Chapter 11

“I have a surprise for you”, I said after kissing her awake. I untied her from the bed and sent her to the bathroom to do her morning business. “Come to the kitchen as soon as you are ready. In the nude.”

No happy birthday yet. Knowing that I had ample time before she would appear, I took my time getting ready for her. I didn’t need to masturbate to get hard. I was hard just looking at her cake. A big cake, square, some 10 centimetres high, full of whipped cream, fruits and chocolate. The numbers 63 in big bold numbers in the centre. Congratulations in raspberry cursive script, SYLVIA in all caps. A birthday cake like I bought for her 62nd and 61st birthday. Nice, but nothing out of the ordinary. Except ... it was on a little stand that Sylvia uses to reach the high kitchen cabinets. You know those things, little elevations to reach everything if you’re not that tall. So her cake was 20 or 30 cm. off the ground. You guys have that same image in mind? Wonderful.

She entered the kitchen fully in the nude, as am I and my Tarzan is fully erect and ready to go. I push her to her knees and start singing Happy Birthday to you. I lube Tarzan and start fucking Sylvia doggy style. With her head above the cake and after Happy Birthday pretty Sylvia, happy birthday to you, I pushed her head in the cake and start hammering, seeking only my own orgasm. I pull her hair so her face - now totally plastered with cake and cream and chocolate - so she rises above the ruins what was once a cake, and I push her laughing face back into the remnants of the cake as Tarzan is firing shots in her pussy. I keep moving her face until she is literally up to her ears in the cake. Then I take my time to kiss her. As a result, we spent a lot of time after that licking each other’s face clean.

“She knows,” my wife hissed with desperation, her voice barely above a whisper. After the obligatory coffee and cake - sorry, the cake looks a bit messy, but it’s really delicious -, she cunningly convinced me to join in the kitchen with her using some weak excuse. My son and his wife, as well as two of her best friends, were sitting the traditional Dutch birthday circle in the living room.

“Who knows what, little one?” I asked.

My wife appeared ill, as if she was on the verge of vomiting. With her hands shaking, she struggled to pour the wine into the glass, but it ended up spilling onto the counter.

I grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the kitchen counter.

“Now tell me what you are so upset about”, I said calmly.

“Master, Natas knows. About us.” Natas is short for Natascha. She is my daughter-in-law. It was no surprise. It seems like all women have an innate radar for noticing anything that is unusual. I expected my son would be completely oblivious. He was used to his mother always going above and beyond when he or his brother requested something. No doubt she would fill him in on their way home.

“Why do you think that, little one?”

“Amid placing the flowers in the vase, you signalled for me to approach by making a ‘come hither’-gesture with your finger pointed to the floor. Reflexively, I addressed you as ‘Sir’. Of course, she noticed, and a scowl appeared on her face. You’re aware, Sir, that she never had any fondness for me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not a fan of her, either.” There was always a bit in-law-tension between Natas and Sylvia. My son had been treated like a little god when he lived at home. After he got married, he smartly decided to work on maintaining a healthy relationship with his in-laws, which is something most men do, by the way. Despite her best efforts, Sylvia couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt when the couple started prioritising spending time with Natas’ parents over us.

“I wouldn’t mind as much as Zuzanna or Kitty had noticed, I know I can trust them to keep a secret, but that Natas of all people has to find out is so humiliating!” Sylvia worked herself more and more in a frenzy. I took her head in my hands and forced her to look me in the eye so she knew I meant business.

“Listen slave girl. You have two choices: either you go to the dungeon and get your posture collar and you will keep it on for the rest of the evening, or you can calm down and own your submission. That people would find out was self evident. The yellow dress you made literally screams: slave girl. It’s equally apparent that you’re not wearing anything underneath. So you can embrace it and be a proud slave girl, or if you want a little help to hold your head high, we can always get the posture collar. Your choice, little one, and make it fast. It’s not polite to hide in the kitchen on your own birthday.”

“Let’s go back in, Master.”

“Happy birthday, little one.”

We went back in and there was a little sway in Sylvia’s step I hadn’t noticed before. I wasn’t the only one. I’m not sure about my son, but one look at the ladies present made it clear to me they had noticed the absence of Sylvia’s underwear. Own it, I had said, and I was as proud of her as she did. After I had taken my seat again, I felt Sylvia’s weight against my legs as she sank down and sat on the floor. This was a position we spent most evenings in, her leaning against the couch or against my legs on the floor. Without thinking about it, I gently stroked her hair in a continuous motion. Discussion flowed naturally to the topics of the day. The war on our continent, the climate change and what it all meant to us in our daily lives. Kitty was and still is the secretary of the school director and Zuzanna had been her colleague and is her best friend. Both were delightful conversationalists. Although Sylvia’s behaviour may have appeared strange, there was no evidence to suggest that it struck them as odd.

As the discussion shifted towards the recent surge of our far-right coalition in government, the focus turned to the matter of gender equality. Natas was an advocate for the new feminist movement, so she jumped right into it. Although she had largely stayed out of the discussion until now, she started a rant about how the patriarchy was the cause of all that was wrong in the world. Men that hold disproportionate power in key institutions, the media representations that enforce stereotypes and normalise the traditional sexual roles, that leads to objectification and marginalisation of women. Women may internalise patriarchal values, leading to feelings of inferiority, low self-esteem, and acceptance of subordinate roles. Patriarchy legitimises various forms of violence against women, including domestic violence, sexual harassment, and assault. Such violence serves to intimidate and control women, reinforcing their subordinate status. We had heard it all before, yet Sylvia’s body language betrayed her unease as the rant carried on.

Enough is enough. The temperature already had dropped a few degrees in our living room and we didn’t need to freeze out here. Before I could intervene, Zuzanna came to the rescue.

“I consider myself a feminist as well”, Zuzanna said. “The risk of claiming or suggesting that there are inherent characteristics shared by all women is monumental. And although there may be some truth in your words, you are focusing on issues pertinent to the Western context. In non-Western societies, however, women face other diverse and context-specific struggles. Radical viewpoints, just like the right-wing politicians we just talked about, can lead to internal divisions and infighting, and are seldom effective.”

Natas was not happy with the opposition. “Ursula von der Leyen, the president of the European Commission, said that there is a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women.” There was venom in her tone.

Suddenly, the room became eerily quiet, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere.

Kitty broke the silence. “I have seen that episode of College Tour as well, but the quote wasn’t from the president of the European Commission. The quote is from a speech from Madeleine Albright, secretary of state of the US at the time. And the quote was a. Taken out of context and b. A perfect example of the point Zuzanna was trying to make. These quotes add nothing to the discussion or the cause, and cause disagreements on birthday parties. So, how is Sandor doing in the Navy? When is he coming back?” Kitty asked Sylvia.