Emanuel J. - Under a Mistress' Spell - Episode 5

UNDER A MISTRESS’ SPELL

5 / 7

Richard

Emanuel J.

Cover: Giada Armani

Copyright: BERLINABLE UG

Berlinable invites you to leave all your fears behind and dive into a world where sex is a tool for self-empowerment.

Our mission is to change the world - one soul at a time.

When people accept their own sexuality, they build a more tolerant society.

Words to inspire, to encourage, to transform.

Open your mind and free your deepest desires.

All rights reserved.It is not permitted to copy, distribute or otherwise publish the content of this eBook without the express permission of the publisher. Subject to changes, typographical errors and spelling errors. The plot and the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to dead or living people or public figures is not intended and are purely coincidental.

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."