Message-ID: <12371eli$9806201512@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tigger@alices.com (tigger&Corvidae) Subject: (ASSM) Dreamer's Tale Part 2/3 by Tigger&L. Corvidae (FemDom, nc, Romance) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: Dreamer's Tale of Blackmail: The Story from Not Blackmailed. By: Tigger and L. Corvidae Copyright 1998, All Rights Reserved. Reposting/Archiving of this story on a site which charges *no* fee (including so-called "adult checks") is permitted provided the story is unchanged and the authorship and the copyright are noted. Part 2 As the object of Mistress Erin's not at all tender "affections", Daniel viewed the past eighteen months in a far less nostalgic light. He had never believed he could hurt so badly, or feel so deeply, basely humiliated as he could be and had been at the hands and mouth of his Owner/Mistress. She loved making him break down, forcing him to cry and to beg - forcing him to *scream*. Following that first grim taste of her whips and paddles, the day she'd abducted him to her dungeon, he'd literally been unable to walk normally. In fact, he'd needed a sick day plus the entire weekend before he could even think of going into work. He'd spent much of that first day back on his feet, working at his drawing board and avoiding all chairs as if they'd been "cushioned" with spikes. With the one exception of his first (and only) "pass" of an A.A. meeting, none of the later corporal episodes had come remotely close to being so intense, or to having such lasting consequences. Cynically, he reasoned that she probably didn't want to have to explain away his absences from work too many times. Perhaps she simply didn't want him physically unfit to serve her more carnal needs. But Mistress Erin knew all too well how to scourge a man to the quick without harming the flesh at all. In lieu of the whip, she would take great delight in ripping into his masculine pride. He still shuddered at the memory of that weekend at the Barracks when the Masters had "taught" him to suck cock properly. And that was just one of many lessons he now worked diligently not to have repeated. Another time, when they'd been in New York City on a business trip, Mistress had peremptorily extended their stay through the weekend without warning him. Friday night, after their last meeting, she'd taken him to a house on Long Island and turned him over to another woman for "further training". Daniel had left that woman's house the following afternoon corseted, coifed, made up, bewigged and dressed in a stylish woman's business suit with matching heels and purse. All of the male clothing he'd worn entering her home had literally been shredded before his eyes. Then he'd been given a ride to the Long Island Railroad station and put on the train back into the city. Once on the train, he'd been aghast to discover that his purse was empty. The two women had not even allowed him emergency phone change. Daniel had been one very frightened, very cowed slave boy when he'd finally dragged himself, limping from walking over five city blocks in the unaccustomed heels, up to Erin's hotel room door. She'd then proceeded to put him into even higher heels, a very short skirt and much more vivid makeup and had hauled him off to a play party at one of the city's BDSM clubs. He'd always suspected that she had set that scenario in advance. Seemingly every single person at the club had made a point of complimenting "Danielle" on *her* look, or making some comment about how much better a woman *she* must be than a man to look so good in skirts. Erin had outdone herself that night - she'd even had Danielle demonstrate "her" hard learned fellatio skills on one of the dominas who'd arrived wearing a strapon of heroic, or was that heroine-ic, proportions. At the time, Erin had given him to understand that not having to "demonstrate" on the real thing was a "reward" for "her" good behavior that night. Daniel had since learned that real oral sex might have gotten the club shut down, but he'd believed her then, and had even been pitifully grateful for the supposed reprieve. Still, by the time Erin finally had deigned to leave, he'd been in tears from the nearly continuous mortification and from the steadily increasing agony in his arches, calves and ankles. The final indignity had come the night they returned home - when he'd failed his fitness test by not completing the course within the allotted time limit. His punishment? He was not allowed to wear men's shoes, except at work, for the next two weeks. Erin had left him the higher of the two pairs of heels to wear in lieu of his own shoes. Since she also had keys to his home and might show up at any time for a surprise inspection, he'd had no choice but to spend fourteen hellish days walking miles in her shoes. It had been a pretty rough year and a half for Daniel Stephens. But as he sat there, at that late-night A.A. meeting, downing cup after cup of bitter, instant coffee and pondering Mistress Youngs's strange reaction to his report, the voices and the words of his fellow attendees began to penetrate his consciousness for the very first time. He heard tales of careers lost, families shattered, children who now cursed their parent's names and of the horrible guilt of staring into the faces of complete strangers whose lives had just been shattered by one careless, monstrously stupid act. What had Daniel lost, really, except his freedom? And what had he really been doing with *that*, anyway? Using it to squander his life? Pretty damned close, he admitted for the first time. He couldn't begin to imagine how many bullets he'd dodged due to pure dumb luck in his life before Mistress Young had taken control of that life. How many unremembered one-night-stands that could have left him with AIDS? How many times he'd climbed behind the wheel of his BMW after a night at the bar and had somehow managed to get out of the car again at home without having killed anybody. And it was more than just that. Daniel liked the person he had become. He had never looked better or felt more fit in his entire life. And even Mistress Young had admitted - in a rare moment of post orgasmic candor - that he had become a "rather accomplished pleasurer of women". Daniel had simply never imagined the joy, the pride, the sense of fulfillment he experienced when a woman would reach orgasm after orgasm with the fervent assistance of his mouth. It was a world removed from his old lovemaking style of "pulling three G's". (Get in, Get off, Get out) Hell, even referring to what he *used* to inflict on a woman as "lovemaking" was ludicrous. There was also a seductive sense of power associated with being skilled at the art of cunnilingus. He could drive Erin right up the edge at times and then toy with her until *she* would *beg* - would actually beg *him* - screaming for release. His crowning moment as a pussy pleaser had come one day when Erin had ordered him into her office and underneath her desk to worship her orally. She had meant it as yet another little jerk on his chain at the workplace, another ploy intended to humble him further, but he had quickly turned it around on her. In very short order, he'd had her helplessly squirming and bucking in her chair - too afraid of the noise she'd make to cum, yet too caught up in her arousal to find the will or the breath to order him to stop. Whenever she would pick up the phone or try to answer the buzz of the intercom, he'd go straight for the clit, and Erin had started many conversations that day with a sharp intake of breath. If she'd tried to give her lame explanation of suffering from hiccups, he would dive in for the kill, tongue-fucking her pussy deep and hard until she'd had no choice but to shove the toe of her shoe into his crotch to get him to stop. Erin had gotten him back for that little incident a month later at a bachelorette party for one of the girls at the office. She'd covered his head and eyes with a leather hood (but not before effectively deafening him by inserting foam plugs into his ears) and had dragged him to the party with a trench coat wrapped around his body and only a leather bikini underneath. The women at the party had believed the gesture to be Erin's way of poking fun at her reputation as a ball busting bitch. They had mistaken the hooded Daniel for a male prostitute, precisely as Erin had intended that they think. As the party had gone on and things had gotten a little looser, Erin had teased the women into spanking, pinching and fondling her helpless little "slave" to their hearts' content. When somebody had asked her what she called her slave, Erin'd replied "Daniel. His name is Daniel." and the room had erupted in uproarious laughter and applause. Finally, Erin had announced that anyone who wanted a ride on "Daniel's" face was welcome to it. To her surprise, a significant number of the women there had immediately taken her up on her offer - some more than once. The next day, when Daniel's tongue was sore and swollen, clear speech had been all but impossible for him. To make matters worse for the already humiliated male, every time he'd slurred his speech, one of his fellow workers would ask, "What's the matter Daniel, cat got your tongue?" and all the women would laugh, leaving him feeling mortified. Of course, none of the women in the office had *really* believed that the male plaything they had been with had been Daniel. Caitlin, the buxom young receptionist who had been Daniel's last pre-Donna conquest, had summed it up best in the party's waning hours when she had confided to Erin, "I wasn't really sure if you were kidding or not, but..." Her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Daniel was *never* that good!" ~---------------~ Oddly enough, given how nervous and generally unhappy he'd been entering into it, Daniel's A.A. meeting had ended up proving to be a major breakthrough in his recovery. For the very first time, Daniel had found the courage to tell his own story to the group. For the very first time, he had been able to admit publicly *and* to himself that he did, in fact, belong there. The hearty clout on the back from his guardian/partner, congratulating him for his catharsis had felt. . . liberating. Well, he hadn't *quite* told the entire story. Daniel did not care to think how the predominantly fundamentalist Christian group would react if they knew the whole, kinky story. His "official" sponsor knew, at least that there was a D/s aspect to his relationship with Mistress Young and about her ordering him into the program, but even he did not know that Daniel had no choice about following her orders. He left the meeting into the balmy summer night feeling... good. Proud. For a moment his mind chased itself in circles trying to figure out how, after all that Mistress Erin Young had done to humiliate him, to debase and to demean him, that he could end up feeling more pride in himself than he had ever felt before. The simple truth of the matter, he realized, was that she hadn't stripped him of his pride at all. She'd simply pared away all the cockiness, the macho arrogance, the sense of entitlement that seemed be inextricably linked with a set of testes. She'd burned away all the dross in his system in the fires of her tests and games, and had provided a solid - if unbelievably taxing - medium to grow out what was left. She had put him through hell, true, and her motives had been far from pure, but if he had learned anything from A.A., it was that salvation never came easy. He was a better man for what she had done to him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, *that* was precisely the problem. His suspicions only seemed to be confirmed the next day when he found a sheet of paper taped to his monitor that read: d - I'm afraid we shall have to postpone our session for another day as something even more pressing than disciplining you (hard to believe, I know!) has arisen. Please leave the REAL report ready for me first thing Monday morning. Rest assured, my dani, we WILL have words about this - soon! M.E.Y Daniel read the note three times and found himself feeling oddly crestfallen by it. He certainly hadn't been looking forward to enduring an out-and-out Mistress Young punishment session, and yet, the prospect of not seeing Erin again until Monday didn't hold that much more appeal, either. Daniel printed out the "real" report, slipped it in his valise, and went home, where he repeatedly caught himself watching the telephone and counting the hours until Monday morning, not unlike a man in love. ~---------------~ Erin took another sip of the chilled wine. Stretching against the tension knotting in her shoulders, she returned her gaze to the sun gilt ocean, and tried once again to relax on the balcony off her rented suite of rooms. Relaxation was difficult since she was, as she had finally admitted to herself an hour ago, running away from a difficult situation by coming to the beachfront B&B today. It was a special place for her - a place of memories and of peace where she could unwind and let the pressures of being "Erin Young, the first female managing director in the company" drain away. Now, it was a place where she hoped to escape from a situation of her own making. That had been the plan, anyway. She kept going over in her mind the report Daniel had tried to foist off on her the night before. It was so unlike anything he'd been producing lately. In fact, she just couldn't shake the feeling that he *had* botched the thing on purpose. Normally, such a blatant attempt at manipulation would have indeed caused her to react like the furies, but for entirely different reasons than the sub intended. Of course, some submissives simply did such things because they misread Erin as a mistress. After all, there were dominants who enjoyed being given such "excuses" to punish their subs. Erin's typical response to such games was to swiftly disabuse the errant sub of any notion that she was such a mistress and to let it be known (emphatically) that any further such shenanigans would result in the offender being sent packing. In Daniel's case, such behavior was all the more perplexing because all of the normal constraints that kept a punishment session from getting too rough or out of hand simply weren't in place for him. It vexed her. But as problematic as the notion was, she clung to it; partly because the alternative - that Daniel was reverting to his old ways - was so... Heartbreaking? Troublesome, she decided. Troublesome *and* aggravating. She'd literally scraped him off that urine soaked floor and had molded him into a slave that any Mistress or Master would be proud of. Certainly she had, as any good property owner should, invested an enormous amount of sweat equity improving him and to think that he was going to repay her by just pissing it all away... She had gotten too soft, she rationalized. That had to be it. But with each passing month, as he improved more and more, it had become increasingly difficult to work up the same amount of righteous anger as when they'd first started, or to dredge up the same degree of contempt that had allowed her to push him so far beyond anything she had ever done with any submissive before Daniel. And it wasn't just that he strove so hard to please her. After all, that was only her *rightful due* as his Mistress. No, his behavior towards all people - especially women - had improved exponentially. She routinely saw the way the ladies at the office, who just eight months previously had cheered the idea of debasing him "in effigy," now sought him out whenever they had boyfriend problems, looking for a sympathetic shoulder and some sage, brotherly advice. She would also see them, sometimes, a day or two later, giving him a quick, sisterly kiss or hug and for a moment, Erin would feel a hot jolt of jealousy . . . Territoriality - she corrected herself. If she was "jealous" of *anything*, it was that the they would go to *him* for understanding and support, while *she* was still considered by most of the women to be the hard, unfeeling "Dragon Lady." It was ludicrous to think that she could be jealous of quick kisses and timid hugs! Especially since *she'd* been the one who had egged on half of those women into lowering their hot, steaming pussies onto his *face*. She'd nearly cum herself just from watching! Besides, if she was jealous of him, that would mean that on some level she *cared* about him - that she saw him as more than just some... *thing* to be kicked around and tormented for her amusement. And if she cared, then that would surely mean that someday, sooner or later, she would have to face up to the things she'd done to him. That simply did not bear even *thinking* about. Erin turned and looked out to sea and allowed the endless roll of the tide to carry away her troublesome thoughts and soothe her haggard spirit. That was the plan, anyway. ~---------------~ Erin made no comment when Daniel handed her the corrected report Monday morning. She simply took it, and then walked into her office, closing the door behind her. Twenty minutes later, her secretary called to tell him to meet Erin at the personnel office at 10 am. Had she decided to have him fired? For messing up that report?!? The director of personnel ("Please, call me Charles.") was an older fellow who had been with the firm for more years than Daniel had been alive. "Well, Ms. Young and Mr. Stephens, thank you both for coming. Sit down, please." he greeted them, gesturing to a small conference table in his office. Once they were all seated, the old gentleman turned his eyes on Daniel. "Mr. Stephens. . .Ms. Young already knows what this is about. Ms. Young has been promoted. She will be leaving at the end of this month to open a new office in Tokyo. We will be needing a new managing director and she has nominated you. I know you are a little young for this, and that you have only been with us for about two years, but Ms. Young as well as several other senior managers believe you are the right person for the job." Daniel's face fell. He wasn't being fired? He was being promoted? And Erin was leaving? If she was leaving, why wasn't she making him go along? "Me??" was the only sound he could force out of his clogged throat. Now, Erin spoke up. "With the exception of that last report." she said easily, her lips in a curiously wistful smile that Daniel could not ever remember seeing before, "You have been a superb employee as your performance evaluations demonstrate." She'd never let him see his evaluations, instead she'd made him sign the blank forms before she even filled them out. "And you are the acknowledged leader in our shop. The people come to you before they come to me. I think you will do a superb job." The world seemed to tilt crazily for Daniel. He looked at the two senior executives. "Don't I. . . I mean, aren't there interviews? Applications?" "Ordinarily, yes, but in the case of hiring in-house, we all know you and your work. Erin nominated you and the partners concurred." Not ready for this, Daniel thought. "I'm sorry. . . you caught me off guard. Could I. . .I mean, could I think about this for a while?" he tried to smile and did not know if he succeeded. "Ms. Young works a whole lot harder than I do. I have to make sure that *I* think I am ready for this." The older man nodded his head with approval. "Yes, of course. You should not run into something like this without carefully considering the issue from every perspective. I will have a benefits report sent up to you so that you can consider that aspect as well." Erin and Daniel left the personnel office and boarded the elevator. They were alone, and she turned to look at him as the door whooshed open at her floor. "Present yourself at my home tonight at seven o'clock, Daniel. Casual clothing." was all she said before turning on her heel and leaving him alone. And what the hell does that mean, he thought grimly. ~------------~ Of all the many changes to Daniel's life wrought by his forced enslavement to Erin Young, perhaps the one that had surprised him the most, had been a clearer, deeper understanding of his father. Not that his old man had been henpecked or had been in any way less of a "Man's man," but he had had children late in life. Dad had always delighted in regaling his son (and anyone else who couldn't find an excuse to get away) with stories of the way life used to be before television and Hollywood special effects had, in the elder Stephens' opinion, "rotted away everybody's brain cells." "In the old days, you *never* saw the monster!" he would snap. "You only saw him in your *mind*! And that made 'em a helluva lot more terrifying than some bulked up idiot in a hockey mask! You won't ever see anything on a screen that will *ever* scare you half as bad as the shit you come up with here!" And then he'd tap his temple and lean back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. Daniel would usually shrug nonchalantly and turn his attention back to "The Magician" or "The Six Million Dollar Man." But now, having spent what felt like a lifetime on his knees, sometimes blindfolded, always bound, awaiting punishment from Mistress Young for any number of failings, Daniel had slowly come to realize that his father had been absolutely right. To add to all that, at least when his eyes weren't covered, he would always have an excellent view of Erin's collection of whips and plugs and clamps and paddles. His mind would try to picture how each braided strip of leather or each shiny spike would feel as it punched into his helpless flesh; how fat, slick rubber would hurt as it was forced inside him. And yet, while the actual sessions always did end up being terrible, they almost always fell a little short of the true horror show that had played in Daniel's imagination before the fact. The demons at play in his head as he drove out past the city limits were particularly fierce. He did not put it past Erin to have held out the possibility of advancement as the ultimate tease; that she would order him to refuse and then drag him off to Japan. There he would be separated from the support system he had in his family and in his A.A. contacts. He'd be almost totally at her mercy in Tokyo because while Erin was fluent in the language, Daniel spoke very little Japanese. Worse, suppose she decided to deny him the promotion and then left without him!??! Worse???? *That* was *worse*?? Daniel shook his head violently to clear it. He wasn't sure why that option would be worse, yet somehow he just knew that it *was*. As the sky turned red in the west and the shadows began to lengthen, Daniel pulled up into the driveway - careful not to block her car - and killed the engine. Stepping out onto the concrete, he checked his appearance over one last time. She had said to be casual, and a blue chambray shirt, well loved and comfortable jeans and his favorite running shoes was about as casual as he could get. Uncertainly, he hovered by his car for several moments, wondering if he was expected to go in by way of the dungeon or not. There was that *special* door, off the back for him to enter for that, yet somehow he'd gotten the sense from her that tonight would be unlike any session they'd had before. That decision was taken out of his hands when the front door opened to reveal Erin. She was also dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, with her hair pulled back by a scarf acting as a hair band. "Are you going to stand there all night, Daniel?" she called out to him. "Come on in, please. We have a great deal to discuss this night." As if the invitation was not surprise enough for one night, having Mistress Erin Young hold the door open for *him* and indicate that he should precede *her* into the room stunned him. All he could think was, "What in God's name does she want with me, now?" ~----------~ -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----