Under a Mistress' Spell - Episode 7. Emanuel J.

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      UNDER A MISTRESS’ SPELL

      7 / 7

      The New Home

      Emanuel J.

      Cover: Giada Armani

      Copyright: BERLINABLE UG

      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.

      The New Home

      Ilona is waiting for us in the hall. She looks good in her short white summer dress. Richard hugs her upstairs while I kiss her shoes downstairs, the worn-out white sandals she's wearing now because she lives here now, just like me.

      She asks me how it was.

      What should I answer? The truth? I don't know what the truth is. It consists of many individual components, some of which fit together, many of which do not, and some of which repel each other. And they all add up to quite a mess. But that's not an answer I can give her, because it's far too vague. Loosening the tongue from her foot, I look up at her. "I don't know, Lady Ilona... It was strange."

      "Oh. Strange? Is that all you can think of to say? "I thought you were being gripped really hard over there."

      "Yes, Lady Ilona, I was."

      "And that goes under 'weird' for you? Well, you can tell us about it later. I'm curious."

      Richard is being questioned. "But move first."

      An ironic smile resonates in her words. "Moving first, of course. You missed your sissy whore sorely, didn't you?"

      There is a humming sound coming from him.

      Without having received the order for it, my lips kiss Ilona's calves and move up to her thighs.

      "Don't do that," she tells me. "What are you doing?"

      Startled, I let her go. She might have liked it. But it seems those days are gone. She hasn't allowed me to go near her for a long time. Right down to her shoes, no more.

      Both accompany me upstairs to the bathroom, where I undress before their eyes. And in front of two cameras. They are not provisionally stuck somewhere, but screwed into the corners at the top, now they always stay here, just like me, I am told.

      I have to put the chastity belt on. No, I don't think I missed this thing. But it has its advantages: The humiliating expression of obedience, which was demanded of me in the boot camp, becomes impossible. I'd still like to do without it. As my limb slides into the vaseline-painted tube, I feel as if it were locked away forever and ever, and as the locks click into place, a cool shiver trickles through my soul. Condemned to chastity by the keyholder. The power of control over my feelings is now in her hands, all self-determination is given up. I feel helpless as never before. But it is also exciting.

      There are two new sissy dresses for me, one is light blue, the other one I have to wear is pink. But first, belts fishnet stockings in white. Also, a white bra is ready, worked exactly the same as the black one, the cups have slits for the silicone inserts. The skirt of the dress is as short and flared as the other dresses. The pink frilly panties flash out from under the white petticoat. There are also new shoes, pink slippers with half high block heels and decorated with a big white bow, mercilessly kitschy like everything I wear. I have to put on the white sissy collar with the two bells and also the anklet, which is obviously indispensable, just like in boot camp. The fingernails still have to be painted, the lips painted red, the wig with the golden hair on, then the Sissy is ready.

      There are now cameras installed in the living room, too, three of them, in the corners at the top, so I look with consternation.

      Ilona follows my gaze but says nothing.

      I serve her wine with my maid's curtsy, to Richard too, of course, and may sit down on my seat cushion.

      Ilona looks at me with a warning. "This is the only piece of furniture in this house you're allowed to sit on. "All chairs, armchairs and so on are forbidden for you. "We don't want you lolling around here when you're alone. Do you hear me?"

      How could I have missed it when she spoke so forcefully? It is strange not to be allowed to sit on a chair, but even without an explicit command it has become so commonplace that I sit nowhere else but here on the pillow. Except when I eat. Does this strange order apply to that as well? I don't believe it. "But... A knife is driven into my stomach. Angry pain, waterfalls of blood before my eyes, a thunderous roar in my ears. I find myself on carpet, bent and painfully panting."

      With the remote control in her hand Ilona looks down at me. "Did you hear that?"

      Sweat is on my forehead, everything about me is trembling and it is difficult to bring out words. "Yes, Lady Ilona, I understand."

      "You must be good," she says. "Always answer nicely when you are asked something. And never use that word. We don't like that. We won't let you get away with anything anymore, no carelessness, no flippancy, not to mention contradiction. You do what we tell you to do. You'll do it immediately and without hesitation. I hope you understand. For your sake, I hope you do."

      I think I have understood, because a feeling of boundless powerlessness comes up. They do what they want with me, and I have no choice but to follow every instruction, no matter how much toil, humiliation, and disgust it may bring. These electric shocks give them a means of power that leaves me entirely at their mercy. If they don't like something, they press the button and send me to hell with it. If I want to avoid this, I must be unconditionally obedient. There is no other way. With trembling limbs, I climb up the seat cushion again and fearfully my gaze sticks to the remote control in her hand. Hopefully she does not press on it again...

      I should tell you about the boot camp, she says and raises her index finger as a reminder. "But in great detail. If I have to pull information out of your nose, you know what happens."

      Yes, I know that! So, anxious not to forget anything, I tell them about my experiences, about the negligee that was our clothing, about the ankle bracelet that we had to wear all the time, even at night, about the food that we were given to tilt on the floor, and about cleaning day after day, washing the dishes and ironing the laundry.

      Ilona interrupts me smiling. "I'm glad I taught you that."

      Yes, what a blessing; would be terrible if I couldn't iron. Of course, I keep my sarcasm to myself, I have to continue my report from boot camp. Only I don't know what to reveal next. Ilona's sinister look tells me that I must not hesitate too long, so I just say what is going through my mind right now: "If we wanted to go to the toilet, we had to ask a supervisor or a warden for permission. Yes ... And if we approached them or were approached by them, we had to touch each other."

      Critically, Richard looks over to me. "Touch? Could you be a little more specific?"

      "Well, I had to... jerk off.

      "And the women?"

      "They had to stick a finger in."

      Surprisingly, he is satisfied with this information, doesn't ask where they had to stick their finger in, you can imagine. Impressed, he raises his eyebrows. "The customs there are awesome."

      He's