Chapter 8: Confession

Within two weeks of their new relationship, Jutta and Koen went back to Kink Paradise to buy the bed, which Koen initially had so much comment on. Planks running the length of the bed connect four sturdy black wooden posts. Four planks across the width of the bed give it extra strength and bondage possibilities. A dark red headboard and footboard give the bed a rich look and feel. The bedding itself is a simple queen size bed. Built-in restraint points and rings are featured on the frame. But a metal cage under the bed is an immediate distraction—making feature that makes the bedroom unsuitable for vanilla visitors. Tall enough to crouch down in, and strong and sturdy enough for someone to safely stay inside. A door with two locks, one on top and one on the bottom, ensures that only someone from the outside can let the person inside out.

The first few nights with me in the cage and Jutta with Master making love in the bed above, was downright awkward for all of us. It took them a week or so to fuck as if I wasn’t there. Unrestricted, they audibly enjoyed each other. At first I thought Jutta screamed her head off to spite me. Later on, I found out that she simply is a screamer.

Even you, the reader, will understand that they designed this bed for one purpose: to humiliate the person locked in the cell below. To my surprise, after the initiation period, I felt no humiliation; rather, the sounds of the lovers above excited me. I was not in the cage every night, all night. Often, when peace returned above me, they took me out of the cage. I cleaned master’s cock off with my tongue. I sucked my master’s come out of mistress’ snatch and took pride in getting her to orgasm again. After they were all satisfied, I felt at ease as well. In a tangle of limbs of three lovers, we would fall asleep.

“Permission to speak, mistress”, I asked mistress Jutta. We were in the kitchen making batches of Christmas cookies. For the last time, the mistress put the Christmas lights and decorations up. The last time for Christmas comfort food we were making. The end of an era for Jutta.

“What is it, slut? You know you can speak to me any time of the day without asking permission, unless we are in high protocol.”

“Thank you, mistress. Don’t you feel a sense of sadness thinking about all these final occasions? Christmas, the last dungeon meeting? All these boxes everywhere?”

“No, surprisingly not. I will miss the loyal people who have worked for me, some over ten years. I will miss the tension before the dungeon meetings. Perhaps I even will miss some of our regulars that came every year to the hotel. But it is time to say goodbye. No more running up and down the stairs forty times a day. Cleaning rooms when one of the staff called in sick. No more toiling away in the kitchen to make hundreds of Christmas cookies!”

Mistress turned away from the oven and, without warning, she scooped me into her arms her touch surprisingly gentle. “What is it, sweetheart? You can tell me.”

Sweetheart was a rare exception, which she only used when she felt I needed it. ‘Slut’ was her most used form of address. They both sounded the same to me, when the mistress said them.

“It is difficult, mistress.”

“I know.” A silence stretched between us before the mistress finally broke it. “It’s about the bedroom, isn’t it?”

My mistress has a direct line from her senses to my brain. She knows what I’m thinking with frightening frequency. “Yes, mistress.”

“Tell me about what is bothering you. The success of this relationship hinges on our willingness to openly and honestly communicate even about those things that make us uncomfortable or that we are resistant to discussing.”

“I know I should feel embarrassed and humiliated when I am in my cell down there. I should envy you and have your guts for breakfast. Instead, I feel the opposite. The sounds of bodies slapping in lust, the groaning, dirty talking it all is so HOT and I can’t resist getting so excited I want, no I need to cum. With your help, Koen could step out of his comfort zone and accomplish new tasks. Like yesterday, when you confessed to him, humiliation turns you on and he spat in your face. In all those years, I never could make him do that to me. You share your thoughts and feelings freely, and his reaction is incredibly positive and unexpected. I wish I could do that as well, mistress. My only regret is that I didn’t do so earlier when I had the chance.”

Mistress said nothing and was busy decorating our Christmas wreaths. There was nothing more to be said. To quote Lewis Caroll: “In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take, the relationships we were afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make.”

I plodded on, “Last week you asked the master for a fistfuck. As if that was not courageous enough, I only heard you moan ‘Harder’, ‘Deeper’ Not once you asked him to ease back a bit. I was right beneath you, and if my hands hadn’t been cuffed, I would rub myself to one of the best orgasms I have had for a long time. I picked up the pillow and put it between my legs and rode the pillow like a bitch in heat. Somehow I couldn’t come from that, and I howled in disappointment. You see how sick and twisted I am? Instead of being jealous of you, I am so horny I can hardly think!”

“Take the cookies out of the oven, slut.” Jutta said as the buzzer hummed. I did so, carefully. They looked good enough to eat.

“Have you ever heard of a Cuckquean?” Without waiting for my answer, Jutta went on, “a Cuckquean is a woman who gets sexual pleasure from her husband having sex with other women. The most common quean gets off on the humiliation of having a partner who seeks other women over her. She may want to be degraded, denied sexual activity, and dommed by her husband or his cake. A quean encourages her husband to partake in sexual or romantic relationships with other women, sharing her partner’s arousal. Or offer her husband to a female friend whom she feels is deserving of or in need of sex with him. You are happy when others are happy. A cuckquean may not be so common as a cuckold, but you are far from the only one who gets off on it. Simply accept who you are as you are, without guilt or shame. If anything, it makes our love triangle a lot easier from a purely practical point of view.”

“You give me a lot to think about, mistress,” I said.

She smirked. “It’s a good thing you’re restricted from speaking starting from now on.”

“Master?” I said.

“What is it, Sylvia?” Master Koen answered. He forgets sometimes to call me slut, or slave. Perhaps he does it on purpose. No, I don’t think so.

“Your frank and trusting relationship with my mistress is something I strangely admire, even envy. I would love if I could have some of that. I am willing to work hard for it, Sir.”

“What stands in the way, slut”, I heard some steel in my mistress’ voice. They were both sitting on the couch, and I was leaning against it on the floor.

“My past, mistress.” I whispered.

“Speak up, slut,” Master Koen said, raising his voice.

“My past is in the way, Master. So many things have happened. So many things I cannot tell you. I am just a lying bitch, Sir.”

Koen stood up and walked out of the living room. Mistress Jutta kept softly caressing my bald head. Within minutes, Koen came back. In his hands three books, that made my heart skip a beat.

“I ask that you inform your mistress of the books that I brought with me from my home.” Koen said with stainless steel in his voice.

“These are my diaries.” I whispered. Why couldn’t you sink through the ground if you really had to? Why didn’t people have trapdoors in their houses where you could pull a rope and end up in a filthy basement, full of vermin, with no windows or fresh air?

“Exactly. I think these are what people call journals these days; your own personal life, in your own neat writing. I have never ever read a page from them. A diary should be personal and I respect that. If you are ready to be honest with us, if your intentions are sincere, I need you to read aloud the sections that you want us to know. It’s time to wipe the slate clean.”

“You look so pale, sweetheart. Breathe. I know it is difficult, but you owe it to yourself. You are so strong. You can do this.”

“I am so ashamed,” I wept.

“It is your choice, Sylvia. We will not force you. We refuse to read it. So if you want us to know what is in it, you will have to read it aloud.” Koen said softly.

“I don’t know if I can...” I said. I started to shake so heavily, Jutta wrapped a blanket around me as tight as she could. Koen carried me to bed and there I was, a mummy between the two people I loved the most in this world. I fell asleep between them. Safe. Protected.

The next day, the only thing I could think of was that I would lose both of them if I read in my diary. There was no way they could ever look at me with a shred of respect if they knew what was inside. I always thought that Koen had read them. They were on my bookshelf, not hidden or anything. Yet, he told me he didn’t. I believed him. It’s a Koen-thing to do. At the end of the day, when we were sitting in our familiar places in the living room, I grabbed the books from the table without thinking.

My neat handwriting as a young girl shocked me. I remembered being proud of my neat handwriting, wanting my diary entries to look as pristine and perfect as possible. On the floor with my back towards the couple on the couch, I thanked the Lord I did not believe in for this small favour.