Message-ID: <19591eli$9902020430@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger) Subject: [New Story] Protecting the Mistress (8/31) (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: <36b962bc.2832179@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 8: A Prologue to First Exhibition. Gerald relaxed as he maneuvered the beloved LandCruiser along the narrow roads in the deepening evening gloom. It was Friday, and for once, he'd managed to leave the office without a full briefcase. Well, all that meant was that he would not have work as an excuse for a couple of hours off slave duty this weekend. At least he gets the prime football time on Sunday afternoon off. He'd negotiated with Mistress Mary his eight hours a week was scheduled for noon until eight p.m., on Sundays. Except for Congregation weekends - one of which was looming on the near horizon, they'd be returning to the Lodge in only two weeks. Anticipation of that day was starting to cost him sleep at night. Gerald just did not know if it was the "kid on Christmas Eve" kind of anticipation, or if it was the "tomorrow's my root canal appointment" kind. So far, the trial period had gone fairly well. Most week nights he came home, fixed and served Mistress Mary's dinner, cleaned up after the meal and then went into his office for an hour or so to take care of whatever he'd brought home. Mary was not into slave-as-a-dog games, so once she was served, he was allowed to take his own meal like a civilized human being, usually seated at the table with his owner. It was very easy to forget, in those convivial times over a homey pot roast or a bowl of chili, the cloud that hung over their heads. But Gerald could not let himself forget. Not for a moment for to forget might put Mary in danger again. He had to stay in control. He was usually out of his den by eight thirty, whereupon Mary would have some little training exercise planned. One evening, she'd ordered him to strip and then stand at military attention. While at attention, she had begun to stroke him one place, to pinch another or to spank yet another. Each time he'd broken position, she'd assessed him a demerit. Mary was very good at that game and he'd "earned" more than twenty demerits in the half hour she'd kept at him. The demerits were redeemed by means of an old-fashioned spanking using her hairbrush until she'd literally swatted him to orgasm. Gerald had just cause to remember her every time he sat down for the next couple of days afterwards. They planned that weekends would be spent in more rigorous training and play - particularly on Friday nights and most of Saturday. With Saturday night and all of Sunday for him to recover (especially since he took his time off on sundays), Mary could do some particularly painful or physically demanding scenes with him. He was still just a bit tender across the shoulders from the muscle strain of the very stringent bondage scene she'd run him through last weekend, even after six days. He'd have to tell Mistress Mary about that before they got started tonight. Actually, Gerald mused, after he'd been so concerned about how their relationship would be changed by that damned contract, he was feeling pretty good about how little had really changed between them. In fact, so far the only significant difference Gerald had noticed was that Mary invariably cuffed his hands behind his back when she restrained him. Not that he could blame her. If she'd done that three months ago, they wouldn't be in this mess now. Still lost in his reveries, Gerald was surprised to realize he was home. For once, Mary had beaten him home - her sporty little Honda was already parked under the carport. (As she'd told him that first Monday - "one advantage of being the Domme, Gerry. I don't get wet when it rains.) What did she have planned for him tonight, he wondered one last time before he hauled himself out of his car. No time like the present to find out. ~------------~ The house was dark when he opened the front door, and seemed empty for all Mary's car was here. He shrugged and went up to the guest room they had converted into his room. Mary often went for a short walk after getting home, so he figured that she was off getting a little fresh air. Clear her head before going into battle, he thought. Then he decided that he could use a little fresh air and exercise, too. Shucking out of his suit, Gerald donned his favorite running outfit - a Pittsburgh Steeler jersey that had seen far better days, a pair of light running shorts and a new pair of barely broken in running shoes. Stepping out of his room, he was surprised to see that the hall light was off again. "I know I turned that light on," he said aloud. Still not used to finding his way around in the dark from this side of the house, Gerald felt along the wall, looking for the light switch. Something hard jabbed into the base of his spine and a leather gloved hand came up to cover his mouth. "Don't move" hissed a sibilant voice and Gerald went rigid in surprise. "I don't want to blow your spine away, but I will." The voice rose slightly in volume - enough so that he could recognize it. Mistress Mary. He relaxed slightly and the hand on his mouth seemed to almost caress him in response. "Hands behind your back!" she snapped, her voice still not above a whisper. He obeyed and immediately felt the metal grip of handcuffs snapping into place on his wrists. "On the floor," she ordered. "Face down!" It was difficult getting to his knees without his arms for a counterbalance, but he made it. In short order, he was flat on the floor. A weight. (A knee?) pressed hard into his spine and then he felt something being slipped over his head, covering his eyes. In the now total darkness, the sounds told him what she had done. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. A zipper closed and the hood (for that is what he was now sure it was), closed tightly about his head, leaving only his mouth and nose free. Sshhhhhhhsssshhhh What felt like a leather collar tightened about his throat, and made the hood even tighter. <> Gerald wasn't sure, but that sounded like a latch catching behind his head, and figured that whatever Mary had just put on his head and neck were now locked in place until she unlocked them. He felt, rather than heard or saw, leather cuffs being strapped to his legs just above the knee, and to his ankles. A rough hand slipped under his arm and gripped his biceps. "On your feet, you," his captor snapped. It was much harder getting up than it had been getting down. Once he'd managed to struggle upright, the hard prod was again pressed into his small of his back. "Now," she said, still trying to disguise her voice. "You are going to be a good boy and do exactly what you are told. You do that, and you won't get hurt . . . too badly. You give me any trouble. . . . well, you *don't* want do that. Understand?" Gerald gave an exaggerated nod of his head. "Okay, move!" she ordered, prodding him sharply with what he now thought of as her "gun". She moved him slowly down the hallway, stopped for a moment. "Stairs" she said in almost her normal voice. Gerald let her guide him safely down the stairs, although he did count each step himself, just in case. Their pace picked up once they were down the stairs and soon she had them outside in the brisk fall night. They walked about thirty paces before she stopped. A sound he quickly identified as a car door opening. He was roughly shoved onto a bench seat and told to crawl inside. Wordlessly, Mary bent his knees and somehow bound each ankle to his wrists. She didn't pull him taut - he could still lay flat and his hands were no where near his ankles - but it did effectively ensure he wasn't going anywhere until Mary freed his feet. As a final touch, she pulled the shoulder straps down from each side of the car seat and belted him in place. He wasn't going to roll onto the floor, either. ~--------------~ The only way to measure the passage of time available to Gerald was the beating of his own heart. Not very accurate, he mused silently, especially since his heart seemed to be beating a million beats per second faster than normal. It seemed to take a very long time, but that made sense. One reason he'd bought his little house was the fact that it was a long way from anything. Finally, the vehicle stopped and the engine shutdown. The door opened and the sudden inrush cool air chilled him thoroughly. The seatbelts and wrist to ankle restraints were quickly freed, and he felt her hand on his handcuff chain, pulling him backwards out of the car. Once he was back on his feet, the "gun" was pressed into his back once more. "Walk" she ordered. Once again, she guided him with her hand on his arm. They changed directions several times, thoroughly disorienting him. She stopped him and again warned him, "Stairs. These are steep and we will be going down again." The steps felt line concrete and were unusually steep. Walking down them blind was frightening, especially when his foot did not touch anything when his mind told him he should have. Only the fact that it was Mary leading him got him past the spurt of fear of falling. Grimly, he forced his foot down further until it touched the next step. At the bottom of the steps, he felt Mary step to one side of him and then he heard the sound of something pounding on wood. She was knocking? He heard a door creak open ominously and a whoosh of warm air struck him. "Welcome, Mistress" greeted a soft, feminine voice with a fairly thick southern accent. Gerald tried to assess how tall she was, but the hood distorted sound as well as blocking light. He felt Mary return to her place behind him, and prepared to walk into the warm place, but surprisingly, she held him back at the last moment. He felt her breasts press into his back and bound arms as she leaned into him. "Remember," she said directly into his ear, "Your mouth is free. You won't be gagged. Don't speak unless you have to, but if you have to, do so." He could use his safe word at any time. That was what she was telling him. Reminding him. Reassuring him. And then her voice changed again. "Move!" she ordered. ~---------------~ Gerald was led to a point about ten paces in from the entry way and then Mary released her hold on him and slipped away. "Good evening, Deb" said another, lower registered female voice somewhere in the room. The hood not only dulled his hearing, but limited his ability to locate the source of sounds, as well. A sparkling laugh answered the greeting - a laugh Gerald recognized even through the sound damping effect of the hood. "Oh, don't bother Sally. He knows who captured him tonight. If he didn't, he would not have come so willingly." "Then why go this charade, Mary-darling? Why not just bring him here?" Another laugh. "Because I have always wanted to kidnap a sexy, virile man and have my evil, wicked way with him. Which I can and will still do." Both women laughed at that. "Besides, there is a certain piquance to him not knowing where he is or who you and your lovely slaves are. I mean, your name isn't really Sally, is it?" "Don't I look like a Sally?" the husky voice asked. "Tell me, slave boy" suddenly very near to his ear. "Don't I sound like a Sally?" Her voice sent thrills sliding down his spine. "Are you ignoring me, Slave boy?" A strong hand gripped his chin and pulled sightless eyes around to where her voice had been. >From the angle she pulled him to, Gerald estimated that she was only a little taller than Mistress Mary. He tried to shake his head, but her grip was too strong. She felt the movement. "Why don't you answer me, slave boy?" she hissed again. "Because, Sally," Mary said amused, "I ordered him to silence before we entered. As I said, he knew from the beginning that I was his Mistress. You may answer her, Gerry." "I don't know, ma'am." Gerald replied, knowing that any answer he gave was futile. "I just know that you have a lovely voice, and if you say you are a Sally, then I will believe you." "Brown-noser," the sexy voice replied, "you may call me Mistress Sally, slave boy." Now he knew he was in for it. No matter what he did, one of the women was going to be pissed at him. This woman was an unknown quantity and he was justly afraid of the unknown. Particularly in situations such as this, but still, Mary was his owner, and she was the one to whom he had made his promises. "Ma'am, with respect, I cannot comply with your order. I have only one Mistress, and she is Mistress Mary. I have promised to reserve that honorific for her." "Well, we shall see about that, slave" her voice became cold and hard. "You will call me Mistress this night. I promise you. You will scream Mistress to me before I let you leave this place." "A wager, Sally," his Mistress offered, "if he should break his training, and he calls you Mistress, say, before midnight. Then we will stay here for the entire weekend and you can have free rein with him." "All right. Not that I intend to lose, but what do I forfeit if he doesn't dishonor your training?" "Well, then I think he should get a reward. Your slave slut will fuck him." "Welllll . . . I don't know about that, Mary. I don't know if I want her to have a male inside her." "Then don't bet, darling. Besides, I thought you weren't going to lose?" "You're on!" Sally snarled. Suddenly, her voice did not sound quite so sexy to Gerald. "Puppy!" Sally's voice snapped. "Yes, Mistress?" the voice that had greeted them at the door said from approximately the same direction as Mary and Sally's voices. "Cut him out of those damned clothes so we can get started." God, Gerald thought, not my lucky jersey. He'd had it for years and was actually considering using his safeword to protect it when Mary saved him. "Leave the shirt, Puppy. I like the contrast of that black and yellow against his bare ass." Relief surged only to be nipped as something cold and hard slipped inside the waist band of his running shorts. Moments later he'd been stripped from the waist done. "Excellent" Sally purred. "Well, Mary, what say we start with a little paddling? If he is going to keep that colorful shirt, I'd say his butt needs some color, too. Wouldn't you?" 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