“I was afraid you were going to stop halfway, Master.”
“I almost did, little one. Not knowing what I was doing scares the living shit out of me.”
“I know. But you have to trust me to stop you if I can’t take it anymore.”
She didn’t add ‘And you must have enough confidence in yourself’, and I was grateful for that.
We were in bed. I do not wish to reminisce about the romantic and tender words we exchanged. They are really embarrassing if you read them back later. However, at the moment you’re saying them, they all sound wonderful.
She took my hand and lead it to her pussy. My fingers have a mind of their own and they slipped on automatic pilot inside her.
“It’s not mine anymore, it’s yours now.” She said to me with watery eyes.
“What is?” I was still basking in the afterglow.
“My pussy. It’s yours now. I no longer have anything to say about it. It’s all yours, like Tarzan is yours.”
“What is that supposed to mean, little one?”
“You own it. You can put a vibrator in it when we go to a fancy restaurant and turn the remote on high. Or insert a bunch of nettles in it if we are working in the garden. You can fist it or wriggle your toes in it. You can have my labia pierced with holes, ring them and secure it with locks like a chastity belt. It’s yours, any day of the week, any place in the world and at any time of the day.”
My first reaction would have been to laugh about this ‘present’ she gave me, but on second thought, I just said “Thank you, little one.”
“Sir, can I ask a question?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, Sir?”
“Tomorrow night is the answer to your question when you will be collared.”
She snuggled into my arms. “You know me so well, Sir,” she purred.
“It’s easy, little one.”
“What are your thoughts on clothes, little one? Are you going to be naked all the time when we are in the house, or do you plan to put something on?”
“Whatever you want, Sir.”
“Even though I like you to see in the buff, I think you should find something to wear at home. You know I’m a possessive guy. I like to keep you for myself, and I see no need to share your body with every mailman, delivery guy or pedestrian that walks by.”
“What would you like to see, Sir something sheer and sexy?”
“It’s your choice, but keep in mind I want you in your house uniform as we got visitors, including our friends or sons.”
The sudden realisation sobered her mood quickly.
Frugal. The Dutch are frugal. Nah, they just don’t see the need to waste good money. “I would like to make something myself, but I need fabric for that. When do you want it finished?”
“Tomorrow, little one.”
“OMG.” She jumped up. “We’ve got to run, Sir. I have to go to that little shop in the shopping mall. Can I go now, please Sir?”
“I will go with you. We’ll have a bite to eat there as well.”
She clapped her hands like a teenager that has got a date for the Prom. “Thank you, Sir, you are the best.”
I don’t know if she was still thinking that when her bum hit the seat of the Transit.
“We are taking the van, Sir?”
“Is rain wet, little one?”
“Yes, Sir”. That kept her quiet for the rest of the ride. After twenty minutes, we parked in the parking garage of the mall. All the big chain stores of Holland are here, as well as some boutique like stores. There is a model train store as well, and as I love all things in miniature, I like to spend the time with Sylvia goes shopping over there. Sometimes I buy some stuff, but most of the time I love just looking and dreaming of the stuff. One day, I will rebuild one of the boys’ room into a decent train room. Too early for that, though. I want them to know there is always a place for them at home if they need it. I gave Sylvia her phone so she could call me if she was ready. She left, and I knew it would take her more than an hour to call me.
I rarely left “my” store without purchasing something, however small. This time I bought a small red miniature English telephone box and an old Dutch one as well. Of course, it would be more enjoyable to assemble all the parts rather than watching television. I do not know why I love miniature objects. Nostalgia? Perhaps. It offers a break from the real world, providing a peaceful, serene environment that I can immerse myself in. The act of observing or creating miniatures can be meditative and relaxing. Perhaps it’s as simple as that, it’s the sense of Control that intrigues me. Miniatures allow people to create, manage, and control a small world in a way that isn’t possible in real life. The control provides me a sense of comfort and order, perhaps even offering an escape from the complexities of everyday life.
In one of our regular joints, I discovered a place with nice, friendly people and good food. I ordered a latte machiatto, and I was daydreaming about my plan. I love it when a good plan comes together. My phone rang.
“Are you ready, honey?” would be my standard question I had asked her for many years as we both went our separate ways in the shopping mall. But today everything was different. It was the beginning of our adventure. Our own polar steps.
“Are you ready, slut?” was my variation of the day. I heard her inhale. It’s nice to surprise my wife after so many years. I still haven’t lost it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Meet met at Madame Cuisine.” I hung up. Well, more like I pressed the red button.
It took Sylvia five minutes to join me, holding two bulky bags of different shops in her hand. I stood up and gave her a French Kiss. It is polite to greet your friends under the customs of their country. We were, after all, in a French restaurant. Sylvia blushed because I rarely showed affection in public, and she wasn’t used to it.
“Wow”, she breathed, “what was that all about?”
“It’s polite to stand up as a gentle man and greet your beloved with a kiss, little one.”
“Oh. Yes Sir. I like that.”
“Well, let me see what you have bought, pretty girl.”
“I would rather keep it a surprise, Sir. These are now just pieces of cloth. I still need them to sow together. But I have bought a delicate pattern that is not too difficult to make, so I will be ready tomorrow afternoon, Master, like you ordered.”
“Alright, I can live with that.”
“Why all the groceries, Master? We did our regular weekly shopping a few days ago?”
“These are groceries I needed. We didn’t have any of that at home.”
She bent over to look what’s in the bags. Women are curious by nature.
“Ah-ah. No lookie lookie in the bags. You have your secrets. I have mine.” I teased. Madame Cuisine made us something between lunch and dinner. It was light, warm, French and delicious. It saves us time to eat at home.
“Ready, little one?” I said while getting up.
“As you are. Are we going home now?”
At home, Sylvia rushed to her sewing machine to finish her “project” in time, and I left her to it, but not before I asked for my phone back.
“No, it’s mine”, I said decisively. “You and all that you have are mine. So the phone is mine as well. You’d better remember that little one.”
“Yes Sir”, she said meekly.
So I unpacked my shopping bags, installed the fridge in the dungeon, and filled it with mostly small water bottles. Time to work on my own project.
The owners of old farmhouses, like ours, were rich people. In those days, rich people would showcase their wealth by owning an upstairs room. A small room, separated from the living room by a few steps up. They used the room only to meet and greet important visitors, like the priest or a doctor, or the headteacher of the school. The upstairs room, with a window looking out to the front door we never used, was quite small. In it was an antique walnut cupboard containing our Sunday tableware, proudly on display. A dining table in the middle with four chairs and on the right side from ceiling to floor a bookcase so anyone can see even from outside that the people who lived here were not illiterate.
I removed the Persian rug that was somewhat original from under the table and switched it out with two old linen sheets stacked on top of each other. From the kitchen, I placed a plastic tablecloth on the table and covered the ugly plastic cloth with one of our finest tablecloths. I retrieved two chandeliers from the living room and spent nearly half an hour looking for matching candles. I gathered all the supplies I needed in a crate and with my heart in my throat knocked on Sylvia’s door. In the back I heard her electric sewing machine humming.
“Yes?”
I did not dignify that with an answer. I took two steps back and waited. Sylvia came out and saw in my eyes, she made a mistake.
“I’m sorry Sir, I was busy, and…”
Without warning, I swiftly grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards me, my grip firm and unyielding. “You thought you had a few more minutes, didn’t you? Well, time’s up. Turn around and bend over.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Skirt up.”
She picked up the hem of her skirt and draped it over her back.
“Loose the panties.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Without further ado, I slapped her cheeks that still bore the war wounds of the cane and gave it five not so hard swats.
“You can drop your dress, forget about the panties, girl.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Are you ready in there?”
“No Sir. I may need two or three hours more.”
“Good, we do that tomorrow. For now, shut down all the electronics and meet me in the dungeon.”
“Very good, Sir.”
After several minutes, Sylvia came up to the dungeon completely naked except for her posture collar. She must have put that on when we came home from shopping. She said nothing and stood in the attention pose before me, hands on her neck, breasts firmly forward, legs slightly apart.
“Do you have enema equipment here, little one?”
“No, Sir.”
“May I ask why not?”
“Yes, Sir.”
She kept silent.
“Why do you not answer my question, little one?”
“I did so, master. You asked me if you may ask me a question and I answered affirmatively.”
“You are going to regret this little one”, I grinned. “So why not buy enema equipment?”
“I didn’t see it in the store, Sir. Maybe it was in a section I overlooked. I’m sorry Sir. Would you like me to order a set online?”
“You do that. For now, I want you to take a real, real, real good shower with that unscented soap you have. Make sure that every creak, every crevice, is squeaky clean. Dry your hair and your body and make sure your feet will be clean as you present yourself nude in the upstairs room.”
Despite her confusion regarding her instructions, she still obeyed them. That gave me half an hour to get ready. I showered in the guestroom and got dressed. I sauntered downstairs, put my supplies in a corner, sat down at the table in the upstairs room and waited for my wife.
Within 20 minutes, record time, she came downstairs and assumed the attention pose.
“Clean, little one?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
I picked her up, hands in her neck and all, carried her the three steps up and laid her gently on the table.
“Hands besides your body.” I took my time to arrange her hair in a way that I found pleasing, taking care to adjust any stray strands that were near the table edge.
“You will be my dinner plate tonight. You have one minute to lie down as comfortable as you can get on this table. After that minute, you will lie still without moving, so all my decorations will look pretty on you. I will make decorate your body first and after that I will eat you. All of you.”