Jutta has access to my accounts via my passwords. Jutta had opened and delivered the forwarded post from the Netherlands since I got here. Every single letter I got from my friends, bills and advertisement letters, telling me they had some new product or a sale somewhere, all had been opened and read before I got it. All mails were pre-read. It was deeply humiliating; the divorce papers felt cold and dirty in my hands, having been read beforehand by his new wife, their confidentiality gone.
The legal weight of the divorce papers felt heavier than I imagined. They were pressing against my hands like a verdict I already knew was coming.
And yet, so see it on paper, it shocked me to my core.
I stared at the inked lines, my name scrawled next to his, the finality hitting me as if the life we had built was reduced to nothing more than a few stark pages.
Guilt knots my stomach, the echoes of my own choices louder than any justification I tried to cling to.
There’s no undoing it now. This piece of paper was a reminder of trust once broken cannot be fully mended. The stark reality that I ended this love felt like swallowing glass, sharp and cold, as my signature seals what was left unsaid.
There was no glee on Jutta’s face, only empathy. This document paved the way for her marriage. And yet in her eyes I could not find a trace of triumph. I tried to run away from those eyes, but she stopped me and held my sobbing head against her breast. In the quiet warmth of shared understanding, my grief softens, and a profound sense of solace found a way to my heart.
Jutta stroked my bald head and whispered softly, “Shh, baby, you have lost nothing. You just gained a husband and a wife, a new family with its own unique dynamics and dreams. Don’t worry, we will always love you and never leave you alone as long as we both shall live.”
I felt as if I was on a rollercoaster in the dark, Grief, remorse, joy, thankfulness, light and darkness alternated at a speed that took my breath away.
“Breathe, baby, breathe..” Jutta cooed.
From behind, I felt a second set of hands holding me. I heard Koen’s voice mumbling reassuring words.
“Finding a trio as insane as us must be impossible!” I gasped, my voice tight with laughter and desperation. “How do we explain this to our friends and family?”
“We don’t. We are not obliged to explain anything to anyone. Our grown children need to accept the truth. Our parents have passed away, leaving our friends to choose between continuing our friendship or ending it,” Koen said. No room for doubt there.
“Shall we have fika in the living room?” Jutta proposed. Fika was Jutta’s solution to almost every problem. Fika is Sweden’s version of British tea time. It reminded her of her youth in Sweden. Fika is a cherished Swedish tradition of taking a mindful break to enjoy coffee, tea, and often pastries, a moment of relaxation in daily life. I helped Jutta into the kitchen. Jutta was all about a nice presentation. The cookies were in a neat circle on a pretty tray, matching coffee cups, spoons that had been rubbed until they were shining. This morning I made a batch of Koen’s favourite cookies, and their delicious aroma lingered in the kitchen. Jutta served the coffee. They were both sitting on the couch fully clothed and I sat on the floor in the nude, leaning against my Mistress’ legs.
“Can I ask you something very selfish, Daddy?” Jutta asked.
“Always, little one.”
“I would like you to go tomorrow with me to the solicitor. I need you some papers to sign.” Jutta’s voice was tense. She is always so laid back, it’s not like her to be tense.
“What kind of papers, little one?”
“I know you don’t want this, but before you say no, please realise that what I am asking is extremely important to me.”
“Why am I going to say no to something so important to my little one? Do you think so little of me, little girl?”
I could see neither of them, except their legs and feet. I heard Jutta take a deep breath and she blurted, “I want you to not only dominate me in the bedroom, I need you to dominate me financially as well. Tomorrow I will give away all my possessions, including the business, to you.”
“WHAT?!”
Oh, dear. Trouble in paradise.
“Let me explain, Daddy. We are going to get married, right? So you would get half of what is mine, anyway. After my late husband died, I had to run this business. And running in the hotel is nice. But at the same time, it’s a lot of work. Long days, stress over staff that call in sick. With the hotel running as well as it does, it attracts more locals who want to celebrate weddings and give parties here. It’s getting more and more difficult to plan a weekend completely empty to cater to our guests from Kinky Kinta. More importantly, it’s difficult to spend the whole weekend together uninterrupted. And after work I have to do the finances. I hate doing finance. I do not simply not like it, I truly hate it. Getting rid of that burden would be such a relief. I want nothing to do with it anymore.”
“What do you want? Sell the hotel? Abolish Club Kinta? To throw it all away, is that what you want to do? You have done this for so long, your roots are here. This is not only your home, it’s your daughter’s home as well.” Koen’s voice was a mix of furious snarls and bewildered questions.
“Ilse will find her master soon. After her year with Master Martin, I have no doubt a master will present himself. I don’t think she wants to live here with her mommy. Although I like to be a little, I am that naive.”
“If you detest bookkeeping so much, I could do that for you. That way, you can keep the hotel and the club. But there is no way I am taking over your finances. You should never give a man that kind of power, even if you trust him,” Koen said.
“Permission to speak, mistress?” I asked.
They both looked down at me, surprised, as if they suddenly realised I was still there. Jutta was caressing my head. It felt good. It would feel better if I had hair there for her to play with, but this would do.
“You may speak, slut.” Jutta said.
I kept my gaze downwards. “Master, my mistress has left her country once for love, coming here a long time ago. Can’t you see she is willing and eager to follow you wherever you might go? The weight of past memories hangs heavy in this place, but she seeks a blank canvas to paint her future with new experiences and make fresh memories.”
“Leaving everything behind is hard enough, but moving to a country where you don’t even speak the language adds another layer of difficulty,” Koen argued.
“My slave can teach me the language. She was a teacher once, wasn’t she?” Jutta said.
“You have all the answers, don’t you?” Koen said.
“Is it so hard to understand, Daddy? I trust you with my life, and you take on that responsibility like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But the moment I mention money, I suddenly have to be mistrustful. It’s just money. Compared to the enormous amount of faith I have in you, money is insignificant. Are you forgetting that we’re soon to be married? The only thing I want is to spend as much time as possible as your little one. And, of course, keeping the slut on a short leash. But that is all. Little ones get a small amount of pocket money if they are doing their chores well, and if they are sweet and obedient. If they are a brat, they get grounded and daddy will not give her any money at all that week. There is no way I can combine a 40 to 60 hour workweek with being your Little. So my choice is so easy. I have enough money. I don’t have enough happiness.”
Koen needed time to let that sink in. I felt him tense. His body language spoke volumes about how uncomfortable he felt in this conversation.
“Home is where you are, my master.” Jutta took her slave dress over her head and stood before Koen. She was beautiful, my mistress, with wonderful full tits I could only dream of. I’m knew Koen never would get tired from looking at them, feeling those milk bags in his hands and squeezing them like he owns them. He does, of course. Jutta showed her slave mark tattoo on her upper leg.
“This tattoo says I am your slave, Master. Even if I didn’t want to go, I would follow you anywhere you go, my Master.”
Everything in my master tensed up, and his voice was hoarse as he said “Red.” It’s the safe word we use in play, but I never heard of a master use it. But then again, Master Koen was not your average master. Our eyes widened in disbelief as we looked at him; a hush fell over us.
“Family meeting NOW. Kitchen table. HURRY.” He sounded livid.
We followed him into the kitchen. Jutta ignored the table and sat on the floor next to his right knee. I mimicked her actions, sitting at Koen’s opposite foot.
“I said family meeting. That means you are sitting both on a chair on an equal footing with me,” Master Koen said.
“Although you’d might like this to be a democracy, it isn’t,” Jutta explained. “You reign supreme in your own personal world. Yes, we voted for our dictator willingly. This is no different that people in the USA or Russia or Turkey did. They’re looking for a strong, decisive leader. Lead us, master.”
I saw Koen deciding. It takes a while for him to make a decision, but when he does, he follows through. It made him such a successful businessman. He looked down at his two naked girls. We both bowed our heads in unison, a silent, coordinated movement that felt strangely rehearsed. “There is one matter we have to deal with. I will punish you both for manipulating me into this decision. Go to the playroom and prepare yourself and each other for one of the longest punishment I have ever dealt out.”
“I am sorry, Mistress,” I said as we walked in the nude from our private entrance to the dungeon.
“For what?” Jutta asked. She made a dismissive wave with her hand. She avoided to make eye-contact.
“For making master Koen so angry, he is going to take it out on you. I know you are not into pain, mistress.”
“It needed to be done.” Her voice conveying unwillingness to engage further. We trudged through the dungeon, our feet hurting from the uneven stones. In the dungeon Jutta activated two bright light spots on the small podium. In the bright light of the spot, Jutta sat on her knees with her back to the entrance bent over until her nose touched the floor. With her arms stretched out in front of her as far as she could, she spread her legs wide and stuck her butt up. I copied her pose and for a moment we were in a strange competition to see who could present themselves as the most vulnerable. Jutta won. She is younger and more competitive. It must have been quite a sight for Koen. Two women in a completely dark room and the only lit spots showed their open pussies and ass hole, stretched wide open.
We waited. Five minutes gone by and nothing happened. Ten minutes.
“Are you afraid, mistress?” I asked softly.
“Perhaps a little,” she said. A barely audible tremor in her voice.
“That is good.” I said.
“What?” Her voice resonated in the empty dungeon. Let us hope for her that the dungeon was indeed empty. All the effort we put into presenting ourselves prettily would have been for naught if Koen was standing there silently in the room’s entrance.
“Shh,” I warned. “It’s good to mix a bit of anxiety with desire. I am anxious many times about what you will do. It keeps me on my toes.”
“Surely you are not afraid of me, slut.”
Even now, she called me a slut. She was pressing her tits on the floor, her arms aching from being stretched out so far, her knees hurting from sitting in this position for some time and her pussy on full display for her Master to do whatever he wanted with it. The word “slut” had been stripped of its power, devoid of its usual venom. It was now a term of endearment, used with warmth and affection.
“Sometimes you are so unpredictable and that scares me, mistress. But is a good scare, it makes me feel alive. I never felt that with master Koen, ever. With him I always knew what he was going to do, but with you I often have no clue how you will react. I love it, mistress.”
We were silent for a while. Unused except for once monthly, the dungeon was cold, the stone floors radiating a chill that seeped into one’s bones. It even smelled unused in here. My body felt a creeping stiffness in the joints, particularly in my neck, back, or legs, as if they’re subtly locking up from the lack of movement. The cold air of the dungeon amplifies the discomfort, and made my skin feel slightly chilled and my muscles tense, as though my body is bracing against the cool environment.
Finally, I heard footsteps coming our way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jutta tense up completely.
“I see the slut is already wet, but I think the Little One is not very excited at the prospect of being presented with the bill for her behaviour.” Koen still sounded angry, perhaps a little hurt. My pussy was betraying my excitement. I might have secretly relished Koen’s unexpected transformation from a gentle, forgiving father to a demanding master for his Little One; it felt like karma.
“Tell me the reason you are being punished, slave.” I heard the sound of the flogger at a furious pace deliver at least 10 swats. I felt none of them. My mistress definitely did. “Surely you have had ample time to think about it, little one. Tell me.”
“I deeply regret having pressured you into something against your will. It was wrong of me, and I sincerely apologise for not respecting your feelings and choices as I should have. I will accept any punishment you see fit, Master.” Jutta said clearly.
Again the flogger made furious contact with my mistress’ skin. This time she could not hold back her tears. Unconsciously, I counted them. 20 lashes in total.
“I will ask you again, little one. And think this time before you answer. What is the reason I am hurting you so bad?” Koen asked. With a frustrated sigh, he walked in increasingly tighter circles around her, his shadow stretching and shrinking with each turn. I felt like a forgotten statue, ignored amidst the hustle and bustle, a mere silent observer.
“Forgive me, Master, for thrusting upon you the unwelcome task of handling my financial affairs; I feel terrible about it. I apologise for surprising you; if you prefer, I will keep on doing it myself, I understand.”
Yep. Wrong answer, girl. I already heard the flogger raining blows on her skin. From the sound it was making, these were even harder than the last. If I could have taken Jutta’s pain, I would have gladly done so. Now she lay helplessly waiting. It was clear she did not understand at all what was bothering Koen. I could have intervened, permission to speak or not, and told Jutta what was bothering Koen, but I chose not to. If they would come out of this together, it would strengthen their bond. They both needed this ritual to accept the responsibilities in their new roles in this partnership. It takes time. And pain.
Does physical pain cause more suffering than mental pain? I realised Koen was also suffering. The old question presented itself, a cruel choice between the darkness or blindness or the emptiness of deafness, all three equally terrifying. And in our weird dynamic pain was the vehicle that would help us solve our relationship. She had said she would do anything to mend their relation. He had promised to be tough enough to face his responsibilities.
“Again the wrong answer, slave.” I heard the unmistakable, terrifying sound of a cane, the high-pitched swishing noise it made as you moved it quickly back and forth. Goosebumps spread rapidly over my body, and this time it was definitely not from the cold. Out of nowhere, I felt his spit on my bald head, dripping slowly downwards to the floor.
“You are quiet, slut”, he sneered, “why don’t you help your mistress a bit?” I kept quiet. It was high time for Jutta to comprehend Koen’s complex thinking, to perceive the world as he did, and to appreciate his mental processes. “Explain to your mistress slut what bastinado is.”
“No Sir, please don’t do it. It was my fault as much as it was hers.” I pleaded.
Koen’s voice sounded hard. Unwavering. Was this the man I had accused of not being strict enough? “Answer the question slut, what is bastinado?”
“It is punishment consisting of blows with a stick on the soles of the feet or on the buttocks, sir. Please don’t do this to my mistress. It means that she will soon no longer be able to walk for days!” I pleaded.
“Mayhap I will beat your feet instead of hers until she comes up with the right answer, slut?” He said thoughtfully. A few seconds later, I was wailing in agony. You cannot imagine how cruel this punishment is until someone slaps your feet with a rattan cane.
“So, my little one. You can come up with a sincere apology, or I will beat your slaves’ feet until she cannot walk anymore tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow.” SLAP. A full force blow to my left foot. I filled every crack and stone of the dungeon with my lungs.
Apparently he had the flogger in his hand again, for I heard a long series of slaps against my mistress’ backside. Without warning, another two quick blows of the cane to my left foot again.
“I see we will be here all night. And this is just the apology. The punishment has not begun yet.” Jutta and I were in competition who could yell the hardest. I won. Three blows in rapid succession to my right foot. All the nerves in my poor foot exploded until there was no foot left anymore.
“Please stop, master. This is so cruel. Could any offense truly merit such an extreme reaction regardless of the severity of the crime?” This time the rain of blows pouring down on her body, interrupted only by a single hard thud on my feet, didn’t stop.
“RED”, Jutta cried. Koen stopped at once, sat down on the floor before us and took both our heads in his lap and caressed our heads. Playing with Jutta’s hair a bit. Making little circles on my bald skin. With Jutta’s face a breath away, I saw the horrifying realisation dawned on her. The reason for her master’s rage and the harsh punishment that followed. It brought on a fresh outburst of grief. Koen just sat there, keeping us both safe in his lap. I kissed her tears away. The sharp, salty tang of our tears, a strange blend of grief and something else, was surprisingly pleasant on my tongue. Monotonously, Koen caressed our heads regularly as if a melody were playing in his head. Knowing Koen, it was Bach.
“A safeword that is regarded is one of the sacred things in BDSM. The difference between consent and abuse is a safeword. A discarded safeword like you both did in the kitchen, it usually means the loss of trust and, as a result the relationship. What is a relation without trust?” Koen probably did not realise how painful that statement was on the day my divorce papers were served.
“So when you were giving me that crap about me being the dictator within our relationship, our polygamous relationship, and refused to acknowledge my safeword, I felt betrayed and lonely in spite of two women, instead of one.”
“Please accept my apology, Master. The slut is not to blame. It is my fault and only mine. I refused to sit and talk like equals, Master Koen. Would you be so kind to cane my feet so I cannot walk for days, please? I’m begging you, Master. Please do whatever you like with me, with my slave as well. We are yours, my Lord. Forever and ever.”
“I will punish you, my Little One, but I won’t beat your feet. I will punish you in a more cruel way.” With that statement, he stood up. We sprang into the attention pose. My feet hurt like hell, but I tried to stay motionless. He went to the wall and got two blindfolds.
“Make sure the slut cannot see a thing, Little One.” According to the pressure on my scalp, she did a fine job doing that.
“How many fingers am I holding?”
“Five”, I guessed.
Apparently I had passed her test. I heard Koen making sure her blindfold took away the perhaps most important one of Jutta’s senses. A soft black ball gag made communication impossible. On top of that, we each got a headset on, playing one of Bach’s harpsichord concertos.
“Don’t move,” he hissed, the words sharp and urgent through the music. Sense deprivation strips away the constant stream of stimuli we take for granted, forcing us into an intimate encounter with our inner world. In the absence of sight, sound, or touch, the mind may wander to unexpected depths, revealing hidden thoughts, fears, or even moments of clarity. It would make perfect sense to resent or even hate Jutta’s guts, pulling a stunt like this on the day my marriage officially ended. It was clearly no accident that she made her announcement about her future in the Netherlands alongside Koen today. At his place. If she had thought things through, she would have known precisely what to apologise for. Instead, my feet hurt so badly that standing on it without moving was very difficult. But for some reason I could not explain, I only felt tenderness for Jutta. I did not know what Jutta would have through next, but it would not be easy. The days I was thinking Master Koen was a softy were gone forever.
I was so focused on Jutta that I more felt that Koen had taken her away from the podium than anything else. Perhaps it was her body warmth I missed, or our connection was broken somehow. I was not afraid for her. Koen would rather die than do something terrible to his Little One.
With Zuzanna I had walked the Camino de Santiago a couple of years ago. The Camino de Santiago is a pilgrimage route leading to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. We walked 800 kilometres in one month, some 25 km a day. I never knew my feet could hurt so much as when we arrived at the final stages of the route. Today I remembered how it felt. My legs trembled, my heart pounded, but I used every ounce of willpower to stay perfectly still.
After an eternity or two, I felt Koen’s hands grabbing me and pulling me along the cold, damp stone floor of the dungeon. I did my best to keep up with him in the dark. I felt his hand behind the back of my head and a few seconds later I could see Jutta in the dimly lit dungeon. She was strapped securely and was hanging upside down onto the big X-cross. By pulling a lever at the back of the cross allowed it a full 360-degree rotation. Her long hair was touching the floor. A chain attached to both of her nipples clamps was hanging down about at the level of her throat. Roughly Koen grabbed my wrists and cuffed them behind my back.
“I gave her a choice. Either shave her head bold like you. Just this once, not forever like you, OR.” He paused. I waited patiently like a good slave girl. Perhaps I was not a good girl, but I was a good slave girl.
“OR,” he continued finally, “I would fist her without any lube.” I cringed. Koen has long fingers. Piano fingers. We have tried it before in the past, but my pussy is too tight for fisting. Four fingers and I had to safe word out of it.
“So she chose the fisting. But I’m not a completely heartless bastard. You can give her a few orgasms with your tongue to make her wet.”
I could understand why she chose the painful option. When I lost my hair, I went through a mix of emotional and physical changes. On an emotional level, I had to deal with feeling of vulnerability, loss of femininity and questions about cancer. Physically, I felt more naked than ever exposed to the elements. I felt naked even at times I was wearing clothes. Probably Koen was pleased with Jutta’s decision as well. Koen had a thing for hair, he loved to play with my hair for hours. His nightly ritual of playing with my hair while I slept lulled me into such a deep sleep, I was oblivious to his presence. It spoke volumes that Koen had given her this choice. Neither of us had realised how much we had hurt him.
He took my ball gag out and I lowered my head and carefully let my tongue explore her yoni. I teased her outer lips with small licks and I stroked them gently with my nose. A girl has got to be creative when she is not able to use her hands. I gently pressed my cheeks against her inner thighs, hoping she could feel the love and tenderness in my touch. I planted kisses all over her lips of shame. Without delay I continued kissing her perineum and on to her anus. With butterfly kisses, I went back and forth, only to stop and insert my tongue as deep as I could in her anus. I waggled my tongue a bit. Perhaps I needed to give Koen a few less subtle hints about that very ultra sensitive part of her. When she shuddered, I went back to her beautiful pussy and feasted on it. I devoured it, greedy to lick all of her juices, only to start again and again. At last I moved my lips to her clittie. Gently, I sucked the already erect mini penis into my mouth as I circled my tongue around it. She came hard as I finally gave it all I got. If she had not been strapped on the cross so tightly, she would have jumped 10 cm in the air. I heard her howl like a wounded animal.
To keep her on the plateau of arousal, I started to talk dirty to her. The biggest sex organ is the brain. Even prostitutes can come from dirty talking. “Oh, mistress, you pussy is so beautiful and it’s so tasty. I love you taste and smell”, I breathed against her clit. “Let me worship your pussy, my mistress, my beautiful mistress. Let me put my tongue inside you and lap you like a dog would.” I put my money where my mouth was. Or my tongue in my pussy. She was getting really wet now. I hoped master Koen would be excited enough to let me continue for a while so I could make it easier for her.
“Your ass is next, mistress. Your ass is mine. I will plunder your asshole with my tongue. You will wonder if this is a buttplug or my tongue.” I whispered against her wrinkled star. As forcefully as I could, I thrusted my tongue in and out her asshole. Her pussy spasmed as did and she came big time. “You should wear a buttplug all the time, mistress. You deserve to have your wonderful, sensitive hole filled with a big cock. Albeit a plastic one, just to get used to it, before my master will destroy your asshole for all time.” She had a full body orgasm, every limb in her body joined her celebration of intense happiness.
Message delivered. I kept tonguing her until the Master shoved me roughly away. There was no trace of anger in his face anymore. He was in the nude and fully erect after that demonstration. Guys love for some reason to see a girl go down on another girl, just as much as they dislike it the other way around. I crawled with some difficulty and took his erect member in my mouth. I just pressed my tongue against his cock and let it rest there. If my Master wanted a blow job he would press my face against his groin, otherwise I would save his semen for my mistress. My master was not a young man anymore and for that reason, his semen was in limited supply these days. And I knew my mistress loved to taste it. She acted like it was the most delicious chocolate she ever tasted. Reality check: every woman that has ever swallowed a mouthful of come, knows that it’s not that yummy. Rather the opposite. It tastes like wallpaper paste. And it looks like it. It smells like it. We women know that a man takes it as a personal insult if we spit it out. So we swallow. Braveheart is of the female gender. Swallowing doesn’t mean that we like it. I am not sure if mistress Jutta’s eagerness to swallow results from the early stage of their relationship or that she truly, honestly loves it? Hey, if you love it, who am I to judge? Those baby makers simply know they do not belong in your mouth or stomach.
Jutta couldn’t see the lube covering Koen’s hand. Perhaps this would not be unpleasant for her after all. Two fingers went in easily. Three fingers. Yes. He added his pinky and soon I saw his hand moving up and down, making ever so slightly sopping sounds from her wetness. Quickly, he added his thumb, cupping his hand. Soft and slow, his hand disappeared in her love cave. I was amazed she could take his hand so quickly. When his hand was in her until his wrist, he cleared his throat and said, “In porn movies I have seen women could take a guy’s hand to his elbow. Now, if I said I wanted to do that, what would you say?”
“I would use my safe word, master. I want to take more than this, but I simply cannot.”
“And would you expect me to honour your safeword?”
“Yes, master.” Her voice sounded small.
“Good, because that is what trust is all about.” Master Koen slowly took half of his hand out of my mistress’ pussy and rammed it back in again.
“Oeff” Jutta cried.
Slowly out, fast in. I felt the effect on my tongue. This was turning him on. Good for you, Master. He continued to fistfuck her and I smelled her arousal. Koen rammed his dick with force in my throat and fucked my face hard. I wish I could grab his legs so I could help him, but my hands were useless behind my back. Master came first and seconds later Jutta screamed her release. Master, in all his nakedness, plopped down on the floor. Without instructions, I stood up behind the mistress and licked her clean, as tender as I could. I could see Master was holding his hand before her face. Jutta licked, still upside down on the cross, his hand so clean he could go into an operation room and start surgery. It aroused her as well. No doubt this woman was submissive to her core. It made me appreciate her more, as she played the ruthless Domina with me.
“Untie your mistress for me, and make her feel loved,” Koen said and without looking back he walked to the wet corner to take a shower. I held my mistress and kissed her face with butterfly kisses, but those were not the kisses she needed. Without a word she broke away from my embrace, sat on her knees with her hands in her neck, arching her back a bit and sat presented herself proudly to Master’s touch. Her hair was a mess. She smelled like a streetwalker after a profitable night, but she looked proud and strong. I mimicked her example. I was wondering if he was finished with Jutta for now, and I would be the next one.
“Slave!” He meant Jutta. I was his slut. More today than ever. “Take off those clover clamps, and when you do, I do not want to hear a sound from you.” It would be so nice if you would feel that amount of pain when you are reading this.
“Good girl. Come here. Kiss me.” Koen did his ‘you-kiss-me,-but-I-don’t-kiss-you-back’-routine. It’s very frustrating. It only leads to you wanting to kiss him more intimately and give it all you got. And that is exactly what mistress Jutta did. I was happy to see she was successful in the end and they spent a good ten minutes necking. I was looking at them. On the day of my divorce, I saw my ex-husband kissing his new wife with passion. It hurt. I am never jealous of their happiness, but today I grieved for missed opportunities and poor decisions.
Master Koen let go and pushed Jutta’s head into his lap. Immediately, she started sucking his limp cock. Even if there was no chance of a new erection that fast, she was satisfied with having his cock in her mouth. Master Koen was playing with her hair, undoubtedly pleased with her choice.
“Slut!” It’s different from how Koen says it. He means it. There is contempt in his voice. “We will retrieve your old diaries from home. Next week we will go to Holland and visit Natasha and Peter. I’m sure you will love to see your son again, and even more so Natasha. When we return here, you will read out loud from your diaries to Jutta and me. I refuse to have secrets for Jutta and I want your mistress to know all that has happened to you in the past, so she will understand you better. Is that understood?”
“Yes, master.”
“Good”, he said. Now let us get out of here before I get a bladder infection.
