Chapter 19 Letters

With the wedding now a cherished memory, Jutta and Koen took a short honeymoon, a relaxing escape to enjoy some quality time together as newlyweds. Without me. I drove them to Schiphol International Airport, where they checked in for their flights. They looked happy. Happily married.

I wanted to say goodbye in the departure hall and go home as soon as I could. This whole thing was far from pleasant.

“We would be grateful, Master for your indulgence, to allow us a quick trip to the girls’ restroom,” Jutta explained, seeking his leave. It’s less of a question and more of a statement, wasn’t it? She never needed permission to visit the bathroom, anyway. Maintaining a distance of precisely two steps, I trailed behind her. Observing her deceleration as she carefully manoeuvred through the bustling departure area, where many people were walking without paying attention to their surroundings, I mirrored her cautious approach by slowing my pace.

The women’s bathroom at Schiphol International Airport is a whirlwind of movement, mirrors, and muffled conversations. The scent of soap, perfume, and airport air freshener mingles in the air, punctuated by the occasional sharp hiss of an automatic air dryer.

A row of sleek, well-lit mirrors stretches across one wall, where women of all ages and backgrounds stand, adjusting their hair, touching up makeup, or simply taking a moment to collect themselves. Some are hurriedly swiping on lipstick, while others carefully apply mascara with steady hands, their expressions focused. A traveller in a business suit balances her phone between her ear and shoulder, murmuring into it as she tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears.

Further back, the soft clatter of suitcase wheels echoes as women navigate between stalls, some struggling with overstuffed bags or juggling young children. A mother wrangles a squirming toddler onto a changing table, her voice a mix of exhaustion and patience.

Despite the bustle, there’s a strange sense of order—an unspoken choreography of women on the move, each in her own world yet sharing this transient space, a brief pause in the endless flow of travel.

Immediately, and without any further ado, Jutta pulled me into an unoccupied stall. With a firm grip on my neck, she draws me closer for a passionate and intense kiss that lasts for a while. I have no doubt that the kiss she kissed me with all the love she felt for me. It worked, and a noticeable lightness filled my body washed over me instantly. Around me I heard the toilets flush in an unpredictable symphony, and the automatic faucets gurgled to life with a metallic hum as hands darted beneath them.

“Raise your skirt, slut,” Jutta ordered. In a single, fluid motion, I pulled my long, black skirt up from around my ankles, the smooth material whispering against my legs, holding it at my waist. I am giving her an unrestricted view of my bare pussy. Kissing me again, she inserts one finger into my dew-filled cave and masturbates me like as though we were standing behind the school shed, vulnerable and exposed, and a sudden discovery of our presence was imminent. All I could do was moan in unbridled lust.

She pulls back to look me in the eye as two of her fingers now are doing a frantic dance in my sopping pussy. Perhaps she will grant me an orgasm as a farewell gift. I feel as though a seemingly endless amount of time has elapsed since I was last permitted to come. My nipples are burning with desire as her other hand rubs them through my clothes. She must have seen in my eyes I was on the verge of coming. Women know much better than men where our breaking point is. Seconds before my body would release all that pent-up feelings into a glorious, devastating orgasm, she pulls back. Overwhelmed by disappointment, my body trembled uncontrollably, causing me to collapse, sinking weakly through my legs before landing with a thud on the toilet seat. Mistress smiled gently and rubbed her fingers under my nose.

“That is to remember me by, slut”, she whispered softly in my ear. Then again, suddenly all business, she picked up her bag and retrieved a bunch of envelopes from it and gave them to me. Still shaking, I grabbed them.

“Surely you didn’t think I would forget that you still belong to me, did you? I will control you, even if I am not there. All these envelopes are dated, my slut, and you will open them on that day. You will find within these envelopes a set of instructions for the day; follow these instructions to the letter.”

“Thank you, mistress, for taking care of me so well. You know my innermost desires and every curve of my body. I am yours, mistress, body and soul. I will do as you ordered and I will follow your instructions as if you are there.” A deep sigh escaped my lips. “Take good care of our Master. His love for you is as deep as mine.”

She raised me up. So I could stand on mountains. She raised me up to more than I could be. We hugged for a while. Her warm body enveloping mine. Holding nothing back, I gave myself over to her completely and without hesitation. Total surrender.

Once Koen and Jutta were through the gate and out of sight, I allowed myself to look at the envelopes. There were five of them. One dated today, the others for tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, a day missing, and two days more. I put the remaining envelopes in my bag and opened today’s. I recognised Jutta’s handwriting right away.

This is actually the very first time that she has ever called me darling. Reading the word “Darling” filled me with such joy that I couldn’t help but gaze at it repeatedly, completely mesmerised. I sat down on a quiet bench somewhere and read the letter over and over again. My mistress had taken the time to write me a letter. No. She had written five. Until now, the subject that I would not have any money for this week had not occurred to me yet. Koen had destroyed all my bank cards, plastic shopping cards and what not. Mistress had made sure I had enough money to eat out every day of the week if I did not fancy cooking. She made it possible that I could buy me a nice dress. No restrictions, remember? Or I might treat myself to the lovely, hardcover edition of Watership Down, by Richard Adams, a book that has been on my wish list for a long while.

If only to keep my mind off Honeymoons, mine or Jutta’s, I opened the first envelope.

I folded the letter carefully back into the envelope. The moment I got home yesterday, I shed my clothes. I was so used to walk around in the nude now, my clothes felt heavy and uncomfortable. I could have made myself a nice cup of coffee before I started work upstairs. Let’s face it, the reality is that I couldn’t start each day with the comforting aroma of coffee and the satisfying crunch of a stroopwafel. The usual daily routine consisted of me drinking water and M&M’s drinking coffee on most days. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to have a fika-moment until I was already on my way up to the attic. Jutta’s commitment to my healthy diet and exercise, my strength comes from the sweat and strain of hard work, a far cry from the polished machines of a fitness centre. It led to significant positive changes to my health. The results have been amazing; my body is now much more toned than it used to be. My health was better than it had ever been.

I was humming and working in the dim glow of the lights in the attic, my hands damp from cleaning the St. Andrew’s Cross. I glanced at the neatly mopped floor, the soft glow of well-maintained whips. It hit me - this was my work, my effort, my accomplishment.

For years, I had rolled my eyes at home work, brushing them off onto Koen whenever I could. They had seemed tedious beneath me, a distraction from more exciting things. But now, standing here in the silence of my home, I saw them for what they really were: the glue that held our complicated life together. The proof of care. The quiet victories of being a slave that did the hard work so my Master and Mistress could spend their day together.

A slow, almost amused smile crept onto my lips. When had this changed? When had I changed? Maybe it had been gradually slipping into me without notice. Or maybe it had always been there, waiting for me to see it.

With a satisfied sigh, I took the wood polish and buffed the rough wood until it shone. Finally finished, I went downstairs to have a couple of sandwiches. Time for the next challenge. Under the mattress of her bed, my bed, there was indeed in a large brown envelope. In it were three small white ones with big numbers on them. I opened the one with the big one written on it. A piece of paper in it with in her neat handwriting: