The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1. Emanuel J.

she came up to him, “Have you been waiting long?”

      He waved silently and she took him by the hand as if they were a real couple. (Were they? Not really, he thought, since their relationship was more about form than it was about individuals. Or was that only the case for him? He didn't know for sure, but in any case he thought it prudent not to get carried away.) She did not even want to go to the tax office, but led him to a shop for equestrian supplies, which was housed in one of the concrete buildings.

      Before opening the door, she smiled mysteriously at him from the side, “I'm sure there's something suitable for your training here,” had he understood correctly? Apparently, he had, since she asked the first salesman to direct her to the riding crops as soon as she entered the shop. Without hesitation she walked in the direction indicated. Pulling Daniel by the hand behind her, they passed helmets, bridles saddles, pitchforks, concentrated feed and supplements to the riding boots, where they turned left (the shop was bigger than expected), finally reaching a wall on which crops of various lengths were hung.

      Franziska deflected a helpful saleswoman with friendly but firm words, and turned to Daniel with a generous gesture to the wall, “Pick one!”

       Warmth crept into his cheeks under the interested gaze of the short-haired brunette saleswoman, who hovered two steps away and looked like a governess in her long grey dress. He blushed conspicuously, hoping that she hadn’t noticed. Each of the thin, flexible crops had a leather hand strap on the handle and a leather flap at the tip, and they were all surprisingly cheap: the cheapest was six euros, the most expensive 15. There were probably no notable differences in efficacy, he assumed. They would all hurt equally. Was he crazy to choose something that was meant to hurt him? Without thinking about it, he took one of them off the hook, one of medium length and medium price, with a tip a finger’s width wide.

      In the background, the saleswoman’s voice sounded, “This model has a core of fibreglass, is encased in nylon and is often used to discipline a slave because of its manageability,” what? Did he hear right? The lady looked so uninterested, as if she had described the advantages of a mosquito spray.

      Of course, the decision had been made: This crop was the one. Daniel was immediately tasked with carrying it, while Franziska looked at the riding boots, “The heels are all very flat. Is there anything higher?”

      The saleswoman shook her head regretfully, “Heels are unsuitable for horse riding.”

      Clearly Franziska had no intention of riding a horse. The fact that she paid for the crop at the front of the shop without discussion was fine by Daniel, as he could hardly have been expected to finance this pain from his own pocket. That he had to carry it around the city unwrapped and visible to everyone, he thought less acceptable, but nobody was interested. The only consolation for him was not to hold it by the handle, but in the middle, which seemed somewhat more innocuous. This did nothing to dispel his fear that everyone knew its intended purpose. His free right hand was held by Franziska, for which he was very grateful. She was not ashamed of him, did not keep distance so that no one could establish a connection between them. He had no idea that this carelessness simply arose from a different and more realistic standpoint. In contrast to him, she knew full well that in reality no one was paying attention to them, everyone had their own concerns, which by enlarge did not concern dominance or devotion. Only a few steps away from the tram stop, he was suddenly brought to a halt in front of the shop window of a shoe shop whose display Franziska looked at with interest. She didn't want to, did she? Yes, she did! Quietly grumbling, he followed her into the rather exclusive shop, which he would never have entered after a glance at the prices. They were advised by a small, wizened saleswoman, it turned out that the choice was very limited: there were exactly two pairs of high black boots in size forty-one, one soft leather, the other shiny. Both had the high heels missing on the riding boots. She tried on both pairs and teetered a few steps over the red carpet. Daniel marvelled, speechless, all thoughts of expense forgotten. The boots were not mere footwear; they were boots fit for a mistress.

      She chose the soft leather ones that reached up to her knees, and Daniel was even more amazed to see a woman so decisive about shopping. The price that made him wince didn't seem to be a problem for her. Two hundred and twenty euros! Well, she came from a rich family, as Isabel had told him some time ago. She paid by credit card and had her boots packed into a shopping bag without a box, which of course was handed to Daniel. His hope was immediately shattered by her penetrating gaze. No, the crop was not allowed in, he had to carry it around with him like a neon sign.

      As she left the shop, Franziska smiled joyfully at him and approached his ear with her lips, “You must know how a devoted slave greets his mistress, right?”

      Oh. Is that what she meant? Even the thought of it aroused in him deep shame, which inevitably induced feverish lust in a person with his inclination. Or perhaps she didn’t mean that? But then she wouldn't have needed boots, “I think I know what you mean, but I'm not quite sure,” again, warmth tingling through his cheeks.

      Franziska smiled amusedly, “You think you know. Very nice... And you're blushing. So, I think you know the right thing. And you should understand that I don't want to have to give you orders for everything. You know what I mean?”

      Oh, yes. He understood. They had reached the bus stop and he muffled his voice to the linden breath, so that none of the bystanders heard his words: “Yes ... my mistress.”

      “Fine. You seem to have really understood.”

      The tram wound its way circuitously and took them first to Wilhelmsplatz, the traffic junction by the old town, where almost all of the city's buses and trams met, then on to a wide bridge over the sluggish flowing river, on which a white pleasure boat overtook a dusty black coal freighter, to the stop directly in front of her house. Hand in hand, they climbed up to the second floor, and if he had been a believer, he would have sent a prayer of gratitude to heaven, since they encountered no roommate.

      With an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she denied him entry outside her door, “I need to rest first. You can come at nine, ” when he moved to hand her the crop and the boots, she shook her head a second time, rebuking now, “Don't you know how a well-bred slave hands something over to his mistress?”

      Yes, of course he suspected again what she meant. But what if his hunch deceived him, she expected something completely different, perhaps much more harmless, and he did it anyway? Then he'd be pretty embarrassed. Steps rumbled down the wooden stairs creaking from above and Roland came drudgingly, a strong, hulking man who lived in one of the two upper apartments. Disgruntled as usual, he raised his hand in perfunctory greeting as he passed by, smiled wanly and rumbled down the next staircase. Law students seemed to have a hard life with little joy, but maybe it was just his nature. And apparently, he was blind, too, at least, he didn't seem to have noticed the crop in Daniel's hand.

      Franziska cocked her head, “Are we going to stand here all night?”

      Daniel took a deep breath, hesitated for a moment... and bent his knees in front of her to a curtsey like a maid in front of the noble lady. In his fantasies he had had to do that on occasion, without ever having thought it possible that he would actually do it in real life, for an actual person.

      A halfway satisfied smile scurried over her face, “Well, look, you know what I mean. Only the execution is still lacking. And would it kill you to say a few fitting words? Let’s try again. But right now!”

      A second time he curtsied before her, deeper, more devoted now, and a little higher he raised his hands with his stick and boots, whispering to her the words he thought were the right ones: “Here you are, my mistress.”

      Her smile was no longer reserved and now she took the stick and boots, “You see, it's alright. See you later,” gently she pulled the apartment door shut behind her, disappearing into her castle.

      Still thinking about her, he made himself a coffee in his kitchen. It was really striking how much their ideas matched and how he always knew exactly what she was asking of him, even if she didn't say it clearly. It was as if each had a film in their head, and these were made by the same director. Perhaps they were. Maybe she also read the relevant internet