LITMIR.BIZ

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Ilona to me and back to her. "Then you'll bring him back, won't you?"

      She nods. "If you want him back?"

      "Sure I do. He will give me much pleasure... I mean, us.

      Forgiving is her smile. "Us, of course. What else?"

      Nobody asks if I want to be brought along. But okay. If I'd been asked, it wouldn't have been hard for me to decide.

      When I help Ilona into the jacket, Richard looks strangely and for a moment I fear he might ask for a very special farewell. But no, he wants nothing of the sort, says nothing and does not move, just waves at us as we go into the garage.

      Ilona gets behind the wheel and at the push of a button, the garage and yard gates open for us as if we were important people, which is true for her, as far as possible at any rate. While driving through the city at night, she smiles benignly at me: "You were very well-behaved. I think Richard really likes you."

      I cannot claim that this is also the case for me. But at least he has not become even more unappealing to me, which seems to me to be a miracle.

      She stops near my apartment, lets me get out and bends over to the open door, shrugging her shoulders regretfully. "You don't have to come to my place on Friday. I'm busy."

      Oh. The addition sounds like an excuse. Can't she be with me without her lover? Is our time together over? I feel rejected, but I try to console myself with the thought that maybe a little distance might be good for me.

      Apparently, she can see my grief and tries to alleviate it: "I'll pick you up the weekend after next. Everything will be fine then." She gives me a warm smile, the unfaithful soul who demanded honesty and betrayed me unscrupulously. Well, maybe I deserve no better.

      She drives off as if she wanted to gain distance, and I hurry with my neck drawn in shivering through the empty pedestrian zone to my lonely apartment, feeling the negligee, the suspenders, and stockings on my skin. Funny how things develop, funny and fascinating. Maybe everything will really be alright. We'll see...

      The Offence

      Even though it is quite mild for the time of year with almost ten degrees, I freeze when I wait for Ilona at the station on Saturday afternoon at a bus stop, I have nothing under my thin trousers. I should have known she wouldn't be on time and could have arrived a little later at the meeting point. I knew it, but I didn't dare to be late, because the mistress can afford that, but not the slave. Am I afraid of her? Not at all. But respect, there is respect for her dominance, her riding crop, her slaps. Our game has not been a game for a long time now, but bitter seriousness, no, not bitter, but real seriousness.

      Finally, she comes, stops close in front of me, lets me get in and smiles contrite. I"m a little late. Have you been waiting long?"

      "It’s alright."

      Her gaze becomes mistress-like. "What's it again?"

      Oh, I didn't know she was being formal. "I had to wait a while, my beloved Ilona."

      A mocking smile flits across her face. "I hope you're not cold."

      The car joins the dense traffic, turns left before the station, makes a loop of one hundred and eighty degrees and heads toward the posh district. From there it only stops on traffic lights. Her coat is open, underneath she wears jeans and a blue sweater.

      "There are no new clothes," she says to me with a gloating look. "The secretary screwed up. Actually, Richard did, but since he's the boss, it can't be his fault. She was on holiday at first, and when she came back, she said she couldn't possibly get clothes without knowing the measurements. Which she's right about. Anyway, she's coming by later to measure you.

      Oh. You want me to be "measured" by a secretary? Like I'm important? I almost feel like I'm about to go to the dentist. But I don't think it's going to be that awkward - I try to console myself...

      Arriving at Richard's, she drives right back into the garage. Which, if I'm not mistaken, is heated. Room temperature, so the cars don't freeze. There's no shortage of decadence.

      Richard awaits us in the hall and helps her out of her coat after a deep embrace. Meanwhile, I have taken off my coat without any help from anyone.

      "The secretary should be here soon," he says to Ilona, with one hand on her backside, the lecher, who apparently can't get enough of her. "He can take his clothes off."

      Ilona gives me a stern look. "You heard!"

      If only they would treat me with a little more empathy and not as cool as a lackey for whom one has no feelings at all. But I think it best to keep my complaints to myself. Surrendering to fate, I pull my sweater over my head, then my T-shirt.

      Both stare at my freshly shaved breast in consternation, and it is Ilona who first finds the words again. "Where is the negligee?"

      The negligee? At home. In the laundry, which I haven't been able to get to yet. "I didn't know... nobody said anything..."

      Her eyes turn dark. "Shall we be to blame now? - I don't suppose you wear suspenders either?"

      Helplessly I lift my armpits. "I didn't know..." No, don't put the blame on her, it won’t go down well, I realize. But I had no idea this outfit was so important to them. Although... even I could have understood that Richard would like to see something like that on me. "I'm sorry..."

      "I suppose you're wearing panties under all that misery?" So disgusted, she says it like it's pretty much the worst perversion a person can commit.

      At least in that respect, I have a clear conscience. "No, my beloved Ilona. Of course not."

      Wrinkles have formed on Richard's forehead. "We cannot let him get away with this offense so easily. "Punishment must be administered. - He should suck my dick."

      Doubtfully Ilona looks at him. "This is not really a punishment for him."

      "Perhaps. But it's good for me."

      Do I really have to do this now? Just like that? - No, I don't have to, because the doorbell rings just in time.

      "Bad timing," Richard says sadly and goes off to open the door.

      A slender woman comes in, about forty. And stern-looking. Dark blonde hair, combed tightly back and tied with a black bow. It is accurately parted at the sides and leaves the ears completely open. Square face with thick nose and narrow lips. She is not a beauty. She is dressed in a dark turtleneck, black trousers, and a black jacket.

      Richard greets her with a handshake and her grey-blue eyes look at me with irritation. If only I still had my shirt on.

      Ilona also greets her with a handshake and takes a rolled-up tape measure from her handbag, hands it to her and digs out a notebook and pen. "Let's start with the neck size." Her voice is dark and soft. She doesn't seem to be causing any trouble.

      Ilona puts the ribbon around my neck and tells the woman the result: "Forty-one."

      I am systematically measured, arm and leg length, the circumference of the chest, waist, abdomen, also the wrists and ankles, everything is conscientiously noted down by the secretary. She wants to know the shoe size, then she closes her booklet again and turns to Richard. "This will do the trick now. I'm going to order the pink dress and matching clothes. The delivery is supposed to be fast." She puts the measuring tape in her bag and walks towards the door, gives Ilona a collegial smile, reaches out to Richard and marches out with her head held high, focused on nothing but the essentials, it seems to me.

      Richard looks to her benevolently. "A faithful soul. "and doesn’t complain about coming to work on Saturday as well. A role model for everyone else, if she doesn't forget one has to know a size before buying a dress." His eyes are on me. "What are we gonna do with him? He can't walk around here like that." He looked at Ilona. "He has to be properly dressed. Would you go shopping with him?"

      She shakes her head. "You want to put him in women's clothes, not me. So you take care of it."

      "But you got some before."

      "Yes,

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