Message-ID: <19531eli$9902010428@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger) Subject: [New Story] Protecting the Mistress (1/31) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: tigger@alices.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii 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: <36b4dd98.2299400@news.erols.com> Tales of the Cabal: Protecting the Mistress by Tigger Copyright 1998, All Rights Reserved. Archiving and reposting of this work is permitted only on sites where *no* fee (including so-called adult checks) of any type is charged and provided that my authorship, the story itself and this statement of rights are included and are unchanged. This story is based on the Cabal as I developed it in one of my first stories, "Domination Games." This story is archived at the Nifty Archive. Url: www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Tigger/ The file is Domination-Games.html *********** Protecting the Mistress by Tigger Prologue: The Cabal - An Introduction >From the Random House Webster's Dictionary: Cabal (ka-bal'), N. 1. a small group of secret plotters. 2. the secret plots or schemes of such a group. The Cabal: A very secret, extremely selective and highly specialized social organization. Cabal memberships are tendered only to people of like interest who come highly recommended by active members. Prospective members are thoroughly vetted and must be approved by each of three other active members who are experienced at checking out initiates. Complete physical examinations and medical record reviews are required of each candidate to prevent the slightest safety or health hazard to the other members. Candidates who pass these in-depth reviews are then allowed to take the Cabal "entrance examinations." These exams test knowledge of current events, social graces, as well as testing out certain practical skills. Candidates must acquit themselves well and present themselves positively, regardless of the situation, be it polite conversation or other types of interactions. Upon passing these tests, candidates are given the opportunity to take the final initiation. Initiation is the ultimate test of a candidate's suitability for membership. Membership in the Cabal is prized among those who know of its existence because it provides safe contacts who share a common interest and because of the well equipped and safe facilities it provides members in which to share that common interest. The Cabal exists to bring together devotees of the D/S, B&D and S&M lifestyles. Mistresses and slaves, masters and switches all find acceptance, companionship and safety, both to person and to reputation, in the select community that is the Cabal. In particular, the Cabal is dedicated to the more sexual aspects of the lifestyles. Candidates and members are expected to enjoy and excel at all aspects of sexual play, particularly within the context of bdsm play. Indeed, one purpose of the initiation process is to ensure that prospective members can enjoy and be enjoyed within that context. Candidates who are primarily into pain, dealing or receiving, or who do not consider sex and orgasm to be a regular and vital part of a scene's play are ordinarily weeded out quickly. A unique aspect of the Cabal Charter Rules is that members must maintain and periodically demonstrate proficiency at both sides of top/bottom scene equation. New members are permitted to choose to be primarily dominant or primarily submissive once they achieve full membership, but the vetting process tests their aptitude for both roles. To be accepted for membership, initiates must be skilled and able to carry off a successful scene in either role, to the satisfaction of the other player or players in the scene. All current members are required to participate in at least one scene as the dominant player and one scene as the submissive player every year to maintain their membership. This requirement ensures that every member respect and understands the effects each role has on the other participants in a session. Annual switch scenes for members who exclusively or almost exclusively play only top or only bottom, are usually open demonstrations for the rest of the membership. Committed submissives acting in a dominant role have rare insight into the mind of a bottom. Masters and Mistresses are always eager to learn new ways to torment and titillate their favorite slaves and who would know better than a submissive what really reaches the soul of a bottom in a scene? Normally dominant members, submitting as a bottom, are often stoic in the extreme. Such behavior, while not grounds for the individual to repeat the required session, does not achieve the desired goal of keeping the re-qualifying dominant in touch with the feelings of their submissive partners. Any member assigned to be the dominant in such a scene is expected to provide that bottoming player an experience that reaches into his or her hidden psyche. Assigned dominants who fail to break through their partner's reserve often lose face, particularly among the Cabal's more submissively oriented members. Therefore, sessions where predominantly top-oriented members complete their mandatory annual submission are among the most intense, demanding and imaginative scenes that the membership is likely to see. The only limitation the Charter imposes for these annual switch sessions, other than that the safety of each person involved is never compromised, is that committed couples are never forced to "switch" roles for the amusement of the membership. Nor are they asked to participate in their other half's scene. As indicated earlier, the switch sessions can be uniquely intense and emotional. Some buried anger or hurt might surface during the session and those aspects of even semi-public relationships are simply too private to parade for outside eyes. The Cabal's doctrine of safety includes the safety of true lovers' privacy. The other players in mandatory switch sessions are selected by either blind draw from volunteers who want to scene with that member or by special request from the switching member with the consent of the Cabal's officers. And sometimes, the roles are mandated by the Cabal Council, as will be explained in our story. Part 1: A Dark Reprise Gerald sat alone in his living room, staring at the glowing embers of the dying fire in his hearth. More than alone, he was lonely. In the past, he'd never understood that there was a difference between those two conditions. Just as he'd never known that there was anything to distinguish a house from a home. Now he understood both truisms entirely too well. Logically, he accepted that it was long past time that he put the events of past three months ago behind him, that he needed to make some effort to get on with his life again. Only it wasn't that easy. He just wasn't ready to face that world again. He didn't know if he ever would be, and perhaps that was the greater part of the reason for his seeming indifference to his future. There just wasn't much reason for a future spent alone, and he had decided his would have to be both alone and lonely. -------------- Gerald was trying to convince himself that he really wanted the three fingers of imported single malt scotch he'd poured an hour earlier when his door bell chimed. Surprised, Gerald set down the glass and went to open the door. He expected it to be a politician come to con him into voting for his lying ass or worse, some missionary type come to save his immortal soul. Those and pushy salesman had been his only "visitors" since . . . well, since *that* day. Only it wasn't any of those options. Shock vibrated down his spine as he recognized the small, nondescript figure wearing a rain parka standing at his threshold. "Hello, Gerry." The woman said in very soft tones as she pulled back the hood to reveal her face. "May I please come in?" It was the first time he had seen Mary Johnson in more than three months. Mary, the woman he still loved, had wanted to marry and to whom he had surrendered himself completely. Mistress Mary. How long had it been, he asked himself numbly, before answering that question almost precisely to the minute, three months, two weeks and four days of absolute hell. And he only had himself to blame. ~-----------~ It had been raining that black Friday, too. Mary had used her key to let herself into his home and set up for the scene she had planned. She'd been waiting for him in his den when he'd arrived home from work. Gerald could recall every detail, every nuance as if it had been moments and not months ago. Mary had been dressed very casually - a pair of thread-worn, snugly fitting jeans, a short sleeved cotton knit sweater, and a pair of the most decrepit, ragged running shoes in the world. Hardly the stereotypical garb of the domina bitch goddess, but there had been no doubt in Gerald's mind that she had been there to dominate him and to test him. He actually took it as something of a compliment that Mary would come to scene him dressed that way. Early in their relationship, she'd usually outfitted herself in more "scenic" attire - leather bustiers, latex cat suits, stiletto high heels - for their play together. As they grew closer, more comfortable with one another, she'd realized that he was there for her, not for the scene or the scenery, not for the fetish or the play. Gerald presented himself to her for her and her pleasure. Gradually, she'd begun dressing down for some of their sessions, a little more each time. The heels had gone first, replaced initially by a pair of calf high riding boots, then by a pair of honest to god penny loafers and most recently, by the refugees from the trash can she had been wearing that night. Over the course of a couple of months, the rest of the latex, leather and vividly striking cosmetics had followed the heels. Eventually, the only way Gerald could figure out if she was going to scene or just being casual was that the scene stuff was grubbier and more loosely fitting. She'd said that she needed to be able to move freely in order to take him where she wanted him to follow. Oh, she had still pulled out the corsets and stockings, the elbow length gloves and stiletto heels from time to time, but that usually meant that she was playing for his pleasure more than for hers. Those were now reserved as special gifts for him. "Hello, Gerry." She'd greeted him as she sat languidly in his favorite overstuffed chair, her face blank and revealing nothing. "How was your day?" The question had not been a mere courtesy on her part. They'd both learned, through painful experience, that Gerald could not play if he'd had a bad day at work. He'd try, but any scenes conducted after a difficult day were physically and emotionally very hard on him. There were also very unsatisfying for Mary. In effect, saying he'd had a bad (or worse) day was effectively the same thing as using his safe word before the fact. "Not too bad, Mistress." He'd answered, fully understanding the meaning behind the question. "Actually, it was pretty good." He'd watched in quiet fascination as her face changed, her eyes becoming hard and her mouth stern. "Very well, then." She said as she rose to her feet. "You will attend me in the playroom, Gerry, in precisely thirty minutes. I expect you to be there, showered, shaved and clean - inside as well as out." She'd walked past him and out of the room without another word or second look. ~--------------~ "May I come in, Gerry?" The slightly sharper tones snapped Gerald back to the present. A little abashed at having stood there staring with her on his doorstep, he stood aside. "Of course, Mist . . . *Mary*." Gerald silently cursed himself for the slip, but months of training along with the natural inclination of his heart were difficult to overcome. Her sad smile was proof that Mary had also caught Gerald's near lapse. With the graceful movements that had first drawn his eye, she slipped in and then stood by, obviously waiting for him to make the next move. "May I offer you a drink? Some coffee perhaps? The tea from dinner is still hot." He asked, feeling somewhat inane. "Your special Darjeeling blend?" She asked hopefully. "Of course." He walked over into his small kitchen and returned moments later with a steaming pot and two cups. Adding her preferred touch of milk and dab of honey, he poured two cups with the steaming aromatic liquid. Mary watched him and came over to get hers only after he'd retreated from the coffee table with his own cup in hand. It's like we don't dare come within arms' length of each other, Gerry thought grimly as Mary took the chair farthest away from his own. Silence reigned between them as they sipped the hot brew, but the quiet was not a comfortable one. He thought he caught her studying him out from beneath her lashes a couple of times. For himself, he made no effort to hide his own frank perusal of Mary. She looked like he felt . . . like hell frozen over. She'd lost weight, he noted, when she hadn't had any to spare. The sweater and jeans, once fashionably snug, hung loosely from her petite frame. Her cheeks seemed hollow and smudges beneath her huge eyes spoke of far too many sleepless nights. Then he saw it, and his blood turned to ice. She was wearing a brightly colored scarf around her neck. She never wore such things because she felt they were too much like collars and only her slaves wore collars. Oh, God, no, his mind screamed. Did that mean . . . ? A frisson of fear slid down his spine as his eyes shifted to stare down the hall to a door he had not opened since the last time she'd been here. ~-----------~ Sweat had poured out of Gerald, the salty fluid burning his abraded skin, and adding a piquant descant to his other more immediate discomforts. Mary had been relentless, pressing him harder and harder, taking him closer and closer to his emotional if not his physical limits. He'd spent most of the previous two hours bound over the heavy wood hassock they had converted into a whipping block. Chains and shackles locked his wrists and ankles to eye bolts that Gerald had set into the wooden floor. Scattered about the room was just about every implement of corporal punishment and other torment that they owned. Mary had used them all, bringing every nerve ending in his body to screaming life. His ass had been stretched by progressively larger toys throughout the session. Mary had been up to something, and Gerald had believed he knew what that something was. There was one particular dildo, made from a plaster mold of his own erect penis. He knew that Mary planned to use that on him, to fuck him with that toy firmly strapped to her own body. She'd been working him up to that goal since she'd gotten the finished article from the artist friend who had made the original casting. The dildo had been standing on the floor, in front of his nose, since she'd first chained him down. There had been no doubt in Gerald's mind that when the last plug came out, Mary would ask him to let her have him. It was something he'd always resisted, even feared for some reason that even he never quite understood. Mary had always respected that fear and had never pressed him on the issue, so he'd never made it a limit. But the anal "rape" of a male slave was something Mary had never made any bones about enjoying. In fact, the weeks she had taken to gradually work him up too larger and larger static plugs had been as much to emotionally desensitize him as to stretch him back there. Mary had left him there, bound, looking at the instrument of his imminent "deflowering." It was not really all that large, he'd told himself. Gerald himself was pretty average in that department - maybe six inches long on a good day with a very forgiving measuring tape, and maybe an inch in diameter at its thickest point. In fact, he knew that the dildo was not as thick as the widest part of the butt plug that was filling him at that very moment. Mary had solemnly presented each toy to him for his examination before she'd s . . l . . o . . w . . l . .y slid each into his resistant bowels. Still, there was a great difference between passively accepting and then holding inside his ass - a butt plug that did not move, that was simply there - and being ravished and being actively fucked up his ass. During that short intermission, however, Gerald had decided that he would not resist her when she made her expected move, nor would he use his safe word. He *loved* this woman. More than that, he *trusted* her. Mary was an experienced Domme - she knew what she was doing. And he loved her. Gerald's mind momentarily flew to his jewelry box and the small velvet box nestled amid his cufflinks and shirt studs inside the rosewood container. He would give her this, he'd promised himself, and that very night. He could do this. Mary had slipped quietly back into the candle lit room and moved to stand before him. She'd shed her clothes leaving her tight little body gloriously nude. With great ceremony, she donned a black leather and chain affair that fit snugly about her hips. Then, Mary had reached down to the floor in front of him to retrieve the artificial penis and slipped into a ring that was attached to the front of the hip-belt. Carefully adjusting the connecting straps, Mary had positioned the base of the dildo directly over her vulva. Stepping back, she'd turned to present her profile to him. In the flickering, shadowed light, all Gerald had seen was her silhouette - a silhouette that now included a gently upward curving appendage. Moving back to stand directly in front of him, Mary had crouched down in front of him. The toy had prodded him before she used his hair to pull his head up to face her. "I want you, little man." She'd hissed into his ear, her face a mask of hunger and need. "I want to take your tight, cute little ass and make you forever mine!" He'd stared into her eyes for what seemed like forever, before he tried to nod. Her grip on his hair prevented that movement, but she felt the slight tugging as his head tried to move. "Oh, no, little man." She'd whispered softly. "No nonverbal, easily misunderstood responses to *this* game, lover. You have to ask me out loud. I won't make you beg me to take you - at least not this time - but you will say the words so there can be no doubt that you freely gave me this gift, now or later." She'd wanted it all - his complete and knowing surrender. Giving her that, asking for something he did not want but knew that she wanted desperately, had been so very hard. Even for her. Gerald had needed to swallow several times to get enough moisture into his suddenly parched throat to speak. "Please, Mistress. Do it." He'd rasped. Mary had slowly shaken her head. "Still not good enough, pet. Ask me to take you. Ask me to fuck you. You have to give me the words, Gerry, before I will give you this." Her hand stroking the rigid length of her cock. That had been even harder, and for a few shameful moments, he'd considered refusing until he remembered the little blue velvet box again. "Please, Mistress. Use me. Fuck me." "Oh, yes." She'd breathed, her voice just above a whisper. "I will, Gerry." Moving quickly, as if she'd been afraid he might change his mind, she'd undone the chains holding his ankles to the floor, had slackened the ones on his wrists and had raised the hassock several inches. "Suck me, slut." She'd ordered once she'd moved back to his head. "Get it good and wet - all the way down to the root." He'd tried - he really had - but he'd only managed to get about two thirds of her toy down before he began to gag and to panic. She'd backed off and let him breath around her, let him calm before sliding into him again. Grimly determined to give her full measure of her desire, Gerald had made the conscious effort to control the reflexive contractions and succeeded a little more on each stroke. While he was trying to get that last bit down his throat, *it* had happened. The first clue was the feel of hands on his butt cheeks, and then the feeling of the butt plug being gripped and slowly pulled from him. "It is long past time you graduated, slave." Mary had said in the dark, frightening tone she'd only used when she was really deeply into herself as Domme. Gerald had tried to turn around - tried to see who was in here with him and Mistress, but the six inches of rubber in his mouth and throat, combined with Mary's suddenly ruthless grip on his hair kept him from being able to move his head around. "Very nice, Mistress Mary." A very appreciative *male* voice had complemented her. Those few words had been followed by the hands gripping his ass again, and then the feeling of something blunt poking at his now empty anus. ~-------------~ That was the last thing Gerald remembered until the man was pulling him off Mary and screaming at him. Gerald would never forget the sight that greeted his eyes when rationality returned. His hands locked about Mary's throat, her eyes bulging and her lips moving without making any sound. He'd relaxed his grip immediately, and had slid back as the other man had ensured she was breathing freely on her own. The man had turned out to be someone Gerald had met at several play parties he'd attended as Mary's submissive. He'd even participated in a couple of the scenes Mary had put Gerald through as sort of a co-dominant. Dimly, Gerald had realized that he'd been still chained, but no longer to the floor. In his rage, he'd evidently ripped the woodscrew threaded eye-bolt right out of the floor. Somehow, the male dominant, who reintroduced himself as Richard, had gotten Gerald free and had gotten Mary into a bed in his guest room. She'd been nearly hysterical, not that anyone could blame her. In the end, Gerald and Richard concluded that she would not rest there and needed to go home. Richard promised to stay with her until she was back in control of herself. ~---------------~ Gerald had not seen Mary since Richard had carried her out to his car and driven off with her. She'd even waited until she'd been sure he was not at home to come back and collect her own car. Until she'd appeared on his doorstep just a few minutes ago. Finally, he had to ask. "That . . . that scarf. You aren't still bruised, are you? Around your throat, I mean . . . where. Where I . . . " A wan smile flitted across her lips as she reached up to pull it away from her white skinned throat. "No bruises, Gerry. It has been a while, you know." She said gently. End Part 1 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----