Chapter 16: And the Rock Comes Tumbling Down

“I sometimes wonder if I am prone to falling in love too readily.” I said to Jutta. With my head resting on her lap, I basked in the richest female bouquet possible. Arousal, sweat, sandalwood and spices from Santal Blush, her favourite perfume, and perhaps a hint of urine. We’ve just concluded a highly demanding session, and now she was taking time for aftercare. I loved this much-needed time for self-care and recovery.

“Why do you think that, my slut?” she said, softly caressing my head, making lazy circles with her fingers.

“Koen always believed my attraction was to Martin. But it wasn’t.”

“Helga is quite a powerhouse, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I said. “From the first moment I saw her in Kink Paradise, she blew me away. I could not put in it words, but I felt that mix of admiration, longing, and deep appreciation. It’s not just the way she carried herself — the straight posture, the unwavering eye contact, the deliberate way she spoke — but also the way the world seemed to respond to her: Koen could not keep his eyes from her, and Martin was visibly smitten with her. I admired the way she spoke without hesitation, how she refused to shrink herself to make others comfortable. The way she moved through the room—purposefully, unapologetically — without seeking permission or validation.”

Turning to my side on the couch, I couldn’t resist showering Jutta’s nether lips with gentle butterfly kisses.

“So I begged her to stay in touch with me. And she did. The messages between us on social media became increasingly frequent; it felt as though we had known each other for years, and this was all because she made me feel so incredibly special. I concocted a believable excuse to visit them, eager to spend time with her, with them, without Koen. She had been so open about their lifestyle with Martin. When I got there, she made very clear where I stood. She declared her self-appointed role in finding him new partners, her voice cold and deadly, promising swift, brutal retribution should I ever attempt to take him away from her.

The first night in their home, she tied me to the bed and prepared me orally for her husband. It was the best cunnilingus I had ever had. I was so ready for him. I took him effortlessly and, in spite of not being able to move, I tried to make his conquest as best as I could for him. From that day on, I could only wear clothes out of the house. Helga made it clear I was at Martin’s disposal all the time, and he could take me any way, any time he wanted. And he did. Frequently. Not only in the house, but in the parking garage in the middle of the town centre as well. It had been so long since I had been taken in public; I came like a volcano.

Helga made fun of the way Koen and I were playing. “Tonight I will show you how a real man controls his female, acting like a man.” So that night Martin put me into a thing they called a birdcage. A metal wired thing that even looked like a Victorian birdcage with a domed top and curved, strong bars. I had to put my feet through the bars so my bare butt was resting on the strong, wired bottom of the cage. When Martin closed the cage, the top closed and locked around my throat. With my hands and feet outside the cage, there was nowhere I could go. A small motor pulled me up at least two metres from the floor. I felt like a canary. But I had a bird’s-eye view of what was going to come.

Helga came into the room, fully naked. She has a terrific body, truly mistress. Her breasts are like yours. If Rubens were to paint your breasts, hers would be more suited to Titian’s brush strokes. Her legs, far from being merely functional supports, are strikingly beautiful; they are sculpted with the same elegance and perfection as a marble statue. Impeccably made up, she blew me an air kiss with glossy lipstick on her lips. When Martin came back into the room, her demeanour changed immediately. Gone was the self-confident tease, replaced by the epitome of submission. She sank into the Nadu-position with her legs wider than I possibly good, giving me a good view of her glistening pussy lips. Her head bent with her eyes focused on the floor.

“Stand up, whore.” Master Martin said to her. “His tone, mistress, was condescending as he delivered those words. He...”

“I consider you to be my slut as well,” Mistress said, cutting me off in mid-sentence.

I slipped down on the floor and squeezed my face between her legs. With soft licks and kisses, I worshipped her inner sanctum. Soft licks over her labia with my nose rubbing gently against her clit. Kissing her thighs with wet, slobbery kisses. When I came to the centre of her universe, I took my time paying tribute to her feminity. I didn’t stop until she came. Before she recovered, I found my place again with my head on her lap. I felt her muscles underneath my head still vibrating from her orgasm. This time with my face towards her belly. As if nothing happened, I continued telling her my memories.

“Mistress, the absence of hate in your tone alters the meaning entirely; it is simply not comparable. I understand Helga was actually a whore once, or rather a high priced call girl. She told me Martin got her out of all that. Anyway, he gave her a pair of black latex stockings. It took her some time to get them on without wrinkles. A garter belt and a rubbery bra followed. Martin opened her left bra cup and placed a pad with a hole for the nipple on her breast underneath. After he did the other one, he put two clamps with long wires from them on both of the pads. Clearly, these were meant to shock her tits. The focus not solely on the nipples, but on the entire breast.”

As I carried on with my story, I caressed my mistress’ tits with the utmost care and love. “I have seen ballet shoes before, mistress. In the scene and on stage. But the shoes he put on her were nothing I have ever seen before. They looked like ballet shoes, but they were so well reinforced that any resemblance to classical ballet seems ridiculous. When he pulled her to her feet, Helga stood on her toes. I swear, Mistress, it looked more like she was balancing on her big toe. She stood there with such elegance, it is almost inconceivable that she hasn’t undergone years of intense and focused training in ballet. Then, he inserted her hands into what looked more like a rubber sleeve than a glove, causing her hands to disappear inside. The tight lacing of the gloves, like the shoes, made her hands useless.”

Mistress’ hands were busy now with my titties, pinching the nipples and pulling my rings.

“Neither of them said a word during this whole ritual, concentrating on their own tasks at hand. Martin knelt down before her and applied clamps with wires on her pussy lips. He went to a corner of the room where a huge wooden crate stood. The width and length of a coffin, but completely rectangular. The lid came off in three pieces. Inside, I saw wooden partitions, which he quickly removed. Helga had shuffled to the crate, bent down carefully, and sat down in the crate. She opened her mouth, and he put a ball gag in. Martin grabbed a latex hood that he slowly pulled over her head. That didn’t go in one go and looked a bit clumsy. The hood with only nostrils, blocking effectively all senses. If she was to come out of this alive, Martin had to carefully align the holes with the nose. To my horror, after the hood was in place, he buckled a gas mask over her latex hood. Helga laid down voluntarily as if this was her bed. One by one, Martin slid the partitions with into place. The cutouts fitted perfectly around Helga’s body, clearly made to her measurements, making it impossible for her to move. Six partitions in total. As if she still could move, trapped in the wooden partitions that held her body motionless from her neck to her ankles, he secured the bag around her hands with iron U-rings over her wrists, which were secured from below. There was no way she could move any part of her body now. Not her legs that were in three places, held down with wooden partitions that were so tight some pressed a little into her flesh. She could not move her waist or chest that were now encased as well. Martin securely locked around her throat so she couldn’t raise her head.”

“I saw him locking the top boards again. At head height, there was a small square wooden rack, so I could see the contours of her gas mask. Totally at ease, Martin attached the wires of her tits and pussy to some electronic device. He laid these things on her chest and closed the board above it. Now the chest was completely closed. With some remote control thing, he pushed a button and I heard a muffled scream from the chest. Electricity is one of the most painful torture instruments. Invisible pain, not like the welts of a belt or a whip, but even more painful if it’s directly applied to your girly bits. Martin walked outside the room and put off all the lights, leaving not only Helga in the dark, because she already was, but now me as well. Mistress, as you are know, a ball gag does not silence you completely. It just looks pretty and harsh. But unless it’s inflatable, and I hate those, you can still scream around it. Actually, you can make a damn lot of noise with a gag in like that. So I heard her screams around the gag.”