Chapter 22

A sudden staff crisis messed up our plans. Jutta had to work all day, and she was definitely not happy about it. I steered myself away from her problems and mood and spent nearly a whole day in a small model railway shop in Feuerburg. In the Netherlands, all those small shops have vanished like dust in the wind, whereas in Germany, there are still these amazing stores that primarily sell rare vintage items that are incredibly difficult to find. Our conversation was a mix of Dutch, English, German, and non-verbal communication. We promised to keep in touch.

In the evening, there was no sign of Jutta. I ate a lovely dinner alone at a table in the dining room and watched all those elderly folks having a good time. After dinner, I retreated to my room, soaked for a long time in the bath. I had texted Sylvia ‘will you come to Feuerburg tomorrow?’ but there was no text message back. If I do not sound upset over Sylvia not responding, it’s because that’s Sylvia. When we got married, we had many arguments about it, and now I shrug and say “It’s Sylvia.” If she’s occupied, that’s where her attention will be.

On Thursday morning, the soft knocking on my door awakened me. My first thought was ‘Did Sylvia come as a surprise?’ but I knew better. I schooled my face, because disappointment is easy to read on a guy’s face. Jutta was standing there, probably hoping not to be seen entering a guest room in her nightgown. I opened the door to let her in.

She dropped immediately on her knees and bowed with her face on the ground. Manipulation Slave Style. First you ignore Master for a day, and to make it up you show he is suddenly the centre of your universe.

“Master, I just want to...”

“Stop”, I said and continued in a calm voice, “There is no need to apologise. You have a business to run, and that has priority above all. Instead, I have spent a very pleasant day in Feuerburg and scored a fair amount of rare items.” I nodded at the small table, now full of my treasures. My showpiece was a Faller construction kit from their eighties version of the Baden Baden station, a rare piece of beauty. It was lost on Jutta, I could see. That was nothing new. Sylvia would inquire about the cost and also lose interest. Their bad.

She looked a bit disappointed I had spent a seemingly very nice day without her.

“What are your plans for today, Master Koen?”

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk, master?”

“You know? First one foot forward, signal to the one behind to sway forward as well, and so on.”

“What is wrong, master? It’s not like you to be sarcastic.”

“I’m sorry. You are right. The weather is beautiful today, and since I live in a flat area, I’m really looking forward to going on a mountain hike.”

“You realise you condition is better than mine, right?”

“I’m some 15 years older than you.”

We walked for a while in silence.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Lifebuoys.”

From the bag, I took two leather cuffs and secured one on Jutta’s left wrist while the other went on mine. I fastened a meter long metal chain to both ends. I raised my hand high.

“Now I can’t get lost. You’re my lifebuoy.”

She smiled sweetly. It was a crappy joke. I know.

We walked a while in silence. Out of nowhere, she started talking.

“It’s a strange way of life, BDSM. For most people, it’s not a way of life at all. It’s just something different in their boring sex lives and they are content to do something ‘naughty’ mostly so they can giggle with their friends about it. Then there is a small group that loves to play games in the bedroom. A bit of ‘yes, master’ and all in good fun. A little spanking to spice things up again, a bit of candle wax and cuffs and the unavoidable nipple clamps. Outside of the bedroom, they have a relationship of equals and that suits them fine.”

“A small group of weirdos are playing outside the bedroom as well.” She said. “They need more stuff because they want to play anywhere they like to. Lots of rough sex, but sex is the key ingredient that keeps their relation together.”

She slowed down as the path went uphill. She had been right. My condition was better than hers. Panting heavily, she continued.

“At the top of the pyramid is the group all the other groups fantasise about: the 24/7, total power exchange relationship. Out of all those who attempt it, only a small percentage, maybe around 1%, keep that 24/7 relation alive into the second year. And there are a multitude of reasons for that, for every relationship is unique, even if they all fit within the BDSM-umbrella. It starts with a clear set of rules. If you don’t have a standard, how can you ask your slave to adhere to it? If you don’t punish your slave right after he or she makes a mistake, why would the slave bother even to try? She can break the rules and her master doesn’t care enough to punish her, or worse, he makes up an excuse for her behaviour. Oh, she’s had a bad day at work. Oh, she is upset about a quarrel with her mother. Her master has already punished her today ... Masters can come up with better excuses for slaves than slaves can for themselves. Masters have to be compassionate, but a slave only respects a master who is consequent and strict. It all begins very ambitious in that 24/7 relationship, but it’s so difficult to maintain.”

“And you point would be...?” I asked.

“Forgive me, Master, for this rant. I need to explain a bit more, and then - and only then - I will make my point you will not like, Master Koen. BDSM is a big skyscraper and people in the lifestyle love to have their own apartment in it. Dominants can be a master or a top or a dom, a daddy dom, a sadist, a rigger, a pet handler, a trainer, or an owner. And on the other side of the flogger we have slaves, bottoms, submissives, littles, brats, service submissives, pain sluts and Kajira slaves from the GOR-series by John Norman. This is just the main division. If you go further, there are hundreds of variations that feel completely different from the rest. A sadist will look down on a Daddy Dom. A rigger has nothing with a trainer of slaves. You would think people in this lifestyle as a small minority under attack of the public opinion would be tolerant of each other, but nothing is further from the truth.”

I looked at her, but she wasn’t looking back, her focus on the road ahead. “To me, a Daddy Dom has nothing to do with an incestuous longing but is a type of dominant who takes on a nurturing, protective, yes, sometimes paternal role with their submissive. It focuses on care, guidance and emotional support and the power exchange. My late husband was providing emotional support. He was setting rules and boundaries for me. And made me feel safe. He always encouraged me in all aspects of life. If I thought I couldn’t do it, he would help me. He made me grow as a woman. But at the same time, he was watching the rules and boundaries like a hawk. And any transgression would surely lead to punishment. Consensual power exchange was the core of our relationship. He took responsibility for caring and guiding me. If I made a mistake because he failed to teach me a certain rule, he blamed himself for it, not me.”

“Your Sylvia is not a little one. You often refer to her as your little one, but she is made of other material. Your Sylvia is a hardcore masochist. Masochists are the highest level category in submission. Some people think they are only pain sluts, but they are more than that. They love the humiliation aspect of it as well. That was the reason she loved being the canvas for rude comments all over her body. I’m willing to bet she is into spitting and watersports as well,” Jutta said.

“That is total nonsense”, I said, feeling the anger already boiling.

“There are two reasons you deny my theory. One: a masochist scares the hell out of a Daddy Dom. The second is that you think I’m jealous of Sylvia and want to steal you away from her.”

“Shut up”, I snarled.