Category: First Draft

With or without a uniform, Sandor, Sylvia’s and Koen’s second child, is in control of any situation that might occur. Jutta says he looks like his dad. He doesn’t. He is more decisive, more masculine and more stringent. Koen is a wonderful man, but he is always thinking of other people first. Prime example is this giving away his women thing. He is in pain; and is going to die soon, but he isn’t asking for people to comfort him. He wants to ensure these women he feels responsible for will be in a good place once he’s gone.

With Jutta and Sylvia in the hospital all day, Ilse is in Amsterdam for her study psychology, and Sandor is at work on the Navy base in Groningen. To ease some of the stress, I offered to cook for them. First occasionally, after it became clear Koen would probably have to stay in hospital until — , well, until he died I was there almost daily.

I was the only one that knew all of Sylvia’s secrets. All of those she wrote in her confession book ‘Bad Girl’ and a couple she didn’t write about. I wasn’t surprised to watch Sandor and see his tension increase. He was looking at his mother and his mother-in-law, still in their hospital clothes, and looked as if Koen was already gone. Ilse, however, more than made up for the quiet moments, her excited chatter about what happened in class today: a constant, bubbly stream.

“Girl and Little One, in the corner. Now!” Sandor’s voice cut like a knife through their silent mourning.

Without a second thought, both ladies stood up from the table and found opposite corners in the kitchen, facing the wall.

“Hands behind your back.” He sighed. “I know this is hard for you, and it’s hard for all of us. Not wearing your slave robe in your Master’s house is unacceptable for both of you. He may not be here, but act as if he is.”

Sandor waited a moment and looked at me. I nodded. I have seen weirder things in this house.

“Why do you still wear these outdoor clothes? Undress!”

Both of them hurriedly took off their clothes. Ilse wanted to sink to her knees and crawl under the table. But Sandor stopped her with a hand gesture. Both my best friend and her Mistress were in the nude now. Sylvia had this big, ugly rose tattooed on her back. She once gave me a book that would tell me all about this tattoo, but it was some weird science fiction book and I am not at all fond of SF, so I never got very far.

Both women looked good for their age, not an ounce of fat where it didn’t belong, and a butt that was firm and didn’t look like a moon landscape. Neither of them looked visibly tense, their folded hands resting relaxed on their buttocks.

“Little one. Get both of you slave robes. You have one minute. Go!”

Jutta flew out of the kitchen, doubtless unaware of her boobies dancing right before my eyes. All she concentrated on was returning to the kitchen in time.

“Why?” I asked Sandor. “What is suddenly so important is that she is nearly breaking her back to return to the kitchen in time.”

“Great question. Ilse, why don’t you answer it?”

Ilse looked straight at me. “She is trying to please my Master.”

Duh, stating the obvious. Jutta came back panting, with two white linen pieces of cloth in her hands.

“Make sure Girl is dressed before you get yourself ready. Return to your position when you are done.” It was nothing more than a rectangular long piece of white linen with a hole in it for the head. A piece of red rope kept it together at waist level. Even I could see it looked sexy, but I suspected sex was the last thing on their minds. Both women clearly had no objection to being treated this way, so I kind of was curious where this might lead to.

“This is the third day in a row you have eaten only a few bites from the delicious meal that Zuzanna has made for us. She has been busy all afternoon to make delightful meals for you girls and not eating it equals to me as an insult to the cook. Ilse, grab their plates and but it in a bowl.”

Ilse scraped the meat, baked potatoes, carrots, and peas off the plate into a bowl. “Puree it completely and put it back in the bowl. Put it on the floor in their corners.”

I remember well that as a child, Sandor refused to eat his jars of pureed vegetables. Jutta and Sylvia did not have that luxury because they could not leave their corners until the bowl was empty and licked clean. They could use their hands just to hold the metal bowl into place as they sucked and licked their bowls empty. This was not the first time they ate like this clearly. You and I would take forever to eat without the use of utensils or even your hands. Just with your lips and tongue takes practice.

If this had been my first time here, I would have been appalled. His methods might have been bizarre, but they were effective. He had taken both women out of their grieving funk by giving them orders and by forcing them to eat; they had actually had eaten a full meal in days. It would not have been my way of doing things, but this was their home, their rules, and the way they liked things to be done. I never judged Sylvia for her behaviour in the past, and I would not start now.

Their demonstrably altered behaviour was clearly a show of respect towards me. I appreciated that, and I was getting ready to leave.

“If you don’t feel comfortable, please feel free to leave at any time. We are deeply grateful you are helping us out in these sad times. But if you want to stay, don’t feel obliged to leave on our behalf.”

As I said before, Sandor was nothing like his father. Koen would have never, ever invited me to an evening of debauchery. It was tempting; I have to admit. As crazy as this family is, it provides free entertainment for an old spinster like me. Before answering, I used a piece of paper to clean my glasses. It seemed safe to assume the three women in the room were breathless with anticipation. I smiled and looked Sandor in the eyes. In every way, he was the definition of a man.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to pass for now. But it would be very impolite of me to decline your invitation again and again, wouldn’t it?”