Satisfied, Franziska smiled at him, while Isabel looked at him half surprised and half excited, “He seems to have been pretty turned on by it.”
Awkwardly, he tried to hide his swollen cock with his hand, pretending not to hear her.
Reprimand rose in Franziska's voice, “Don't you want to talk to her?”
Talk? About that? Weren't there a lot of other topics they could have talked about? Her admonishing look told him that other topics did not interest her at that moment, and he stumbled over his words, “Yeah, it turned me on... pretty much...” He could not address her as he addressed Franziska, the role of mistress did not suit her, he believed she should be a slave as he was.
Franziska looked at him disapprovingly, “Is that supposed to be an answer? I think you should ask her forgiveness for your impertinence!”
Should he? Well, there was the stick that could really hurt a lot, and then there was the throbbing, tingling sensation that his submission gave him, inflaming his dick as he knelt before the women. Again, he raised his eyes to Isabel, “Please forgive my unseemly tone, my lady.”
She nodded kindly as Franziska's face brightened as if an idea had come to her, “Give us a little more pleasure. Stroke your cock!”
Stroke your cock? He knew those words, didn't he? Is that what she meant? He looked at her questioningly. But he wasn't allowed to look at her questioningly! He knew what she meant, saw her squinting at the crop and knew that he could not hesitate any longer. Gently he clasped his dick with his hand and began to play gently with it, moving his hand up and down slowly.
Isabel sounded dumbfounded, “What did you teach him there? That's perverted.” But not only did she find it perverse, she also seemed to find it stimulating (maybe she enjoyed the same thing), at any rate she watched spellbound as his penis twitched with arousal in his hand, he handled it very carefully so that no misfortune should befall him, “I've never watched a man do that before. How interesting, such a slave ... Only this mistress does not suit me. You're his mistress. He should call me by another name.”
“How?”
“I don't know, I don't know,” again she looked down on Daniel, “You're a writer. Can't you think of something?”
Oh, now it was his job now? How could he think when all the blood was rushing away from his head? However, there was one idea, albeit a very strange one: “My domina?”
Wrinkles formed on her forehead, “Are you serious? Are you calling me a prostitute? You want me to take your money?” She sighed hard, “I could use it... But you don't have any of your own,” thinking, she looked down at him. “There must be some suitable word... Don't you have any idea what you'd like to call me?”
Yes! Now he knew. In a novel, he had read some time ago, a very nice mode of address, “Lady Isabel? Would you like that?”
“Lady Isabel?” She wondered the words, “Yes, that sounds good... Beautiful, actually.” Her hand hovered benevolently over his head, “You're a genius.”
With the lightest touch, he continued to play with himself, he was so close to orgasm, the ultimate in humiliation before the two women, a helpless eruption of losing control, leaving him shaking and limp before them. Of course, it was also forbidden. With every tiny hand movement his cock twitched greedily, his whole lower body pulsated as he knelt before them trembling. Small sighs of pleasure escaped his lips, impossible to conceal.
Franziska smiled amusedly, “I don't know if he's a genius or not, but he's definitely ingenious,” her enquiring gaze turned to him. “Do you like to do that even when you're alone? How often do you jerk off in your bed at night? Or do you do it somewhere else?”
What was he supposed to say? The truth? And be labelled a perv? Or a flagrant and obvious lie that would portray him as an innocent lamb, chaste and without any carnal desire? Which nobody would believe anyway. He opted for the middle ground, “Not very often, my lady.”
“Not very often? What am I supposed to do with an answer like that? Let's make things clear: From now on, there is no orgasm for you without Isabel or me allowing you to have it. Do you understand?”
That was a very challenging order. Even though he was of course willing to obey it, he would not have bet on complete success. This was, after all, a cruel hand to be dealt. And his hand would be elsewhere in moments of temptation anyway. But he kept his doubts to himself, “Yes, my mistress.”
Franziska's gaze was sceptical, because apparently, she now also realized what she was asking of him, “Unfortunately, we can't control it. But you can count on us to figure it out sooner or later if you cheat on us. Quite apart from the fact that your conscience will torture you, since you long to be a good slave. You do, don't you?”
“Yes, my lady. There's nothing I crave more,” at least this affirmation he could give freely, as it reflected the truth. The statement pushed him dangerously close to the edge, he struggled not to come there and then. It was happening, he was losing control, his cock convulsing of its own accord, his entire body strained for sweet release while he tried his best to overcome it with his mind. He pleaded for mercy, fearing the humiliation of losing control, fearing the punishment that would inevitably ensue. “Please, my mistress... I’m going to come...” She generously allowed him to let go of his dick, but the penis, even completely untouched, still sprung up as if under an external power, and all his self-control was necessary to hold back the overwhelming tides to pleasure that threatened to burst their dams and ruin him. He squirmed and grimaced with the effort.
The two women sat down in their armchairs, let the glasses clink together and drank a sip of red wine without taking their eyes off him. Isabel took issue with the aesthetics of the lowered pants and Franziska ordered him to take them off. But this could not be accomplished without first removing the black sneakers, and when he then took off his underwear and dark socks at her behest, she sighed in frustration, “My God, this is very awkward,” she eyed the black T-shirt he was still wearing with a critical gaze. “Actually, these clothes are impossible... You like suspenders, don't you?”
“Yes, my mistress.”
“Fine. Tomorrow night you'll have some on! But no garter belt, because for that you need hips, which you are sorely lacking. It must be a corselet. And I want to see you in fishnets!” Like a spotlight, her gaze illuminated the hidden corners of his soul, “Some men like to dress like that. You, too?” Could he have no secrets from her? Until quite recently, he had occasionally indulged in such things, until a girlfriend had caught him nine months ago admiring himself in the mirror, dressed in her bra and panties. Upon which she was no longer his girlfriend. He preferred to keep these details to himself. He nodded guiltily and she smiled, knowing, “That's what I thought. We’ll see what you look like.”
Excitement coursed through his veins. The idea of daring to expose these tendencies and wear feminine clothes, which he had always worn only in secret, in front of Franziska (and probably also Isabel) fuelled the fire of his lust. Only one thing dampened his ardour: why tomorrow already? Why didn't she give him a few days to order something online, which would have been much more practical and cheaper (and would also have saved him contact with shop assistants)? Franziska seemed to be able to peer into his mind. “No Internet. You go to the store. And now you can top us up with wine.”
Add wine, of course. But unfortunately, it wasn't as harmless as it sounded, because he couldn't just pour it into the glass, he had to do it humbly. And this before Isabel, who sat in the armchair with wide eyes, wordless as though she had taken a vow of silence. And who also had to be treated like a mistress, no matter how difficult