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UNDER A MISTRESS’ SPELL

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Christmas

Emanuel J.

Cover: Giada Armani

Berlinable invites you to leave all your fears behind and dive into a world where sex is a tool for self-empowerment.

Our mission is to change the world - one soul at a time.

When people accept their own sexuality, they build a more tolerant society.

Words to inspire, to encourage, to transform.

Open your mind and free your deepest desires.

All rights reserved. It is not permitted to copy, distribute or otherwise publish the content of this eBook without the express permission of the publisher. Subject to changes, typographical errors and spelling errors. The plot and the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to dead or living people or public figures is not intended and are purely coincidental.

Christmas

Paradise is deserted at Christmas. The mistress is going to her family in the far north, Sofie is on a skiing holiday in France and I and Ilona are visiting her parents who live two hours away in the south. They don't like me, they wanted a doctor or pharmacist for their little daughter, or a lawyer perhaps, and then they got me as their future son-in-law, the poorest of them. We spend three dull days there, all of us striving for a civilized tolerance, which we halfway manage, especially since the attention goes to Ilona's younger brother, who was caught with drugs. Fifteen grams of marijuana which is enough for a court. Which is now threatening him. As this drama makes me recede into the background, I benefit for the first time in my life from the revised drug law.

I don't have to work during the holiday, because there is only an emergency service. The boss supervises it herself together with a driver. Who has to show up in case of an emergency, when a customer unexpectedly runs out of heating oil, which happens from time to time.

After the return from Ilona's anxious bourgeois parents, we stop by my parents' house, which is not any more pleasant, and then seek refuge in our apartment to recover from all the family stress. Lazy time without work and other duties, I appreciate it, the sweet laziness, which of course includes the television. But I am not only allowed to watch the beloved Don Camillo and Peppone. I have to watch the cultural program that Ilona watches regularly. The new production of a well-known ballet is discussed and immediately I have to think of the shoes that are part of my slave garb. However, here, in the realm of vanilla sex, this is a highly inappropriate thought, that I try to suppress immediately, but without success. How nice it would be to finally stand in front of my mistress again and Sofie, of course.

The next show is about a painter whose pictures have been exhibited in New York for some time now and are fetching high prices on the market. On the screen a simple-looking woman appears - Irmgard, whom I modelled, no, kneeled for. While some of her pictures are shown, I find it difficult not to tell Ilona that I know this woman. I am no better than others and probably almost everyone likes to boast about the acquaintance with celebrities. But under no circumstances could I report how I know her and that she is about to immortalize me in my slave garb in a painting because that would probably be quite too much for poor Ilona. In any case, her claim of the international breakthrough was not an exaggeration, it was nothing but the truth.

After the show, it is still early in the evening, not even seven o'clock. Ilona asks in a husky voice whether I wouldn't like to take a shower. I know her well enough to know what that means: she obviously wants to have sex. Why not? I'll take a quick shower, it won't hurt, and put on some fresh clothes. Then she disappears into the bathroom and I lie down on the sofa, turn on the TV again, watch a documentary about the North Pole and wait for the things to come.

The things that are coming, no, the thing is Ilona. She is seductively dressed up in a cobalt blue negligee, which I have never seen on her before. It is made of semi-transparent lace with a floral pattern, is low-cut, reaches just over her bottom and makes her look gorgeous.

She smiles at me promisingly. "A gift for you. And I have another..." She sits down next to me on the floor and breathes a kiss on my lips while her hand slides to my lap. Her voice is muffled to whisper, "Today I will do it..."

A little aimlessly she starts to fiddle with my jeans and I help her to unbutton them, I also help her to take them off, which is a bit awkward. The idea of just unzipping the zipper doesn't seem to occur to her and I don't suggest it either, as it would probably have seemed too convenient and not romantic enough. She takes off my not so normal pants and looks irritated at my cock, which hangs pathetically small.

I can't really say that I had a hard day as a reason, but I guess I can say something in defence. "It'll be okay..."

Her smile becomes confident. "Definitely."

She strokes it as gently as if she feared it might break, bends down to it and breathes a shy kiss on it.

You might as well do it right. It's not that bad. Even I could have said that, but I'd rather be quiet. This thought, however, and the accompanying images that emerge in my head all by themselves, do not pass without effect. In no time at all, my willy rises to full size.

Ilona looks at it astonished. "What a little kiss can do..."

I let her believe that it was her work and stroke her hair to encourage her to kiss it again, and indeed she bends down, now she lets the tip of her tongue slide over my dick. Maybe I'll get to see it sink into her mouth after all...

The phone rings. Now of all times. It lies on the table and my black leatherette bag is open. Startled, I squint across - and it is as if someone had poured boiling hot water over me. My mistress is big and bold for all to read on the display! For God's sake! It is out of reach, but this text must disappear immediately. Without further ado, I put the call on hold.

Too late! Ilona looks at me in consternation. "Your mistress? What does that mean?"

I helplessly wave. "Oh, nothing. Just a little game."

She rises from her knees and tries to hide her nakedness behind her arms. "What kind of game?" Her eyes widen as if an almost incomprehensible thought had occurred to her. "These panties? Did you buy them for her? Do you wear them for her?"

I sit down, catch my pants and quickly slip them on. It doesn't make sense to lie to her any longer and squirm like an eel. I am caught and will make a fool of myself by trying to deny the obvious for even longer. "She just grants me a few wishes."

"Wishes? What are these wishes?" She trims, ponders, puts her hand over her mouth as if an unbelievable idea had occurred to her. "Does she discipline you too?"

There it is again, that funny word I so carelessly blabbed to her. Surely, it is better not to be specific and not to give away details. Silently, I raise my eyes to the ceiling.

Ilona shakes her head in disbelief. "So, this, too." The only reproach is her flaming look. "What a pig you are!" Steaming like a locomotive, she hurries out of the room.

I put on my pants and don't know what to do. Beg her to forgive me? Try to calm her down? Assure her that as of now the game is over and I'm only there for her? But the game should not be over. It's the most exciting thing I've ever experienced.

She comes in again, squeezed into a pair of jeans and wrapped in a black top. Outraged, her eyes sparkle at me. "How long has it been going on? How long have you cheated on me with that woman?"

"It started a few weeks ago."

She is on the verge of tears. "I suspected it. You were different than usual. Absent, kind of bored." Anger gets the upper hand over her sadness. "My parents are right: you're no good. - Go! I can't see you anymore!"

I am not trying to change her mind and straighten anything out; it will not work after all. Twenty minutes later I'm on my way to the station with my full green travel bag, walking, of course, because Ilona doesn't think of driving me there and I don't ask her to. I'm on the road for a good quarter of an hour and then, to my relief, I see that there are trains running, the next one in a few minutes. I arrive in the city early enough to be able to buy a bottle of Bourbon in the supermarket next to the station just before closing time. I'll probably need it.

Soon I am sitting at home in front of the television and pouring myself two finger breadths high. What a disaster, what a drama. Late at night, the bottle is half-empty, and I crawl into bed with a heavy head. Women! I don't need them. It's easier without them. The fact that it's not "the women" who are to blame for the current mess, but that I have to blame myself, I'd rather not consider...

I do need women; I notice as I sit at the kitchen table late in the morning with a cup of steaming coffee and think about last night. What a disaster. I have deeply offended Ilona and angered the mistress; it could not be a more unfortunate situation. What is next? Call Ilona? But to say what? Ask her forgiveness and repent? Would that be honest? If I were back again at the point of my first encounter with the Mistress, I would do the same. Because my whole innermost is longing for the strict treatment she gives me. Unlike with Ilona, the request for forgiveness from the mistress would not lack honesty.

In the afternoon I send her a message from my smartphone: I am very sorry, my mistress. Your call came at a very inopportune moment. Please forgive me. It shall never happen again. Your devoted slave, Valentine.

The day goes by without me getting an answer. The next day is New Year's Eve and I and Ilona have reserved two seats in a disco for the evening, which has now been settled. What would I do there? The fact that a considerable lump sum has already been transferred is irrelevant. It's only money, and money is the least of all worries right now. I'm thinking of asking Herbert or Jonathan if we could spend the evening together. But what if the mistress calls? Then it could get messy again. I'd rather be left alone with a bottle of Scotch. At midnight, I turn off the TV to escape the unbearable cheerfulness and stare at the wall for a while before crawling into bed.

When the New Year's hangover gradually calms down after an aspirin tablet, the thoughts immediately gallop to the mistress. I must speak to her, ask her to forgive me, explain to her that it was impossible to take her call at that unfortunate moment. So, I summon up all my courage and call her, hear the dial tone - and then it's busy. She pushed me away. She won't talk to me. And all because I once made one little mistake? Which actually was not even a mistake, because what should I have done in that fatal situation? Reveal myself before Ilona as a subservient slave? Anger is mixed with my despair, anger at the relentlessness of the mistress, who doesn't give a damn about the needs of her slave...

I don't care that it's only early evening, I can just become an alcoholic, because it doesn't matter anymore, and I pour myself a whiskey...

Mercilessly like a sadistic mistress, the alarm clock rings in the morning at half-past six, it feels like the middle of the night. I have to go to work, wondering if I'm crazy to do such an inhuman thing to myself, and after a coffee, I set off like a sheep as if I had no choice. Fortunately, it's only two working days until the weekend.

Lothar, the father of the family, is still on holiday, so it would be no problem if the mistress called now. She does not. My anger toward her is smoky again. What remains is desperation. I don't want to be without them, longing for their severity, their commands and instructions, without which my life is only empty and dull. Shall I go over there tonight and just ring her doorbell? And then what? I would probably look like a stalker and be chased away from her like an annoying mutt. No, I'd rather not. - It would be better if I concentrated on my work, but there is hardly any.

When the boss comes to my desk for a little chat, she inquires about my Christmas and the New Year’s, and I wave away so unnerved that she doesn't ask another question and just nods in solidarity. Apparently, it had not been edifying for her either. But that is not a consolation to me. There's no comfort for me at all. Especially since my Christmas had not only been darkened but simply catastrophic. I can hardly think of anything else. I probably have a good chance of being elected a miserable dummy of the year, I think, as I write the orders for next week on the huge board that takes up half a wall of our office ...

It rarely happens to me to be awake before the alarm clock rings. And with a slightly buzzing skull. Something like that can only be explained by the sadness about my lost paradise. I'm beginning to fear that I'll never be able to think about anything else. In the bathroom, the clothes rack is hung with jeans, T-shirts, sweaters and my briefs, but not with the frivolous G-strings because I don't need them anymore. I don't wear them without my mistress, nobody comes to check anyway.

With my hands buried in my jacket pockets and my neck drawn back, I stomp in the cold morning air to the tram stop and, of course, the train that goes in the other direction comes first. When it stops, golden hair glows out of the crowd of passengers, half-covered by a red knitted cap and falling in soft curls onto a dark coat. That's Sofie! I almost didn't recognize her, because I've never seen her properly dressed. Without thinking about it any further, I spur off, run around the rear car and make it through the door at the last second before it closes hissing.

I laboriously fight my way through the people who are squeezed together like sardines until I finally stand behind her. She turns her back to me, hasn't discovered me yet, holds on to a pole with one hand and has a blue trolley standing between her feet. She is dressed in jeans and lined boots with a half-height, wide, and probably comfortable heels, not stiletto heels, as I usually know her.

Gently, I tap her on the shoulders and with a questioning look, she turns her head toward me. When she sees me, she, fortunately, does not react reserved or even contemptuous but smiles with pleasure. "Oh, you? Well, this is a surprise."

I don't give a damn about the listening ears around me and I have no qualms about getting to the topic right away. "Sofie, I'm terribly sorry."

She smiles reassuringly. "You don't have to tell me. I'm not mad at you. But Gudrun is. And it doesn’t seem to be changing."

"What can I do?"

Perplexed, she shrugs her shoulders. "Nothing. We'll see. I hope."

Next station is the main station and here she gets off. I grab her wheeled suitcase and walk beside her to the wide stone stairs that lead down to the underpass.