies' clothes, probably would have preferred to choose something for herself. But Richard, he has no scruples, of course not, he doesn't have to wear the clothes. It doesn't take long, he has found a lot, two suspender belts, one red, the other black, and three negligees, one red, one white, one black, all lavishly decorated with frills. He seems to enjoy shopping, which he supposedly hates. He wants to hurry to the stocking department, but Ilona tells him that there are no stockings of the right size here and that you have to go somewhere else. She takes the things to the till, pays there with his card and puts the shopping bag into my hand.

Determined, we run after her to the exit. I have a hunch of where she'll lead us, and my hunch is right. We end up in the stocking store where I once met her, back then, when we were shopping with Gudrun and Sofie. It's a beautiful memory that I cherish, but only for a moment.

Ilona doesn't care that nobody must know anything about my role, neither the saleswoman nor the fat customer who is rummaging around in the pantyhose department. She points to me and does not even think of muting her voice: "We need stockings for him. He likes to wear them."

The customer looks over in consternation, but the saleswoman remains unimpressed, probably she is used to a lot. Professionally, she takes me into her sights. "I think I'm a size four." Ilona knows that, has already bought stockings in this size for me, probably in this shop here; she probably just wanted to embarrass me in front of other people. And she succeeded.

I don't know if the salesgirl recognizes me or not, and it doesn't matter. I look around for a mouse hole to crawl into, but I don't find one. Again Richard feels responsible for the selection, digs in the compartments the saleswoman shows him and brings out packages in black, white and red. Without complaint, Richard's card lets the purchase price be taken care of and the stockings go into my shopping bag, which still has room for them.

Out on the street, he looks at Ilona reproachfully. "Actually, the whole world need not know about him."

It's the first time I've ever agreed with him.

Indifferently Ilona shrugs her shoulders. "He's who he is, so let him stand by it. Secrecy is not good for the soul."

"His spiritual life seems to be in order," says Richard, without knowing anything about it.

On the way to the car the two of them bitch even more and I feel like a little boy listening to his parents arguing. The best thing for my soul would be for them to get along again and to merge into harmony, surrounded by sweet violin sounds...

At home, at Richard's villa, firstly I am sent upstairs with my shopping bag to the bathroom to change.

"Put on the red stockings," Ilona calls after me as I almost climbed the stairs. "And tell me who they remind you of."

I pause, turn around, know exactly what she wants to hear. "They remind me of... of the frivolous hussy. Again I feel like Judas and bleed my heart out when I have to call the wonderful Sofie so shamefully.

Richard looks from her to me in confusion. "Who is this frivolous hussy?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," she says and retreats into the living room with him.

Luxury without end, even in the bathroom. The taps are gold-plated, the tiles look as if they were individually handmade and the anthracite-coloured ceramics look so noble that you hardly dare to use them. The red stockings, oh dear. Now that I have to put them on myself, I can understand Sofie's aversion to them at the time. But it's no use. I put on the red suspender belt and the black negligee. It looks funny, I notice when I look in the mirror, but no, it's not that it looks funny, it's me who offers this funny sight. I prefer to do without shoes, as I cannot walk around in my shoes in this outfit. So I walk down the stairs in stockings, very carefully, so as not to slip on the shimmering blue metal steps. Without any protection, the cock sticks down there and it doesn't get any smaller when I step in front of the two of them in the living room.

"It turns him on," Richard says with a grin.

Ilona waves away resignedly. "That's just the way he is. Anything perverse makes him horny."

On the coffee table, I see with horror, there is a crop and two pairs of handcuffs.

"Brought from home especially for you," says Ilona with a scowl on her face. "It was a good idea. We'll need it."

Richard is being questioned. "Me first."

How? He wants to be beaten? No, he doesn't mean it. I must kneel before him and this time I won't be saved by the doorbell. I can't believe I'm doing this. But I have no choice, can do nothing about it, nestle down the zipper of his presumably tailor-made trousers without further ado. If I can at least placate him, perhaps a great deal has already been won and mitigated. There it appears before me, the tall sceptre. Well, I don't really need more hesitation. Sucking it into my mouth is not a big problem for me today, quite the contrary. I feel it answering my caresses, how it begins to twitch, how it rears up. To control oneself in order to prolong the whole action doesn't seem to be Richard's intention, one could almost think that there is a sexual emergency with him, but thanks to Ilona this is probably not the case. Although, fellatio-emergency was very noticeable... He withdraws from my mouth as if he were fleeing, but no, he is not fleeing. Hot splashes onto my face, I close everything that can be closed. Everywhere I get hit, on the eyelids, the nose, the lips, the cheeks, and viscously the juice creeps over my skin, runs down my chin and drips onto my negligee.

When the spring has dried up, I have to clean the still big cock in my mouth and then put it back in my pants, which is not easy because it doesn't want to shrink.

"Full load," Richard says. "That's the punishment for showing up without suspenders. He's not allowed to wash for a while."

Mercilessly Ilona shakes her head. "You only did that because you're horny. That's no punishment."

She orders me to lie face down on my seat cushion, handcuffing my hands to the legs of the table. My arms are wide outstretched, helplessly I offer my bottom and on the white carpet, which I see close below me, white sperm drips down from my face, apparently unnoticed, at least no comment can be heard. I do not draw attention to it, would probably have to get rid of it later, I have other worries, I am afraid of what is coming, want to avert it if at all possible.

Throwing all pride overboard, I'm trying to soften them up. "Please, my beloved Ilona, I won't..."

Irritated, she gets in my way. "Quit your whining!" Her next words are softer when addressed to Richard. "If you don't treat him strictly and consistently, he'll dance on your nose. Only if you train him will he be good."

She hits me hard, spanks me with her whip and spanks me to the bone. As if I'd committed an unforgivable crime. It's all about lingerie. Which, in the eyes of my masters, may indeed be a very serious offense. Flames blaze on my poor bottom and I desperately pull the chains, which does not move the marble table a millimeter, which obviously weighs tons. There is no escape.

When the ordeal is finally over, words sound as if from far away to my ear. "Maybe you'll learn something. There are expectations you must meet. Even if they are not explained to you again and again. Do you understand?"

What she's asking for is psychic ability. I'm supposed to anticipate what they want from me? Although it's not really that difficult since I know what makes them tick. Just always do what's best and most humiliating, that will be the right thing to do. I push the answer out of my sobs: "Yes, my beloved Ilona. I understand."

"And what?"

"That I... I must always be very obedient."

"It's the simplest formula," she says with unmistakable condescension. "But one can hardly expect more complex thoughts in your condition. Nor would they otherwise. But if you stick to it, it's okay."