“You must be tired from your trip and want to freshen up a bit,” Jutta said.
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it, Sylvia?” I said. Sylvia just nodded.
“Excuse the rudeness of Sylvia’s behaviour. It’s not that she doesn’t like to talk, on the contrary she loves to chat. But she talked a little too much today, didn’t you, little one?” Sylvia looked sheepish and nodded again.
Ilse laughed, and Jutta nodded knowingly. “Of course, Master Koen, no offence taken. Naughty girls need a firm hand now and then, don’t they, Ilse?”
“Yes, mistress,” Ilse answered, to my surprise.
“We have room 204 for you, Master Koen. It’s a room with a splendid view of the mountains. It’s on the second floor. Ilse, would you help the slave with their suitcases?”
She confidently proceeded in front of me on the elegantly decorated stairs, not bothering to wait for my reply. Meticulously crafted dark woodwork beautifully adorned the whole place, demonstrating the high level of skill involved. I found our hostess’s legs more intriguing. With heels that measured at least 5 centimetres, she sashayed up the stairs. The key she used to open the door was an antique, complete with a hefty iron block that held the room number.
“I trust the room will be to your satisfaction, Master,” she smiled. “Most of our guests, especially the guests of Club Kinta, appreciate the four-poster bed.”
The bed looked comfortable with a thick duvet. With its expansive size, the big window offered not only an impressive vista but also illuminated the room, making it feel spacious and radiant. Huffing and puffing, Sylvia and Ilse carried our suitcases up the stairs as they made their way into the room.
“We will leave you to it then”, Jutta said. “If you need anything, just speed dial 9 on the phone over there. Dinner will be served at 7 pm in the dining room, which is located as the first door on the right of the reception desk. We all dress casually at dinner.” Jutta said, and Ilse giggled. One look from her mother, she abruptly stopped.
Finally alone, I had a good look at Sylvia. She was sweating a bit from the climb up the stairs as she had carried our heaviest suitcase. Hers, of course. As soon as she caught sight of me watching her, she immediately adjusted her stance and placed her arms behind her back, pushing her tiny tits forward.
“Open your mouth, little one.” A not so little white ball of cotton was resting on her tongue.
“Spit it out in the bathroom, little one, and drink two glasses of water while you are up there.” She came back with a glass of water in her hand.
“I have to go as well, Master. Do I have your permission?”
That was new. We never played bathroom permissions before. “Of course you don’t need my permission, my pretty one,” I said.
She looked straight into my eyes. I never believed that bullshit that you can read emotions from looking people in the eye. But now I thought I saw a minor disappointment there.
“Thank you, Sir.” She said and vanished into the bathroom again. After I admired our view and went into the bathroom to see what was keeping her. She stood by the sink, washing her hands. I took her by the hips and pulled her backwards. With my hand, I pressed her forward until her head was under the water that was still running. I lifted her skirt and brushed away her torn panties. I dropped my pants. My cock was hard as I was thinking of seeing Jutta soon in the nude. If those legs were any sign of what I was about to see, I was in for a treat. With no foreplay, I lined my cock up at her entrance and pushed slowly but surely forward. She was not dry there at all, so I slipped in without difficulty.
Slowly, leisurely, I fucked her looking in the mirror at myself. She clutched the edge of the sink, her body tense, as cold water drenched her hair, streaming down her face. I fucked her harder now. The submissive scene in front of me touched me in a place that I wanted to keep safe and secret. I grabbed her hair with my hands and pulled her head up by the improvised ponytail. Pulling her head back with one hand and crushing her nipple with the other, I sought my own release. About a moment later, that glorious feeling of pure male power came over me and I pumped a few litres of my seed in her, holding her hips tight against mine now. The bitch was mine and mine alone.
The Dining room was half full. Some guests dressed in a way that expressed the lifestyle, some were wearing everyday clothing. There was only one couple we knew, and they were waving at us to come to their table. Martin was an ever bigger man than I remembered. He had a big grin on his face as he bellowed my name across the room.
“Koen, my friend, come and join us!” I laughed a little sparingly and shook his hand. He pumped it like we were best buddies.
When I turned my gaze towards Helga, I was taken aback to see her passionately kissing my wife. After they let go of each other, I reached out my hand to her. She ignored my hand and pulled me into a hug. I caught a glimpse, from the corner of my eye, of him holding my docile wife in his arms and giving her a forceful kiss on the lips. It didn’t seem appropriate, while holding a woman in my arms that pressed her big breasts against my chest, to look extensively at the couple next to me. From the sounds, they were reciprocating each other’s kisses with equal enthusiasm. I pulled away from Helga and held her at arm’s length to look at her. In her white pirate shirt, she looked attractive with puff sleeves and a plunging V-neck. He looked even more like a pirate with a black eye patch over his right eye, a red bandanna over his head and a long pirate jacket. A regular Jack Sparrow, this one.
“How wonderful to see you both again! Sit down, sit down.” Helga sank to her knees on a black cushion on the floor. Now only her head was visible above the table.
“It’s custom for the slaves to sit on the floor in the dining room,” he said as he looked at Sylvia. She stared at me with hunger in her eyes and a little fear I would insist on her sitting on the chair next to me.
“Down, little one.” I said, and her relief was palpable. She sank elegantly on the cushion at my right. I only saw her hair, eyes and part of her nose.
I could barely contain my irritation. “It’s a little difficult to eat, isn’t it? Is the intention that we are the only ones who eat, while they have nothing to eat?” It all seemed a stupid game to me.
“Of course not. We are masters, not torturers. At least not at dinner time.” He laughed at his own joke. He was the only one.
“Look at the couple on your left, please master Koen.” He said.
Seated similarly to us, the couple, comprising two women, had the younger one in her twenties sitting on the floor while she looked up at her mistress. The Domina in style with a black corset that kept her well-fed body in line fed her little one from her plate with a spoon. The girl, nude with a big metal chain between her average size titties, held her hands folded on her back. A scene that could have come right out of a porn movie.
The couple next to them appeared to be quite young, unquestionably the youngest in the room, and he was on all fours on the floor. Fully nude, his rather thin but large cock was dangling towards the floor. On his neck was a metal collar, and the woman that was eating her dinner held a chain, paying no attention to him. He ate with his face buried in a porcelain bowl, as if it was his first food in two days. Perhaps it was. What did I know?
“I like to feed her. When it comes to food, little spoonfuls are definitely more appealing than something haphazardly dumped into a bowl on the floor, don’t you think?” Martin said.
“Definitely.” I said.
The murmurs that had filled the room abruptly ceased, prompting me to pivot and discover the reason behind the sudden hush.
In the centre of the room were Jutta and Ilse, both totally, gloriously nude as promised. A smile spread across my face, overwhelmed by the exquisite sight of the daughter, a reflection of her mother’s beauty, a living testament to their unbreakable bond. They were both kneeling on the floor with their heads resting on the floor and their asses high in the air. An open invitation to take them from behind if ever there was one. Both were wearing nipple clamps and a little chain between their legs, no doubt connected to their labia. Even if I develop amnesia, I will never forget the image of mother and daughter shamelessly on their own floor, nipples barely touching the ground, legs high and wide.
“Permission to speak, masters and mistresses.” Jutta said.
“Attention pose, slut. Permission to speak.” As if they had planned it beforehand, Martin took it upon himself to speak up on behalf of the group. My assumption is that this was pre-arranged, given the situation. In terms of age, he had little grounds to assert his seniority.
Jutta stood there in the middle of the room with her spine straight and feet hip-width, both feet evenly distributed. Gently, she brought her arms behind her back and bent her elbows. She rotated her shoulders so that her palms faced each other behind her back. Once her palms were facing each other behind the back, she slowly brought them closer together. Her palms were together now in a prayer-like gesture, with the fingers pointing upwards towards her head and the heels of the hands pressed together, the thumbs pointing towards the spine. Ever so slowly, she was sliding her hands higher up her back until it nearly touched her long hair on her shoulder blades. This impressive yoga pose is called reverse prayer and is common in the lifestyle as well. However, only a few of us possessed the flexibility to execute this pose gracefully. I heard appreciative sounds from the audience.
“Masters and Mistresses, welcome to Kink club Kinta. And to you, my dear sister and brother slaves, for without you, there would be no club nights. It’s such a pleasure to see all these familiar faces again. Although I love being a hostess of the hotel in my traditional dirndl dress, I look forward every month to the last weekend where I can be myself again, as your slut presenting myself without clothes or pretensions. You all know my daughter by now, as she was the guest sitting at one of your tables during quite a few sessions. I promised her she could join me after her 21st birthday. While she may feel apprehensive, I have full confidence in your ability to take her concerns into account.”
A small group of people initiated the clapping, and within a short time, we all joined in. Why we clapped, I did not know. Applause for yourself?
“We start as always tomorrow at four in the afternoon, and will serve a buffet that we lovingly call Lunner, which is a combination of lunch and dinner. After Lunner we will go to the playroom together. In the meantime, enjoy all the amenities at our hotel or explore the nearby village. The reception also provides written information about the lovely walking paths in the vicinity. I just wanted to say, enjoy your delicious meal and touch your servers,” Jutta said with a huge smile on her face.
“Permission to rise and help my mother in serving you all”, came muffled from the floor.
“Permission granted, serve us all and serve us well this weekend, cunt,” Martin snapped at her. Hurried and clumsy, she rose and made a run for it. We all had a laugh at that.
Like we weren’t interrupted, Martin chatted a bit about the trip, the weather and all this senseless small talk I hate so much. But there was no point in behaving like a sulking kid all the time. Jutta approached our table with a warm smile, ready to take our order. She was standing within Martin’s reach, and he fondled her neither lips. I couldn’t believe how nonchalant she was, as if it was the most natural occurrence.
“Our slaves would like their usual slave gruel. I’ll have one of your XXL-schnitzels loaded with all the trimmings, please. Koen, I can really recommend their schnitzels they are to die for.”
“I will have a steak, medium rare, with a glass of your red house wine”. I smiled at Jutta, who was trembling now. One of Martin’s fingers had disappeared between Jutta’s folds. She could feel Ilse’s presence behind her, ready to assist. Jutta passed the order on to her. As Ilse was leaving the room, Jutta spread her legs wider as to give Martin’s finger better access. At the adjacent tables, conversation flowed like nothing happened at our table. A second finger joined and Jutta moaned. I saw his elbow pump now at ever-increasing speed. Jutta whimpered. Suddenly, he stopped and pulled his fingers out, presenting them to his wife. She opened her lips and started licking and sucking at his fingers as if it was the sweetest nectar. Perhaps it was.
“That will be all, thank you,” he said in a chilling voice to Jutta, sending visible shivers down her spine.
“Thank you, Master Martin.”
The atmosphere of the dining room was friendly and sociable enough with the long, communal tables with wooden benches, embroidered tablecloths and rustic light fixtures. No doubt, it was me who found the atmosphere uncomfortably chilly, desperately seeking warmth as goosebumps prickled across my arms. If any of this radiated to my table companion, he was certainly not aware of it.
“You simply have to come with us to visit Feuerburg tomorrow. The Castle on the top of the mountain is not only beautiful inside and out, but they have this neat little dungeon as well.” Martin said.
“Oh, please, Sir. Can we go, please?” Sylvia said childishly, abruptly interrupting her whispered conversation with Helga.
“We would love to.” I said politely.
“Wonderful.” Martin went on and on about the beautiful scenery you could see from the Sloss. Ilse served dinner. The ‘slave gruel’ was oatmeal in a bath of lukewarm milk. I recognised the name coming from one of John Norman’s books about the planet GOR. Slave gruel was their daily food. When trying to describe the stuff in the book, bland oatmeal seemed to be the closest comparison. Martin pushed aside the slave gruel, his eyes fixed on the big golden, breaded schnitzel in front of him, ready to indulge in its flavourful goodness. I followed his example. When in Rome. Our slaves had gone quiet. As we ate, the cold bowl of oatmeal stood there next to our almost empty plate. Helga sat straight up with her eyes lowered and Sylvia copied her posture.
Martin sighed with satisfaction, tauntingly remarking, “I knew you’d regret passing on the schnitzel,” as he glanced at his plate, now only holding a small portion of salad.
“Yours seemed tasty, but the steak is nice and juicy as well.” I decided to be brave and managed a faint smile.
Martin put his plate away and the bowl of porridge in front of him. He stirred in the milk sheet that lay on top of the oatmeal and held his napkin under the spoon he brought to Helga’s mouth. She obediently opened her mouth and let herself be fed like a toddler.
These Romans are crazy!, Obelix would have said if he had seen this pretty woman take spoonful after spoonful of porridge and made it look it was the most delicious meal she had in weeks. Sylvia kept quiet but asked with her eyes to copy this treatment. So I did. I felt slightly self conscious feeding her, but I wasn’t the only one in the room doing this weird stuff. After 20 spoons of porridge, Sylvia closed her mouth, showing that she had enough. I pushed the bowl away. I’m certain that the taste was as unpleasant as its appearance in the bowl. Martin was taking his time. Helga closed her mouth as well after a few more bites.
Martin slapped her in the face without a moment’s hesitation. “Just eat what’s on you plate, girl, you know better than that.”
Helga opened her mouth and took another spoon of the stuff. “Thank you, master. I’m sorry Master, I don’t know what’s got into me.” I received an irate glare from Martin, who promptly shifted his attention back to Helga.
“Finish your plate neatly, just like always,” he snapped, his words laced with venom, as if daring her to defy his command. She didn’t.
We went to the bar after finishing dinner. The awkward moment had passed and Martin talked to me just as much as before.