“Koen,” the voice on my phone, which I wished I had heard yesterday, appeared somewhat unsettled.
“I expected you yesterday”, I said. Hoping that didn’t sound too disappointed.
“We intended to come yesterday, but Master Martin had to deal with a couple of emergencies here.”
“Really? Well, I will see you later, I suppose. And little one?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Next time you call me Koen instead of Master Koen, you will regret it.”
“Yes, Master. I am sorry.”
“As you should be. See you later today.” And I pushed the red button on my screen.
I did not want to stay all day in the hotel pacing around for Sylvia to come home to me, so I paid my friend Hans in Feuerburg a visit. I had seen an old Dutch analog Fleischmann train. Fleischmann made trains with superior detailing. Since they stopped, there has been nothing like it. Now, obviously, someone had weathered this train, making this rolling stock even look more realistic. But the price was way above my budget, so with pain in the heart, I left it in excellent hands.
I returned at three in the afternoon. Without the Dutch train, but with other small stuff I planned to well use. There were some cars in the parking lot, but not Martins. I knew it was not realistic for me to expect that they were already here, and yet still I couldn’t help but being disappointed. What we needed was to go home soon and leave all this stuff behind us. Perhaps we should stop this master/slave-relationship prematurely. There were only seven months left of our trial year.
I stopped at the reception desk and borrowed materials to pack my station securely for transportation. I needed a big shopper bag to carry the rest of my stuff to my Transit. After that, I went for a walk to say goodbye to the breathtaking scenery I would probably never see again. I had no intention of returning to this place ever again. After my walk, I sat in the lobby trying to make sense out of a local German newspaper. Quite a few new guests would arrive, and each of them warmly welcomed by Jutta. But not Martin, Helga, Ilse and Sylvia. No sign of them yet. By five, I was on pins and needles, so I was glad Jutta stayed out of my way. I was behaving like a young girl for her prom date to arrive; I berated myself. Finally, I went upstairs. My phone buzzed. A long text-message. They were late because of a colossal mess on the road, where several cars had crashed into each other. The police had to investigate the tracks, so the road was still not yet cleared. They hoped to arrive at dinnertime.
I undressed to take a really long shower. I had been saving up for Sylvia, but now, on a pubescent impulse, I jerked off in the shower. After being ignored that long, Tarzan was feeling fantastic, and he wanted it to last forever. When I finally came I spewed a young mans quantity of seed against the brown tiles. It had been ages since the last time I had to resort to my right hand. I grinned. I felt young again. Sylvia was on her way, and all would be fine in the world soon, very soon.
Of course, everything went to hell after that. The dinner bell had already rung when Martin and Sylvia came to my table. “So sorry about being late”, Martin said and Sylvia pecked me on the lips. She looked gorgeous. “What do you say about my slave dress?” she asked me.
“It looks stunning.” I said. It really did. A white long transparent dress with two holes in front and her small naked breasts peeking out. Like they were trying to escape the otherwise tight prison of white cloth around her body. Her back was bare, except for two thin straps of cloth in a cross shape keeping everything together. At crotch level, there was a triangle patch that could be opened and closed with a few buttons. It was open now and dangled between her legs, giving free access to her pussy. It was open now for anyone to see and if they were daring enough, to touch.
“Where are Ilse and Helga?” I asked. I assumed Ilse was getting back in touch with her mother, but it was Helga whom I had expected. Perhaps she needed a bathroom break.
“They stayed at home”, Sylvia answered. “Ilse was just not ready to come back here and obviously someone had to stay behind to take care of her, so Helga volunteered for the job. I haven’t seen you for so long, Master Koen, that I just had to go with Master Martin.”
“Is that so?” I asked.
“Of course, Master.”
Martin’s favourite schnitzel arrived and a plate of slave gruel. Martin had already grabbed the spoon to feed Sylvia, what almost seemed like a routine gesture, but just in time turned the spoon around and gave it to me. I gave my girl her food by the spoonful at a rather rapid pace. She didn’t look at me, but continued to stare at the floor. A violation of orders again, as her task was to look me in the eye. Once again, the validity of that order was proven. What the hell went on at that farm over there?
After dinner, we went to the dungeon through the tunnel once more. I was tired of all this shit. I wanted to go home. If possible tonight. Jutta was kind and cheerful and introduced the first couple that would perform tonight. A rather obese couple, and their show was fine. In my humble opinion, there was a lack of a genuine connection between the partners, but that’s just my personal viewpoint. After refreshments, Jutta took the stage again.
“We planned the next show for Master Martin and his slave Helga, but since Helga is not here…”
“Slave Sylvia here volunteered to take her place, providing, of course, Master Koen agrees to loan his slave to me for this little demonstration of obedience.” Martin said.
You can think I am a coward, but please don’t say it aloud now, dear reader. I knew the reason Sylvia insisted on coming here was that she wanted to prove that she was a good submissive. And with all eyes on me, I chickened out and gave my permission. Sylvia got up without giving me a second look and walked to Martin on the centre stage. Engrossed in his task, he was moving a substantial, unknown contraption from the back of the stage to the centre, carefully keeping it hidden under a blanket.
“Strip, you needy cunt.”
And without one second of hesitation, Sylvia took off her slave dress over her head, revealing her glorious body.
He stripped the blanket away and revealed a fucking machine. Two dildos mounted on metal bars that were made to move in and out of a woman’s cunt. And ass. With a motor that allowed to set the pace and depth of the insertion.
“I took this machine from home with me. I bought it online, but tweaked it a bit to make it even better. Better is the addition of the anal dildo I added to the machine. They say you haven’t owned a woman until you have taken her in the ass, for a reason. So I adjusted this little beauty for this bitch’s holes so it they both fit her well.”
“All the way to here she has nagged about having to pee.” He pretended to imitate her voice and said with a phony, whining voice, “Please master I cannot hold it any longer, please I really need to go. But I don’t want her to pee all over my expensive equipment, so we need to get rid of your smelly pee first, don’t we?”
He held the metal bowl that looked very much like a dog feeding bowl to me on the ground to stabilise it, while Sylvia squatted over the bowl and almost touched his hand with her buttocks. She closed her eyes and everybody could see the enormous relief on her red face as the floodgates opened. Obviously Martin had told the truth about the fullness of her bladder, for the hissing sound went on and on.
“Don’t pee on my hand, silly bitch. You know you have to lick it clean later.” He snarled. Her labia, plainly visible, were pierced with metal rings. 4 on the right, 4 on the left.
Once she was finally done, she actually licked his hand clean. Martin cleared his throat. “We have been practising this thing we call ‘piss conditioning.’ This bitch wants to learn, only to come if she has a mouthful of piss in her mouth. So she will dunk her head in the bowl, take a mouthful of piss and will not swallow it before she has her orgasm. Fortunately, that will not take long because of these nice rubber things. I am sorry for the racial colour of the dildo, but we all know black men put us whites to shame with the size of their cocks. She is already nicely lubed, so this won’t take—”
I stood up as quiet as I could and moved in a hurry through the corridor. I just made it outside. The intensity of my vomiting was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and I hope to never to go through this again. It kept coming, wave after wave, until I could only heave bright yellow bile. My entire chest was hurting. The cramped muscles kept on insisting everything had to come out, and I couldn’t convince it I had nothing left anymore. I felt a soft hand on my back, whispering things a mother says to her child in a situation like this. The hand belonged to Jutta, and it was the wrong hand. I cried bitter tears. My wife I loved so much had intentionally betrayed and humiliated me in front of other people. I always had assumed we would grow old together. I would die a couple of years before her, but not that much. Now we were retired, the great enjoyment should have begun. Instead of a fresh start, this marked the end of a journey. I’m not proud to have to report to you I soaked the front of Jutta’s dress with my self-pity until I think I fell asleep. I was so tired. If I died now, I wouldn’t have to face all the agony of a divorce. Telling the boys their parents had split up at this age. Moving out of my house. I have had grand visions for this house, envisioning a self-sustainable oasis with minimal impact on the environment. And now this. I felt a fresh wave of grief coming my way before I drifted away in a blissful nothingness.
I woke up feeling the sun on my face. I blinked several times. Jutta was sitting in a chair next to my bed. I cannot remember getting to bed. My head hurt like it had gained twelve pounds overnight and a gaping hole had replaced the spot where my heart used to beat, leaving an immense void in my chest. I looked at Jutta.
“Sylvia?…”
“She has left last night with Master Martin. Most of the guests went away as well. She did wrote you a note. It’s in my office. Why don’t you get cleaned up a bit? We will get some breakfast in you and you can read the letter if you want to.”
Standing up, she gently stroked my hair maternally before departing from the room. Obediently, I got up, took a quick shower, and put on some clothes. Unshaven I went downstairs and Jutta took me to the dining room, where breakfast was already waiting for me. There were two more couples on the other side of the room, one of which I recognised as the one that had given a demonstration yesterday.
I wanted something in my stomach that was now completely empty, of course, even if the thought of food repulsed me at the moment. Knowing that I had a 10-hour drive ahead of me, I had no choice but to eat at least something, regardless of my preferences. I gagged softly several times to eat some bread that got stuck in my throat. I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the other couples here. Jutta came to my table to sit with me. The other couples left the dining room.
“Do you want to read the note?” Jutta said.
I just nodded. She handed me just a piece of blank A4 printer paper, folded neatly without an envelope. I opened it.
Dear Koen,
I just wanted to say I’m sorry about tonight. When I realised after the show that you were gone, I instantly realised we fucked up. This was meant to make you understand your wife is nothing but a pain slut that likes to be humiliated in public. We had hoped it would be like a shock therapy for you. But it didn’t turn out that way.
I’m going with Martin tonight. My car is there anyway. I don’t know how this goes on from here. Right now, the only thing I know is that Martin fills a hole in me I never knew that existed. I know I hurt you beyond repair. I just wanted to say I still love you and always will.
Sylvia.
I saw compassion in Jutta’s eyes and something I could not define. “Did you read it?” I asked. I knew the answer, though. It was an open note. There was no way she would give me this if she had not read it before.
She nodded. “I did. And I have an opinion about it as well.”
‘Dear John,’-notes didn’t sit well with women. “I’m leaving this morning. I have a long trip ahead of me.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, her tone conveying a sense of finality and certainty, as if the decision had already been made. “You are in no condition to drive right now. We will see how you are tomorrow. If you were to go on the road right now, you most likely end up in a wreck at the side of the road. So you are staying here today. In the house. My house.”