Message-ID: <19533eli$9902010429@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger) Subject: [New Story] Protecting the Mistress (3/31) (FemDom, Romance) 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: <36b8df19.2683707@news.erols.com> Tales of the Cabal: Protecting the Mistress by Tigger Copyright 1999, 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 Part 3: Trial After giving his testimony before the Cabal Council, Gerald waited in the large comfortable chair in front of the fireplace in his room at the lodge. If he recalled Mary's demonstrations, the lounger could be turned into a bondage rack with the simple addition of a few straps and cuffs hidden discreetly inside the upholstery. But the required straps and cuffs were not in their normal hiding place. He'd checked. Guess non-playing guests are not to be exposed to the real purpose of the lodge, he thought. Hell, they'd even held the hearing on a day when the lodge was specifically not open to the general membership. They'd arrived last night a little after ten, and had been hustled up to their rooms by the grim faced members who were there to oversee the proceedings. Breakfast and lunch had been served in his room by a slender, pretty woman shockingly dressed in simple jeans, running shoes and a sweater. He'd actually gawked at her the first time he'd seen her. Gerald wished he'd been able to read the Council Members better. As it was, he had no idea about whether he'd helped Mary or not. He'd tried to make them understand that the failure was his, that Mary could not possibly have known how he would react in that situation because he hadn't known. Hell, he still could not even put his finger on why he had gone off as he did. He'd been escorted into the conference room at about one- thirty and his testimony had taken about three quarters of an hour by the time he'd had his say and answered all the questions. The tall, very elegant black woman who was chairing the Council had been particularly probing in her questions. What was her name? Jean? Jeanette? No, it was Gemma. That was it, and she was principally a Domme, although he seemed to recall her subbing to a very well built, if not very tall fellow one of the nights he'd been here as a switch. After he'd finished his testimony, the same woman who had served his meals arrived in the conference room to escort him back to his room where a light tea had been laid out for him. How long did it take for them to come to a decision? It seemed that they had been in there forever, although frequent glances at his watch said otherwise. He just wished he knew what they would decide, but of course, he didn't. One thing he did know, however: expulsion from the Cabal would devastate Mary, and not only because she loved this place. As much as she enjoyed the freedom and the facilities at the Lodge, she loved the people even more. She relished the respect and friendship she'd earned here. She couldn't be allowed to lose that - she just couldn't. Not because of him. Not if he had anything to say about it. But he'd already had his say. What if it wasn't good enough? The interrogation by the senior officials of the Cabal had put Gerald into a reflective state of mind. Not only was he replaying their last time together over and over in him mind, he found himself remembering their first times. . . . their much happier times. Their first meeting had been a little more than a year ago. He'd been between relationships, and the professional domina he'd been attending had told him of a munch where he could meet and mingle with other folks in the scene. Without anything better to do on a Saturday afternoon, he'd gone to the small, out of the way, a college-town style coffee shop to mingle for a bit - maybe to meet someone. When Gerald had first seen Mary, he'd mistaken her for a submissive. She was so tiny, barely five feet tall in her soft, well-worn deck shoes. The rest of her outfit had been equally casual - just black denim jeans and a matching jacket over a black turtle neck. She had long, dark-brown hair that she had braided into a single tail that reached the small of her back. He'd enjoyed watching her move that slender little body about the room, greeting friends, introducing herself to new acquaintances. Gerry's first assessment of her looks was that she was really cute - not beautiful mind you - just incredibly cute. However that opinion died when it became his turn to greet her and she smiled at him. That simple movement of facial muscles magically transformed her, and the impact of her unexpected beauty on his senses left him momentarily speechless. So much so, he fumbled the well-chosen line he'd planned to use on her badly. That had earned a laugh from her, which enchanted him even more. The other misconception that also went by the boards was that she was a sub. In the few moments she spent with him, the power of her personality convinced him that this tiny little woman was a very confident and experienced Domme. He did not get to speak to her again that afternoon, and in fact, did not see her again until almost a month later. He'd agreed to attend a play party as escort to Mistress Chantelle, the professional Domme he'd been seeing. Actually, he had no intention of playing and the Mistress knew this. Gerald *hated* playing publicly, particularly as a submissive. Mistress Chantelle had asked him to attend the party to help deflect the "I'll do anything, Mistress" kind of sub who really meant "Do me, do me, do me and oh by the way, do it my way." With his size and bearing, even collared and on a leash, Gerald was quite effective at warding off the wannabes. In the course of the evening, Mary had arrived. As it turned out, she was a friend of Gerald's Mistress. Eventually, Mary ended up holding his leash after Chantelle had found a girl- sub she wanted to play with and had left him with Mary. "Channie tells me you aren't playing tonight." She'd asked him over the din. "Is that you aren't playing at all, or you aren't playing with her?" Gerald had been tempted - very tempted - by even an implied chance to play with this incredibly powerful person, but in the end, he could not get past his inhibition at submitting in public. He'd explained that to Mary, along with why he was at the play party at all. To his absolute surprise, Mary had gone up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "That's very sweet, Gerry," she'd said. "Not many subs would give up an evening like this, knowing they wouldn't play, just to help out their Domme, and their professional Domme at that." "I'd like to think we are friends, Ma'am." Gerald had responded. "If we were private, would you play with me?" "I'd like that very much, Ma'am, but I don't know you. I know Mistress Chantelle knows and likes you, but I don't play with folks I don't know and trust personally. Not as a top, and certainly not as a bottom." Her eyes twinkled merrily. "Good answer. One nice thing about play parties is that things usually can't get out of hand - too many experienced players around. C'mon, lets find Chantelle and see if we can leave her on her own, now. Then, we will go somewhere and talk." They had spent the remainder of the evening in a quiet tavern, drinking wine and chatting about many things, not just dominance and submission. By the end of the night, Gerald had been quite smitten with the effervescent Mistress and had later railed at himself for not getting so much as a phone number from her. He'd gone to his next scheduled session with Mistress Chantelle with the intent of asking her to provide a formal introduction some time in the near future. Gerald had been surprised and disappointed when she'd declined. Ten minutes later, when Gerald had been stretched out on Chantelle's pride and joy, a free standing St. Andrews Cross, the door opened to admit another woman - a masked woman, but a very tiny woman. "Slave Gerald," Chantelle had said with a sly, very self- satisfied grin. "May I present Mistress Mary Johnson. Mistress, this is Slave Gerald Harris." A wicked smile played on Mary's lips as she reached out and shook hands with Gerald, using his rapidly erecting cock in lieu of his restrained hands. "How do you do, Mr. Harris." She'd cooed. "I hope you don't mind if I assist your Mistress today? This way we can be private, and yet, you can be sure you'll be safe - mostly- because you know you can trust your Mistress." "Please, Mistress Mary, if that is all right with Mistress Chantelle, I would enjoy that very much." "Oh, you only think you will enjoy it, slave." Mary had responded with a touch of steel in her still teasing voice. "Channie tells me that you are very satisfying to whip - that you squeal most delightfully, except when you are gagged of course." She picked up a paddle and began to swish it through the air. "I am just dying to hear you." And the first blow of the paddle had still surprised him. Mistress Mary had taken over the role of principal Domme, but Mistress Chantelle had remained, primarily as reassurance for Gerald. In the end, her presence for his protection or for intercession had become unnecessary. All she had done was watch, tell Mary where to find something and gently tease Gerald when invited by Mary. Gerald had learned that day that a corporal session could be incredibly painful, and yet not leave any signs afterward other than a bruise or two and a uncomfortable seat for the next few days. He had also learned, to his stunned amazement, that he could climax from only being flogged. At least, when the person wielding the flogger was as skilled as Mistress Mary and when that was precisely what she wanted to happen. After the last weak dribbles of his sperm had dripped away, all Gerald could do was hang limply in the thick, soft leather cuffs that suspended him above the floor. Mary had come to stand beside him, her right hand stroking his shoulder, her voice crooning to him what a good and brave boy he'd been. And then. "Gerry?" she'd said in that softly dreamlike voice he'd come to know so well later, "Would you give me a gift?" Overwhelmed by what he'd just experienced, still coming down from the orgasmic high, Gerald had weakly offered. "If I can, Mistress Mary." "Very well." Her voice had become much sharper and more assertive. "I want to give you one full strength stroke of this cane." She'd told him. "You have already taken a half dozen, moderately hard strokes of this implement today, but you were excited then. I must warn you that without the rush of sensual arousal, you will feel every ounce of the impact. It will be worse than anything you can possibly imagine." Then her voice changed back to dreamy, wistfully coaxing tones. "Will you give that to me, Gerald? Will you gift me with your unprotected endurance, knowing what I have just told you?" He had hesitated for a few moments. That had not been what he'd gotten into these games for. He'd wanted the release from control, the incredible rush of having a strong, powerful woman focusing her entire attention on him, and he'd wanted the sexual release that had always been a part of the game for him. "Can you be *that* strong, Gerry?" she'd asked again. "Can you be that strong for me?" There was no way he could have ignored that challenge. "Yes, Mistress." He'd whispered, at the same time struggling to get his feet under him once again. "Very well." She'd replied. Mary had then moved back behind him and had laid the cane across his quivering buttocks. "Saying you will do it is not enough, Gerry. Ask for it, slave." She ordered one last time. "Ask me to stripe you." He had. Gerry remembered the feeling of the cane withdrawing from contact with his body, followed by the incredibly long buzzing sound of the cane cutting through the air, and then the ice cold line cutting across his ass. And then the fire. Never in his life had Gerald felt anything like that stroke. It was like every nerve ending, every synapse short circuited and all there was to feel was that thin line of raging burn on his bottom. He'd wanted to be let down, wanted to be held and comforted, wanted to leave - hell, he hadn't been sure what he wanted. Mary, however, had known precisely what she'd wanted. "Gerry? Now that you know what that is like, would you grant me the boon of another just like the last?" Her hand was once again stroking him up and down his sweaty back, her breath soft on his ear. HELL NO!, his mind had screamed. Only his mouth replied, "Yes, Mistress." The routine had been the same as the first one. She'd ordered him to ask her for the stroke. Once he'd done that, somewhat less forcefully and confidently than he had the first time, the cane once again rested on his bottom, perhaps an inch or two above the still flaming first cut. Gerald had closed his eyes and mouth tight, determined for some reason he had not understood, to make this gift to her. The cane left his bottom, and reflexively, Gerald had tried to follow the cane by arching himself toward the departing bit of polished rattan. "I think not." Mary had said very matter of fact. "I find that the offer, given in the full knowledge of the price, is quite enough for me." And she'd stood up to kiss him softly on his lips before settling back on her heels and grinning up at him impishly. "This time." And there had been many next times, as the man who thought he was just bottoming as a lark, discovered the trials and triumphs, and the pains and pleasures of submission to Mistress Mary. More than that, Mistress and submissive had gone from there to become real friends, and then lovers. One time, when they had been in bed following a particularly rough scene, she'd told him. "When you willingly asked for that second cut, lover, I *knew* that you and I could have something very special together, that we had a great deal to give one another," and then she'd continued in a very smug tone. "And I was right. As usual." End Part 3 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----