Chapter 21

The dining room was empty, and only one table was set. I took my seat and a minute later, Jutta entered the dining room. She had changed into the servers’ uniform. On her tray was a large platter with various types of meat, several bowls of vegetables, and fried potato slices.

“I hope this will be enough for you, Master Koen. If it’s not, I can always order more.” She arranged the food around my plate on the table. Without a word she went away and came back a few moments later with a glass of half litre of beer and a plate slave gruel ... or for vanilla folks: oatmeal. She delicately placed the beer on the table without missing a drop and the slave gruel on the floor. Still silent, she went back to the door and locked the door from the inside.

She walked back to me, took off her high heels and on at my left side on the floor, her eyes fixed on me. I pretended not to notice her and began eating. Without uttering a single word, she stared at me with an expression of pure astonishment, as if she had come face to face with Jesus. I really was famished, so I ate most of the meat, but even for this meat lover it was too much. I had made a huge dent in the fried potatoes and several bowls of vegetables were empty as well. It had taken me twenty minutes to devour it all. Her slave gruel was still untouched and probably cold by now. I sighed and couldn’t put it off any longer.

“What is happening here, little one? Let’s start with the slave gruel. Why is that on the floor?”

She kept on looking straight at me. The only emotion I saw was the twitching in her nostrils. Otherwise, it was as serene as it had been before.

“Master, your slave has not eaten today, and she was hungry. She begs you to feed her. Please master, these smells had made me so hungry I’m getting dizzy.”

Oh Lord, what a mess.

“Give me the plate, little one.”

I stirred her plate with my spoon.

“On your knees.” I said. As she transitioned from resting sideways on her leg to resting on her knees, her posture remained impeccable - her back ramrod straight and her head held high. This lady possessed a regal grace that seemed to be ingrained in her from birth, a class only seen in old noble families.

Instead of a spoonful of porridge, I gave her a little piece of chicken. Taking it from my hands, she sensually sucked on my fingers. After I retreated my hand, she spit it out. It made a stain on her traditional Bavarian dress. I said nothing and gave her a piece of steak. She spat that out as well. Sighing, I held a spoonful of cold oatmeal in front of her mouth.

Without hesitation, she opened her mouth and swallowed the stuff. While hot oatmeal posed a challenge, it becomes inedible once it cools. And yet, she devoured every spoonful like it was the most delicious thing in the world.

In my household, I had instilled the rule of not speaking during mealtime to my children. There are families that love to share stories of their daily adventures at the dinner table. We were not one of them. Eating and appreciation of good, warm food was a sign of respect for the person who made it. The only sounds in the dining room were the clinking of the spoon on the plate and occasionally me saying “open” to her. Another woman might have felt embarrassed or humiliated to be fed as if she were a child, but Jutta’s face showed no sign of it. Her whole demeanour was one of serene calm.

“Is the dizziness gone, little one?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So that gave you more than ample time to think about how you are going to explain all this to me, little one? I hope you realise I am happily married and already own a slave.”

“I do, master Koen.”

“You do, what? Speak in complete sentences, girl.”

“I know someone else has already taken you. The best ones always are. It’s just...”

She took a moment to collect her words. I stayed quiet. “It’s just that you are the spitting image of my late husband I loved so much. Not physically”, she hasted to add, “but spiritually and mentally. You have his empathy and yet you can be so strong.”

Another pause. She was not here with me right now, but reliving memories that had turned from joyful into painful. I looked at this incredibly strong woman who had raised her daughter on her own, only to find out she was as much as a submissive as she was herself. And yet, she gave her the chance to gain the experience to recognise the difference between a good dominant and an impostor. And there are a lot of men that fell into the latter category. Her task finished, she now seemed to struggle with herself.

“I know I’m selfish, Master. I want you all for myself, and I know at the same time that is impossible. The love you have for your wife is rare and exceeds what most husbands can have for their wives. And I admire and respect that. I don’t want to be the one that breaks up your marriage, Master Koen. I truly don’t. It’s just that ... when I saw you out there, when I felt your strength, I wanted to indulge in it. I ... I ... I couldn’t resist Master. I’m sorry for loving you above all else. Over the course of these years, I have witnessed a multitude of dominants present in this place. But no one, not a single one of them, has rocked my boat as much as you do.”