Despite all of this, I had to smile. “For someone that claims to be a submissive, you are very forceful.”
She took my hand. “Let’s go to my house, where no one will spy on us all the time.” I have a lovely garden that is hidden from view of the hotel guests. On the ground floor was a small extension that apparently served as her home.
“It seems bright outside.”
“It’s a lovely day. I will get the garden chairs out. Come on.”
She got me a cup of homemade coffee and biscuits.
“What are you going to do next?” she said.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. My head is exploding, and yet no sensible thought is allowed to go in, yet.”
“The way I see it, there are two things you can do. There are more, of course, but let’s concentrate on two.”, Jutta said. “The first one is going back home tomorrow. Start all the proceedings to get through the divorce. Perhaps you will find another woman by accident somewhere, but you will soon find out she is no Sylvia. No woman will ever be able to surpass the memory of your wife. So you will feel miserable for the rest of your life and play with model trains until you die.”
“The second route is much more difficult and can only be followed if you truly believe that a real man does not allow another bloke tries to steal his wife from him. I have tried to explain to you that your wife needs you to step up from being a Daddy Dom and to transform into a dominant with a rough edge of sadism.” Jutta said.
“You saw this coming, didn’t you?” I said.
“Yes. Not this repulsive, but yes, it was obvious except for you. If you want her back, you will have to convince her you will be not the man anymore she could wind around her little finger.”
“How would I do that?”
“It depends all on the first question. Do you want to change to make her stay with you as your slave? Once you do, you will have to follow through. There is no going back.”
“I love her, you know?”
“Do you love her enough to spit on her, to have her drink your piss, to lock her outside in a cage when it’s raining? Because that’s what she is asking of you. And that’s not all she asking of you. She wants you to be happy doing all that. She wants you to get hard while doing all that. If you were to do this as a kind of good Samaritan deed, don’t even start. It will end up in heartache for you both… But I feel there is a dark side in you somewhere. The question is, would you allow yourself to let it out?”
“Why don’t you sit here for a while, as I have some things to do in the house. Maybe go for a walk if you like. If you follow the path up the mountain, on top is a wonderful view, much better than this one, especially on a clear day. It gives you the time to think. I will wait here for you.”
“You’re not coming?”
“No, you will have to do this alone.”
So I climbed to the top. It took me one and a half hours to go up and perhaps even longer to go down. Even before I reached the top – and the view was magnificent – I knew what I would do. I was no quitter. I have made hard choices in the past in my career, and when I went for something, I knew I would get what I wanted. Love is meaningless if you are not ready to wage war for the person who possesses your heart. So when I was coming down to to her home I was pumped up and ready to go. She must have seen it in my eyes.
“Good, you are not going out without a fight. I respect that. It makes you the man I fell in love with. How do you plan to get her back?”
“I will fight him if I have to. I may not be as strong as he is, but I’m smarter.”
She shook her head. “Men!” She turned around a bit to look straight at me. “If you can beat the heck out of him, good for you. Maybe a little revenge won’t hurt, but will that help you get her back. If she chooses not to go with you and instead seeks solace with him, nursing the wounds caused by her jealous husband, what good that will do?”
I was quiet. She had a point there.
“Prove your point with her. Show her you can be the dominant she needs so badly.”
“How do I do that?”
“You show her by example. Show her what you can do to this woman. If you can do it to her, you can do it to Sylvia as well. Words alone will not convince her. Prove what you are worth.”
“Where would I find such a woman prepared to go through all of this?”
“You are looking at the one.”
“You?” I asked stupidly. I am a moron. I know.
“Women are attracted towards a man who is involved with another woman. It makes him more desirable, valuable, and that he can handle another slave, makes him a master she can idealise. She will only believe you own me as much as you owned her once if she sees the proof. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. I made an appointment with this tattoo artist. Unlike many women of today, I have a complete blank canvas. No little Celtic fantasy lines on my back, no flowers near my feet, and not a butterfly to be found on my shoulder. My skin is a virgin, and I want you to mark it as your own. You have my permission to place your stamp anywhere on my body, to prove that you own me.”
“Why would you go to such lengths to help me if your sole aim is to help me win back my wife? What’s in it for you?”
“I’m not stupid. It is clear to me that your love for your wife surpasses any love you may have for me. I cannot compete with her, so I won’t even try. As long as I am in your life, I am fine with being your second wife, your slave, or even your object of desire. I don’t ask much. I just want you to be around.”
“You are not on drugs, are you?”
Her face contorted with a mix of shock, hurt, and anger as the accusation hung in the air. “How DARE you accuse me of that?” she snapped, her voice trembling with emotion. “I lost my sister to this—do you think I would ever go down that same path? Do you know what it’s like to watch someone you love destroy themselves, and then to be left with nothing but grief and memories? I would never, never put myself or my family through that again.” Her eyes filled with unshod tears, her voice growing quieter but no less firm. “Don’t you dare judge me or make assumptions about my life. You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
Her pain was evident in every word, each one a shield against the unfair accusation. She looked at me. Her face slowly softened as the anger ebbed away. As her furrowed brows relaxed, the intense glare in her eyes faded, replaced by a calm, steady gaze. The tension in her jaw eased, and her lips, once tightly pressed, parted slightly as she took a deep breath. The flush in her cheeks gradually disappeared, leaving her expression serene and composed. As the storm within her receded, a sense of tranquillity settled over her, bringing a quiet calm.
“It is unnecessary to spend an entire lifetime with someone in order to develop powerful feelings of love for them, master. Ever heard of a thing that people call love-at-first-sight? Many women on this planet will agree with me that a simple look can be enough for a girl to fall in love.”
“I’m sorry about hearing about your sister, kitten. Retreat your claws, please. I won’t do you no harm. Your immense selflessness is just so incredibly overwhelming, something I never thought was attainable.”
“I do like to be called kitten, Sir and I am sorry for yelling at you.”
Without another word, she gave me her cellphone. She pushed the little arrow into the frozen picture and the movie started with Jutta sitting in her office behind her desk. Naked. With her titties above the table and a smile on her face.
“My name is Jutta Petska. By the time you are watching this, it’s too late. I will be dead or severely injured. And I know you, the authorities are will do your utmost to investigate this because you want justice to be done that all of your leads will lead to this one man, and his name is Koen de Groen, a Dutchman. I have no idea how familiar you are with BDSM-games, but if you’re not, find someone who is. They can explain what’s behind this video better than I can.
Of course, I don’t want to be injured or die. But there is always a risk that we take when we are playing these games. I know the risks. But I want to state here that I took these chances, knowing what could happen. Our games were adults playing with both their consents. I asked my best friend Frieda to come here to witness the recording of this video. Frieda, can you tell me if I am forced in any way to say this on tape?
Frieda: “I know my friend Jutta intimately for many years. I know she had a consensual BDSM-relationship with her first husband. I know she owns a BDSM-club, so she knows what she is talking about. There is no doubt in my mind that the relationship she has with the Dutchman is completely out of her own free will.”
Not only the screen, but my mind as well went blank. A whirlwind of confusion, disbelief, and a tiny bit of curiosity, leaving me utterly at a loss for words.
“We will make a plan for us to get Sylvia back to you, Master. A love of a lifetime cannot just simply vanish overnight. Since we only have one shot at this, let’s make sure we are fully prepared. Jutta said.
“But this tattoo offer is way too much. You are talking about something permanent. It’s impossible little one, even though I see vaguely your point. It’s too big a sacrifice to make.”
She sighed, went to the kitchen and got back with a beer for me as well as for herself.
“Being a Master is difficult, Master.” She said. “People outside our realm only see the nudity and the humongous, insatiable, all-encompassing power one human being gives freely to the other. And it is the all masculine-dream of men all over the world who sit at home with a wife that berates him over anything and everything, to be that guy that we call a master. None of them sees or even realises that with great power, not only comes great responsibility, but it needs courage as well. Courage to use it justly, for in your hands lies the potential to build or to destroy, to uplift or to oppress. Sometimes the submissive asks her master to have the courage to maintain discipline. It’s not the submissive is forced. She chose this lifestyle because she wants to be disciplined as much as the Master needs to maintain order in his household. So when I ask you to put your mark on my body, it’s not because I’m doing you a big favour or something like that. Hell no! It’s because I want it so I can show it off with pride. I don’t want to hear from you Gandhi-speeches. I respect you when you have the strength, the courage to take on your responsibility and do whatever you have to do to keep me under your thumb. And before you say ‘oh, I don’t want you to be under my thumb…’, I want to be there. That is me. I crave it. My addiction is not drugs. My addiction is you.”
Some people enjoy talking to others. I enjoy talking to myself.
This was the second woman in a row telling me not to dodge my responsibilities. This was not only about getting Sylvia back to where she belonged. In my bed. A third person had come in. How many men are desperate to have one submissive woman in their life? And here a second volunteered. And she made that offer because she loved me. She said. Now what about you, pal? Do you love her? She is a very attractive woman I would love to fuck.
“I asked you, man, not your dick.” I said without speaking.
“I can’t say that now! I barely know her.” My reply was silent, without making a sound.
“She has known you for the same time, and she knows.” I said back.
“Well, I don’t know, OK? So marking her as mine would not feel right. A tattoo is permanent, right? Until you have it removed. But removal means scars, right?” I replied.
“She wants it, man. She says she is doing this for herself. Why do you keep fighting this? She is a grown woman, capable of overseeing her own decisions. And what if you don’t? Would you get Sylvia back? Isn’t that just exactly the same battle?” I just lost the battle against myself.
Whatever Sylvia had done, I wanted her back. I needed her like a plant needs water in the desert. And I would do whatever I needed to do to get her back.
“You said several times I look so much like your late husband. Do you have a picture of him?”
She gave me one of the framed photos. It was their wedding picture. Jutta looked so young. The old dude next to her looked nothing like me. He was plump, beer belly, balding. He looked friendly, though. His smile mirrored hers.
“You are going to say that you don’t look like him at all”, she said before I could. “Do you really want to understand why you are twins?”
Jutta was an amiable woman. Friendly, kind, and a giving person. And a very confused lady right now. The least I could do was to listen to her.
“Please explain to me, little one. Tell me more about your relationship with your husband. Explain why, little one, make me understand.”
“I can only explain it if I show you my bedroom.” She let out a brief, sarcastic chuckle. “Don’t worry, your virginity is safe with me, master Koen.” She was already on her way, and there was nothing else I could do but to follow her. She went ahead of me and opened a door in a narrow hallway. It was a bedroom I looked into, but not one of a grown woman in her late forties. This was a child’s room. I looked at her without understanding. Had there been a child in the past that had not survived and was this the relic that had remained from the sea of heartache?
The room is medium-sized, painted in at least 8 shades of pink, and one wall had a set of stickers featuring horses and ponies. A twin bed with a unicorn bedspread sits against one wall. Plush toys, from teddy bears to stuffed animals, pile up on the bed. The headboard contained built-in shelves holding books, a nightlight, and a few small toys. Above the bed, there was a string of fairy lights, adding a cosy, magical touch to the space. Next to the bed, there is a compact bedside table that features a lamp adorned with a flower and a collection of bedtime storybooks. Across from the bed, a colourful rug with a fun pattern lies on the floor. The floor was scattered with toys. The room exuded an atmosphere of playfulness, with Lego blocks and Barbie dolls strewn across the floor.
In another corner, you’ll find a small desk cluttered with crayons, coloured pencils, paper, and a few craft projects. A bulletin board above the desk displays children’s drawings and a giant photo of her late husband. The bookshelf against one wall holds a mix of books, puzzles, and board games. The closet door stood open, covered with stickers, and inside, clothes hung in a somewhat organised fashion, forming a row.
Overall, it looked an eight-year-old girls’ room. While I never had girls, the boys’ rooms had a familiar feel to them when they were that age. I looked at her with more than a few question marks in my eyes. She responded by pressing her index finger against her lips, suggesting that I should remain quiet, and pointed towards a peculiarly cosy love seat that stood out amidst the surroundings. A very comfortable chair indeed. She walked to the closet and took out a thing with teddy bears printed on it in a wild, random pattern. She undressed herself without haste or shame, paying no attention to me. It was as if she was alone. There was nothing overtly sexy in it, and that in itself made Tarzan hard.
She neatly folded her everyday clothes before selecting a pair of purple panties with a quirky strawberry pattern, slightly tilted and off-kilter. Then she stepped into the fluffy thing that reminded me of a painter’s overall, the kind you can fit into completely. She pulled the zipper up to her throat and smiled at me.
She walked over to the love seat and crawled under my arm, wriggling a bit until she had found a comfortable position against my body.
“My David was a Daddy Dom, and this was my playroom. Many people raise their eyebrows when they hear the term Daddy Dom and think he is some kind of incest paedophile. Nothing could be further from the truth. The ‘Daddy’ role in this dynamic is about providing care, guidance, and protection to a consenting adult partner within a framework of power exchange and emotional intimacy.
She held her little finger crooked for me.
I hooked mine into it.