Emanuel J. - The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1

He was drenched, running to shelter in the next department store. The lingerie department here was on the second floor.. As if a switch had been flicked, the warmth crept back into his cheeks on the way up. Well, at least he was in no danger of catching cold. There weren't many customers here either, but fortunately enough of them to keep the two saleswomen busy and off his back. He located the rail of corselets between bras, nightdresses and briefs, and lo and behold, they carried some in an extra-large size. They should fit him, and they were less expensive than he had feared. He inspected them more closely and soon decided on one. It was black with lace edges, a B cup with ruched satin straps. Its clasps were made of metal, rather than plastic, very classy. The crotch was semi-transparent mesh, with a revealing thong back.

With a burning face, he carried it to the cash register, looking around in what he hoped was a bored manner as he stood in line, then laid it on the counter as if he had nothing to do with it. Finally it disappeared into a black plastic bag, no stranger could catch even a glimpse of it, he could not quite believe that he would expose himself to his mistresses wearing it. Although the gaze of his mistresses no longer seemed so unusual... Oh. The change. He almost forgot. He got a tenner and a few coins back from his fifties.

Fishnet stockings of a sufficient size did not exist here either. And likewise in the next department store. There was no such thing in this whole damn town! What kind of unsolvable task had Franziska set him? The failure of the mission was clearly her fault if she didn't allow him to do things his way. Hmm. But whether she would understand that was still the question. Was it not one of the advantages of being a mistress that one could always blame the poor slave?

At least it wasn’t raining anymore. Nevertheless, he ran back to the long pedestrian shopping street, quite stumbled, with the black plastic bag in his hand, which seemed like cruel mockery to him, because what use was the most beautiful corselet when the stockings were missing? He would probably have no choice but to get some more in size three in the department store near Wilhelmsplatz, which he would then have to stretch and stretch, which would probably look rather strange. But there was no other solution. It started to rain again. But at least he didn't have to walk far.

Suddenly, he stopped as though rooted to the ground. What the hell was that? From a small side street, a red neon sign with the inscription hosiery shone promisingly like a star to the three wise men It felt like a sign. But should he really go in there? There were certainly no long rows of cloakroom rails in there that you could sneak along inconspicuously, there was probably a person with whom you had to share your request face to face. On the other hand, it was the last chance to complete Franziska’s mission (and to make a dream come true). And it was also dry there (which was really the weakest of the arguments he made to himself).

Some plastic women's legs could be seen in the shop window, each wrapped in a stocking, one even in a fishnet stocking. Without thinking, he opened the door. It was a very small shop, but stuffed with stocking packs that crowded into glass shelves on the walls and in chests in the middle of the room. Nobody was there. Then, an old lady with set curls came out of the next room, old-fashioned in a green suit with a knee-length skirt and a blazer tightly buttoned up the front. With burning cheeks he voiced his desire, stumbling over his words, “I need stockings... for an acquaintance. Fishnet stockings.. for suspenders. Black, size four at least.”

The lady looked him up and down, “It’ll be a size five at least.” Hm. She had obviously disregarded his mumblings about an acquaintance. With great purpose, she went to one of the chests and pulled out a pack of black fishnet stockings like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, “This should be the right thing for you. They are densely woven at the tip so that they do not pull between the toes, which can be rather uncomfortable.” Oh. Amazing what specialist knowledge all this required. He took a second pack with him, just to be on the safe side, you never know.

The lady smiled approvingly, “They are more robust than normal stockings. There's a lot you can do with them. Maybe that's why your friend recommended them to you.” For the first time in his life, he noticed the similarity between recommended and commanded . So weird.

He pretended not to have heard her and pulled his wallet out of his trouser pocket, while the lady placed two circular and black foam inserts the size of halved grapefruits on the counter, “If you need any padding? They feel good, are so light that they do not slip, give a nice shape, are machine washable and quite cheap. These are for a B cup.” Could she see through plastic or read his mind?

He looked right past her, “Okay.”

Together with the stockings they disappeared in his black bag and he put thirty euros on the table. He sacrificed the one cent he was supposed to get back to a quick escape. Breathing a sigh of relief, he hurried into the street, and was immediately drenched by the torrential rain. When he finally got home, he looked like he’d fallen in the river. But the main thing was that nothing had happened to this precious cargo, protected by the waterproof plastic bag. He took a shower and creamed his whole body from top to bottom to soften the smooth skin. Then he had to wait, actually write, yes, but nothing occurred to him, so wait until evening finally came. In the meantime, he looked up the association between recommend and command. In some unfathomable way the words had developed over the course of millennia from an Indo-European origin with the meaning “to cover, to envelop”, he read. And now, in these supposedly modern times, they were used like a code by a stocking saleswoman who told him quite obviously that she at least suspected why he had come to her shop.

*

The corselet fitted snug against his skin. It fitted well, and as Franziska predicted, it was very practical, because it didn't need hips as support, which it got from the thin straps over the armpits. The lady in the stocking store was also right: The foam inlays felt soft and warm and gave an attractive shape, almost as if real breasts filled the cups. The fishnet stockings flattered his legs very nicely and reached far up over the middle of the thighs, the straps were hardly stretched by them. Only the thong had some trouble containing the swelling sex under its mesh facade. Fascinated, he looked at himself in the long mirror hanging in the hallway, fortunately left there by the previous tenant. What he saw filled him with a tingling sensation and deep gratitude for his mistress, under whose direction he could experience these wonderful adventures. not a hint of the afternoon’s disgruntlement remained, what she had asked had been difficult, but not impossible. His complete change of mood was true to the stereotype of the volatile slave.

Since he of course could not leave the apartment in this outfit, he pulled his normal men's clothes over it, which he would then have to (be allowed to) take off again over there, which admittedly was rather cumbersome, but unavoidable. At nine o'clock he hurried over to the neighbouring apartment with his padding in his hand, briefly pressed the bell button and opened the door with a pounding heart. Today, he was not expected in the living room, but in the kitchen, he saw the light coming from there. There were probably dishes to wash.

Franziska was alone and greeted him in a very strange manner, staring at him in amazement as though he were an exhibitionist who had just accosted her with unexpected nudity beneath his coat, “What's that?” How? What did she mean? He was so confused by the consternation that he could say nothing and act even less, which meant that the deferential greeting that she presumably expected from him did not occur. Apparently, she had forgotten it in her surprise. “Didn't I tell you I wanted to see you in suspenders? And what are you wearing? A pair of jeans and a T-shirt! And sneakers. And socks. How is this possible.”