Kosher Kink and Honey Cake

I live in a land of ghosts. I live in the nondescript town of D. in south western Poland that was once the German town of R. The area is actually scenic. Just twenty miles away, the Sudeten mountains rise up on the Czech border. There are historic towns and castles nearby.  There are palaces. Most of them crumbling ruins, witnesses to a German past most people would happily forget. That last part of that past is dark. The area was littered with forced labour camps, satellite camps of the larger camps whose names still bring a shudder. My town has a synagogue, boarded up and derelict since   it was trashed and defiled on Kristallnacht. There are no Jews in D.

Actually, there is one. I am that Jew. My name is Alicja Bromberger. I am not from here. I grew up in Warsaw. I came here to live among the ghosts.  I felt drawn to the darkness that hangs over the quiet countryside like a pall. I am single. I am often lonely, But I feel that this is my fate. How can I be happy in the face if what befell my people, my family? And don’t think it ended in 1945. I have an uncle and aunt in Israel, forced into emigration in 1968. I live among ghosts and tell no one here who I really am.

I have another secret I keep from my neighbours. In my professional life I am a dominatrix. I work as Mistress Alice, Queen of Kosher Kink. Have a look on those pro domme websites. You will find me easily. There are only a handful of pro dommes in Poland. In real life I am a bit out of the way in my Silesian hideaway, but I have my regular clients, some of them from Germany. I make enough to pay my bills.

I first met Marcin the day I came home from the sops to find graffiti on the wall of my house.

“Precz z Zydami!” ”Jews out!” it read.  There was a crude Star of David overlaid with a swastika sprayed on in strokes of sinister violence. I froze. I looked around, searched for my key in my handbag and disappeared quickly into the house. I shut the door behind me and burst into tears. Who had found about me? And how? And what else did they know? If they also knew that my second bedroom was a BDSM studio, and that I did this professionally, I would have to leave. And I needed the dark solitude of the town of D.

There was a knock on the door. I opened it to a Polish man of about 30 who had a bucket of soapy water in his hand and a sponge.

“I’m Marcin. I think it is really awful what they have done. I’ve come to wash it off”.

“Thank you” I mumbled, “that’s very kind. “

He went to work and when he had finished, I invited him in for a cup of tea.

I set down a tray of tea and little cakes and sat down, watching him closely as he stirred sugar into his tea,

“Please have some cake” I said and, after a moment’s hesitation he took one.

“Actually, I knew you were Jewish, myself, I kind of found out, and I know what you do.”

“How?”

“I look at sites. I found you on InternationalDommes.com I am single, I don’t have a girlfriend, I just think about this stuff. And I hate myself for it. And I hate this country. Look, my grandparents came here from central Poland after the war. Some of my family were involved in the pogrom at Kielce. The Poles have been as awful as the Nazis, some of the anyway, And my family too. Mistress Alice, will you punish me for wat they have done? Please! I have always fantasised about being on my ness before a Mistress, but if I could kneel before you as a Jewish mistress, please”

“I can’t promise. I need to think about it.”

“But I need this. I can’t cope with the shame. Please punish me. And our town, you know it was designated as a town for Jews after the war, before the Germans were resettled? The Germans had to wear a special badge, and had to bow whenever they met a Jew, and step off the pavement”

“I had read that” I said.

“That was so justified, But I think we should made to do that too. I crave humiliation at your hands.”

He broke down and wept and I agreed to see him, despite my doubts.

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“Kiss the Star of David!” I ordered him after he entered my chamber and held out my pendant towards him.  When he had kissed it I pushed him to his knees and ordered him to lick my boots. He started nervously, I could see him trembling in fear and anticipation. I grabbed his hair and yanked his head upward so that his face was looking into mine.

“You confessed to being from a family of anti-Semites. You confessed to telling Jewish jokes. What  else have you got to confess?”

He looked blank.

“Nothing Mistress.”

“What about the graffiti on my door the other day, the graffiti you mysteriously turned up to wash off for me.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I am not stupid Marcin.”

He bowed his head. I pulled it up again and spat in his face.

“You had better be sincere in your desire to submit to me.”

“I am.”

“Prove it.”

He resumed licking and I saw him go into a trancelike state as he finished the soles and worked his eager tongue up the shaft.

“How does that feel Marcin?”

“Mistress?”

“How does it feel to be on your knees, licking the boots of a dirty Jew?”

“MIstress,  I don’t care what people say abou Jews. I have read books I have…… “

He wept again. I knew that the catharsis he sought would not be easy to find.  I sent him on his way.

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A month later he came back. Again he kissed the Star of David. Again he licked my boots. This time I judged him ready. I had done a lot of thinking. I strapped him to the bench. And showed him the canes I was going to hit him with.  I went into the emotional void that was the main feature f my life here in the town of D.  formerly R. No anger, no feeling, just a cold concentration on the task in hand, the placement, the technique.

One hundred and one strokes, and I made him count every one, each stroke a shedding of a burden, an act of contrition for things done long before he was born, that had trapped him in shame and guilt. He breathed in deeply ahead of each stroke, fought against the agony that radiated through his body. And then surrendered to it.

When I released him from the restraints, his buttocks were an angry red, bloody and marked with the tramlines that are the marks of my craft, of a caning delivered with accuracy, with utter ruthlessness, yet with profound care for the man who had trusted me enough to give himself to me in this way. I took hi into my arms to hug him, give him reassurance, aftercare, and love. Few of my sessions had been as emotionally charged as this one. He wept again, but I sensed that these were tears of release. I kissed him gently on the forehead. He wept uncontrollably

“Thank you, Mistress, thank you, Mistress.”

“And next time,” I said, “I am going to cut off your foreskin and then I will know that you have embraced the redemption you asked for.”

He slipped free of my grasp and prostrated himself on the floor before me. I raised a foot and pressed a stiletto heel into his burning, bloodied backside. He screamed. I laughed, as I hadn’t laughed in years. I was free too.

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Marcin is devoted to me. He comes most days to cook and clean. He will be here tomorrow with honey cake he had baked for me. We will celebrate New Year together, eat sweet things and maybe I will give him a caning to finish up.

It is Rosh Hashanah and I wish you the very best dear reader. I had to get Eve to tell you my story because my English isn’t great but If my story has spoken to you, please consider a donation for abortion rights in the USA. And please, also think about the isolation of so many people like me in a country not so far from many of you. I don’t mean Jews, but as kinky people, LGBT people, anyone who is sexually alternative. This is not such a bad country in many ways. There are good, tolerant people here. But we need your love too, and the strength it gives us.