The Mistresses Next Door - Episode 1. Emanuel J.

first, as Franziska’s signal told him. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood in front of her with the bottle in his hand, and then there was no escape. Hesitantly, he curtsied before her, “Here you go, Lady Isabel.”

      She looked to Franziska in awe, “I can't believe what you've taught him in such a short time.”

      Franziska was modest, “You do what you can. And he's also very malleable.” They looked at one another, smiling, as he curtseyed in front of Isabel, and when their glasses touched they rang like bells. After a well-deserved sip, both went to the toilet, Franziska first, then Isabel. And he also needed to, for some time already and increasingly urgently. Fortunately, he didn't have to point this out, as Isabel looked at him maternally on returning to the room, “You too?”

      He nodded gratefully, only to notice immediately that there was no reason for gratitude. There was no quiet place to speak of, since both women accompanied him to the blue tiled bathroom and watched him standing guard like Argus himself. There little room between tub, shower and sink, only a narrow passage leading back to the toilet. Above it was a small window, high enough that no one could look in. Now what? To pee standing as usual was of course completely impossible here in the realm of his mistresses. For a moment, his hesitation lasted, then he took a seat in front of their curious eyes.

      Isabel pondered, “Should we really allow him to sit and pee like a woman?”

      Franziska looked at her in amazement, “How else is he gonna do it? Standing is out of the question.”

      “No, of course not. But he could do it on his knees!”

      Franziska gave her an appreciative look, appreciating this bright idea. She turned her attention to Daniel: “You heard!”

      Indeed, he had. And Franziska's admonishing look told him that she really meant it. Hesitantly he rose again, then sank to his knees in front of the toilet bowl, as if it too were an adored mistress. Gingerly he lifted the blue seat.

      Isabel, who was obviously better suited as mistress than he had thought, tried her hand at the strict command tone, at which she did not succeed quite as convincingly as Franziska, but was nevertheless decisive enough to brand her words upon him: “You'll always pee like this here with us. And you keep the door open so we can see what you're doing. Did you hear that?”

      “Yes, Lady Isabel.”

      He knelt, struggling to do what had until now been so urgent, and when he thought it was impossible, the floodgates finally opened and for the first time in his life he peed in front of someone.

      And, finally, this evening of first times came to a close. His mistresses were exhausted from their educational work and wanted to go to bed. Yawning, they watched him dress and led him into the hallway. With the half-full bottle of wine still in her hand (they were obviously not drinkers), Isabel gave him an embarrassed farewell smile, while Franziska, who carried the two empty glasses, looked him in the eye with command, “See you tomorrow night then... at nine, as usual... I will be interested to see what you come up with!”

      So many feelings, excitement among them, trepidation, the stirring but humiliating memory of what he had endured this evening, anticipation of more to come.

      In the Corner

      In the morning after his coffee he took his measurements and, after some research online, found a table indicating what his corset size. He already knew he would only be looking at A or B cups, he did not wish to exaggerate too much with his new curves. Especially as they also had to be filled somehow, preferably with rolled up stockings (as experience with the secretly borrowed bras of his former girlfriend had taught him). Equipped with this knowledge, at noon he set off under the dark cloudy sky on his mission. He took the tram across the bridge, got off at Wilhelmplatz and steeled himself to walk into the busy department store. The lingerie department was on the third floor and there wasn't too much going on here, which was good, on the one hand, as there were few people to see him; bad, on the other, as those who did might look more closely.

      With a red face he began to look through the selection of corselets, predominantly black, hanging from two clothes rails. He felt conspicuous, as if everyone could see immediately that he was shopping for himself. He felt culpable, as though caught committing a terrible crime. But why? He wasn’t hurting anyone, was he? But he was violating deeply entrenched norms, which, though mostly unstated, prescribed exactly what was permitted and what was not. And a man in women's clothes clearly belonged to the forbidden, to the nefarious, to the shameful. The distinction between genders is strict and impermeable, Daniel reflected on just how deeply social conventions were imprinted upon the human psyche, impossible to remove.

      He wasn't even a man in women's clothes, and he probably wouldn't become one that quickly, because what he found here he couldn't even squeeze into, it was all far too small. Did they cater only to elves? No, more or less normal women, for whom everything certainly fit, only not a giant like him. The stockings didn't look any better. The few fishnet stockings he found were all size three at most. It was hopeless, he realized, quietly grumbling he rode down the escalator again.

      Now it had also started to rain! Why did Franziska have to make everything so complicated? Why couldn’t she have patience for a couple of days? Then he would have been able to order everything in peace and quiet on the Internet and there wouldn’t have been any issue. But no, here he had to muddle through the pedestrian zone in the pouring rain, cursing the weather and everything else. And yet still he thought only of his mistresses, of the overwhelming feelings of lust they gave him, even in their absence.

      He was drenched, running to shelter in the next department store. The lingerie department here was on the second floor.. As if a switch had been flicked, the warmth crept back into his cheeks on the way up. Well, at least he was in no danger of catching cold. There weren't many customers here either, but fortunately enough of them to keep the two saleswomen busy and off his back. He located the rail of corselets between bras, nightdresses and briefs, and lo and behold, they carried some in an extra-large size. They should fit him, and they were less expensive than he had feared. He inspected them more closely and soon decided on one. It was black with lace edges, a B cup with ruched satin straps. Its clasps were made of metal, rather than plastic, very classy. The crotch was semi-transparent mesh, with a revealing thong back.

      With a burning face, he carried it to the cash register, looking around in what he hoped was a bored manner as he stood in line, then laid it on the counter as if he had nothing to do with it. Finally it disappeared into a black plastic bag, no stranger could catch even a glimpse of it, he could not quite believe that he would expose himself to his mistresses wearing it. Although the gaze of his mistresses no longer seemed so unusual... Oh. The change. He almost forgot. He got a tenner and a few coins back from his fifties.

      Fishnet stockings of a sufficient size did not exist here either. And likewise in the next department store. There was no such thing in this whole damn town! What kind of unsolvable task had Franziska set him? The failure of the mission was clearly her fault if she didn't allow him to do things his way. Hmm. But whether she would understand that was still the question. Was it not one of the advantages of being a mistress that one could always blame the poor slave?

      At least it wasn’t raining anymore. Nevertheless, he ran back to the long pedestrian shopping street, quite stumbled, with the black plastic bag in his hand, which seemed like cruel mockery to him, because what use was the most beautiful corselet when the stockings were missing? He would probably have no choice but to get some more in size three in the department store near Wilhelmsplatz, which he would then have to stretch and stretch, which would probably look rather strange. But there was no other solution. It started to rain again. But at least he didn't have to walk far.

      Suddenly, he stopped as though rooted to the ground. What the hell was that? From a small side street, a red neon sign with the inscription hosiery shone promisingly like a star to the three wise men It felt like a sign. But should he really go in there? There were certainly no long rows of cloakroom rails in there that you could sneak along inconspicuously, there was probably a person with whom you had to share your request face to face. On the other hand, it was the last chance to complete Franziska’s mission (and to make