Sylvia had crazy ideas about going to this club in Germany.
“Let’s go with the Transit. You can tie me up in the back, totally nude. Blindfold me so you’ll take away my notion of time and gag me. Make me suffer for twisting your arm to go to the Club.”
I didn’t, of course. We learned the hard way that the Transit was not very comfortable during our last trip to Germany. I dreaded the possibility of being stopped by the German Polizei and having to explain my woman tied in the cargo area. So we went like a normal couple in a normal car, driving at abnormal speeds on the Autobahn. The conversation flowed like normal as always, not the high protocol speech, but more like husband and wife. All this Master and Sir stuff was nice, but this was just as nice, if not better. I missed the relaxed conversation with my wife, where we would laugh and reminisce about our favourite memories.
Halfway, we made a pit stop for fuel and a bite to eat. As we enjoyed our sandwiches, I witnessed Sylvia’s personality transform into her submissive side.
“Master?”
“Yes, my little one?”
“Do you regret going here?”
“No.”
“But you have a strong dislike for crowded places and usually go to great lengths to steer clear of them. I pressured you to come with me to a meeting where we’ll be surrounded by unfamiliar people.
“I’m neither a child, nor shy of people, little one. We have friends who share our various interests, but none who understand our chosen lifestyle. It’s good to meet some like-minded people again.”
Enjoying her meal in silence, she appeared visibly relieved. After we quick visit to the bathroom we went our way, still over five hours to go. The atmosphere had changed, though. All sentences started with Master, and the relaxed conversation was a thing of the past.
Recognising the growing silence between us, I broke it by spicing things up a bit, knowing we were both preoccupied with our own musings.
“Pretty one. Do you wear a bra?”
“As per your instructions, Sir.”
“Take it off.”
“Now, Sir?” she asked as she looked anxiously at the cars to the left of us. We were, for the umpteenth time, in a traffic jam and standing still in a dense wall of vehicles.
“No, tomorrow… Of course now, little one.”
“Yes, Sir.” I had chosen a very sexy mesh top with only one long sleeve and a basic nude bra under it. From a distance, like the woman in the Audi next to me, it looked like she wasn’t wearing a bra at all, but someone here in my car wished to show off her level of obedience. How could I possibly refuse her that chance? She tried to unclasp her bra from the back through the fabric.
“Not like that. You will ruin your pretty blouse, you know better than that.” I scolded. Her antics had caught the attention of the lady in the car next to us. There was only one way to safely remove the transparent stretch of fabric, and that was to grab it by the hem, pulling it until it was above her tits and over her head. In her panic, she thought she could save the situation by quickly pulling up her blouse, quickly unhooking her bra from the back and then quickly pulling the fabric down again. Her attempt to save the situation went hopelessly wrong as her left bra strap came loose, but her right arm remained caught in the stretchy fabric, blocking it.
As a result, the blouse still had to be put over her head after all, arm removed, and the fabric, which was now worn the wrong way, had to be turned back over the head to cover her bare breasts again. Only to discover that the transparent fabric hid nothing from view and the fabric was so tight around her body that her hard nipples made slight bumps to demand attention. And by now she had no shortage of attention. The woman on our left in the Audi was laughing. We were two old people behaving like the teenagers and provided a little entertainment for the queue. There were a couple of real teenagers in the car in front of us. A boy and a girl turned around to look what the fuzz was all about. The guy was pulling his T-shirt up and down now to encourage Sylvia to do the same. The girl grabbed her bra strap from under her T-shirt and pulled it over her elbow. She pulled her red lacy bra off from her other sleeve and waved at Sylvia. Like she wanted to say: that’s how it’s done. During all of this, I overheard Sylvia softly uttering words in the Dutch language, words that I choose not to repeat. Let me just say, what she said was definitely not in line with what is considered ladylike behaviour.
“Grab your notebook, little one.”
Wherever Sylvia travelled, her notebook went with her. Equipped with a diminutive book that easily found its place in her handbag, she resolved to meticulously document, employing the graceful strokes of a fountain pen and her most beautiful penmanship, all the transgressions she had committed throughout the day.
“Out loud, read the mantra on the first page and let its powerful message resonate within you, little one.”
Softly with her voice full of genuine emotion, she said with her eyes closed
“Eternal flame of my heart. I am yours.
With every breath, our souls intertwine.
Love’s pure essence binds us as one.
In your presence, I am whole. I am home.”
It was our ritual. We have repeated countless times. There was no need to look at page 1 of the book, where it was decorated with ornaments of ropes around she had drawn. The book itself was half full with beautiful handwritten notes of all infringements her Master made her write so she couldn’t forget. The final balance of her account was determined and punishment was dealt with.
While the teens before us still behaved like monkeys, I asked her to tell me what she had done wrong.
“I doubted your decision to take my bra off, Sir. I should have confidence in my Master and never doubt him”.
“Good answer, little one. Write that down.” She concentrated on writing as neatly as she could, given her awkward position in the passenger seat.
Finally, we started moving again and ten minutes later we were driving at 140 km again as if nothing happened. Sylvia readied herself to put her book back in her bag.
“What else, little one?” That threw her off balance for a moment. She hadn’t expected that.
“Forgive me, Master, but I am not aware of any other mistakes I made. Please teach me so I can prevent them in the future.”
“You know very well what you did wrong, little one. Just tell me why I regret not to put your panties in your mouth before we started.”
“Kut!”
“Exactly, cunt. If I want to call me names, please do so, provided that I don’t hear them. I want you to write each and every dirty word down in your pretty handwriting. If you forget one word I overheard, I will punish you double for that one.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry Sir.”
“Keeping your mouth in line should be one of your first priorities, little one.” I said. “In your handbag is a pair of scissors. Cut out the crotch of your panties, but keep the tatters of your panties on. You know where to put the cut piece.”
“I will try to do better, Sir.”
“I know you will, little one. As you jot down notes, I will opt for the right lane to make my driving experience smoother.”
We should never underestimate the importance of navigation; it is truly one of the greatest inventions ever made by the human race. The small hotel halfway of a mountain I would have surely missed without my TomTom screaming to me to go left. Hotel Edelweißhafen looked just like any other hotel we’ve seen so far. And we have seen a lot of them. A three story white Alpine house. A big cross in the front. Wooden balconies adorned with intricate carvings and overflowing with vibrant red geraniums. Large shuttered windows allowing ample natural light to fill the rooms and offering scenic views of the surrounding mountains. A big entrance and two women coming out of it heading towards our car. The parking lot was only half full, seven or eight cars, max.
“Guten tag, ich bin Jutta and dieser ist mein Töchter, Ilse.”
“Nice to meet you. My name is Koen de Groen. I’m afraid I only speak English. My wife Sylvia is the one with a gift for languages, I’m afraid.”
“Many of the Dutch prefer to talk English, so we talk in any language you feel comfortable in.” Jutta said.
“We spoke earlier on the phone. Nice to meet you in person”, Ilse said. She ignored Sylvia’s existence. The phone call was a conversation I will remember for a long time.
“Kink Kinta, how can I be of service?” A youthful voice answered the call. Far too young to say Kink Kinta.
“Good afternoon, this is Koen de Groen from the Netherlands speaking.” I said.
“Master Koen! I am so glad to hear your voice. Master Martin already said that you might call.”
“He did, did he?” I said, already mildly annoyed. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I disliked being the subject of gossip.
“We talked last week when he made his reservations, and he might have mentioned that he invited you to come and play next weekend.”
“We’re curious about attending a BDSM club for the first time, and would love to hear your thoughts about what we should expect.”
“Of course, Master. I will e-mail the address of our website. There you can find all the information about our little dungeon. Our club really is more a hobby than it is our primary source of income. Our hotel is all year filled with vanilla people that do not know we own this club Kinta. We have a separate website and a different entrance. Frankly, most of our customers that come here year after year would definitely stay away if they knew we were into BDSM.” She ranted.
“The last weekend in the month, the hotel closes for our vanilla guests and all the guests are members of the Kink Kinta Club.” Without taking breaths, she continued, “Because our dungeon is relatively small, we have a group of regulars that like to join our club nights. Most guests arrive on Friday and leave Sunday morning. On Saturday, they like to visit the Feuerburg market in the old city where local people sell all kinds of things. Saturday nights are reserved for our club events.”
“So I understand it’s a three-day event?” Her fast-paced speech made it difficult for me to say anything in between.
“No, Master. You can book a Club night with or without the hotel arrangement. But like yourself, our clients come from all over Europe and it makes sense for them to rest a bit before taking the long journey home. Because, like I said, it’s our hobby we can keep the prices of membership affordable. The club has a closed membership policy, though. You can only join if another member introduces you. Because of our operating hours – once a month – and limited space, we have a maximum limit on the number of members. One of our members has left Europe and lives in Dubai now. So there is an opening for a new couple to join us. Master Martin speaks highly of you.”
Martin and I had talked only once in a public place. Hm. Much time to reflect on that I didn’t get because she went on telling me the price of the membership and the weekend fee of the hotel. Although it wasn’t exactly cheap, the price of the membership and the weekend fee of the hotel were still reasonably priced and manageable.
“The first weekend is just for looking around and see if you like the atmosphere and the other members of the club. If you still want to be a member after that, we will charge you the membership fee. The first one is in the house, though you have to pay for the hotel. As we are among friends, we will serve our guests in the nude. Both myself and my mother, who is the owner of Club Kink Kinta, are involved in this. I personally would love it if you could come and try us out. Please say you’ll come?” Her voice sounded more childlike again and I couldn’t help but wonder how old she was. I didn’t have the guts to ask, though.
Now that I saw her, fully clothed in a traditional German dress, she wasn’t 15 but more like 25. Her mother was in her early fifties, I think, but still looked gorgeous in my old eyes.