Chapter 5 Trouble in Paradise

Jutta has access to my accounts via my passwords. Jutta had opened and delivered the forwarded post from the Netherlands since I got here. Every single letter I got from my friends, bills and advertisement letters, telling me they had some new product or a sale somewhere, all had been opened and read before I got it. All mails were pre-read. It was deeply humiliating; the divorce papers felt cold and dirty in my hands, having been read beforehand by his new wife, their confidentiality gone.

The legal weight of the divorce papers felt heavier than I imagined. They were pressing against my hands like a verdict I already knew was coming.

And yet, so see it on paper, it shocked me to my core.

I stared at the inked lines, my name scrawled next to his, the finality hitting me as if the life we had built was reduced to nothing more than a few stark pages.

Guilt knots my stomach, the echoes of my own choices louder than any justification I tried to cling to.

There’s no undoing it now. This piece of paper was a reminder of trust once broken cannot be fully mended. The stark reality that I ended this love felt like swallowing glass, sharp and cold, as my signature seals what was left unsaid.

There was no glee on Jutta’s face, only empathy. This document paved the way for her marriage. And yet in her eyes I could not find a trace of triumph. I tried to run away from those eyes, but she stopped me and held my sobbing head against her breast. In the quiet warmth of shared understanding, my grief softens, and a profound sense of solace found a way to my heart.

Jutta stroked my bald head and whispered softly, “Shh, baby, you have lost nothing. You just gained a husband and a wife, a new family with its own unique dynamics and dreams. Don’t worry, we will always love you and never leave you alone as long as we both shall live.”

I felt as if I was on a rollercoaster in the dark, Grief, remorse, joy, thankfulness, light and darkness alternated at a speed that took my breath away.

“Breathe, baby, breathe...” Jutta cooed.

From behind, I felt a second set of hands holding me. I heard Koen’s voice mumbling reassuring words.

“Finding a trio as insane as us must be impossible!” I gasped, my voice tight with laughter and desperation. “How do we explain this to our friends and family?”

“We don’t. We are not obliged to explain anything to anyone. Our grown children need to accept the truth. Our parents have passed away, leaving our friends to choose between continuing our friendship or ending it,” Koen said. No room for doubt there.

“Shall we have fika in the living room?” Jutta proposed. Fika was Jutta’s solution to almost every problem. Fika is Sweden’s version of British tea time. It reminded her of her youth in Sweden. Fika is a cherished Swedish tradition of taking a mindful break to enjoy coffee, tea, and often pastries, a moment of relaxation in daily life. I helped Jutta into the kitchen. Jutta was all about a nice presentation. The cookies were in a neat circle on a pretty tray, matching coffee cups, spoons that had been rubbed until they were shining. This morning I made a batch of Koen’s favourite cookies, and their delicious aroma lingered in the kitchen. Jutta served the coffee. They were both sitting on the couch fully clothed and I sat on the floor in the nude, leaning against my Mistress’ legs.

“Can I ask you something very selfish, Daddy?” Jutta asked.

“Always, little one.”

“I would like you to go tomorrow with me to the solicitor. I need you some papers to sign.” Jutta’s voice was tense. She is always so laid back, it’s not like her to be tense.

“What kind of papers, little one?”

“I know you don’t want this, but before you say no, please realise that what I am asking is extremely important to me.”

“Why am I going to say no to something so important to my little one? Do you think so little of me, little girl?”

I could see neither of them, except their legs and feet. I heard Jutta take a deep breath and she blurted, “I want you to not only dominate me in the bedroom, I need you to dominate me financially as well. Tomorrow I will give away all my possessions, including the business, to you.”

“WHAT?!”

Oh, dear. Trouble in paradise.

“Let me explain, Daddy. We are going to get married, right? So you would get half of what is mine, anyway. After my late husband died, I had to run this business. And running in the hotel is nice. But at the same time, it’s a lot of work. Long days, stress over staff that call in sick. With the hotel running as well as it does, it attracts more locals who want to celebrate weddings and give parties here. It’s getting more and more difficult to plan a weekend completely empty to cater to our guests from Kinky Kinta. More importantly, it’s difficult to spend the whole weekend together uninterrupted. And after work I have to do the finances. I hate doing finance. I do not simply not like it, I truly hate it. Getting rid of that burden would be such a relief. I want nothing to do with it anymore.”

“What do you want? Sell the hotel? Abolish Club Kinta? To throw it all away, is that what you want to do? You have done this for so long, your roots are here. This is not only your home, it’s your daughter’s home as well.” Koen’s voice was a mix of furious snarls and bewildered questions.

“Ilse will find her master soon. After her year with Master Martin, I have no doubt a master will present himself. I don’t think she wants to live here with her mommy. Although I like to be a little, I am that naive.”

“If you detest bookkeeping so much, I could do that for you. That way, you can keep the hotel and the club. But there is no way I am taking over your finances. You should never give a man that kind of power, even if you trust him,” Koen said.

“Permission to speak, mistress?” I asked.

They both looked down at me, surprised, as if they suddenly realised I was still there. Jutta was caressing my head. It felt good. It would feel better if I had hair there for her to play with, but this would do.

“You may speak, slut.” Jutta said.

I kept my gaze downwards. “Master, my mistress has left her country once for love, coming here a long time ago. Can’t you see she is willing and eager to follow you wherever you might go? The weight of past memories hangs heavy in this place, but she seeks a blank canvas to paint her future with new experiences and make fresh memories.”

“Leaving everything behind is hard enough, but moving to a country where you don’t even speak the language adds another layer of difficulty,” Koen argued.

“My slave can teach me the language. She was a teacher once, wasn’t she?” Jutta said.

“You have all the answers, don’t you?” Koen said.

“Is it so hard to understand, Daddy? I trust you with my life, and you take on that responsibility like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But the moment I mention money, I suddenly have to be mistrustful. It’s just money. Compared to the enormous amount of faith I have in you, money is insignificant. Are you forgetting that we’re soon to be married? The only thing I want is to spend as much time as possible as your little one. And, of course, keeping the slut on a short leash. But that is all. Little ones get a small amount of pocket money if they are doing their chores well, and if they are sweet and obedient. If they are a brat, they get grounded and daddy will not give her any money at all that week. There is no way I can combine a 40 to 60 hour workweek with being your Little. So my choice is so easy. I have enough money. I don’t have enough happiness.”

Koen needed time to let that sink in. I felt him tense. His body language spoke volumes about how uncomfortable he felt in this conversation.

“Home is where you are, my master.” Jutta took her slave dress over her head and stood before Koen. She was beautiful, my mistress, with wonderful full tits I could only dream of. I’m knew Koen never would get tired from looking at them, feeling those milk bags in his hands and squeezing them like he owns them. He does, of course. Jutta showed her slave mark tattoo on her upper leg.

“This tattoo says I am your slave, Master. Even if I didn’t want to go, I would follow you anywhere you go, my Master.”

Everything in my master tensed up, and his voice was hoarse as he said “Red.” It’s the safe word we use in play, but I never heard of a master use it. But then again, Master Koen was not your average master. Our eyes widened in disbelief as we looked at him; a hush fell over us.

“Family meeting NOW. Kitchen table. HURRY.” He sounded livid.

We followed him into the kitchen. Jutta ignored the table and sat on the floor next to his right knee. I mimicked her actions, sitting at Koen’s opposite foot.

“I said family meeting. That means you are sitting both on a chair on an equal footing with me,” Master Koen said.

“Although you’d might like this to be a democracy, it isn’t,” Jutta explained. “You reign supreme in your own personal world. Yes, we voted for our dictator willingly. This is no different that people in the USA or Russia or Turkey did. They’re looking for a strong, decisive leader. Lead us, master.”

I saw Koen deciding. It takes a while for him to make a decision, but when he does, he follows through. It made him such a successful businessman. He looked down at his two naked girls. We both bowed our heads in unison, a silent, coordinated movement that felt strangely rehearsed. “There is one matter we have to deal with. I will punish you both for manipulating me into this decision. Go to the playroom and prepare yourself and each other for one of the longest punishment I have ever dealt out.”

“I am sorry, Mistress,” I said as we walked in the nude from our private entrance to the dungeon.

“For what?” Jutta asked. She made a dismissive wave with her hand. She avoided to make eye-contact.

“For making master Koen so angry, he is going to take it out on you. I know you are not into pain, mistress.”

“It needed to be done.” Her voice conveying unwillingness to engage further. We trudged through the dungeon, our feet hurting from the uneven stones. In the dungeon Jutta activated two bright light spots on the small podium. In the bright light of the spot, Jutta sat on her knees with her back to the entrance bent over until her nose touched the floor. With her arms stretched out in front of her as far as she could, she spread her legs wide and stuck her butt up. I copied her pose and for a moment we were in a strange competition to see who could present themselves as the most vulnerable. Jutta won. She is younger and more competitive. It must have been quite a sight for Koen. Two women in a completely dark room and the only lit spots showed their open pussies and ass hole, stretched wide open.

We waited. Five minutes gone by and nothing happened. Ten minutes.

“Are you afraid, mistress?” I asked softly.

“Perhaps a little,” she said. A barely audible tremor in her voice.

“That is good.” I said.

“What?” Her voice resonated in the empty dungeon. Let us hope for her that the dungeon was indeed empty. All the effort we put into presenting ourselves prettily would have been for naught if Koen was standing there silently in the room’s entrance.

“Shh,” I warned. “It’s good to mix a bit of anxiety with desire. I am anxious many times about what you will do. It keeps me on my toes.”

“Surely you are not afraid of me, slut.”

Even now, she called me a slut. She was pressing her tits on the floor, her arms aching from being stretched out so far, her knees hurting from sitting in this position for some time and her pussy on full display for her Master to do whatever he wanted with it. The word “slut” had been stripped of its power, devoid of its usual venom. It was now a term of endearment, used with warmth and affection.

“Sometimes you are so unpredictable and that scares me, mistress. But is a good scare, it makes me feel alive. I never felt that with master Koen, ever. With him I always knew what he was going to do, but with you I often have no clue how you will react. I love it, mistress.”

We were silent for a while. Unused except for once monthly, the dungeon was cold, the stone floors radiating a chill that seeped into one’s bones. It even smelled unused in here. My body felt a creeping stiffness in the joints, particularly in my neck, back, or legs, as if they’re subtly locking up from the lack of movement. The cold air of the dungeon amplifies the discomfort, and made my skin feel slightly chilled and my muscles tense, as though my body is bracing against the cool environment.

Finally, I heard footsteps coming our way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jutta tense up completely.

“I see the slut is already wet, but I think the Little One is not very excited at the prospect of being presented with the bill for her behaviour.” Koen still sounded angry, perhaps a little hurt. My pussy was betraying my excitement. I might have secretly relished Koen’s unexpected transformation from a gentle, forgiving father to a demanding master for his Little One; it felt like karma.

“Tell me the reason you are being punished, slave.” I heard the sound of the flogger at a furious pace deliver at least 10 swats. I felt none of them. My mistress definitely did. “Surely you have had ample time to think about it, little one. Tell me.”

“I deeply regret having pressured you into something against your will. It was wrong of me, and I sincerely apologise for not respecting your feelings and choices as I should have. I will accept any punishment you see fit, Master.” Jutta said clearly.

Again the flogger made furious contact with my mistress’ skin. This time she could not hold back her tears. Unconsciously, I counted them. 20 lashes in total.

“I will ask you again, little one. And think this time before you answer. What is the reason I am hurting you so bad?” Koen asked. With a frustrated sigh, he walked in increasingly tighter circles around her, his shadow stretching and shrinking with each turn. I felt like a forgotten statue, ignored amidst the hustle and bustle, a mere silent observer.

“Forgive me, Master, for thrusting upon you the unwelcome task of handling my financial affairs; I feel terrible about it. I apologise for surprising you; if you prefer, I will keep on doing it myself, I understand.”

Yep. Wrong answer, girl. I already heard the flogger raining blows on her skin. From the sound it was making, these were even harder than the last. If I could have taken Jutta’s pain, I would have gladly done so. Now she lay helplessly waiting. It was clear she did not understand at all what was bothering Koen. I could have intervened, permission to speak or not, and told Jutta what was bothering Koen, but I chose not to. If they would come out of this together, it would strengthen their bond. They both needed this ritual to accept the responsibilities in their new roles in this partnership. It takes time. And pain.

Does physical pain cause more suffering than mental pain? I realised Koen was also suffering. The old question presented itself, a cruel choice between the darkness or blindness or the emptiness of deafness, all three equally terrifying. And in our weird dynamic pain was the vehicle that would help us solve our relationship. She had said she would do anything to mend their relation. He had promised to be tough enough to face his responsibilities.

“Again the wrong answer, slave.” I heard the unmistakable, terrifying sound of a cane, the high-pitched swishing noise it made as you moved it quickly back and forth. Goosebumps spread rapidly over my body, and this time it was definitely not from the cold. Out of nowhere, I felt his spit on my bald head, dripping slowly downwards to the floor.

“You are quiet, slut”, he sneered, “why don’t you help your mistress a bit?” I kept quiet. It was high time for Jutta to comprehend Koen’s complex thinking, to perceive the world as he did, and to appreciate his mental processes. “Explain to your mistress slut what bastinado is.”