Chapter 12

It’s fascinating to reminisce about the early stages of my relationship with my wife because we are so incredibly different. I love to be home and need my alone-time. Not my wife. She has a bunch of friends and loves to go out and show off a bit. Perhaps I’m just your regular every day introvert and is Sylvia my counterpart. We had to get used to our oddities after we got married, but we have come to accept and respect our differences. Any union between two individuals requires compromise. It came as no shock when she inquired yesterday if we could engage in an open and candid discussion.

From an outsider’s perspective, the Master embodies a fusion of dictatorial traits resembling the leadership styles of Putin, Erdogan, Bashar al-Assad, and Xi Jinping, within the 24/7 total power exchange dynamic. He does not tolerate contradiction in his presence, as he holds absolute and unquestionable authority. And I admit, this is the basis of our relationship. It’s important to note, however, that Sylvia not only accepted this arrangement, but she actually initiated it.

We came up with a rule to preserve the dynamic of the dictatorship while also acknowledging her input as equal in the relationship. It’s called the 24 hour rule. She can make a request for an entreat. The Master determines the time to discuss the request, not the slave, but it is essential to honour it within 24 hours. Consequently, the Master’s fragile ego is protected, and there is no disruption to the Master/Slave dynamic. It is a simple but effective way of communication, regardless of the uneven distribution of power.

This was the third time Sylvia asked for the 24 hour rule. The first two were mainly because of my own inconsistencies. Unlike the previous ones, I dealt with this request right away. In the roots of our BDSM-community are rules and rituals. A ritual for the 24-hour permission is the ‘freedom mat’. Kneeling on this mat means she is free to say out loud whatever was on her mind, even - or maybe especially - about my behaviour. Or our Master/slave-relationship. She went to the storage room to get her rug. These rugs are probably intended for religious purposes, since they are big enough to kneel on. Green with lots of Persian motives and soft enough to spare the knees. She knelt down on the mat and looked at me. I nodded.

“Master, thank you for this opportunity to discuss something that’s bothering me for some time now. We have been playing for three months now, and I was wondering if you think I am ready?”

“Ready for what, little one?”

“For you to present me, Master.”

“Present you? Don’t beat around the bush and come to the point,” I said. The way this discussion was going annoyed me. She noticed, of course.

“Are you proud of me?”

“Of course I’m proud of you, kitten,” I automatically responded, the familiar words echoing the conditioning of our long-term marriage.

“No, no, no, no.”, she shook her head. “Please tell me, Master, what makes you proud?”

It’s one of those typical female questions that can make any man feel uncomfortable. I don’t enjoy being put on the spot like this. “Well, I think you obey me well.” It even sounded weak in my ears.

If Sylvia is on a mission, neither a huge thunderstorm, nor my weak answer, would keep her from achieving her goal. “As your submissive, I have tried so hard to please you these last few months. Anticipating and meeting your needs is my priority, even before you give me an order. I strive to please you, yearning to show my competence. I need to show others how well I can obey and impress people in our lifestyle. Or, heaven forbid, find out that perhaps I’m just mediocre and need to learn a lot from other subs.”

“If your aim is to satisfy me, then my approval of you is the only thing that holds importance.”

“Master, I’m on this also is a mat of truth, you know. I have to tell the truth, no matter if you like it or not. And I’m about to say something that you probably don’t like to hear. But a relationship is a two-way street, even a BDSM-relationship. There has to be something in it for us both. So I am begging you to consider going with me to a BDSM-club so you can present me. I can show off my submissiveness and how much I love pleasing you.”

She could see my reluctance and threw her last card on the table. “I know you don’t like clubs, Master, but this one is different. You know this couple we met in Kink Paradise, Martin and Helga Weber? Helga and I have kept frequent contact on social media. They visit regularly this wonderful, very small and intimate private club. It’s called club Kinta. And it’s ten minutes from the Austrian border. So nobody knows us there, except Martin and Helga. And they are friends, Sir. Helga mentioned that the club nights have a strict limit of only 10 people allowed, ensuring an intimate and exclusive atmosphere. The club is very discrete and from the outside it’s just like a hotel. It is a hotel. In fact, the primary income is coming from the hotel is just like any other Bavarian hotel. Once a month, they open the secret underground way to their dungeon. The owner of the hotel is a woman called Jutta that runs Club Kinta as well. It’s just a small family hotel run by this woman and her daughter.”

I knew my wife longer than today. Given the passion with which the message was delivered, I couldn’t ignore the potent scent of an ulterior motive.

“It’s not just showing off, is it?” I said.

She looked down to hide her face. Or a smile. Or the expression of guilt.

“No, Master. I really like to meet Helga and Martin face to face again. The way Helga described things differs from how our relationship actually is, and I’m really curious to get to know them better.”

“Different how, little one?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t disclose that information. I promised to keep our conversations confidential, even from you. Master, please understand that I am committed to keeping my promise to her.”

She knew she had me there. I was being skilfully manipulated into something I definitely didn’t want to do. Loudness and darkness characterised BDSM-clubs, with each Alpha male attempting to outperform the others in terms of masculine behaviour. I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, and I loathed these sorts of group gatherings.

Could I keep my pretty one locked in my house, preventing her to meet people? Sylvia needed to meet other people, just as much as I needed to avoid them. Wasn’t being a master about guiding your slave, give her the opportunity to grow? As a slave? As a woman?

“If we were to go to this club, I need to know more. When do they have these club meetings and where? Can we just go or do we need to apply for a membership and what are the costs?”

Despite her best efforts, Sylvia couldn’t conceal the look of triumph on her face.

“Helga kindly offered to take us along as they introduce us to the Club. If we like it there and feel safe to come back one day, we will have to apply for a membership. I do not know of the Club’s fees, but considering their emphasis on exclusivity, I expect them to be quite pricey.”

“And when is this next meeting scheduled?”

“The Saturday two weeks from now, not the upcoming one.”

“Really?” That is soon. “That means we have no time to lose, and start brushing up your high protocol rules, little one.”