I have no idea how Zuzanna got into our house. She didn’t have a key. I haven’t got a clue how she knew I was in the attic. Would our dark torture attic scare the living shit out of her? The sound of someone climbing the attic stairs didn’t even scare me. I was that far gone. I was not feeling well. Overpowering all other sensations was an excruciating thirst, a burning in my throat that made swallowing nearly impossible.
I think I might have scared her when she saw me. I was hurting all over. My back felt I could never stand up again. My knees were not capable of carrying my weight any longer. Without the strap around my waist that was connected to the cage, preventing my fall, I would be a hopeless, sprawling mess of limbs on the cage floor at this very moment. I didn’t have the strength to sit on all fours any longer. The diaper had caught my excrement. It felt dirty and heavy. I had grown accustomed to the smell. My shoulder felt dislocated because of the heavy counterweight attached to my left hand. It was the only part of my body I could move. My right arm had long since gone numb. Maybe I had overused it and my shoulder was paying the price. I tried to ask her to release my ball gag first, but nothing came out.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, Zuzanna kept saying as she knelt in front of the locked cage. I did not know where the key was. I had thrown it away, but where it was now, I had no idea. Without even looking for it, she produced a key and opened the cage. I was so relieved that she – albeit clumsily and with shaking hands – untied my ball gag first. I looked at her and mimicked the word water. Despite wanting to shout it out, my voice wouldn’t cooperate.
Fortunately, she understood what I meant. I saw in her eyes she understood what had happened when she noticed the two water bottles unopened next to the cage. Quickly, she opened one bottle and poured a bit into my mouth. The amount provided was so meagre that it barely moistened my tongue, leaving me still parched and unsatisfied. Pour the entire contents of that bottle into my mouth. I want more and more of it! But she didn’t. She only gave me little sips of water at the time. I hated her. I’ve already suffered, so why did she not offer me more support — wasn’t that the least she could do? There is no need to deprive me of the precious water.
“Easy girl, easy now. Too much at once will harm you. Shh. Easy now. That’s a good girl, little sips.”
I gave her a dirty look. I want to drink litres, not sips. My voice cracked like a Bluetooth speaker on 1% battery. “More…”
“I can’t. It will make you sick. Let me untie you first. It was the first time she was in our attic, dungeon style. And yet without hesitation she walks to the drawer that holds the keys of the padlocks. One key for all, all keys for one. She opened the padlocks not in a logical order, but I couldn’t blame her for that. This girl was as crazy about vanilla as a grandma hoarding 47 Bath & Body Works coupons. When she released the chain on my left hand, the weight dropped to the floor. I hope the fall of the sand bag hurt it. I am beyond words to express the immense relief I felt at being able to move my hand freely, finally unshackled from the dead weight that had previously burdened every movement.
Finally, she had removed all the locks. I didn’t crawl out. I collapsed onto the floor. Unable to crawl out.
“That’s it. I am calling 1 1 2. You need to be checked in hospital. This is as far as my responsibility goes.” She grabbed her cellphone.
“No, please, no!” I croaked. I took a big swig of water. “No doctors, give me a minute, please. I am OK, just tired.” My voice sounded a bit stronger now. Summoning a willpower that even I found astonishing, I managed to free myself from my confinement by crawling out.
“See, nothing to worry about, just give me some time and I’ll be walking like a lapwing.” It’s a Dutch expression: walk like a lapwing – fast and furious. Zuzanna knew me well enough that if once I insisted on no ambulance, I meant it. “I do need a shower and a bath, in that order.” The steep staircase downstairs proved to be a challenge. But I got down in the end. In one piece. I leaned on Zuzanna to get me to the en-suite bathroom in the master bedroom. Zuzanna insisted on helping me to get rid of the bandages over my chest. And took the smelly diaper off and took care of disposing of it. The shower took care of the filth. The warm bath took care of the rest. My tits were not pretty: Red bumps everywhere. I did not have the courage to inspect the damage done to my pussy and ass. I suspect it looked like a battlefield as well.
It was Zuzanna, my most cherished friend, who came to me bearing a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, the potent citrus causing a painful, burning sensation upon contact with my mouth. It felt good. My tongue worked again. My mouth was alive once more. She drained some of the cold water and added some fresh, warm water again. She made me some toast and fed me little bits. And added warm water once more. It was only after what seemed like forever that my cramped muscles eventually relaxed, returning to me the feeling of being fully human again.
Zuzanna had turned into full mommy-mode, helped me out of the bath, and dried my battered body. Our conversation had been limited to practical instructions from her side, and a lot of moaning on mine.
“I will take you to my home, so I can take care of you.”
“That is unnecessary”, I weakly objected.
“I agree, but that is what were are going to do”, she said, rather grimly.
Her expression was one of clear and present anger, her face betraying her displeasure. Given the circumstances, her reaction was completely understandable, and it would be unfair to blame her. With an enormous bed dominating the bedroom and a cage underneath, well, it’s not exactly your average bedroom, is it? I lacked the strength to fight her over that. To be honest, I was in the mood for a little pampering and a bit of comforting attention.
I locked up the house before getting into Zuzanna’s car for the drive to her place. She took me straight to her guestroom. I undressed and went to bed. She tucked me in like a child. Exhaustion was responsible for falling asleep within minutes of lying down in bed.
Zuzanna woke me up the next morning with breakfast in bed.
“We need to talk.” I said. We sure did. Since yesterday, we had said little. Not anything that mattered, anyway.
“I know. And we will. Take a shower. Use that Edula cold cream in the bathroom. I have some clothes for you to wear as well. Whenever you are ready, I am in the kitchen.”
Second day. It always looked the worst. No exception today. The cold cream brought some relief from the itching that I still felt. Ugly. With my bald head, my red titties covered in small rashes. My pussy was hardly visible due to all that redness. Things did not go according to Jutta’s plan, as she had envisioned. It was not her fault. My carelessness and stupidity led to this. I owed it to Mistress Jutta that she had constructed a safety net for me. I should have known better than not to check everything twice.
I came into the kitchen. Zuzanna was kneading dough for a loaf of bread. Zuzanna believed in baking her own bread. She made me a cup of coffee. As I sat there at the table looking at Zuzanna fighting with her dough, memories of our long friendship flooded my mind, mixing with a heavy sense of guilt that weighed down my heart. I recalled the countless moments when Zuzanna had been my unwavering support, always ready with a kind word or a listening ear. Yet, in Zuzanna’s time of need, I had been absent, lost in my own world. The realisation struck me like an icy wave: I had prioritised my own life over the pain that Zuzanna was enduring alone after losing her husband.
I felt a tightening in my chest as I watched my friend, the once vibrant spirit now dulled by grief. The guilt gnawed at me, reminding me of the late-night calls and texts I never sent, the visits I never made. It was a burden I couldn’t shake, an ache rooted knowing that I had let Zuzanna down when she needed me most. I desperately wanted to reach out and take Zuzanna’s hand, to express how deeply sorry I felt, but the weight of my absence held me back. My love for Zuzanna was clear, yet it felt overshadowed by the sorrow of my neglect. As I sat in silence, the air thick with unspoken words, I vowed to repair what I had broken, wishing only for a chance to be the friend Zuzanna always deserved.
“I am sorry”, Zuzanna said with her back to me.
“You are sorry? I am the one who should apologise.”
“In a pre-wedding meeting, Jutta informed me she had developed some challenges intended for you to overcome. Some real hard ones. Believing you would find greater satisfaction and a stronger sense of accomplishment in tackling more arduous tasks, she thought you’d prefer challenging problems to simpler ones. I agreed with her. All these tasks you should could do by yourself, except for the second one. You were going to lock yourself in a cage in the attic and there was no way you could get out of there by yourself. So she gave me a key to your house. She said her house, but it is not, of course. It is yours. She asked me to check on you and get you out of the cage. I agreed. I should have checked on you on Wednesday.
But I didn’t. I waited deliberately to check if you were alright for 24 hours. I reasoned with myself that a slut like you would love being locked away in a cage like that, and the longer, the better. The whole day I thought I should go to you, and every time I postponed it for a few hours.” Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, her shoulders heaving with each convulsive breath. “Seeing you yesterday made me realise how easily you could have died!”
Quickly, I stood up and wrapped my arms around her. Our embrace was as if we were sisters separated at birth, finally reunited after many years of searching for one another. We didn’t want to break our hug, even after it had lasted long enough. I kissed her softly on her neck. It was nothing more than an automatic gesture; I was so used to the intimacy with my mistress that I hadn’t thought about it. She pulled away gently. Our love had always been a sisterly love and now, in her old age, incest was the last thing she needed. Since our puberty, I had always been the sex-oriented one, not Zuzanna.
“Since your birthday party, which feels like a lifetime ago, I want to know all about what you’ve been doing and everything that’s happened in your life,” Zuzanna said.
So I told her everything. Every. Single. Thing.
I was not shying away from the truth, even if it was uncomfortable or unpleasant for me. It took some time and a pot of coffee. Zuzanna listened attentively, asking questions if I went too fast. When I got to yesterday, she hugged me once more.
“Do you know what we need now?” She asked.
“Shopping!” I replied.
“Exactly,” she laughed and went to the bathroom before we left.
Coevorden is a charming and tranquil provincial city in the Netherlands, known for its historical significance and picturesque atmosphere. While it is not a major commercial hub, it serves as an essential centre for the surrounding rural communities, offering a sufficient range of shops and services beyond just the basics of daily living. Additionally: Free parking available. Dutch, remember?
Arm in arm, we walked on the cobblestone streets. Somehow Coevorden, with its traditional Dutch architecture, has always been our favourite city to shop. It features a mix of well-known chain stores, catering to everyday consumer needs, as well as smaller independent boutiques. Beyond shopping, Coevorden’s relaxed pace and historical charm make it an inviting place to explore. The presence of cosy cafes and small eateries adds to the appeal.
We habitually stopped at the jewellery store on the intersection of two busy thoroughfares, admiring the beautiful jewellery they displayed in their shop window. As sixteen-year-olds, we revisited our shared passion for jewellery, excitedly pointing out rings, bracelets, and necklaces that we each adored. Suddenly, I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the store.
“Can I help you?” the saleslady asked Zuzanna. I’ve noticed a pattern where, when I’m with someone else, people invariably gravitate toward the individual who has a hair on their head.
“Yes, please,” I said. “We would like to see the Classic Cable Bracelet by David Yurman, please.”
“Excellent choice, madam. The David Yurman’s Classic Cable Bracelet in Sterling Silver with 18K Yellow Gold and Amethyst is a masterpiece of timeless elegance and refined craftsmanship.”
As I was spending time with Zuzanna, we were on a roll again; it proved difficult to resist falling back into our old patterns of behaviour. “My friend here is blind. So would you mind describing the bracelet for her?”
We used to play blind man’s buff a lot when we were young. Zuzanna played usually the blind one, and I was the one that took full advantage of people’s reaction to that. Many people blushed when I mentioned Zuzanna’s blindness; this woman was no different. I’ve always found that curious.
“Of course, dear. You can feel it if you want to.” Another thing. They talked to her like she was a child. Zuzanna didn’t bat an eyelid and immediately fell into character.
“Thank you,” she said. “The texture feels remarkably like rope, isn’t it?”
“At its core, the bracelet features David Yurman’s signature twisted cable design, a symbol of strength and sophistication.” The saleslady started her lecture. “The sterling silver cable, with its fluid, rope-like texture, reflects light beautifully, giving it a dynamic, polished glow. This twisted helix is both bold and delicate, making it versatile enough for everyday wear yet striking enough for special occasions. At each end of the bracelet, 18K yellow gold accents create a luxurious contrast against the cool sheen of the silver. The warm golden tones provide a rich, elegant touch that enhances the bracelet’s depth and dimension.” Straight from the brochure, I thought.
“Set within these gold caps are deep purple amethyst gemstones, which add a regal and mesmerising finish. Expert faceting allows the amethysts to catch and reflect light, revealing their natural vibrancy and depth of colour. Their rich violet hue symbolises tranquillity, wisdom, and elegance, making them not only visually captivating but also meaningful.”
“Thank you,” Zuzanna had heard enough.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“I love it.” Zuzanna said.
“Honestly?” I asked her in a different tone to let her know I was serious.
“It’s beautiful, but it surely must cost a fortune,” Zuzanna said subdued, preparing our leaving without buying anything.
“How much is it?” I asked the salesperson.
“The two metal version was 545 euro, but it’s now on sale for 495, as this is our last one.” The saleslady lied.
“Could you wrap it in for me, please? It’s a present.”
“You cannot do that, Sylvia. It’s far too expensive.” Zuzanna protested.
“You don’t like it then?” I wanted conformation.
“I love it, but…”
To reassure the buyer that this wasn’t cheap, I nodded to the saleswoman as she packaged the item in a high-end box bearing the brand’s logo. I paid with Jutta’s money and got my receipt; I tucked it away carefully.
“That was totally unnecessary,” Zuzanna said once we were outside again.
“I agree, but I love giving it to you. It’s nothing more than saying thank you for being my best friend. You really deserve it. I hope you will wear it often.” I said and gave the box to her. We hugged in the middle of the street.
We did the rest of our window shopping and visited every clothing store in town. Finally, we had enough and went back home.
“Can you drop me off at my place? I still have two assignments left, and only one night to finish them. I am picking M&M up tomorrow from the airport.”
“You can put that out of your head at this moment, girl. Enough assignments all by yourself.”
“Yes, mom. I understand where that came from. But I have no choice. I cannot and will not disappoint my mistress. So please, can you drop me off? It will save me a long walk from your house.” I said with all the determination I felt.
The quiet stretched on and on, an immense and heavy silence that seemed to last forever. Zuzanna was as stubborn as I was. It’s possible that I exhibit a slightly more stubborn nature than she did, or perhaps I am more accustomed to getting what I want.
“I will bring you to your home, but on one condition, and one condition only. I will stay with you as you carry out these crazy assignments. If you end up in another mess, or worse, I will never forgive myself.”
“It will shock you, Zuzanna.”
“More than Paul?” A hit below the belt if ever there was one, that reference to the guy that took my virginity. I could not deny she had a point there, alas.
“Promise you won’t interfere.”
“I promise.” Zuzanna said.