Part 2 – (E) Marja

After his Mistress had left, Peter walked briskly on and saw that his wife was parked nearby. He quickly held his bag in front of his erection, hurried to the car, and got in beside Marja. He greeted her; she leaned toward him and touched his rock-hard cock. She didn’t kiss him but immediately asked if that was meant for her.

Peter took a closer look at his wife and saw she was wearing pumps, black nylons, and a short grey pleated skirt. His hand shot almost automatically under her skirt, trying to touch her pussy through her pantyhose. With her panties underneath, it wasn’t that easy, and he sank back into his seat; Marja stepped on the gas and drove off—though, strangely enough, not toward home. After driving for a few minutes, she stopped in a deserted parking lot by a football field.

As Peter sank back into his seat, Marja regretted having put on pantyhose instead of stockings. She realized that an outfit like this called for a garter belt and stockings, not pantyhose and panties. She decided to take the initiative right then and there; she drove straight to her son’s football club and parked. Before Peter could say a word, she had unzipped his fly, pulled his member out of his trousers, and closed her lips around his cock. He came after just thirty seconds. She sucked him dry; she loved the taste of semen. 

As a young girl, she had loved giving blowjobs—that was what made her popular with the boys, not her looks, as Marja was chubby and not particularly pretty. Later, she learned from her girlfriends that they didn’t like giving blowjobs at all, and certainly wouldn’t swallow. She had now used her weapon of choice to maintain control over their relationship; after Peter had climaxed, she quickly slipped off her pumps, pantyhose, and panties. 

Her panties were thoroughly wet by then, and she provocatively thrust them under Peter’s nose while simultaneously sliding her feet back into her pumps. Holding the panties in one hand, she grabbed the back of Peter’s head and guided him toward her crotch. She had already pushed her seat back and reclined it, creating the space he needed to go down on her. Peter rose to the occasion, performing oral sex on her for a good twenty minutes, during which she climaxed multiple times. “You’re driving home,” she told Peter, waiting for him to open the door for her. She stepped out and said, “And now the other door.” Peter obeyed, acting as though his gallantry were the most natural thing in their marriage. Both of them knew that their relationship was undergoing a profound change.

After Peter had ejaculated in her mouth within thirty seconds and Marja had indicated that he should go down on her, he knew he had to step up his game; he resolved to lick her for as long as it took to bring her to climax. He succeeded admirably, counting no fewer than six orgasms. Afterward, he was ordered to drive her home, which he did. He remained stunned by the events of the evening. 

The car carrying the Mistress drove through the city toward the main road to Katwijk. She had him stop at a dark parking area near the university and get out. He opened the trunk and returned with a garment bag. The Mistress opened it, took out a long leather skirt, and changed right there on the street beside the open rear door while the chauffeur held an umbrella over her. She changed her skirt very quickly and ordered the chauffeur to escort her to the trunk, where she opened a small silver case and took out a cane and a riding crop. She made the chauffeur—her slave—drop his trousers and underwear to his ankles and kneel in a puddle on the wet asphalt, soaking his clothes; the rest of him was already quite wet from the rain as well.

She struck him ten times with the cane and twenty times with the riding crop—punishment for having kept her waiting at the station. Afterward, she made him crawl and kneel to open the car door for her and close it again once she had stepped inside. Then, they continued on their way. 

Herman, aged 50, had been a slave to Mistress Michaëla for five years, serving as her chauffeur and butler. He lived on the premises but was not yet a “total slave”—she had told him he wasn’t ready for that stage yet, and he had to accept it. He still had his own financial resources, though the Mistress could simply withdraw money from his accounts; his disability benefit was deposited into an account for which he didn’t even know the number, let alone possess a bank card.

The Mistress did own another total slave—a handyman and gardener—who slept in a small room above the garage. This slave was beaten severely every day and subjected to extreme torture, as well as being used for photoshoots whenever the occasion arose. Herman served as the photographer for these sessions, alongside another older man who visited occasionally—himself a slave as well. He knew he wasn’t yet ready for the gardener’s life, but the Mistress told him he was well on his way, which pleased him. That evening, Herman had left Haarlem on time yet still arrived late in Leiden. 

The Mistress owned a townhouse behind the former Mariastichting hospital, not far from the highway; however, when he tried to merge onto the A9 at Haarlem-Zuid, he got stuck in a traffic jam, which caused the delay. He knew she would punish him severely for being late, and even the precautions he had taken to allow plenty of time couldn’t save him this time. Throughout the journey, he hoped he might still arrive on time and prayed the train would be slightly delayed. When he saw her waiting there, he knew he would face immediate punishment first, followed by a judgment from the Mistress on Friday afternoon regarding a subsequent punishment that would be more severe.

For a “total slave,” those punishments were far more severe; on a few occasions, he had been present when the gardener had to face judgment on a Friday. For the first three years, he wasn’t even allowed to witness the administration of those punishments; in the final two years, he was, though it had happened only three times that the gardener was tried and punished in his presence.

At the station in Leiden, an older man boarded the train back to Haarlem; he had carried out his Mistress’s orders and saw on his camera that the photos he had taken of the conductor had turned out well—she would be pleased.

At half-past eleven, Herman pulled the car up to the house in Katwijk. He escorted his Mistress to the front door and rang the bell. The chime rang out quite loudly, likely because the house was nearly empty. The door opened a crack; Herman pushed it wider and ushered the Mistress inside. Kneeling before her was Johan—her slave of five years, who was set to become her second “total slave” starting the next day. She walked over to him, placed her right foot right in front of his head, and said, “Heel.” 

The experienced slave knew exactly what to do and licked her boots; meanwhile, Herman went to retrieve the silver-colored steel case from the car. After the customary greeting, the Mistress ordered the slave onto his hands and knees so she could sit on him. Clad only in her panties, she sat directly on his naked back, her skirt draping over him as if she were sitting on a barstool. She found the sensation of a slave beneath her arousing, and desire stirred within her once more. 

Herman had entered and knelt before her; he opened the case for his Mistress so she could choose from the whips inside. She selected a riding crop. She ordered Herman to undress and kneel before her; the curtains—still in place, not by coincidence—were drawn, so they could not be spied upon.

She examined her slave and checked the chastity device enclosing his cock and balls. The device allowed him only to urinate; any erection would be excruciatingly painful due to the sharp spikes inside the penile housing. An insert about six centimeters long extended into his urethra, also attached to the device—an effective method for keeping a slave submissive. She ordered him to slide her skirt up with one hand and go down on her; he was highly experienced at this—essentially the Mistress’s oral slave. He was also by far the best, a fact he didn’t realize himself. 

Although Jan—her old photographer—was getting better at it too; the thought made her smile and aroused her even more.On average, he had to perform oral sex, lick her, and rim her twice a day; he knew exactly what she wanted and what she enjoyed. Since she had already been pleasured to climax an hour earlier, it took quite a long time for her to reach orgasm again this time. She loved it. Naturally, this was exhausting and painful for the slave beneath her—the one kneeling before her—but she didn’t care; both slaves would suffer in silence together. Finally, she climaxed deep in his throat, holding her rock-hard member far back in his throat for a prolonged period. Herman endured this too, though the slave beneath her began to tremble slightly under the weight.

During this blowjob session, she struck Herman on the head with her riding crop to set the rhythm; a sharp lash across his back signaled that he had to take her penis deep into his mouth and throat—right down to the base—and hold it there until she gave another signal. Usually, that signal meant she was climaxing; he then had to stop moving but keep her penis deep in his throat.

She pulled her penis out of his slave-mouth, and—just like the conductor—he had to clean her off. Then she kicked him away from the silver case, striking him hard in the balls with the toe of her boot. Groaning, he fell onto his side, whereupon she proceeded to work him over thoroughly with her stilettos, stomping on his chest and back. The scratches and indentations from her heels instantly turned red and blue against his pale skin, which was already covered in welts and scars from previous sessions.This punishment occurred because he had gotten in the way while she was trying to retrieve something from the case; when she couldn’t access it immediately, he was instantly disciplined. She is truly a very strict, cruel, and sadistic Mistress. Several more lashes with the riding crop followed. He knew he would have a lot to answer for at the court hearing this coming Friday. 

She ordered him to take the white gloves from the case and put them on over her lace gloves. Herman knew the inspection was about to begin, and he also knew that the slave—still kneeling on the floor—had better have cleaned everything thoroughly if he wanted to avoid facing the court hearing on Friday. She started in the attic, moved to the upper floor and then the ground floor—with her slaves following on their knees—before finally making her way to the basement. It was a large space, and that gave her an idea: perhaps she wouldn’t sell the house after all. She ran her gloved hands over every surface, and whenever she found even the slightest trace of dirt, Johan got a severe dressing-down. In the basement, she showed him her soiled gloves again.

She had Herman remove her gloves and gag Johan; then, she struck Johan with her bullwhip—so hard and for so long—that he eventually collapsed to his knees and briefly lost consciousness. Deciding she had done enough, she made him put on the clothes Herman had brought along—trousers and a shirt made of rather coarse material—and then locked him in the car’s trunk, handcuffed and gagged.Herman locked up the house and drove the group back to Haarlem.

The next morning, Marja woke up to find that Peter was already up; he was off duty that day, and she didn’t have to work either, having recently been laid off. It had been a part-time job, but it had brought in some decent money—money she was now without. She had sent off her benefits application the day before, but there was a silver lining: they still had savings, and she could use the free time to figure out the next chapter of her life. Mulling this over, she got up and took a shower, during which she removed all her pubic hair for the first time in her life. 

Afterward, she returned to the bedroom and locked the door behind her. She put on a pair of black tights, having first cut a section out of the crotch area; the result was a nice, round hole in exactly the right spot. She was actually quite handy. She put her grey pleated skirt back on, along with a shiny white blouse and a push-up bra that really accentuated her bust. She was full-figured and voluptuous, with large breasts that remained remarkably firm. 

She experimented with the buttons on her blouse, arranging them to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. She checked herself out in the wardrobe mirror and liked what she saw, though she did feel she was a bit too heavy. Someone—Peter, likely—tried to open the door, and when it wouldn’t budge, he knocked. “I’m busy for a moment—go ahead and make me some breakfast,” she called out through the closed door. She gave him very detailed instructions on what she wanted, since he had never made breakfast for her before—not even on her birthday. “Will do,” he replied through the door. 

She knew this task would keep him occupied for a while, giving her time to finish getting dressed and applying her makeup. She hardly ever wore makeup, but now she knew that heavy makeup was part of the look. She had seen that in the photos; being naturally blonde, she had light eyebrows and eyelashes. She applied mascara to her lashes and foundation to her face, defined her eyes with black pencil and blue eyeshadow, and used a purplish lipstick. 

Normally, she would have said she looked like a hooker, but she knew full well that this would appeal to men—especially men like Peter. She was able to do this because her children were already at school and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon. Besides, they would get used to it pretty quickly.

She slipped on black pumps with fairly high heels, opened the door, and headed down the stairs. She could hear Peter in the kitchen. Her stilettos made a loud *click-clack* sound against the tiled floor. Swaying her hips a little more than usual, she walked into the eat-in kitchen. Peter came to meet her; he had clearly heard her coming. 

She noticed him looking her over—scanning her completely—but she pretended not to notice. “Is my breakfast ready?” Marja asked. “Yes,” he said—or rather, “Yes, ma’am?” “Go with the latter,” she said, sitting down at the table where he had laid out her breakfast. She crossed her legs, suspecting it would heighten the effect on Peter. There was no turning back now; she had to stay the course. 

He poured her some tea and cracked the top off her soft-boiled egg. She looked at him and said, “Right, you’ve got nothing to do for a moment, so while I eat breakfast, you need to go down on me, Peter.” She saw him startle at her language—it wasn’t like her—but he quickly recovered and said, “Of course, darling.” She looked at him, planted her feet on the floor, and spread her legs. “Surely you mean ‘Yes, ma’am’—now kneel under the table and lick me. ” Peter quickly knelt beneath the table, lifted her skirt, and licked her already wet, glistening pussy. He loved that she was shaved; breakfast was largely forgotten as she climaxed again and again. She decided she would do this every day from now on, and she already had plans for the evening. 

She ordered him to fetch a towel to dry her wet pussy, then quickly finished her breakfast. When he returned, she was standing there, and he had to kneel before her and carefully dry her pussy from beneath her skirt. She noticed he had a massive erection but felt no urge to relieve him of it. She gave him household chores for the day and told him what to cook for dinner. Then she grabbed the car keys, went upstairs, and freshened up in the bathroom. There, she put on a fresh pair of tights—also with a hole in them—and left the house to run errands in her new role.