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

right about that, though.

      Ilona is busy with other thoughts. "There were female guards too? Emancipation is making progress. Very good." Her gaze becomes pensive. "You couldn't go to the toilet without permission? Like little kids in school? Interesting. We'll introduce that here too. Starting now. No more going to the bathroom without permission! Do you hear me?"

      I should have kept my mouth shut. But I can't shut up. I have to blab all the things that Ilona can come up with. "Yes, Lady Ilona, I heard."

      "It's a pity you can't take your cock in your hands when you talk to us," she says. "But that way it has other advantages."

      I have to continue my report and describe the problems that slave eighteen had.

      "You were called by numbers?" Ilona asks.

      Doesn't she know that? Did I forget to report it? Heavens! She's not gonna make me pay for this, is she? My stomach is cramping up and my heart is pounding.

      Her smile is magnanimous, as if to tell me that she is overlooking this crime once again. "What has been done to her then?"

      I tell her how she was chained in the hall for the guests, which was not successful, and how she was punished on the lawn under the golden waterfall.

      "That's disgusting," she says with a sniffling snout. "Did it do any good at all?"

      "Yes, Lady Ilona, after that she was good."

      Richard speaks from his armchair. "Look, it served its purpose." He seems a little tense, perhaps afraid I might mention the whore to everyone and quarrel with Ilona. But no, it'll be my secret. I don't want to drag Sofie even deeper into the dirt she's already up to her ears in. And I don't want my heart to bleed again, which it already does when I think of her. I also keep the film shooting to myself. It seems too shameful to me to tell them about the porridge I had to gobble down, and besides ... Maybe they would have noticed something of the tender feelings I had for the slave. That I'm ashamed of. I can't fall in love with every woman who is reasonably pretty and has a touch of sympathy for me. You'd think my hormones were going crazy, which is not surprising...

      Ilona secretly yawns. Only this morning they have returned from the Maldives and she longs for her bed, Richard too. They accompany me upstairs to the bathroom and hand me the small key so that I can remove the anklet. Thank goodness. I was afraid I would have to wear it here at night as I did in boot camp. Except for the sissy panties, I have to take off everything and put on one of the lavish nightgowns. I would prefer that the two of them leave me alone, probably never get used to peeing under supervision.

      But isn't there a new order, a terribly shameful one? Do I really have to do this? Needless to say. Knowing Ilona, of course she means it. I let my eyes wander from the bowl to her, indecisively. "Could I...?"

      The knife bores into my abdomen, a giant fist bends me together, I hold on to the sink, close to sinking to the floor.

      Ilona's voice pushes mercilessly into my agony. "No flippin'! "You humbly ask. As a good little doll should."

      I know what she means, and I'll do anything she wants. One moment of collecting and catching my breath, then I curtsey in front of her and drift the humble words from my lips: "Please, Lady Ilona, will you allow me to go to the toilet?"

      She smiles magnanimously. "Sure. If you ask so nicely. - But you go downstairs to the guest bathroom. You're always doing that now. You'll find everything you need down there."

      Both go down with me and watch through the open door as I slide my panties down and sit down on the bowl. Even here a camera is staring down at me now. Total surveillance. This is certainly contemporary, but also very strange. And it takes the ever-present feeling of powerlessness to the extreme.

      Before the boot camp I had got used to peeing into the chastity belt, but now it is as strange as at the beginning. It doesn't run off fast enough through the small hole, gets jammed, washes around the cock with warm water, until after a short time everything has trickled out. The white plastic syringe lies ready in the sink. I fill it with water and press it through the upper hole into the chamber, so that it cleans everything. After the warmth now the cold, my poor limb doesn’t have it easy. With toilet paper, I wipe the remaining drops from the metal of the chastity belt and pull the panties up. All by itself the nightgown falls down modestly. Of course, I do not forget to wash my hands afterwards. Ready for the night.

      Impatiently, the two of them stand outside the door, waiting for me. I follow them to the stairs with wonderfully free steps, but they don't go up but down. What do they want there? Not to the utility room, surely? It's closing time. - No, not this one. The room opposite, which had been a kind of lumber room, has been given a barred door. And the inside has been completely redone. In pink! The walls, the carpet, everything pink and white. Pink is also the cover of the narrow bed that stands at the back of the wall, and white is the sideboard under the low windows at the top, in front of which pink lace curtains hang.

      Richard proudly points to the romantic room. "Do you like your Sissy Room?"

      I'm at a loss for words right now. Which I don't think is allowed. So, I'm digging around in my little mind for an answer. "Well, sir, it comes as a surprise.

      "I like it," he says, and I wonder if he has a pedophile streak.

      Suddenly and unexpectedly the grille door moves to the side without anyone lifting a finger. I wonder if it reacts to thoughts. I wouldn't be surprised. But I'd say it has more to do with that smartphone in Ilona's hand. Well, in God's name I'll come in. Of course, it's nicer here than in the boot camp dormitory... The pink sheet is not stained and will stay clean whether I want to or not. The door slams shut behind me and the metallic sound of a snapping lock can be heard. Am I locked in?

      "If there's a problem, fire, burglars or something, you just call," says Richard.

      So, there are microphones. And cameras, too. Two of them, upstairs, under the ceiling on the wall.

      Ilona's voice sounds cool. "But you only call when there's a real problem. Not if you're lonely. Not if you're in any kind of trouble. We're not interested."

      The two turn away and their steps fade away on the metal stairs. I lie down in bed and the light goes out as if by magic. Everything works here without my intervention, as if I were a small child, not capable of taking responsibility for myself. I cuddle up under the satin blanket and as if by magic my fingers glide over the silky nightdress and to the frilly panties. There it goes no further. My thoughts turn to Sofie. The whore for everyone. It's unbelievable what's happening to her. It hurts down there, because the dick has reached its limit. I'd like to touch it, like I did so many times at boot camp. Slave eleven appears before my eyes, the envious one, who likes all people, and I see the slave from the film shooting, whose pee, no, whose golden shower I was allowed to drink, no, I had to, of course. I would like to have her with me, any of the three, but probably each of them would be irritated if she felt metal down there like a robot. Although they would be even more irritated by other things and therefore would certainly not end up in my sissy bed. Like no other woman. Not even Sofie. Who probably feels the same way about me as I do about her: Why does she allow herself to be humiliated, abused, enslaved, without rebelling against it? - The answer probably applies to both of us: Because of the urges, why else, because of the irrepressible desire to live out the dreams, as bizarre as they may be.

      It takes a long time until I fall asleep in the fragrant sissy bed, where you could feel like a princess if you were a girl ...

      Treacherous Blog

      When I wake up, I feel satin all over me, smell my sweet perfume, see through the pink curtains that it is bright outside. An oppressive pain in my crotch tells me why I woke up: Once again my penis in the dark dungeon has become too tight. All this is not a dream, I understand, all this is my reality.

      A voice resounds from nowhere, almost as if God was speaking to me. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead." No, that's not God. That's Ilona. She's speaking to me over loudspeakers I can't see anywhere. "Go into the bathroom and put on whatever you find there. Then you'll make us breakfast."

      Like God, she speaks