Emanuel J. - The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1

For a moment Franziska paused to stroke his hair, “I don't know. I'd like to bet on the latter. But why don't you ask him yourself?”

Isabel's brown eyes peered at him as though he were a laboratory mouse, “And? What's it like? Humiliating or horny?”

The question was easy to answer, “Both, Lady Isabel. There's no difference. They're two sides of the same coin.”

“Humiliation makes you horny?”

“Yes, Lady Isabel.”

“And lust makes you humble?”

This was also possible if it was assumed that a pleasure slave functioned best in a state of excitement, “Yes, Lady Isabel. I guess that's...”

She nodded understanding, “It's a strange game... if it's a game at all. The cloak of civilization is pulled away and beneath it the unadulterated, the real being comes to light, the instinct ... No wonder most people want little to do with it.”

Franziska put two fingers to his lips and looked at himself smiling as he kissed them submissively and took them greedily into his mouth. “The theory seems to be right. He’s definitely in possession of a sex drive,” the fingers spread out and pushed themselves deeper, stoked lust in him, drove excited sighs from his lips, “The thing missing was humility. Have you realized what a faux pas you have made?” Yes, he did. He could only shake his head in disbelief at himself when he thought of it. He nodded without pausing to suck her fingers, and she shook her head, “Let's hope you learn something from this. Anyway, your insight is a little late.”

The fingers left his mouth and he was allowed to rise from his knees, which ached. Franziska ordered him to get the crop, which was lying on the chest of drawers. He held it as he had carried it through half the city, and heard the next instruction, “Hold it right! “

Right? He knew exactly what she meant, but hesitated for a moment, it was tricky to get it onto the upturned palms of his hands, to hold it with the requisite submission. Like an offering, he carried it over to Franziska. Now he understood what was expected of him, and bent his knees in a curtsey. Smiling, she took the stick from his hands and even before he understood what was happening to him, Isabel had handcuffed him. His hands were bound in front of him by cold hard steel, the locks clicking shut to restrain him tightly. The two women led him into the kitchen and forced his upper body down until his forehead lay on the table top. One hand remained on his neck to hold him down, while the other comfortingly stroked his hair and he heard Isabel's murmur in his ear, “I'm afraid it's going to hurt quite a bit. Franziska was really annoyed with you.” Her sympathy was that of a sadist, because of course her words increased his fear. Nevertheless, he was glad of the lovingly stroking hand.

Without warning, the dreaded whirring sounded, followed by an ugly clap. It was as if a wild animal had bitten him. Immediately the next blows pelted down upon him. Franziska gave him a vivacious beating, causing his consciousness to shift, at points he lost hearing and sight; apparently she was really angry at him. When she passed the stick on to Isabel, it was no better, even the blows of the less natural mistress were agonizing. The pain was intense, it became scarcely bearable as the bare buttocks were mercilessly whacked, the thong between them adding insult to injury, cementing his degradation. Words formed from his whimpering as if by themselves as he sobbed in pain and shame, “Please, Lady Isabel, please don't hit anymore. I'll be really polite, so polite, so obedient…”

And indeed, the anticipated blow did not materialise, but Franziska’s voice sounded immediately. “If you let yourself soften now, he'll start whining after the first stroke in the future.” He didn't see it, but, to his horror, he heard Franziska take the crop. Cruel mistress that she was, she struck him relentlessly, until he thought he may die of pain. He felt tears roll down his cheeks, his whole body shook from exertion, his legs went limp and he thought it might never stop.

Then came the quiet, the moment he had longed for. She let her hand sink to her side and he heard her voice through his light-headed world of pain. “When you beg for mercy, it gets worse. Remember that! And maybe someday you'll realize that I'm not asking you to do anything that can't be done. Now you may thank me.”

He was still lying on the table, abject and mistreated, and it was hard for him to form his sobs into words, “I thank you for the punishment, my mistress,” and suddenly more words appeared to him, how easily they came from his lips, with no effort or thinking required: “And I thank you for letting me be your slave. I love you, my lady...”

Isabel's voice sounded astonished, “Strange. The more you humiliate him and let him suffer, the more he eats out of your hand.”

A smile permeated in Franziska's voice, “That's just the way it is with submissive people. That's what the good Lord or whoever has given us for the taking.

Confession

At the weekend Franziska had a friend visiting, who was staying with her for two nights. Some acquaintances also came by, so it was too busy at their place for a slave. And, indeed, no time for Daniel. The two were probably inseparable for Franziska anyway. He saw her only as mistress, if he was honest. Nevertheless, it was a little galling to be so obviously reduced to this one role and not to be allowed to keep them company while chatting and joking with the visitors. Well, if he’d been more sociable. It would have been nice to be given the benefit of the doubt, at least. He wasn't a party animal; he was a little shy. Perhaps it was better to be able to stay home alone and finally get back to writing, for example. But once again he couldn't think of anything, not even his beloved Simone, who experienced highly charming adventures in a whole series of short stories.

Longingly the thoughts wandered to his two mistresses, who were no longer his mistresses and became more distant with every passing minute, as far away from him as if they lived on another continent. He wondered if they'd ever accept him again. That Saturday night, he doubted it. Presumably it was the end, the charming game that hadn't been a game at all, but (according to Isabel's interpretation), the unveiling of the unadulterated and real social mechanism that otherwise remained hidden under the veneer of civilization. But he could not complain, because it had given him such intense and glorious feelings, which he would cherish in his memory... It cannot be denied that Daniel sometimes tended to feel sorry for himself.

He surfed the Internet for a while, but avoided “his” forum and the pictures with the tied up and abused slaves, because that would only have awakened unfulfilled longings. Pictures of male slaves, which also existed in reasonable quantities on the Internet, did not appeal to him, he found them somehow unaesthetic. This distaste did not extend to men in general, especially not to men in the dominant role, which he found fitting and thus most appealing. In some of his fantasies he had already served a man in a very humble way... His thinking on the subject was rather confused, but that was not exactly a new insight. Far after midnight, the whiskey bottle was half empty and he could sleep like a rock, ridding himself of anxiety for a few hours, for a few hours. On Sunday afternoon Sascha, a friend of his, came by. His only friend. He was a little smaller than Daniel and very good looking, slim, athletic, dark hair, three-day beard, he was a man for mothers-in-law and daughters simultaneous, who could equally have modelled in fashion shows or for cheap whiskey advertisements. They listened to some jazz that Sascha had brought with him, and in the evening, when darkness settled over the rainy day, there was spaghetti carbonara. They talked about music, politics and football, but not about themselves and their lives. This was nothing out of the ordinary, they never did, men who preferred to sweep their problems under the rug, rather than deal with them. But it would also have been impossible to tell Sascha about the events of the last days, because he, the musician, was also a member of the normal world, which could not countenance any hint of a man’s submission to a woman, this being “unmanly”. One should be ashamed of such things, no matter how enjoyable, one should never admit to them. As they settled into the evening, Daniel produced the half full whiskey bottle. And they started to drink. And when the bottle was almost empty, late in the evening, the fragrant alcohol loosened their inhibitions.