Chapter 5

My sketchbook fell with a dull thud into the wastepaper bin. For years, the boys and I had been making plans for a train track in the attic. We would optimally use every corner and bend of the entire attic. The wildest, or the best if you like, were the ones where the model trains ran four layers above each other. We had worked out in detail how we would build. How many trains we would run simultaneously? That happens if you come from a family of engineers. The boys had by now outgrown the stage of playing with trains. I had not.

If my wife however, emphasises that building the dungeon is of utmost importance, it consequently becomes my top priority as well. That’s how it has always been. Her obediently calling me Master a hundred times a day doesn’t make any difference. For a moment, I considered building the whole dungeon by myself and surprise Sylvia with the result. You know. A nice collaring ceremony. Like all the books told me to. But I knew that if I made it all alone, it would take me a month or more. Sylvia lacks the patience for that. This is not the first DIY-project that we have collaborated on, and she is just as skilled with the tools as I am. Leave it to a submissive to build her own torture dungeon and loving every minute of it. If I was to contribute to my suffering, I sure wouldn’t be in such a rush to finish it as fast as possible.

If you open the hatch to our attic, you will have to pull down the loft stairs. Via the steep staircase, the first steps you take are in pitch dark. We have had an argument about the colour of the walls and ceiling. I wanted bright and light; she wanted black. So with the dark wooden floor, you couldn’t see a hand before your eyes at the top of the stairs. Sylvia installed the lights that I could turn on either downstairs or right at the edge of the hatch. Coloured lights gave the attic an eerie feeling she was looking for.

Mounting light blocking roller blinds covering all the small windows in the roof, she said “If I have been annoying you, you can lock me in the cage, turn off the lights and leave me in total darkness for as long as you like.”

I had no intention of doing that, but that fantasy got her motor running. Now the whips and gags and nipple clamps were hanging on the beams in neat rows. It resembled something that even the most elaborate BDSM cellar would proudly display.

“Master?” Sylvia said suddenly. After a long day, we finished the final touches in the attic, exhausted but satisfied. With her head resting on my lap, just like she often did, she reminded me of the cat we had when I was young. She loved to crawl on my lap as well. Sylvia would lie down for hours, hardly shifting, finding solace in the world by simply resting her head on me. I always needed something to occupy my time, so I was reading one of John Norman’s older GOR-books. In the background Bach played softly his cantata Christ lag in Todes Banden.

“What is it, little one?” With a tender touch, I wound my finger around her hair, savouring the delicate strands between my fingertips.

“When are you going to tell me your rules?”

“Rules, little one?”

She raised her head and looked me in the eye. “Don’t be coy with me, Sir. You know what I mean.”

“Do we really need a rule book with 100 pages of rules, my little one?” Instead of engaging in an endless argument, I would prefer to go to bed and get some rest. Fat chance. “I’d rather have a few rules, pretty one, then 100 pages because who has to enforce all those rules? That would be me, said the lunatic.”

She sat up visibly furious, her eyes gleaming with anger, as she declared, “This is absolutely the last straw. Once you said yes, it’s nonstop complaints and whining from you. If you’re not up for it, I’d appreciate knowing right away. I’ll find someone else who doesn’t consider it a daunting task to be my master. Let me inform you that there is a lineup of individuals who would have no problem with that.”

A horrible alarm bell went off in my head. All soldiers are required to report to their designated battle stations. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. Instantaneously, any feeling of weariness disappeared entirely.

As I looked into her eyes, I took a deep breath and spoke from the heart.

“If I have been reluctant to take up the role you want me to play, there is one reason and one reason only: I don’t want to demolish something that took us three decades to build in a matter of weeks. When you’re young, you see responsibility through the lens of innocence, untainted by the weight of adulthood. As a slave, it is your solemn duty to obey my every command, no matter how outrageous. We are no longer as naïve as we were back then; time has taught me valuable lessons. I believed I had tested your pain tolerance until I witnessed the incredible bravery you displayed during the birth of our first child. I realised you could take a hundred times as much as I had given, and still be stronger than I was. But that’s not all. You have seen me, the master you are supposed to look up at, in my most vulnerable moments, you have witnessed my tears, and offered solace, like a guardian comforting a sobbing child. I am not the hero anymore I perhaps was when we were young. How can I punish you for breaking the rules when you have seen me break them many times in the past?”

Thunder and lightning were still very visible in her face.

“These last few days when we decorated the attic, I was thinking, who am I kidding? You say master to me a hundred times a day, but am I worthy to be your master? It’s a straightforward task to discipline a young girl you hardly know for any transgressions she committed, but can I find it within me to do the same to a woman I love and have gone through so many trials with?”

In a swift and unrestrained motion, Sylvia leapt up, positioning herself in front of me. As our eyes met, I could feel the intensity of her gaze digging deep into my soul.

“So you can’t be master if you’re only human? Is that what you are saying? I have never heard more bull-shit in my life. Yes, we have showed each other our emotions, our fears. But that makes us a better couple and stronger, not weaker.”

It would have been nice if I didn’t feel so worn out and drained. “I’d like a well-made, strong drink, girl,” I said.

She vanished into the kitchen only to reappear with a refreshing glass filled with diet Coke. I eagerly gulped down half of the cool beverage. Coca Cola was my idea of getting drunk.

“You promised me you would be my master for the entire upcoming year. We spent a small fortune on equipment to make that as exciting as we could. We have spent blood, sweat and tears redecorating the attic into a dungeon. And now you tell me you lack the confidence to be my master? Well, you better shape up, cause I need a man and my heart is set on you. You better understand to my heart I must be true.” Sylvia said, kneeling before me. “I’m sorry, master. I know I deserve punishment for speaking to you so boldly and insolently. It is me who is unworthy of your kindness and consideration.”

“No, girl, I will not punish you for kicking my ass into gear. That’s what you have done all my life, and apparently I need that sometimes. OK, back to your very first question. Tomorrow, we will sit down and negotiate the rules of our games. Rules that I will rigorously enforce and require you to adhere to. But not tonight. I’m so tired I can sleep standing up. Come to bed with me and we will figure it out in the morning. Promise.”

“What is the difference between a couple that lives the lifestyle and a vanilla couple?” Sylvia asked me the next morning. We were having breakfast in the kitchen, like we always do, and I had overslept. It was our habit to wake up early, but I found it challenging to fall asleep yesterday. On one hand tired from the physical labour, on the other the underlying threat Sylvia made hummed in my brain like a bumblebee that was trapped inside. I believe Sylvia could fall asleep even while standing, so as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was out. When I woke up at last, the sun was shining already on my face and I smelled fresh coffee from downstairs. Time for a quick shower. I always found myself refreshed after that.