Around a quarter past ten, Helga and Martin retreated to their room. I wasn’t sad about it, but Sylvia was disappointed. She clung to Helga’s companionship, desperately seeking refuge from her own insecurity and longing for a sense of belonging. At least, that was my translation of her behaviour. Jutta joined our table.
“I’m curious about your first impressions.” She smiled, her nakedness making her vulnerability even more apparent, yet she remained a gracious and welcoming host.
“It’s a wonderful place you have got here. If it’s the same as today, I can’t wait for tomorrow”, gushed Sylvia.
Jutta looked at me, searching for emotions and gave me a puzzled, wary look. “And that goes for you as well, Master Koen?”
I nodded.
“Did I notice a slight bit of apprehension between you and Master Martin, sir?” Jutta said.
“No, of course not. They are a delightful couple.” Sylvia answered my question. Jutta gave me a furtive look. I changed the subject.
To keep the conversation going, I asked Jutta, “I would love to hear a bit more about you and how you ended up here with a hotel annex BDSM-club?”
“My birthplace is in Sweden, but I moved to Feuerburg out of love. My husband inherited this hotel from his parents, and there was an undeniable and magical pull between us. It didn’t matter to me he was 30 years my senior. I didn’t know it when I married, but I found my Master, my Daddy. I felt cherished and nurtured and loved. He was a harsh master and the Masters that are consequent and strict are the best ones. Nestled in the mountains, there is a secluded old house that was once connected to the hotel. It had been empty for nearly 15 years. My husband built a secret corridor from here through the mountain towards the old house and converted it into a dungeon. After covering the house from sight, it was our secret hideaway. Dark. Wild. It became not only our private playroom, but soon we had friends joining us there. After he passed away, I kind of took over. Friends convinced me to continue the Kink Club meetings. In a way, they helped me to learn to cope with my new life.”
“There has never been another Master for you then?” I asked.
“No. My husband was my soulmate. He cannot be replaced.” She said.
Like many women, Sylvia loved to brag about me in female company. Like she was looking for recognition and appreciation for her exceptional job in raising and taming her husband.
“Good men are hard to find. I have found a treasure myself. You know almost all men are hysterical about our monthlies? My husband is the best man in the world. He knew when my period was due, and took a day off from work so he could take care of the boys, help them with their homework, cleaned the house and made dinner. So I could stay in bed. And he would bring me roses and chocolate to make me feel better. He would rub my belly and make the pain go away, or at least reduced. And the best is yet to come… You know those days at that time of the month and you are horny as hell? He would lick me until I came. He always said that a little blood doesn’t frighten him.”
“No way?” Jutta gasped.
“Way!” Sylvia reeled in the female equivalent of who has the biggest cock.
“Your daughter seems like a forceful lady as well.” I said, again in an attempt not to make the conversation about me.
“Ilse is a sweetheart.” Jutta said. “She has known about the BDSM-relationship for nearly all of her life. It’s as normal for her as we are talking vanilla here. And she has her mother’s genes. My joy comes from pleasing others as a more submissive person. I think Ilse is more a masochist, a pain slut kind of girl. As a mother, I can’t help but feel a knot of dread in my stomach, hoping against hope that I am mistaken, because navigating such a challenging existence in this modern day and age is no easy feat. I have to find the strength to release her, though.”
“Is Ilse an only child?” I asked.
“Yes, we were blessed with just one child. Do you have children?”
So we talked a bit about my kids and Sylvia took over. Soon enough, the two women were sharing anecdotes about raising children. Like mums do. I yawned. It had been a long day and I was tired. I kissed Sylvia on her forehead and said I was going to bed. Sylvia, my social half, wanted to stay, I could tell. I asked Jutta to open the room for Sylvia later on, but she gave her a second key to our room. With a big iron lump attached to it as well.
I do not know at what time Sylvia came to bed. The moment my head hit the pillow, I was gone.
“What do you think so far, little one?” I asked my spouse when we got up in the room after breakfast.
“Sir, I kindly request your permission to speak candidly and freely.”
“Granted, little one. Just be honest with me.”
“I love it here, Sir. I do not like it, it’s not nice, I bloody love every minute. To be here is like what a patient of a rare illness must feel when they are at a meeting of likewise spirits. I do not know if I’m sick. Some people say I am. But to be here and talk with all these people that know exactly what I feel The mere fact that I don’t have to explain to them, is priceless to me.”
“I know this is not your thing. Every bone in my body is telling me this. I know I would do you a big favour if I said let’s go home now. I humbly ask you to prioritise my request and disregard any reservations you may have. We have been not only lovers but best friends for a zillion years. I owe you and you owe me favours for things we did for each other in those years. Today, I’m cashing in on a bunch of those favours. Let us stay here with an open mind this weekend and step up your game as a dominant. Show them and me you can be the dominant man I love so much. I want them to respect you, because you deserve respect, not only from me, but as a member of our community as well.”
That didn’t sit right with me, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Two choices: either I start shouting at her, or I take a walk. I choose the latter. Without a word, I turned around and walked down the stairs. I possess a strong sense of self-confidence, which stems from my belief in being a good man. The celebrated successes I have experienced throughout my life contribute to this positive outlook. I was a good father and a good husband. I had been good at making a living. She wanted me to stay here. And I would never would I walk out on her. Hell, we were here because she wanted to. Being in an environment where people constantly sought to prove their superiority was something I deeply disliked. I don’t have to prove I have the biggest one. I know my cock is big enough, thank you very much. My own self-respect mattered more than the respect of these people. And I knew Sylvia respected me as well, despite what she said. Calmer now, I walked back to the hotel. Sylvia, Martin, and Helga were already waiting in the lobby in deep conversation.
As soon as she saw me, Sylvia ran up to me and pulled me into a corner. “Are you OK?”
I nodded. That was not enough.
“Are we okay by staying here and finish the rest of the weekend?” Another nod from me.
“Will you be strict with me the rest of the weekend and show these people what you are made of?”
“I don’t care what they think, Sylvia. Gedanken sind frei. I will do as I please, regardless of their opinion.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s go.”
Martin drove us to town. He had been here before and knew his way around here. They all drive like madmen here. Martin was no exception. Sylvia asked Helga a question, something trivial. I can’t even remember what it was, but Helga didn’t answer. Martin laughed.
“Sorry slave, Helga is not allowed to talk at all. I put a lock on her mouth this morning.”
I looked at Martin. Was he serious? I mean, they obviously play hard, but I hope he was joking and meant that figuratively. He stopped the car on the side of the road.
“Come, I will give you a little demonstration, I think you’ll both enjoy.” He got out of the car and opened the passenger door. Sylvia and I got out both as well. Helga stepped out of the car with a little difficulty. Martin grabbed the hem of the… I don’t know what’s it’s called. I call it a poncho. A big piece of cloth with a hole for the head. Anyway, he pulled it away over her head. It revealed a strange dress. Two long sleeves dangled from either side of her body, empty and useless. The front of the dress was provocative. The corset was laced so tightly that her breasts were pushed up and spilled out of the cups. In the front, the dress was provocatively short, while it was long at the back.
“Turn around”, said Martin. Despite the tightness of the dress at the front, it exhibited an equal measure of wideness at the back. He rotated his hand in front of her lips, mimicking how children unlock their mouths. The childish gesture was effective as Helga immediately spoke.
“I have been a blabbermouth yesterday and my master has taken appropriate measures to prevent it from happening today as well. Thank you, Master for the opportunity to explain to our new friends.” She looked at him like he was Jesus who made the mute speak again.
“As you probably have figured out already, my hands are tightly bound behind my back, restricting any movement. It is clear that I am in a situation where I have no control or ability to act. Master, please, would you be so kind to lower the zipper at the back so they can see how my arms are attached to the corset?”
As the dress opened, we could see straps attached to the back of the corset were constraining the upper arms quite effectively. It made some movement of the forearms possible, but not much. Her arms reached until the small of her back and there were no visible issues with her arms and they seemed to have proper blood circulation.
“Oh, master, can I have a corset like that one, please, please, pretty please”, Sylvia begged me.
We heard the distant sound of an engine growing louder as a tractor with a hay-filled trailer came into view from the north.
“Master, please zip me up again, please?” Helga said urgently. Instead, Martin started a long tale about how Helga made the alterations to the corset and explained that modern day corsets were allowing her to breathe normally and stories of Victorian ladies whose corsets were pulled so tight that their waists were completely constricted, was probably based on myths.
The farmer’s hearty laughter rang out, his voice rising above the tractor’s din as he cheerfully shouted “Grüß Gott” to us. Feeling vicariously humiliated, I could feel my face turning red, blushing more than anyone else in our group. Helga and Sylvia acted as if nothing happened and Martin grabbed in the inner pocket of his jacket. He came out with a couple of sterile needles, the sharp needles protected in their plastic protective cover.
“Koen, would you do me the honour of decorating the nipples of my slave with a plus sign?”
It wasn’t my idea of fun to pierce the nipples of a woman at the side of the road in full display of all people to see. There was no way I could refuse this so-called grand gesture, so I took the needles from him.
“You are OK with this?” I asked Helga, looking straight into her eyes.
“Of course I am, master Koen. This isn’t my first time, you know?” Sylvia had boasted about me being a seasoned master, but as I stood before these people, I couldn’t help but feel like a clueless beginner.
The needle hovered above the skin, and a bead of sweat formed on my brow as I hesitated, dreading the impending pain I was about to give to this stranger.
“No, this way it’s even more painful”, Master Martin intervened. “Pull on the nipple like you want to rip it from her body and push the horizontal needle at the base of her areola and push it with force until you see the needle come out at the other end.”
I took her brown hard nipple and pulled it a bit, until it was taut, and pushed the needle slowly through the tense skin. It required some force indeed. The second needle from top to bottom was easier. I repeated the same procedure with the left breast. Not a single sound escaped Helga’s lips during the entire operation.
“Beautiful. Much better, don’t you think so too, master Koen?” Martin said.
I nodded. Martin suddenly got impatient.
“Hurry, cunt, we have a castle waiting for us.”
“Please help me reapply the scarf to the corset, sister slave Sylvia.” Said Helga.
Helga’s mouth was ‘locked’ once more, and we were on our way again.
When the kids were young, we went to Disneyland in Paris. I’ve encountered posts on social media that compare the Disneyland in Paris unfavourably to the larger Disneyland in the States, but I can only speak from my experience of visiting the Disneyland in Paris. The Neuschwanstein Castle, 2600 meters above sea level, with its towers and turrets set against the backdrop of the Alps, it looked like a Disneyland Castle to me. We paid for the tour inside. Inside, it looked like any other castle to me. Decorated ceilings, beautiful stuff everywhere. Paintings, glass, porcelain, furniture, wall hangings, the works. Impressive. The infamous dungeon was not included in the tour this time.
So we left the personal retreat of King Ludwig II, homage to Richard Wagner, the composer. The castle’s popularity is clear by the sizeable crowds it draws in. To truly experience the castle in its entirety, Sylvia and I may consider visiting it again on a day off during the off-season.
Martin was familiar with a quaint Gaststätte in Feuerburg that was reputed to offer delicious traditional German food. Until now, Helga’s attire had not caused a stir. In the castle, Martin had kept his arm protectively around her to prevent her from falling on the narrow stairs and corridors. That was about to change now, I gathered. Martin greeted the host like this was his local pub. There was a small round table with four chairs in the back of the restaurant. Martin ordered for all of us schweinebraten: Roast pork, served with a rich gravy, potato dumplings (Knödel), and red cabbage.
The lock on Helga’s mouth seemed quite effective. Martin, Sylvia and I talked extensively about the castle compared to other castles we have seen, however, Helga remained silent throughout the conversation. I tried to include her in the conversation once or twice, without avail.
Martin hand-cut her meat into bite-sized squares and personally fed her when the food was served. Helga’s face showed no expression at all. Like this was the most normal thing in the world for her. Perhaps it was. I gave up worrying about her and enjoyed my food. It was good. Dessert was lemon curd cake.
“You may eat this by yourself, but no mess, do you understand?” Martin said and promptly Helga shove forward to the table. With her nose, she nudged the plate towards the centre of the table. She dumped her pierced nipples on the table and bent over to eat. She used her lips to grasp a small portion of cake, swiftly bringing it to her mouth for a bite.
“I hope we’re not crossing any boundaries with our playful antics, Koen,” Martin picked up on my uneasiness.
“No, no, no. It’s just that I don’t like these public displays much”. Looking around, I saw several people staring at this woman wearing a dress whose empty long sleeves made it clear she had no arms to eat this cake.
“It’s a matter of consent, I think, that we have such a high regard for in our lifestyle. These people have not consented to perform a role in our play.”
“And what role might they have?” Martin asked, annoyed.
“The role of voyeur. Their presence here intensifies the shame that Helga should currently be experiencing. While I don’t perceive her shame at this moment, I can discern traces of it in the expressions of the customers present.”
Without a word, Martin grabbed a napkin and wiped Helga’s face, and fed her the rest of the cake with a small fork. Instead of the encouragement I expected for standing up for Helga, Sylvia’s face revealed not pride but embarrassment. I shrugged mentally. I made my point.