Читать книгу Under a Mistress' Spell - Episode 7 - Emanuel J. - Страница 2

The New Home

Ilona is waiting for us in the hall. She looks good in her short white summer dress. Richard hugs her upstairs while I kiss her shoes downstairs, the worn-out white sandals she's wearing now because she lives here now, just like me.

She asks me how it was.

What should I answer? The truth? I don't know what the truth is. It consists of many individual components, some of which fit together, many of which do not, and some of which repel each other. And they all add up to quite a mess. But that's not an answer I can give her, because it's far too vague. Loosening the tongue from her foot, I look up at her. "I don't know, Lady Ilona... It was strange."

"Oh. Strange? Is that all you can think of to say? "I thought you were being gripped really hard over there."

"Yes, Lady Ilona, I was."

"And that goes under 'weird' for you? Well, you can tell us about it later. I'm curious."

Richard is being questioned. "But move first."

An ironic smile resonates in her words. "Moving first, of course. You missed your sissy whore sorely, didn't you?"

There is a humming sound coming from him.

Without having received the order for it, my lips kiss Ilona's calves and move up to her thighs.

"Don't do that," she tells me. "What are you doing?"

Startled, I let her go. She might have liked it. But it seems those days are gone. She hasn't allowed me to go near her for a long time. Right down to her shoes, no more.

Both accompany me upstairs to the bathroom, where I undress before their eyes. And in front of two cameras. They are not provisionally stuck somewhere, but screwed into the corners at the top, now they always stay here, just like me, I am told.

I have to put the chastity belt on. No, I don't think I missed this thing. But it has its advantages: The humiliating expression of obedience, which was demanded of me in the boot camp, becomes impossible. I'd still like to do without it. As my limb slides into the vaseline-painted tube, I feel as if it were locked away forever and ever, and as the locks click into place, a cool shiver trickles through my soul. Condemned to chastity by the keyholder. The power of control over my feelings is now in her hands, all self-determination is given up. I feel helpless as never before. But it is also exciting.

There are two new sissy dresses for me, one is light blue, the other one I have to wear is pink. But first, belts fishnet stockings in white. Also, a white bra is ready, worked exactly the same as the black one, the cups have slits for the silicone inserts. The skirt of the dress is as short and flared as the other dresses. The pink frilly panties flash out from under the white petticoat. There are also new shoes, pink slippers with half high block heels and decorated with a big white bow, mercilessly kitschy like everything I wear. I have to put on the white sissy collar with the two bells and also the anklet, which is obviously indispensable, just like in boot camp. The fingernails still have to be painted, the lips painted red, the wig with the golden hair on, then the Sissy is ready.

There are now cameras installed in the living room, too, three of them, in the corners at the top, so I look with consternation.

Ilona follows my gaze but says nothing.

I serve her wine with my maid's curtsy, to Richard too, of course, and may sit down on my seat cushion.

Ilona looks at me with a warning. "This is the only piece of furniture in this house you're allowed to sit on. "All chairs, armchairs and so on are forbidden for you. "We don't want you lolling around here when you're alone. Do you hear me?"

How could I have missed it when she spoke so forcefully? It is strange not to be allowed to sit on a chair, but even without an explicit command it has become so commonplace that I sit nowhere else but here on the pillow. Except when I eat. Does this strange order apply to that as well? I don't believe it. "But... A knife is driven into my stomach. Angry pain, waterfalls of blood before my eyes, a thunderous roar in my ears. I find myself on carpet, bent and painfully panting."

With the remote control in her hand Ilona looks down at me. "Did you hear that?"

Sweat is on my forehead, everything about me is trembling and it is difficult to bring out words. "Yes, Lady Ilona, I understand."

"You must be good," she says. "Always answer nicely when you are asked something. And never use that word. We don't like that. We won't let you get away with anything anymore, no carelessness, no flippancy, not to mention contradiction. You do what we tell you to do. You'll do it immediately and without hesitation. I hope you understand. For your sake, I hope you do."

I think I have understood, because a feeling of boundless powerlessness comes up. They do what they want with me, and I have no choice but to follow every instruction, no matter how much toil, humiliation, and disgust it may bring. These electric shocks give them a means of power that leaves me entirely at their mercy. If they don't like something, they press the button and send me to hell with it. If I want to avoid this, I must be unconditionally obedient. There is no other way. With trembling limbs, I climb up the seat cushion again and fearfully my gaze sticks to the remote control in her hand. Hopefully she does not press on it again...

I should tell you about the boot camp, she says and raises her index finger as a reminder. "But in great detail. If I have to pull information out of your nose, you know what happens."

Yes, I know that! So, anxious not to forget anything, I tell them about my experiences, about the negligee that was our clothing, about the ankle bracelet that we had to wear all the time, even at night, about the food that we were given to tilt on the floor, and about cleaning day after day, washing the dishes and ironing the laundry.

Ilona interrupts me smiling. "I'm glad I taught you that."

Yes, what a blessing; would be terrible if I couldn't iron. Of course, I keep my sarcasm to myself, I have to continue my report from boot camp. Only I don't know what to reveal next. Ilona's sinister look tells me that I must not hesitate too long, so I just say what is going through my mind right now: "If we wanted to go to the toilet, we had to ask a supervisor or a warden for permission. Yes ... And if we approached them or were approached by them, we had to touch each other."

Critically, Richard looks over to me. "Touch? Could you be a little more specific?"

"Well, I had to... jerk off.

"And the women?"

"They had to stick a finger in."

Surprisingly, he is satisfied with this information, doesn't ask where they had to stick their finger in, you can imagine. Impressed, he raises his eyebrows. "The customs there are awesome."

He's right about that, though.

Ilona is busy with other thoughts. "There were female guards too? Emancipation is making progress. Very good." Her gaze becomes pensive. "You couldn't go to the toilet without permission? Like little kids in school? Interesting. We'll introduce that here too. Starting now. No more going to the bathroom without permission! Do you hear me?"

I should have kept my mouth shut. But I can't shut up. I have to blab all the things that Ilona can come up with. "Yes, Lady Ilona, I heard."

"It's a pity you can't take your cock in your hands when you talk to us," she says. "But that way it has other advantages."

I have to continue my report and describe the problems that slave eighteen had.

"You were called by numbers?" Ilona asks.

Doesn't she know that? Did I forget to report it? Heavens! She's not gonna make me pay for this, is she? My stomach is cramping up and my heart is pounding.

Her smile is magnanimous, as if to tell me that she is overlooking this crime once again. "What has been done to her then?"

I tell her how she was chained in the hall for the guests, which was not successful, and how she was punished on the lawn under the golden waterfall.

"That's disgusting," she says with a sniffling snout. "Did it do any good at all?"

"Yes, Lady Ilona, after that she was good."

Richard speaks from his armchair. "Look, it served its purpose." He seems a little tense, perhaps afraid I might mention the whore to everyone and quarrel with Ilona. But no, it'll be my secret. I don't want to drag Sofie even deeper into the dirt she's already up to her ears in. And I don't want my heart to bleed again, which it already does when I think of her. I also keep the film shooting to myself. It seems too shameful to me to tell them about the porridge I had to gobble down, and besides ... Maybe they would have noticed something of the tender feelings I had for the slave. That I'm ashamed of. I can't fall in love with every woman who is reasonably pretty and has a touch of sympathy for me. You'd think my hormones were going crazy, which is not surprising...

Ilona secretly yawns. Only this morning they have returned from the Maldives and she longs for her bed, Richard too. They accompany me upstairs to the bathroom and hand me the small key so that I can remove the anklet. Thank goodness. I was afraid I would have to wear it here at night as I did in boot camp. Except for the sissy panties, I have to take off everything and put on one of the lavish nightgowns. I would prefer that the two of them leave me alone, probably never get used to peeing under supervision.

But isn't there a new order, a terribly shameful one? Do I really have to do this? Needless to say. Knowing Ilona, of course she means it. I let my eyes wander from the bowl to her, indecisively. "Could I...?"

The knife bores into my abdomen, a giant fist bends me together, I hold on to the sink, close to sinking to the floor.

Ilona's voice pushes mercilessly into my agony. "No flippin'! "You humbly ask. As a good little doll should."

I know what she means, and I'll do anything she wants. One moment of collecting and catching my breath, then I curtsey in front of her and drift the humble words from my lips: "Please, Lady Ilona, will you allow me to go to the toilet?"

She smiles magnanimously. "Sure. If you ask so nicely. - But you go downstairs to the guest bathroom. You're always doing that now. You'll find everything you need down there."

Both go down with me and watch through the open door as I slide my panties down and sit down on the bowl. Even here a camera is staring down at me now. Total surveillance. This is certainly contemporary, but also very strange. And it takes the ever-present feeling of powerlessness to the extreme.

Before the boot camp I had got used to peeing into the chastity belt, but now it is as strange as at the beginning. It doesn't run off fast enough through the small hole, gets jammed, washes around the cock with warm water, until after a short time everything has trickled out. The white plastic syringe lies ready in the sink. I fill it with water and press it through the upper hole into the chamber, so that it cleans everything. After the warmth now the cold, my poor limb doesn’t have it easy. With toilet paper, I wipe the remaining drops from the metal of the chastity belt and pull the panties up. All by itself the nightgown falls down modestly. Of course, I do not forget to wash my hands afterwards. Ready for the night.

Impatiently, the two of them stand outside the door, waiting for me. I follow them to the stairs with wonderfully free steps, but they don't go up but down. What do they want there? Not to the utility room, surely? It's closing time. - No, not this one. The room opposite, which had been a kind of lumber room, has been given a barred door. And the inside has been completely redone. In pink! The walls, the carpet, everything pink and white. Pink is also the cover of the narrow bed that stands at the back of the wall, and white is the sideboard under the low windows at the top, in front of which pink lace curtains hang.

Richard proudly points to the romantic room. "Do you like your Sissy Room?"

I'm at a loss for words right now. Which I don't think is allowed. So, I'm digging around in my little mind for an answer. "Well, sir, it comes as a surprise.

"I like it," he says, and I wonder if he has a pedophile streak.

Suddenly and unexpectedly the grille door moves to the side without anyone lifting a finger. I wonder if it reacts to thoughts. I wouldn't be surprised. But I'd say it has more to do with that smartphone in Ilona's hand. Well, in God's name I'll come in. Of course, it's nicer here than in the boot camp dormitory... The pink sheet is not stained and will stay clean whether I want to or not. The door slams shut behind me and the metallic sound of a snapping lock can be heard. Am I locked in?

"If there's a problem, fire, burglars or something, you just call," says Richard.

So, there are microphones. And cameras, too. Two of them, upstairs, under the ceiling on the wall.

Ilona's voice sounds cool. "But you only call when there's a real problem. Not if you're lonely. Not if you're in any kind of trouble. We're not interested."

The two turn away and their steps fade away on the metal stairs. I lie down in bed and the light goes out as if by magic. Everything works here without my intervention, as if I were a small child, not capable of taking responsibility for myself. I cuddle up under the satin blanket and as if by magic my fingers glide over the silky nightdress and to the frilly panties. There it goes no further. My thoughts turn to Sofie. The whore for everyone. It's unbelievable what's happening to her. It hurts down there, because the dick has reached its limit. I'd like to touch it, like I did so many times at boot camp. Slave eleven appears before my eyes, the envious one, who likes all people, and I see the slave from the film shooting, whose pee, no, whose golden shower I was allowed to drink, no, I had to, of course. I would like to have her with me, any of the three, but probably each of them would be irritated if she felt metal down there like a robot. Although they would be even more irritated by other things and therefore would certainly not end up in my sissy bed. Like no other woman. Not even Sofie. Who probably feels the same way about me as I do about her: Why does she allow herself to be humiliated, abused, enslaved, without rebelling against it? - The answer probably applies to both of us: Because of the urges, why else, because of the irrepressible desire to live out the dreams, as bizarre as they may be.

It takes a long time until I fall asleep in the fragrant sissy bed, where you could feel like a princess if you were a girl ...