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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.

Part 2: The Damsel's Distress

Tension was a living thing between them as moments passed,

mostly in strained silence. Normal pleasantries and small

talk seemed impossible.

"It is very hard to hold a conversation by myself, Gerry."

Mary finally said as she set aside the untouched cup of

cooling tea. "And I guess that, along with the fact that you

can't seem to put enough physical distance between us tells me

what I came here to find out." She stood, her face firmly

set. She'd cry afterwards - after she was safely away from

here. "I won't bother you again."

She was leaving he thought. God, he didn't want her to leave.

He wanted her to stay . . . forever, but he'd lost the right

to ask for that. Still, he had to know. "Mary?" her name came

out without conscious thought. Uncertainty written on her

pretty features, she turned back to look at him. "Why are you

here? What is it that you want badly enough to chance being

in the same room with me? Hell, I am surprised I am not in

jail for what I did to you. I don't know how you can stand to

be near me. How you can feel at all safe being near me."

Mary seemed to consider that for a few moments, and then sat

back down. She took a sip from her tea and grimaced at the

lukewarm liquid. Finally she took a deep breath. "You are

not in jail because what happened was at least partially, if

not mostly, my fault. I was the Domme. It is my

responsibility to see to your safety when you are in my

keeping. Obviously," she said sardonically, "You did not feel

safe and you tried to protect yourself."

"I almost killed you, dammit! I hurt you - *really* hurt

you."

"Yes, you did," Mary agreed softly. "I still don't know quite

what happened. One minute you were chained to the floor, and

the next second I am on my back trying to break your grip on

my throat." Her hand went unconsciously up to touch her neck.

"Gerry? What did happen that night? How did you get loose?

If it was so hard for you, why didn't you use your safe word?

Hell, why did you even agree to the scene? All you had to do

was say no when I told you to ask me . . . to ask me to take

you anally."

Unable to meet her eyes, Gerald dropped his gaze to the tea

cup he held in his lap. "I don't know what happened myself.

Not all of it, anyway. It was like you said. One second I am

handling it, telling myself over and over again that I was

okay, that I could do it. And the next thing I remember is

Richard dragging me off you. One instant I was rationally

capable of consent and then I wasn't rational or consenting.

There wasn't any transition. Not that I can remember." He

took a swallow of his tea to try and settle the roiling in his

stomach. "As to how I got free? Evidently over time, those

wood screws got worked back and forth, weakening the contact

with the wood. When I blew, I ripped the eye-bolt right out

of the floor."

Mary looked at him pensively for several moments. "Have you

ever had that kind of explosive, sudden and uncontrollable

rage before?"

"Do you think if I thought, for even one goddamned second,

that I was capable of something like . . . like that," the

last word a vile epithet, "That I would have endangered you by

letting you push my buttons that way? I have *never*

experienced anything like that before."

"So. Then it must have been Richard, or the surprise of

Richard coming into the scene. But he's played with us

before, Gerry? Why was this different?"

"I don't know." The response was flatly final.

"Speculate, please, Gerry."

"The very last thing I remember was that last plug being

removed and then something else prodding me there. Oh, and

Richard's voice."

"You thought that I was going to give you to Richard." Mary

said tonelessly, her eyes vague and unfocused as she tried to

absorb that. "I see."

She started to stand again. "Well, I guess that puts paid to

what I hoped to accomplish tonight."

"WAIT!" Gerald all but shouted as he stood and reached out to

stop her from leaving. "What does that mean?"

A sad smile curled her lips as she shook her head to him.

"It's something, Gerry, that I do not have the right to ask of

you. It is too much to ask after what I put you through."

"Dammit, Mary. You cannot just drop something like that and

then leave."

"It is my problem, Gerry. I will handle it."

Anger flaring, Gerald blocked the door. "A problem you

evidently thought I could help you with and that was important

enough to you that its solution would drive you to face me and

the potential danger I must represent to you. I think I

deserve to know what I could do to help . . . " his voice

broke. "To make at least a partial amends for what I did to

you that night."

"I said I would deal with it, Gerald," for the first time

sounding like the stern, demanding domina he remembered. She

only called him "Gerald" when she was really angry with him.

"And in case it has slipped your notice, I wasn't the one who

spent the whole evening hiding on the far side of the room. I

have nothing to fear from you."

"How can you *say* that??" he cried.

"Because it is true," was the quietly confident response.

"If that is true, then you have to let me help you. You

• have* to, dammit," because I still love you, his mind cried.

She seemed to consider that for a very long time, before

shrugging slightly. She went back into his living room, and

sat back down, this time in a seat much closer to where he'd

been seated earlier. With obvious effort, Gerald forced

himself to walk straight to the chair nearest her.

But she did not say anything - at least not immediately.

Instead, she studied him for several minutes. Finally she

spoke. "I am being tried this weekend at the Mountain Lodge,

Gerry. As it stands right now, I will be expelled from the

Cabal during those proceedings."

Her words stunned Gerald. The Cabal was a sort of dominance

and submission private social club. Located on a remote

estate high in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the Cabal's Mountain

Lodge retreat was unique in his experience. Every guest room

could be either a luxurious boudoir or a full featured dungeon

playroom to suit the desires or inclinations of the room's

occupants.

Mary had taken Gerald up there several times during what he

still thought of as their courtship, always registering

herself as a Domme. During his first visit, she'd let him

register as an official switch, a designation that freed him

of the more rigid conventions imposed on the visitors who

registered as submissives. He had, however, been treated to

most of those conventions the next time she'd taken him there.

"Expelled? But why? I thought you were one of the founders?

That you were on their ruling Council?"

"I am a founder, and I was on the ruling Council. I was

removed from the Council pending the investigation of my

crime."

"Your crime?" Gerald asked, wondering what she could have

possibly done to merit such a punishment.

"I hurt you." She said simply. "Evidently, I went so far over

the line that your fight or flight reaction was to attack me.

That means that in trying to stretch your limits, I must have

shattered them. That is one of the unforgivable crimes under

the Cabal Charter."

"Bullshit. There was nothing you did that was precluded in

our negotiations, and besides - who accused you? Not me!"

"There are limits, and there are limits, Gerry. I knew that

you did not want to do that scene. It was a limit even though

you had never said you wouldn't do it. And bringing Richard

into such an emotionally difficult situation was another grave

error on my part." Mary shook her head in self disgust. "I

thought I might need his muscle to get you over the hump once

you had, however reluctantly, agreed to my plans. In

hindsight I can see that if I was truly worried that I would

need his strength, I shouldn't have undertaken the scene. That

would have meant that neither of us were ready. I pushed too

hard, too quickly and I hurt you far worse than you hurt me."

"Still, nobody has the right to accuse you of anything

associated with that scene but me and I did not!" he growled

angrily.

"There was another involved in the scene, Gerry. He felt

that, ethically, he was obligated to bring the incident before

the Cabal. I don't hold it against him, Gerry. In fact, I

agreed with his action. He had to do it."

"He better hope he doesn't run into me, damn his soul. It is

my business, not his, and I do not want you diminished by my

failure." He fell silent as he entertained a brief fantasy of

Richard bruised and bleeding at his feet. And it was only her

word against his. What did *that* mean? "Why is it going to

court? He's the only witness, other than me. His accusations

are unsubstantiated."

A half grin flickered at her mouth. "I was there, Gerry, and I

substantiated his claim."

"Well, I don't, damn it." Then something occurred to him.

"Is that why you came? To get me to come testify at the

hearing?"

With solemn dignity, Mary nodded. "I had hoped that you could

give some mitigating circumstances - something that might get

the sentence reduced from expulsion to a suspension." She

gave a self-deprecating smile. "I had even allowed myself to

daydream that you might get it down to a probationary period.

BUT," she sighed. "You don't seem to have anything to say

that would help me."

"I'll lie." The words were out before he could stop himself.

Then he realized that he meant them. "I won't have you

diminished because of me."

"No lying, Gerry. I still have enough integrity that I won't

permit you to perjure yourself on my behalf."

"Then let me go as a character witness. They have to listen

to me!"

"You'd do that for me? Go back to the Lodge with me?"

"That's where the trial is being held?" he asked hesitantly.

"Do I have to register as a submissive? As your submissive?"

Her heart lurched at the evident anxiety the mere thought of

being submissive to her engendered in him. She strove to

relieve that fear. She *needed* him. "No, you don't register

at all. This is not a play weekend. This will be a special

extraordinary meeting of the Council and that is all - no

playing allowed before or after the trial. And until the

Council rules, I am not allowed to register myself - period.

Not dominant, not submissive, not even as a switch."

"But. . . .but why? Aren't you innocent until proven guilty?"

"No, because of the potential harm an abusive dominant can do

to a submissive. Until I am either cleared or serve my

sentence, I have no rights at the Lodge. I will be escorted

to and from my room, and I will not be allowed to move freely

about the compound. In your case, I suspect they will allow

you to do much the same, but without restricting you to your

quarters."

"When?" he demanded.

"This weekend. The hearing is to be held Saturday afternoon.

I will be going up on Friday night. You could follow me in

your own car, if you want the freedom to leave at will."

"I hear a but in that sentence, Mary. What is it?"

"Well, if we arrive separately, I don't know how that will be

perceived by the Council members. They might take it to mean

that you don't trust me which might give them cause to

question anything you say on my behalf." At his look of

disbelief, she went on. "This in not a real court of law,

Gerry. They can and will take circumstantial evidence and

their own perceptions into account. If you say I am

trustworthy, but wouldn't drive with me . . ." she let her

voice trail away.

"What time will you pick me up?"

"I would like to be there by ten p.m., and it is a three-hour

drive. Between six and seven?"

"I will be ready," was all he allowed himself to say.

Mary nodded, stood and moved quickly to his front door. She

opened it and then turned back to face him one last time.

"Thank you, Gerry, for offering. It means a lot to me.

However, if after thinking about this some more you decide you

can't or don't want to testify for me, I will understand.

Good night." My love, she thought, and then she slipped out

the door.

"Drive safely." He called after her. Beloved, he thought.

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."

Part 4: The Jury's Verdict

A quiet knock at his door brought Gerald back to himself.

"Come," he ordered loudly.

The door opened to admit the same woman yet again. "Lady

Gemma requests your presence in the courtroom, Sir," she said

softly.

Gerald stood, shrugged back into the jacket of the three-piece

"power suit" he'd decided to wear for this occasion (more for

his own benefit than for any hoped for effect on the Council

members) and indicated that she should lead the way.

When he entered the makeshift courtroom, he was surprised to

see that only the tall black woman and Mary were still there.

They were quite a contrast as they stood to greet him. Mary

barely broke five feet even in the sensible low heeled shoes

she'd worn for the hearing. She looked like a white alabaster

statuette next to the six foot plus ebony goddess of the

Cabal.

"Mr. Harris." Gemma said in her pleasing low alto voice with

the unexpected Oxford accent. "First, I want to thank you for

coming today. Given the circumstances, it must have been

personally difficult for you." Gerald nodded slowly to

acknowledge her remark, but otherwise held his peace. "Yes,

well, I have asked you in here so that you, the primary

victim, will know the decision of the Council in the presence

of the perpetrator."

Gerald looked over at Mary and saw that she was visibly upset

and was fighting to control herself. "What . . . what have

you decided?" he asked, feeling great trepidation for the

woman he still loved.

"Well, that is not quite determined yet. Mr. Harris, would

you mind answering some personal questions before the sentence

is meted out? It does have some bearing on what we decide."

Personal questions? What kind of personal questions? Still,

if it might help Mary . . . "All Right."

"Before you met Mary, were you involved in any dominance and

submission relationships? Or was that something she

introduced you to?"

Confused, Gerald looked at Mary, but she refused to even look

at him. Had he? He had been pretty domineering in his

younger days, although he now knew that did not mean being

dominant. Still, his lady-friends had pretty much done as he

wished or he found a new lady-friend. Then there was . . .

"Well, yes, although I thought of it more as bottoming. I had

two relationships, both with dominant women. One was with the

girlfriend who first introduced me to playing submission

games, and the other was with a professional domina who I went

to after my first Mistress left the area for a promotion.

Neither of them compared with what I had with Mary. With her

I began to learn submission. Or at least, that is what I was

trying to do."

"Would you say that when you scened with either of these women

that it was fairly advanced, hard play or were you more into

the symbolism of the ceremony and the pageantry of the play?"

"Harder than most I've seen, but then, I haven't seen all that

much private play, only the public stuff which is usually what

is considered fit for general consumption, but when the scene

was over - it was all over."

"Still, you would say you were a fairly knowledgeable, deep

player before meeting Mary?"

"Yes. In fact, we met at a munch. Later, we ran into each

other again at a play party held by a mutual acquaintance.

Things just seemed to click from there."

"And have you played since the night when . . . you and Mary

had the incident."

What a question, he'd thought. "No, I have not. Haven't

wanted to." Haven't dared to, he amended in the back of his

mind.

Gemma sighed. "Well, there is a possible interpretation, Mr.

Harris, that greatly worries the Council. It just might be

that the incident left you so traumatized that you are no

longer willing or able to surrender power in the context of a

loving dominance and submission relationship. Obviously, that

aspect of your sexuality was important to you. Important

enough for you to give a great deal to the women who dominated

you, important enough for you to pay for it when your first

Mistress moved away. Something you have not done after your

experience with Mary. I must tell you that we find that

particular possibility especially distressing. She could be

said to have taken from you the ability to express a vital

part of whom you are. Our entire purpose as a group is to

give our members the freedom to express those needs.

Therefore, our inclination is to expel her from the Cabal."

Mary's eyes slammed shut as she visibly fought to maintain

control, causing Gerald's protective instincts to flare hotly.

Angrily he snarled, "I *told* you during my testimony before

your damnable kangaroo court that none of what she did that

night was specifically prohibited in our contract. I did not

safe word, even though I was not gagged and could have done.

How could she know what was going to happen when I didn't?

Christ, what do you people need? She is not omniscient, thank

God - she doesn't see-all, know-all. But you people *know*

her, or at least, you damn well should know her. How can she

prove she is still the caring, loving Domme she has always

been?"

Gemma sat up straighter and clasped her hands on the table in

front of her. His tone had angered her. "You say that,

Mister Harris," she retorted in clipped, icy tones, "And yet,

you have not gone back to her yourself. If it was not her

fault, why have you not forgiven her? Obviously, you care for

her - at least enough to dare riding up to a place such as

this with her as your only way home - just to give testimony

on her behalf. Why have you not at least tried to communicate

with her? You are an experienced player. I should not have

to tell you the importance of an open dialog between two

partners in this type of relationship."

Pain flashed across Gerald's face. "Damn you!" he rasped, "I

told you it is *me*, not her. I have not given myself to

anyone, and most especially not to her, because the failing

was ... is mine. I don't know what happened that night so I

cannot trust myself not to do something like that again. I

loved her. I still love her - too damned much to take the

chance of letting myself hurt her again. As to playing with

others, hell, she knows me, better than I know myself most

times. How could I safely play with someone who does not know

me as well when I have the capacity for that type of rage-

driven, unexpected and unexplained violence? So I don't

play."

"I see." Gemma said after a long pause. "That does pose a

problem for Mary. We cannot afford to have an untrustworthy

dominant in our group, Mr. Harris. All it would take would be

just one really abusive scene, just one session where someone

gets badly hurt and the Cabal dies under the weight of tabloid

trash. You say that you are the one whom you cannot trust.

Unfortunately, it could be just as true that it is her you

don't trust. So, unless we can assure ourselves that it is

you and not her who is the risk, we cannot afford to let her

remain one of us."

"So, that is it? You are just going to turn your back on her,

when, as I just told you, she has done nothing to deserve it?"

Gemma slowly shook her head, denying his assertion of Mary's

blamelessness. "She organized the scene, Mr. Harris. She

chose to involve another person without warning you. Those

were her decisions as the dominant and we must accordingly

hold her responsible for making them and for the outcomes of

those decisions. However, the Council is willing to be

convinced that she is still trustworthy."

Thoroughly confused now, Gerald could only stare at the regal

woman. "How are you going to be convinced if my word of

honor, under oath no less, is not sufficient?"

A soft smile lit the smooth dark features. "By proving to us

that *you* trust her, of course. Mr. Harris, if you agree to

what the Council has asked me to propose to you, and if you

carry out the dictates of the Council without harm coming to

either of you, then we will accept your testimony as the true

facts of the matter and will exonerate Mary. If you do not

agree, or if you cannot meet the requirements I will set forth

to you, then Mary must leave the Cabal, never to return."

A cold chill shook him as Gerald tried to understand what the

woman meant by "proving". Still, he had promised himself that

Mary would not be deprived of her rightful place here if there

was anything he could do to prevent that. "All right, what do

you want me to do?"

Gemma handed him a sheaf of papers. "What you must do if you

want us to support and accept your former Mistress is outlined

in that document." She stood and turned to leave. "I will

leave you two to discuss this between yourselves. Both of you

must agree to those provisions, *without* exception. We will

give you one week to reach a decision and to start the trial.

Your bags have been packed and put in Mary's car which, by

now, should be out front. That door," and she pointed to the

conference room door, "and the front door are unlocked from

the inside, but will lock from the outside when the door is

closed. All other doors in the building and on the grounds

are locked so that neither of you will have access to any of

our facilities until you agree to the provisions of that

contract."

Gemma walked over and took Gerald's hand, and then Mary's

hand. "I am the last one here, besides yourselves. Mary, you

know how to reach me when you've reached a decision. I wish

you both the best." And then, she was gone, leaving both Mary

and Gerald staring at the papers and at each other.

Part 5: Sentencing.

Decision of the Council

The Membership v. Mistress Mary Johnson

Finding: That Mistress Johnson did abuse a submissive in her

keeping by grossly exceeding his personal limits without prior

negotiation or warning. As a result, said submissive attacked

her, physically endangering not only her own physical well

being, but the reputation and mental well being of the

submissive as well.

Action: Suspended Sentence. Mistress Mary Johnson is hereby

permanently expelled from the Cabal without any rights of

later appeal or of future reinstatement. All rights and

privileges associated with membership are herewith permanently

withdrawn. No further contact between Mistress Johnson and

the formal Cabal membership (other than as private individuals

and not as representatives of the Cabal) will be permitted.

Failure to follow these provisions will result in the use of

Mistress Mary Johnson's parole file.

Provisions of the Suspension: Mistress Mary Johnson and the

submissive Gerald Harris will agree to the provisions of the

attached contract within seven days of this date. They will

so signify their agreement by signing the document and

forwarding a copy to the Council Chair. Failure of either

party to sign this instrument, or failure of either party to

complete the program outlined herein will result in vacation

of the suspension of sentence and Mistress Mary Johnson's

immediate expulsion from the Cabal.

Contract of Service

between

Mistress Mary Johnson and submissive Gerald Harris

The purpose of this contract is to demonstrate to the

Council the existence and degree of the personal trust Mr.

Harris resides in Mistress Johnson. To achieve this goal,

Mr. Harris will agree to become the seven day a week,

twenty four hour a day slave of Mistress Johnson subject

to the provisions listed below. The period of this

contract will be from the signature date of the contract

through, as a minimum, midnight of the Sunday of the third

monthly weekend congregation of the membership at the

Lodge thereafter.

Provisions:

All provisions of any previous agreements between Mistress

and submissive dealing with personal limits, safety codes

and procedures, dominant and submissive codes of conduct,

discipline and punishment will be observed. A copy of all

such agreements will be attached to this document and to

all distribution copies.

No lasting harm or permanent marking of the submissive

will be tolerated. Any such occurrence will constitute

failure to comply with this contract and will result in

immediate vacation of the suspended sentence.

Any physical attack by the submissive upon the person of

the Mistress will be considered to have been caused by a

repetition of the incident discussed in this decision and

will result in immediate vacation of the suspended

sentence.

The Mistress is responsible for ensuring that the physical

and emotional requirements of the submissive are met. This

will include medical and dental care, adequate exercise,

food and rest, and any religious commitments.

The submissive will be permitted to carry on his

professional duties and responsibilities without

interference. Should such a duty or responsibility

conflict with this document, it will immediately be

referred to the Council Chair for resolution.

The submissive will be subject to the Mistress's whim at

all other times. Further, unannounced home visits by

members of the ruling Council will be made to ensure that

the relationship is as specified in this document. There

will be at least one such visit every month for the period

of the contract.

The Mistress and the submissive will attend all monthly

congregations at the Cabal Lodge compound during the

period of this contract. Only documented illness or a

professional issue as discussed and dealt with per the

fifth paragraph above will be acceptable excuses for non-

attendance. Excused absences will extend the contract to

one additional congregation weekend as makeup. Un excused

absences will constitute failure to comply with this

contract and will result in immediate vacation of the

suspended sentence.

The Mistress will conduct a public demonstration scene

with the submissive as part of the Saturday entertainment

at each of the three mandatory congregations. Said scenes

will be observed and evaluated by the ruling Council.

These scenarios are expected to be consistent with the

type and intensity of a session overseen by Mistress

Johnson as public demonstrations for predominately

dominant Cabal members' annual submission experience.

Furthermore, these demonstrations must approach at least

one of the submissive's limits discussed in first

provision of this contract. The primary evaluation

criteria will be that the scene is sufficiently demanding

to stretch the submissive, and that the submissive showed

obvious trust in the Mistress. The nature and plans for

these scenes will not be revealed to the slave or

practiced by him prior to the public demonstration. All

limits and safety provisions of the existing contract

(including caution and safety words) will be in effect

during these scenes. The use or non-use of these

protective instruments will not be a factor in the

Council's evaluation, unless:

A. The safe wording is determined by the

Council to have been used to avoid complying with the

intent of this provision of the contract; or,

B. The safe wording was as a result of an

obviously intentional and abusive act on the part of the

Mistress.

Either use will constitute failure to comply

with the provisions of this contract and will result in

immediate vacation of the suspended sentence.

At any time, other than during the actual conduct of the

public evaluation scenes discussed above, either Mistress

or submissive may call a communication time out - not to

exceed 60 minutes in duration - in order to resolve any

problems associated with the relationship.

In addition to the time reserved for professional

requirements, the submissive will be permitted a minimum

of eight hours a week of unsupervised "personal time" for

recreation, personal chores, visiting with family or

friends, or other such private and emotional needs. The

period will be scheduled at the convenience of the

Mistress. Items discussed in third paragraph of this

document will not be counted against this eight hours.

All other interactions not specifically discussed herein

will be consistent with the good order and discipline

expected of the type of loving dominance and submission

relationship that is the defining goal of the Cabal.

Signed:

Mistress Mary Johnson Gerald Harris

Owner slave

Date: Date:

~------------~

Part 6: Negotiation and Plea Bargaining

"I don't believe this." Gerald said, his eyes wide. "They

can't be serious."

"Oh, they usually are, Gerry, at least ninety percent of

the time."

"What about the other ten percent?"

"They are probably asleep." Mary dead panned, and then was

delighted to see a touch of humor light Gerry's chocolate

colored eyes.

Gerald sighed dramatically. "Well, I don't think anyone

could write something like this document while they were

asleep, so I guess they must be serious." He picked up

the document and scanned it one more time and then lifted

his eyes to Mary's. "Tell me something? What is this

"parole file" thing that they use as a threat to make you

keep your distance?"

A look of extreme distaste crossed Mary's face. "It is

something I campaigned against strenuously, but in the

end, others prevailed and it was made a part of our

entrance membership requirements. The parole file is a

hedge against a disgruntled member or in my case, a former

member trying to crash the Cabal or to harass the members.

When you apply for membership, you agree to being

monitored at any or all times while you are at the lodge."

"So? What does that mean in this context?"

"A fairly large photographic and video record file gets

put together very quickly on most new members. That file

then becomes the member's "parole" in the original sense

of the word. It is intended to be the guarantor of that

person's compliance with the rules and orders of the Cabal

and the Council. As long as you follow the rules, the

file is kept locked away. Step over the line and endanger

other members? Copies go to the news organizations nearest

the member's home."

"Christ! How do you manage to keep any members with that

kind of big brother type blackmail hanging over their

heads?"

Mary shrugged. "It was very well received by most of the

membership, actually. A few left the group, but not very

many. Quite a few of our members are very public figures

and cannot afford to be outed. The parole folder gives

the Cabal a hammer to prevent such an occurrence."

"Remind me not to join when this is all over. I find the

very concept personally reprehensible." Gerald said

angrily. He fought to regain his control and then changed

the subject entirely. "Well, might as well do it now as

later." Resigned, he reached into his pocket and pulled

out a pen.

"No!" Mary said sharply. His pen-filled hand suspended

above the page, Gerald regarded her, confusion written on

his face.

"We need to talk about this, Gerry. I don't want to get

my hopes up and then have you bail on me because we did

not clearly understand what we were committing to doing.

We also need to write down our previous agreements in

explicit form first, too."

"Don't you want to do this? I mean, don't you want to

keep your place here?"

"Of course I do, Gerry, which is why I want to make sure

we both understand exactly what it is we are getting into

and what we are agreeing to do." At his hurt look, Mary

reached over to take his hand. "It means more to me than

you could possibly know that you would simply sign your

life away for three months to help me. But, Gerry, I

can't help but feel that one of the reasons this has come

to pass is that somewhere, sometime, we did not fully

communicate. Let's make sure we do everything we can to

try to avoid that this time."

Gerald just stared at her, his mind a maelstrom of

conflicting emotions. "But, what about the contract

period?"

A familiar "I-know-something-you-don't" grin flashed at

him. "Gerry, the most recent congregation was just last

week. The next one is five weeks away. We have seven

days to sign this contract. If you wait until the last

moment to sign that thing, if that is what you finally

decide to do, that will give you seven more days of

freedom and seven fewer days as my slave."

Four months ago, I would have begrudged that week of

freedom, Gerry thought. Now I just agree that less time

in her service is a good thing. It will be seven fewer

days I have to keep a rigid grip on my emotional control

so that I don't hurt her any more than I have. "Okay,

Mary."

"Let's go, Gerry. It is a long drive and I did not sleep

very well, last night." She said pulling her keys out of

her purse.

Gerry reached over and snatched the keys away. "Since I

am still free to choose, I choose to drive. You" and he

pointed an admonitory finger at her nose. "Will kick back

and try to get some sleep."

She sniffed and turned her nose up at him. "Very well.

We will permit you to chauffeur us," she said in very

lofty, aristocratic tones. "In fact, you may carry our

bag for us," and then tossed her purse at him.

For a moment, it was like the old, playful days again -

days when his dreams revolved around a ring, her finger

and a promise. He tossed the bag back at her. "Carry it

yourself, woman. What do you think I am? Your slave?"

Part 7: Execution of Sentence.

A week later, Gerald and Mary entertained the Lady Gemma in

his home. She had decided that she would personally witness

the signing or non signing of the contract of servitude. Over

a glass of wine, they all sat around Gerald's desk as Gemma

reviewed the attachments to the Council mandated agreement in

some detail.

Gerald mused that it was odd, at least from his point of view,

that he had been the one generally in support of signing the

contract and that Mary had been almost reluctant to sign it.

They'd spent every free moment together hammering out on paper

the agreements that they had operated under before the

incident. Although they'd had a written contract, many

mutually agreed upon verbal modifications to their original

covenant had not made it onto the hard copy.

One provision that Gerald had tried to get inserted was a no

extra player provision. Much to his surprise and dismay, Mary

had disagreed and had taken the issue to Gemma. The Council

Chairwoman's ruling had been that such a provision was

obviously not a part of the original agreement because:

A. The incident had been, in part, precipitated by the

unexpected arrival of a third party, and;

B. Gerald himself had testified that nothing that occurred

during that abortive session had been in violation of the

contract between the two of them.

So, the "no extra participant" clause had been struck from the

agreement. That bothered Gerald - it bothered him a lot, in

fact. It was one thing to worry about keeping his control

while one person he knew and really did trust worked him over.

It was another thing entirely to have to deal with another

person who did not know him and whom he did not know.

He'd just have to be doubly careful, he thought grimly.

Mary had asked if they could work out of his house during the

period of the contract instead of her apartment. There were

many advantages, she'd said, beyond the additional privacy his

little house out in the more rural suburbs would afford them.

Since Gerald owned the house, he'd been able to make certain

structural and "interior design" modifications there that Mary

could not duplicate in her rented apartment. What is most

important, his play room was larger and better equipped than

Mary's spare bedroom dungeon. She'd blithely pointed out that

at his house, they could host "parties" that would require

them to rent some discreet space if they worked out of her

place.

Gerald had not liked that party idea either - not at all.

Besides, if they had to rent space, maybe they would not do so

very often - if at all. A definite plus on the side of using

her apartment in Gerald's ledger.

A party meant more people he did not know.

His reticence had obviously upset Mary, who had enjoyed

hosting play parties at his home in the past. Still, she had

compromised, promising not to have any parties in his house

without first getting his free and willing permission.

That unexpected concession had surprised Gerald, but he'd

accepted her offer. He was on the verge of giving in when

Mary pointed out that there was no room in her little

apartment for his home office. The Council's contract had

specifically required that she not impair his business

dealings and she already knew how much work he brought home

with him most nights. Not as much as he had before he'd met

her, but still usually at least an hour's worth each night.

On another issue, Gerald had expressed concern about the 24/7

thing and whether Mary would treat him that much differently

than she had during the courtship. Several long hours had

been spent analyzing how their prior relationship and trying

to figure out how the imposed contract would affect that.

Finally, they had concluded that, for all intents and

purposes, the agreement laid out by the Council was not all

that much different from how they'd been living before

Gerald's attack on Mary. She'd always respected his work

time, and exclusive of when he just could not stop what he was

doing, he'd always surrendered to her when she had demanded

his service and attendance.

But that had been because he had wanted to surrender to her

whims and desires and that was the key difference for Gerald.

It felt different when the agreement said that he had to do

it, and even if that "contract" had no force of law, he'd

still be morally bound by it. He would be giving his word.

And he wasn't precisely sure if "being different" would

necessarily mean stricter and more demanding, or if it might

mean more cautiously and less demanding. On one hand, Mary

might feel that she had to live up to her reputation with the

Cabal during the test period, and she was known there to be

something of a perfectionist in the way she trained and tested

her submissives. Alternatively, however, she might back off

either because she was rightfully afraid of him, or because

she was concerned that he might bolt on her if the going got

too rough.

However, their longest and most intense discussions revolved

around how Mary had conducted the sessions that their observed

scenes would be judged against.

Mary had willingly described the types of scenes she had done

as the dominant in change of role scenes in some, though not

complete, detail. For the most part, what she had typically

pulled on her bottoming dominant had not been so different

from Gerald's own experiences under her command. It was, Mary

had asserted, a matter of how emotionally resilient the other

player really was. The idea was to find a game that the

dominant feared in some way, or that pulled him/her out of

their comfort zone, but that was not so close to their

personal limits that they would safe word out of it before

they got any benefit from the experience.

Great care had to taken in those annual scenes particularly

when a hard line dominant was bottoming for the only time that

year. Some dominants could not be taken very far before they

would start to crack, and the scene dominant had to recognize

that and back off just enough to protect the bottom, but still

keep the scene going. In contrast, other dominants were

marvelous in the submissive role - as responsive and giving a

partner as a domina could hope for. Usually, the latter types

were dominants who had started out as submissives or who had

often switched roles in their early years of D&S.

Mary did not, however, tell him about the atypical scenes she

had done in other public demonstrations - mainly because she

really never considered asking for that type of submission

from Gerald. She knew from some of their earliest experiences

together that he simply didn't cope with certain types of play

very well. He'd always tried for her, always given her his

very best, and had never safe worded out on her, but the price

he'd paid for giving her that effort had been terrible.

Initially, Mary had reveled in his willingness to go "to the

wall" for her like that, to suffer something he truly hated

because it pleased her. It had been. . . . exalting for her,

one of the finest gifts of submission, she had ever received

from a partner.

Then, she realized that Gerald did not recover from those

scenes quickly or easily. That after she had finished the

scene, her normal after care of hugs, encouragement and praise

were only marginally successful. He seemed diminished for

several days afterwards, and that had effectively killed

whatever pleasure she took from that type of play with him.

She enjoyed seeing a submissive bend to her will, relished

working her way around the protective barriers around his self

image, but she never wanted to batter down that self image

itself.

Especially the self image of the man she loved.

While Gerald knew nothing about Mary's evasion on that

subject, what he had learned did very little to help him

prepare for three Saturday afternoons at the Lodge.

Which was another reason, Mary thought, that it was a good

idea to live at his house. She could do more to help prepare

him for what she planned for him if she had more room and more

privacy in which to work him. When Gerald had countered that

the Council's contract specifically prohibited his

foreknowledge, Mary had explained that she could plan training

around key elements of her intended scene. After all, she

wanted him to succeed, because by succeeding, he would be more

likely to continue the trial. And, she had thought grimly,

the more likely you are to see that you can trust yourself

with me.

~--------------~

Gemma looked up from her reading and smiled at Mary. "Very

complete, my dear, and there's nothing in there that violates

the spirit or intent of the trial we've laid out for you."

She handed the contract back to Mary. "So, are you going to

sign it? I don't mean to be pushy, but the Council's decision

was specific and this is the seventh day since the hearing."

"I will sign it." Gerald said flatly.

Mary looked at Gerald for several moments, trying to read his

thoughts, or at least his feelings, but his face was as

expressionless as his voice. She wished he would give her

just a little encouragement - some little sign that he was

doing this out of something more than a feeling of

responsibility for her pending expulsion - but there was

nothing there.

She realized that Gemma was staring at her, and wondered how

long she had been lost in thought. Forcing a bright smile

onto her face, she tried to sound excited. "Of course I am

going to sign it. Gerry is the best subbie I have ever played

with and a joy to me. How could I pass up an opportunity like

this?"

Gemma's momentary frown told Mary that the other woman was not

fooled in the least. Truth to tell, Mary was scared to her

bones about this whole concept, and her fear had nothing to do

with Gerald's attack on her that night two months back.

"So," Gemma said into the now-silent room. "When will you

really start?"

They had discussed this and Mary responded. "Monday.

Actually, Monday evening after Gerry gets home from work and

clears up anything from work that couldn't wait until

Tuesday."

"Why not tomorrow?" Gemma asked. A sexy grin lit her classic

face. "A weekend seems to be a far better time for some . . .

well, some intense training."

Mary saw Gerry pale and mentally cursed Gemma's well-

intentioned little tease. Gerry obviously viewed "intense

training" in a completely different light than what Gemma had

intended and he knew he was not ready for that.

"We need the weekend to rearrange things here." Mary slipped

in smoothly. "Move my clothes and such from my apartment.

Move Gerry's things out of the master bedroom and into one of

the smaller rooms, and then move me into the Mistress room.

Additionally, we need to go shopping for groceries and do

laundry and all the myriad chores that working folks do on a

weekend. No, a short, focused session on Monday evening will

be far more effective as a first scene than one that we had to

snatch from the ravages of moving day, or between a trip to

the supermarket and mowing the lawn."

Nodding, Gemma smiled and then proffered a pen to Gerald. "I

think it is appropriate that you commit first, Mr. Harris.

You must first surrender your power before Mistress Mary can

accept that tribute."

Gerald reached over and accepted the pen. Pulling the stack

of paper over to him, he proceeded to boldly slash his name on

the signature line and then carefully dated it. Mary then

took the pen and with far more care and deliberation, signed

her name beside Gerald's.

"I now pronounce you Mistress and slave." Gemma intoned as she

also signed the document, witnessing it for the Cabal Council.

Neither of her hosts cracked a smile at her intended jest.

Sighing, she gathered up the paper and stood to leave. "I

will get you copies by Monday, Mary."

They made their farewells, but Gemma stopped herself at the

door. "A word of advice, you two. You will please recall

that, more than anything else, this is supposed to a deeply

satisfying, physically and emotionally wonderful commitment

between two people who obviously care about each other. It is

supposed to make you feel good, at least on some level,

whether that is because you enjoy spanking his ass, or because

you're proud of enduring for her or simply because the orgasms

are great. If you two can't smile now, how the hell are you

going to make it through three months?"

Silently, Mary agreed with her friend, but before she could

respond, Gerald did. "Because we have to, Lady Gemma.

Because the Cabal Council has simply given us no other

choice." He nodded to the sheaf of paper held tightly in her

hand. "That contract says that there is no choice other than

Mary leaving the Cabal, and that is unacceptable."

Gently, Gemma reached out her free hand and stroked Gerald's

cheek, feeling the tension in his jaw as she did so. On a

whim, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Try to find the joy you once shared together," she whispered

to him.

Gemma left, quietly praying that this plan had not been a

gross error in judgement. Gerald's attitude frankly

frightened her. So much so that she wouldn't want to be

in a 24/7 relationship with him. In fact, she felt guilty

about her part in setting this up disaster-waiting-to-

happen. Maybe she could tease her little husband Alex

into giving her one of his justly famous sexy over-the-

knee spankings. Emphasis, she grinned, on the sexy. She

wasn't feeling that guilty. Besides, she was the Domme.

Usually.

~-----------~

Back inside the house, stifling tension had descended on

both Mary and Gerald. Each was locked tightly in their

own concerns and fears. Finally, Mary broke the silence.

"So, what do we do now?"

For the first time that night, Gerald smiled. "Well, you

are the Mistress, but if you ask me, I'd like to go to

bed. I changed the linen on the bed in my old room and

have moved most of my clothes, toiletries and sundries

over into the slave quarters. We could just call it a

day, and start the heavy moving tomorrow."

"All right. That makes sense, but just one thing first,

okay? This is *not* an order, Gerry, but do you think

you could spare a hug? I am feeling kind of shaky just

now."

Gerald hesitated for just a moment and then opened his

arms wide to enfold her. "Me, too," he said into the soft

hair on the top of her head. "Me, too."

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.

<<snap>>

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?"

Part 9: Reflections on a Scene Gone Well

Mary smiled into the darkness of Gerald's, now her bedroom.

It had been such a lovely night. The play had been just a bit

rough, but Gerry had handled it. More than handled it, he'd

enjoyed himself, particularly after he had beaten "Sally," and

earned his reward.

A very satisfied, if somewhat un-Dommely giggle burbled up.

She wondered what Gerry would say if he knew that there had

only been two people besides himself in that room. Gemma was

very good with voices, and had managed a very creditable,

middle American accent as the domina Sally. The only thing

she'd said as "Puppy" had been the initial greeting when they

arrived and Gemma had made "her" sound like some submissive

southern belle. The unnamed boy-sub never really spoke, but

then it had been the idea of another male being present and

watching him submitting that had been the point of that

deception.

Somehow they'd managed to keep up the pretense that there had

been four other people in the room with Gerry. Everything

that had been done to Gerry or around Gerry that night had

actually been the work of either Gemma or Mary. The only

trick was to make sure that the one speaking was not

simultaneously the one doing whatever Puppy had been ordered

to do to him.

Of course, when "Sally" had not managed to break Gerry's

resolve to reserve "Mistress" only for Mary (much to Gemma's

very real surprise), it had been Mary herself who had taken

the Puppy-role. She was not about to share Gerry (not that

Gemma would have done it anyway as besotted as she was with

her Alex), but most of all, she had done it because she had

wanted him. At least once more before all this started. As

equals, for that was what the two supposed submissives really

were at that special moment of time.

Not that there wouldn't be lovemaking shared between the two

of them in the next few months because there most definitely

would be - a lot of lovemaking - but Mary feared that the

dynamics imposed by their contract might somehow affect the

wonderful give and take they had always shared in bed.

Knowing Gerry as she did, Mary expected that he would take

this thing to where he'd do most of the giving and too damned

little of the taking. It would still be good. She reminded

herself. Gerry was a superb technical lover and she knew that

he loved loving her. It was just that she loved loving him

just as much and she wasn't sure how open he was going to

permit himself to be over the period of the contract. She

hoped for the best, but she had tonight's memories if the best

did not come to pass.

Still, it was odd that he had not recognized her body. Now

that she thought about it, he should have - they knew each

other very well. At least, they had known each other very

well. She gave a mental shrug. He hadn't said anything about

it to her, and he would have.

Wouldn't he?

One other bright spot, he had taken a fairly nasty little

corporal session (Gemma was absolutely wicked with that strap

of hers) and had not lost it or needed to use his safe word.

Which made her all the more certain she knew what had happened

that night? At least she thought she knew the root cause of

what happened. Now, if she could just find a way to work all

that out for him.

And for herself, too, she reminded herself as she rolled over

and pulled the covers up to her chin. Maybe Gemma would have

some ideas on that possibility - she'd check with her

tomorrow. She was asleep within moments, a thoroughly feline

smile lighting her lips.

~---------------~

Gerald smiled into the darkness of the guest, now his bedroom.

It had been such a great night. The play had been just a bit

rough, but he'd handled it. More than handled it, he smirked

to himself, he'd thoroughly enjoyed himself most of the night.

Well, except for the strapping - whoever "Sally" was, she was

hell on wheels with that damned strap. And yet, he'd checked

his butt in the mirror when he'd gotten home. He'd have a few

bruises in the morning, but not as many as he would have

expected, given how the receiving had felt. And he'd felt

rather proud of the way he took it, not once coming close to

violating his promise to Mistress Mary. That had been sweet,

too.

Yes, he had enjoyed himself that night, but particularly after

he had beaten "Sally," and earned his reward.

Mary needed to change her perfume if she was going to play

games like that one and still hope to get away with them.

Maybe she'd expected the scent of the fine leather hood would

dull his ability to discriminate his love's scent.

Unfortunately for that plan, Mistress Mary was fond of wearing

leather when she played with Gerald. He'd simply spent too

many hours in the past year, blindfolded and bound, learning

every inch of her body with his nose, tongue and mouth. He

knew her taste, her scent and the smooth texture of her skin.

Whatever else had happened that night, he had made love to

Mary, not some faceless girl-sub named "Puppy."

She must have known he'd recognize her. Hell, they knew each

other about as intimately as it was possible to know another

person without wearing that person's skin. Still, she hadn't

said anything afterwards. She hadn't even teased him about

his performance. She would have said something.

Wouldn't she?

He'd decided to take it as a gift, as a last opportunity to be

just a little selfish in his lovemaking. After all, he had

earned the slave girl as his reward. To the victors go the

Sabine Women, or something like that.

Their lovemaking had been incredible - transcendent. Two

people locked in combat to see which of them could give the

other the most pleasure, each trying to give the other just

the tiniest bit more than he or she took. That type of

lovemaking between equals in power was probably not in the

Cabal's program for the next three months. That was okay,

Gerald thoroughly loved loving Mary that way, too.

Now that it was over, he briefly let himself wonder why she'd

done it. Well, if she wanted him to know, she'd tell him. He

was just glad that she had done it.

At least now, he had the memory of two people really making

love to get him through whatever the next few months really

held. Feeling very happy and replete, Gerald rolled over and

pulled the covers up under his chin. He was asleep within

moments, a thoroughly masculine smile lighting his lips.

Part 10: Preparations and other Games

Gerald exited his den/office, hoping he was ready for whatever

Mary had on tap for the night. It couldn't involve too much

corporal punishment because his ass was still very tender and

bruised from Sally's play the night before. Still, maybe it

would end as wonderfully as the previous night's game, when

Mary-Pet took him into Paradise.

But he did not think so. He did not have long to wait to find

out. Mary was waiting for him in the den.

"Finished for the evening, Gerry?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Excellent. Well, follow me." Mary led him up the stairs and

to the Mistress Bedroom. It was an odd feeling, seeing his

formally dark, masculine bedroom made over into a feminine

confection of lace, chintz and satins. She'd turned his

bedroom desk into a vanity, complete with a tall mirror that

he'd never seen before. A dizzying array of tubes, bottles,

pots and boxes now held sway over a surface where, just few

short days ago, paperback books, magazines and various working

papers had rested in ordered chaos.

Mary moved to the stool directly in front of the vanity and

seated herself. "Gerry, I want you to sit on the bed, where

you can clearly see both me and my mirror image." She ordered

firmly.

Gerald went to the bed, sat down, and then adjusted his

position by sliding his butt along the slick satiny comforter

until he could see Mary and her reflection clearly. "Okay,

Mistress, I can see both now."

"Very good, Gerry, now I want you to pay very close

attention."

A little bewildered, Gerald watched as Mary began by opening a

jar of white cream which she then rubbed thoroughly into her

face. A cotton ball began to remove the excess cream, which

was in turn followed by another one. Gerald realized that the

cotton balls were coming away with color on them, leaving

Mary's face . . . paler somehow. Then he realized. Why,

she's cleaning her face. That stuff must remove her makeup.

For the next hour, Gerald watched in rapt amazement as Mary

worked her cosmetic magic, slowly and carefully rebuilding her

face. His fascination was not lost on Mary, and that pleased

her. It boded well for the rest of her plan.

Finally, she set down the last brush and turned to face

Gerald. Cocking a single finely shaped brow at him, she

smiled. "Well?"

Her voice broke the near trance and he shook himself slightly

to refocus on her. "Um mm. . . . Well, what, Mistress?" he

asked uncertainly.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked pertly.

His eyes wide with wonder, all Gerald could come up with was

"God, but I think you are beautiful."

The awe and depth of feeling in his voice made Mary's heart

skip, and she nearly abandoned her plans in favor of enjoying

that worship a little more. She didn't, however, reminding

herself why her plans were necessary instead.

Delayed gratification, she groused silently, is supposed to be

for subs, not Dommes.

It took great force of will, but she managed to frown sternly

at Gerald. "Very pretty, Gerry, but not what I meant. I told

you to pay close attention. Did you?"

"God yes, Mistress. That was . . . incredible. I have never

seen anything like that."

Damn him, she thought, he's going to get to me yet. She

thought half amused. "That is NOT what I meant. Did you pay

attention?" She held up a golden tube. "What did I use this

for?" she asked as she reached for a wide bristled, wooden

handled brush, "Or this?" and finally the pot of white cream

"Or this?"

Momentarily nonplused by the rapid fire questioning, Gerald

managed to focus on the only thing he was sure of. "That" he

said to point to the pot of cold cream. "You used that stuff

to clean your face of the old makeup and stuff."

Mary dangled the tube and the brush. "That's all you saw?

You did not see me line my eyes with this?" she tossed the

tube into his lap, "Or this to shade and blend my eyeshadow?"

Her tones were accusatory. Gerald could only shake his head.

"This was not an exhibition for your amusement, sir. I expect

you to relieve me of this drudgery on occasion and fix my face

and hair for me when I order you to do so. HOW CAN YOU DO

THAT IF YOU DON"T RECOGNIZE EYE LINER OR AN EYESHADOW BRUSH??

EVEN AFTER I SPENT ALMOST FIVE TIMES MY NORMAL TIME SHOWING

YOU HOW??"

But she hadn't told him why he was supposed to watch, Gerald

thought mutinously. "No excuse, Mistress."

Mary walked over to her toy chest and pulled out a strange

leather and metal affair. "Your penalty for not paying

attention, Gerald, is to be neutered until you have met my

standards. Take off your pants, Mister. Down to the skin!"

NEUTERED?? He thought in shock. "I said strip, Gerald. Don't

make this tougher for you than it has to be." He reacted to

the cold steel in her voice and almost tripped getting out of

his trousers and jockeys.

Mary knelt in front of him and held the affair open. Looking

down, he saw that it something like a jockstrap and he stepped

carefully into the "leg-holes" that Mary presented to him.

She quickly pulled the affair up over his hips, adjusted the

waist strap and then moved in front of him. With deft

movements, she had the length of his semierect penis into a

nylon tube affair on the front of the device. Something like a

nylon tie-wrap clamped off the affair just behind his glans. A

tiny padlock fixed the wrap and the tube in place until the

lock was removed. Finally, two straps attached to the tube

were drawn down between Gerald's legs and back up along his

hips, again much like a jockstrap, and were connected to the

waist belt.

The adjustments of the chastity took several more minutes, but

once Mary had finished, Gerald's groin no longer showed the

tell tale bulge of a male organ. Satisfied, she completed her

task by fixing more locks on the waist belt and on the hip

straps.

She returned to her seat, but kept Gerald standing. "There.

No more sex for Gerry until he is a good boy and learns to pay

attention to his Mistress. When you can do my make up and my

hair to *my* satisfaction, Gerry, I will unlock that and let

you have an orgasm, but not one minute before. Do you

understand, sir?"

He really did not, but she was the Mistress and she obviously

had something in mind for him. "Yes, Mistress."

"That stays on until I remove it. It is made of nylon so you

can shower with it on and it will dry quickly. You'll have to

sit to pee, but then, I told you that you aren't a boy anymore

and only boys stand up to pee."

There was such mischievous mirth in her words and smile that

some of Gerald's tension and uncertainty eased. "One very

important thing, Gerald," Mary continued in a much more

serious tone, "I want you to carry a pocket knife with you at

all times while I have you in that belt. If that toy ever

poses a danger to you, either physically or professionally,

you will cut it off and call me immediately. That is why I

chose this chastity and not one made of more . . . durable

materials. Do you understand?"

Feeling much better now, Gerald nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

"All right, then. Let's do the demonstration again before

bed. Then you can practice using the only thing you

recognized and cleanse my face for bed. Tomorrow night, you

will try it."

"Mistress, may I please get a notebook and take notes this

time?"

"If you must" she sighed aloud while thinking "as if it will

do you any good, darling. I have other games we need to play

before this is all over."

Part 11: Making Up is Hard to Do

Gerald hesitated walking out of his home office, not quite

ready to face a continuation of the previous evening's

lessons. Although he couldn't see how it could get much

worse, he knew he did not have either Mary's imagination or

her experience with cosmetics. There was no doubt that things

could get worse - quickly.

That wasn't really true, he told himself. He was exaggerating

the situation and he knew it. In all honesty, the belt had

been little more than a nuisance so far. When he'd crawled

out of bed this morning for his daily run, he'd managed to

piss down his leg when he forgot he had just recently joined

the "keep-the-seat-down-and-sit" crowd. Embarrassing, but not

debilitating - besides, it had made Mary laugh when he'd

sheepishly told her about it later at breakfast. It had been

nice to hear her laugh.

At work, it was just a matter of ensuring the men's room was

empty when he needed to use the facilities. He did not care

to explain why he was suddenly not using the urinals.

Gerald looked at his notes one last time and gathered his

courage. Maybe he could treat her face like a drafting

problem. Surely if he could make high quality engineering

drawings, complete with artists' concept drawings, he could do

this.

Couldn't he?

~-------------~

He couldn't.

Mary stared at her reflection, fighting incipient belly laughs

with every fiber of her being. Poor Gerry, she thought. He

had tried so very hard, but his second attempt was only

marginally better than his first.

Her face - well, she didn't quite look like a clown, but it

was very darned close. Her mouth was too red and looked too

big. Her rouge did not blend smoothly into her natural skin

tones and was too bright in the bargain. And her eyes . . .

Racoons had more subtle masks.

Steeling her features into a disapproving frown, Mary tapped

the Polaroid photo she'd had Gerry take of her the previous

night. It was taped to her mirror so that her current visage

could be compared to her own superb makeup job. "Tell me,

Gerald, what is wrong with this picture?" she said with

saccharin sweetness.

There is no-good answer to this question, Gerald told himself.

"With the picture you are pointing at, Mistress? Nothing.

Nothing at all."

"Then, perhaps you could tell me why I don't look like that

picture?"

"Because I am not as good at it as you are, Mistress."

"Bad answer, slave. You will be that good at it, or I will

look like a fool in front of my friends? Do you know *why* I

will look like a fool, slave?" She injected a terrible irony

into her question, making Gerald want to squirm like a school

boy in front of a very displeased principal.

"No, Mistress."

"Because, no matter what else happens, slave. You will be

responsible for my hair and makeup during the first

Congregation demonstration scene. I will walk out in front of

the entire membership with whatever you put on my face; with

my hair in whatever condition you leave it in. Do you want me

to look like a fool, slave?"

"God, no, Mistress." Gerald said fervently, meaning it beyond

the implications of their scene.

Mary allowed his sincerity to warm her, just a bit. "Then I

think you can plan on spending the weekend practicing.

Hopefully, before I have to let you loose on Sunday afternoon,

you will have shown some improvement over this . . . this

impressionistic painting you've put on my face. Clean me,

Gerald. Carefully. There is so much gunk on my face it may

take hours to clean my pores."

~-----------~

Gerald attended Mary in her bedroom immediately after

breakfast. Silently, he stood by waiting for her to take her

place in the chair. Mary merely stared at him. Finally,

Gerald felt the need to break the impasse. "Mistress? Aren't

you going to sit down so we can get started?"

"We? *We* are not doing anything here today, Gerald. *You*

are. I said you would be practicing. I did not say anything

about my own valuable day off being wasted because you need

practice."

"But . . . But Mistress. I need you here so I can practice."

A thoroughly devilish smile lit her face. "I don't think so,

Gerry. I mean, I am not the only person in this room with a

face, am I?"

"You . . . you want me . . . to put that stuff . . . on

ME?"

"No, Gerry, I didn't say that, nor did I order you to do that.

What I want you to do is practice. How you do that will, of

course, be up to you. If you can manage that without putting

that *stuff* on your own face, more power to you, but I had

better see significant improvement tonight when I let you try

again on me."

Damn, Gerry thought. "Will you be around to answer questions,

Mistress?" he asked meekly.

"Perhaps. If I am here, I will look in on you from time to

time. You may take one 20 minute break in the morning, a 45

minute break for lunch and another 20 minute break in the

afternoon. Stop in time to have my dinner ready by 5:30."

"Yes, Mistress." Gerry said, looking at the full measure of

the day ahead of him. Then he looked at the table.

"Mistress?"

"Yes?"

"Could you get more cold cream and cotton balls? I think

we'll be running out today."

For a moment, she considered refusing, and letting him deal

with the futility of trying to wash his face clean of the

cosmetics with soap and water, but decided not to. There was

such a thing as being too nasty, and besides, she'd need to be

sure there was enough to clean her own face tonight after

Gerry's next failed test. "Of course, I will go get a giant

economy sized one of each" and then she strode from the room,

effectively leaving him to his own devices.

~----------------~

"You've had all day to practice. No other duties. I have

denied myself using you for my own pleasures and *this* is the

best you can do???"

Both of them stared into the mirror. Actually, Mary had to

admit that he'd made significant strides since the previous

night. He still did not have a handle on how to subtly blend

shadings, and his hand had quivered once while applying the

mascara resulting in a very oddly placed "beauty mark," but it

was not much worse than some of her own more. . . .Inventive

disasters when she'd first experimented with cosmetics as a

teenager.

Gerald didn't answer her. He simply turned away. Mary was at

first stunned, and then shocked as she saw his shoulders

heaving, his head in his hands. Had she gone too far? Had

her remarks really hurt him so badly that her Gerald was

reduced to tears by her callously snide little cuts?

"Gerry?" she said softly, as she held out her hand to him.

Now what was she going to do?

A burble of sound caught her ears. *That* didn't sound like

sobs! Why that . . . "GERALD!" she managed to yell. "ARE YOU

LAUGHING AT ME???"

He turned now to face her, real humor lighting his features

for the first time in months probably. "Not . . not at you,

Mistress. At me! God, my fingers are cramping from holding

all those tiny brushes and pencils all day, and the best I can

come up with is closer to Bozette the Clown than to Beauty."

Mary's heart was singing now. This was better than she had

dared hope for. Gerry was laughing with her now, and more

than that, it gave her the reason she needed in order for her

to take the next step in her carefully orchestrated little

plan of battle.

That and the obvious humor of the situation soon had Mary

howling with laughter, Gerald hugged tightly in her arms. For

a few brief moments in time, all the past pain and all the

barriers faded into the background, and they were again just

two people in love, sharing the joy of laughter.

"Well." Mary finally managed to say around her gasping laughs.

"I do hope you can find the humor in your own soon-to-be

status, my love. You have failed again. Draw me a bath while

I go and see to the next stage of your punishment."

Part 12: Growing Up Fast the Hard Way

Gerald looked at himself in the mirror again and still

couldn't believe his eyes. There was actually a company

somewhere that made pink Winnie-the-Pooh jammies with built in

feet for folks of his size. The wig was something else, too.

Two long, boot-black-colored braids hung down each side of his

head. He looked like the Addams Family daughter on steroids.

Maybe it was the remnant of the laughing fit he'd had with

Mary over his, once again, ineptitude with cosmetics, but he

still couldn't help giggling (literally giggling, he thought

in amazement) every time he saw himself.

The Raggedy Anne doll handcuffed to his right wrist really did

him in. How did someone find out if a doll had given consent?

And yet, as funny as this whole setup was, there was no doubt

that Mary was absolutely serious.

After he'd bathed her, she'd taken him back to his room in

order to "get her little snookums into bed." Once inside,

he'd quickly discovered padlocks on every drawer of his

dresser and to his closet. The pink bear suit had been laid

out on his bed.

"Since you cannot seem to get the hang of cosmetics, I have

decided you will learn the way women do - by growing up as a

girl. I have evaluated your skill level as that of a six to

eight-year-old girl, playing with Mommy's make up kit. The

only way you will grow up is when your skills improve to a new

age-level. Once I feel you are adult enough in your skills, I

may let you be a boy again."

That had stopped Gerald cold. The contract had specifically

stated that none of this could touch his professional life.

"What about work?" he asked.

"I will unlock your dressers for you to dress each morning and

I will have your outfit waiting for you when you arrive home.

I think you can do your home work dressed as I specify, can't

you? Do you feel that would be too much of a distraction and

therefore violate our agreements?" she asked, a challenge in

her voice.

He'd wanted to say, hell yes!, But knew that was a lie. "So

long as nothing interferes with my ability to type or do other

such things, Mistress."

"If anything does, I will remove it. Agreed?" Gerald

acquiesced quietly. "Now, let me be very clear. You are no

longer an adult or a male. I expect you to interact with me

as a little girl to an adult. Perhaps you should even call me

Mommy. I will consider each attempt at adult interaction as a

bad word and Mommy will punish her little girl as Mothers

always have."

Soapsuds in the mouth, Gerald thought glumly. "Yes, Mommy."

"Any problems doing as I have directed?"

"Just that I don't have a whole lot of experience with little

girls to draw upon." Gerald said quietly. "No sisters and I

spent a whole lot of time in all boy boarding schools."

"Well, then, I guess you'll just have to wing it, won't you?

Anymore questions?" Gerald shook his head. "Very well."

Mary spread her hands wide and made a complex figure in the

air. "Abra Cadabra, you are now eight-year-old Geri. Into

bed with you."

Gerald clamored into bed, and slipped beneath the covers.

Mary turned off the lights and made to leave.

Might as well give it a start, Gerald thought, a devilish

glint in his eyes. "MOOOOMMMMYY!" he yelled, in as high

pitched a falsetto as he could manage.

The lights snapped back on. "Yes, Geri?"

"You forgot to kiss me good night!" he accused.

"So I did." Mary agreed, a smile curving her lips. "Well,

can't have that" and she walked over and gave her "daughter" a

loud smacking kiss on her forehead.

Sighing inwardly, Geri returned the sexless kiss and thought

of something else. "Kiss Dolly!" he ordered with juvenile

imperiousness. To his surprise, Mary did just that, and then

headed for the door. Gerald let her just snap off the lights

again. "MOOOMMMMMYY!!"

"What now, Geri?" Mary managed to inject a tone of actual

parental exasperation into her voice. Gerald wondered if it

was real or if she was just that good an actress.

"Can I have a drink of water, Mommy?"

"It is "may I have a drink of water" and no, you may not. I

don't want you wetting the bed again" and with that, she

closed the door.

Wetting the bed? Why on earth would she say that? All he had

to do was reach behind and lower the zipper. The act followed

the thought and he found out why. The devious little witch

had padlocked the damned zipper, too.

Well, he thought wryly, two can play at this game. He'd just

see how things went tomorrow.

~------------~

Sunday lunch found Geri seated at the kitchen table with phone

books acting as a bolster for "Mommy's big girl." Lunch was

hot dogs and spaghetti-o's (god only knew where Mary had found

those things) Geri had gotten her "sleep-in-till-noon-on-

Sunday" "Mommy" up at seven with a loud "Mommy? MOMMY? Wake

up!!! Geri has to go number one *real* bad" in as whiny a

little girl voice as he could manage.

He'd decided that if he was the little girl and Mary was the

Mommy, well, Mommies had to take care of their little girls,

didn't they? Gerald synthesized every bratty little girl he'd

ever seen on television or at the movies, and had gone one

step beyond.

Little Geri had spent a half hour in the corner for a "time

out" right after breakfast (Tiger Flakes, had the woman

slipped out last night to buy this junk?) for throwing a foot

stamping tantrum over some such thing. And he'd gotten a

spanking right before lunch for being a pest. "When can we go

out, Mommy? Won't you come out and play with me, Mommy?"

until he thought Mary was going to pull her hair out. He made

a mental note that the large wooden serving spoon from his

kitchen set did an exemplary job as a "little girl spanker."

Gerald resolved not to pester Mary in the kitchen again.

Between the time out and the spanking, Gerald had spent the

morning in Mary's room, once again practicing his make up

skills. He'd gotten through three iterations and even though

he did better each time, something always went wrong with one

tool or another messing up the whole effect. What he needed

was an eraser so that he could fix his mistakes without

starting from scratch. Too bad make up did not come with a

tech manual like his software did.

Gerald looked up from his bowl and spoon. "Mommy, does Geri

still get her time off today, or do we need to talk about

that?" he asked, only just remembering to use his "geri-voice"

and substitute "talk about" for the more adult "negotiate."

He wasn't going to make it that easy for her to feed him the

soap bar.

Mary looked up from the Sunday paper which she had refused to

share with her little girl and frowned. "I'd forgotten about

that. I suppose you will."

"Geri will do it later if Mommy wants" he offered, hoping her

sense of fair play would not let her accept.

His guts froze as she actually considered his offer, but then

she shook her head. "No. Geri has earned her time fair and

square. We have enough time for Geri to learn what she has to

learn without going back on a promise. Mommy will set out

your play clothes after lunch. Your usual, sweetie?" she

asked.

"That would be great, Mommy. Thank you."

Part 12: Unexpected Improvement and Growth

Gerald came down stairs dressed in his favorite jeans and

chambray shirt. A leather bomber jacket and hiking boots

completed his attire. Mary was waiting for him, a frown on

her face.

"Mary?" Gerald asked, wondering if she wanted to renege at the

last moment.

"The contract isn't specific about what can or cannot be done

during your weekly eight hours of personal time, Gerald." She

responded looking down at her tightly clutched right hand. "A

strict interpretation might say that you should be completely

free of anything imposed on you by me for the entire period."

Baffled, Gerald looked at her. "So?"

Mary opened her hand to reveal a small brass key. "You aren't

free" she said simply. "I still have you locked up in that

nylon chastity. And while I would prefer that you leave it on

for what I have planned, I can't really order you to do that,

nor could I deny you freedom from it if you insisted on that

for the next eight hours."

"And not freeing me could be constituted as violating the

intent of the contract." Gerald replied. Mary nodded. "It is

that important to you that I keep the damned thing on me while

I am out?"

Mary flinched a little at the evident disgust Gerald had

infused in his question. "What I have planned for you in the

next few days would benefit from . . . a certain tension on

your part, Gerald. Free, you could relieve yourself. It

would not stop what I want to do, but it would make it more

difficult."

"Give me the key." Gerald ordered authoritatively. Mary's

head snapped up at the curt demand, ready to retaliate. Then

she remembered that he'd ceased being her slave ten minutes

ago. She shrugged and tossed him the key.

Gerald caught and pocketed the key and turned to leave.

"Wait a minute!" Mary called in surprise. "What are you

doing? Aren't you going to free yourself?"

"Nope." Gerald responded easily from the door. "But now that

I have the key, it is my decision. If I don't want to waste a

minute of my eight hours taking this thing off and putting it

back on again, that's my business - not that damned Cabal's.

See you later, Mary."

~----------~

Gerald returned about four hours later and went immediately to

the home office. Mary watched as he made two trips in from

the car, his arms filled with bags each time. Then he

disappeared into the room, not to return until just before the

end of his free time period when he gave the key to his belt

back to Mary. Shortly thereafter, Geri was back, happily

making a pest of herself to her Mother.

~----------~

Mary wasn't quite sure she believed what she saw in her

mirror. Gerald's efforts this evening had been technically

excellent. He still did not have the artistic subtleties down,

and his shading still left a lot of room for improvement, but

he had not made a single mistake in the application

techniques.

Actually, he had made a mistake, she reminded herself, but

he'd calmly done the exactly correct procedure to remove the

improperly applied cosmetic. He'd made a mistake, fixed it

without having to start from scratch, and moved on.

The result was still garish, but it was the type of garish a

teenager who had not yet learned the power of more subtle

enhancements would achieve.

Only, Mary wasn't ready to make him a teenager yet. She

hadn't picked up the necessary outfits from Gemma yet because

she figured it would take Gerald at least several more days

before he attained this level of ability. Besides, she hadn't

yet shown him that cleanup trick. Had he somehow stumbled onto

it on his own? What to do, what to do?

"All right. Fix my hair" she ordered.

Geri wrinkled her forehead at the order. "Your hair, Mommy?"

"Yes, my hair. I told you, sweetie, that you would be fixing

up both my face and my hair when we go visit Mommy's friends

up in the mountains? So, you need to practice that, too. Fix

my hair."

Gerald swallowed. "How, Mommy?" he asked softly.

"Oh, I think a French Braid would be perfect, sweetie."

Of course, he failed miserably. His attempt at a French Braid

looked more like a large order of McDonald's french fries with

all the stringy potatoes hanging every which way. Which in

turn made Mary miserable when she had to undo that mare's nest

he'd made out of her hair while trying to follow her

admittedly sparse instructions.

She should have made *him* undo his efforts, but she'd had a

good idea of how painful it would be when she undid the

ravages Gerry had inflicted on her head. She was a sadist,

• not* a masochist. As yet another snarl came free the hard

way, Mary wished there was another way to train Gerald to do

her hair but there just wasn't. While he did have a face he

could practice on, he just did not have enough hair. Only she

did.

She just hoped she still did when it came time to go up to the

Lodge.

~------------~

Gerald returned home from work Monday with another large

parcel that went straight into his office. Mary had laid out

a perfectly darling little outfit for him - a red jumper with

white ankle socks and black patent maryjanes. Lace ruffles

decorated the collar, hem and cuffs of the dress and it drove

Gerald mad as the stiff lace constantly tickled him under the

chin when he turned his head.

He'd done a super job of throwing a little girl tantrum over

it, too, which had earned him another spanking - this one by

hand on his bare bottom while turned over Mary's knees. Which

was worse than the spoon, but for a different reason. His

penis had started to get hard under Mary's skilled hand, and

thanks to the damned belt, that had hurt much more than his

pinkened bottom.

He'd spent a little longer than usual in his office that

night, finding an anxious Mary waiting for him outside his

door when he finally came out. "I was worried that you

weren't ever going to come out" she said with a hint of

exasperation.

"I had to finish my homework, Mommy." Geri whined.

"I know. Come along. We have work to do before your

bedtime." Mary said taking her "daughter's" hand and leading

her up the stairs and into the Mistress Bedroom.

~-------------~

He got the hair almost right tonight, Mary thought in

disbelieving wonder. The make up was still lacking in

maturity, but it was just as technically perfect as it had

been the night before.

Dammit, Mary fumed, she had no choice but to promote her

"little girl." It was only fair, but she was having too much

fun with little Geri. The past four days had been the most

sweetly playful interlude she'd ever had with Gerald. Always

before, he'd striven to maintain his dignity under her trials.

Mary loved him dearly, but that did not mean she did not see

his flaws. Gerald, if left to his own devices, could be

something of a prig with his overly solemn ways. In some

magical way, this episode had freed the inner clown from deep

inside her lover.

Geri had been a little devil who got into mischief any time

the opportunity arose and Mary had loved every minute of it.

Well, almost every minute of it. Ruining a new pair of

dainties from sitting sat in chewing gum stuck on her vanity

stool or untangling her hair from Geri's pigtail braiding

experiment had been infuriating but it had also been quite

invigorating.

The whole experience had been wonderful and she was quite sure

Gerald felt the same way.

Oh well, good thing she'd gotten the stuff from Gemma today.

"Baby? Go fix Mommy's bath. I'll be right back."

Part 13: They Just Grow Up Too Fast

(The next Saturday night)

Mary could only stare at herself in the mirror and shake her

head. The reflected face matched the photographed face

perfectly. Actually, Mary wasn't all that sure the reflected

face wasn't just a little better. Gerrie (chosen to rhyme

with "Cherie") had made a slight change in her blusher color

that gave her the illusion of incredible cheekbones. And her

hair was also perfect - every braid tight without pulling,

every hair precisely in its place.

Gerrie hovered in the background, her own perfectly made up

face calmly watching. The little bitch *knew* she'd won.

Gerrie was made up in classic French Maid fetish chic - black

dress, white lace apron black hose, two inch black heels and a

perky white lace cap on the flirty blond wig.

Astounding, Mary thought not for the first time, simply

astounding. After his promotion eight year old child to

thirteen year old nymphet on Tuesday night, Gerald had made

incredible progress, advancing in "age" almost each night.

Last night Mary had promoted him back to full slave, albeit

still a femme. Mary had planned for it to take another week

before he made it to this level of proficiency - until just

before the first Congregation. She'd even entertained the

idea of having Gerald still in the belt when they left for the

Lodge.

Best laid plans of mice and Dommes, she grumbled silently.

And even more surprising, Gerald had continued to clown and

kibitz with his situation at each stage of his "maturation."

The thirteen-year-old had played the stereo as loud as

possible until Mary had to go scream at "her" to turn it down.

She wondered why Gerald had Bobby Sherman and Partridge Family

records in his collection.

The sixteen-year-old that Mary had teased ruthlessly about her

"boy friends" had been equally determined to drive the family

car. And then the twenty-year-old had gotten back at Mary for

the boyfriend teasing. Gerry-the-college-girl-sophisticate

had thoroughly and very cattily berated her Mother for not

doing more with her looks. "You don't want to grow old alone,

do you Mum? You need to set the bait before you can set the

trap, you know."

And they had laughed together, even when she was spanking him

for some little failure or dirty trick he'd pulled on her.

Even the extra work he'd been bringing home that week had not

taken all that much time away from her plan, and the time

spent had simply gotten better and better.

It had been a terrific week and Mary did not want it to end!

The high-heeled "click click" of Gerrie moving across the hard

wood floor returned Mary's attention to the present.

Disgusted, she watched him maneuver about the room easily in

the modestly high heeled shoes. Dammit, she almost growled

aloud, those heels alone should have slowed him down, at least

for one more day. That was why she hadn't fought last night's

transition from twenty-year-old daughter to female servant

harder than she had. Damn his natural grace, she fumed. And

damn my ethics, too.

~----------~

Mary finally convinced herself to keep Gerrie en femme one

more night. One nice thing about having a French Maid and not

a daughter was the sex - the lovemaking, actually. Gerrie had

spent the previous night relieving Mary's own built up

tensions with her very skillful tongue and fingers. She'd do

so again tonight, and Mary would exact at least a little bit

of gentle vengeance on her slave for disrupting her plans.

The belt made Mary's teasing. . . . a very hard experience for

her little slave, and tonight, there would be a LOT of teasing

for her lover to endure.

Mary was going to make *sure* of that.

~-----------~

Sunday, after a lovely brunch cooked and served superbly by

Gerrie, Mary accompanied Gerald up to his room when it was

time for his weekly free time to start. Upon entering the

room, Gerald realized something was amiss, but could not put

his finger on it. What he did see was that his outfit for the

next eight hours of freedom had not been laid out on his bed

as he had expected.

Turning to Mary. "Maitresse? My clo-thing?" he asked, still in

the horrible French accent he'd used as part of his current

role.

Mary smiled at his lack of perception. "Take your pick,

Gerry" she said, calling him by that name for the first time

in over a week.

Gerald's gaze slewed around the room, and then he realized

what had changed. All of the locks on his things had been

removed. He spun back to face Mary so quickly that he almost

tripped himself in the still unaccustomed heels. "Mistress?"

he asked dazedly.

Grinning at him, Mary went up on tiptoe and kissed him deeply,

again for the first time in over a week. "Welcome back,

Gerald. Here, let me help you out of that dress so you can be

about your chores."

With calm efficiency, Mary soon had Gerald stripped of the

dress, wig and other trappings of his Gerrie persona. When

all that was left was the belt, Gerald started to move toward

his bureau only to be stopped by Mary grabbing one of the

chastity's hip straps. "We're not done, love" she said to

pull the necklace holding the key out from inside her sweater.

"This comes off, too. Remember? I said you were neutered

until you passed my test." Deftly, she unlocked the three

strap locks and the lock on above the glans. Then she kissed

him again. "Have fun, dear. See you tonight. Plan on

making an early night of it."

She turned to leave. "Mistress?"

"Yes, Gerry," she replied, turning to face him again.

"I know I am not supposed to ask for scenes, but could we do

Geri and Gerrie again some time? I really enjoyed playing the

brat and the bitch with you. More than I ever thought I

could."

"I'd like that, too." she said with a slight catch in her

voice. She'd won! I only hope you still feel that way after

the next weekend, she thought. "Oh, and plan on sleeping with

me tonight, or at least, plan on sharing my bed tonight. I

want to compare your technique to that of a certain French

hussy I met recently."

~-----------~

The house seemed oddly quiet when Gerald left to spend the

afternoon watching football at the local sports bar. After

the noise and chaos of Gerald in his various female personas,

the lack of sound was just a little daunting to Mary. "Maybe

I should take a few hours away, too," she said aloud, "a movie

perhaps."

Only she couldn't find the paper. Gerry had probably taken it

with him she mused. How was she going to find out what was

playing where? Then her eyes fell on Gerry's study. She'd

use his Internet account and check the local paper's web page

for movie listings.

Pleased with that idea, Mary opened the office door. . . . and

stopped dead in her tracks.

Not quite sure she wanted to accept the evidence of her eyes,

Mary slowly moved into Gerald's inner sanctum for the first

time since they'd begun their 24/7 commitment.

The room smelled like some cosmetics counter at a department

store. A small table had been converted into a vanity,

complete with a lighted mirror. Scattered about the table

were cosmetics of every description - all of them the brands,

tones and colors used by one Mistress Mary Johnson.

She started to find a seat, wanting to think about what this

meant when she kicked something on the floor. Looking down,

she saw shiny photo books. She picked them up and burst into

laughter. They were "how-to" books for women and girls on the

art of cosmetics. Gerald's extra "work" had been *her* work.

Any wonder he'd suddenly known tricks she hadn't taught him.

A quick scan of the rest of the room answered another

question. She walked over to the wig-stand rested. The wig

was almost a perfect match for her own dark locks in both

color and length. The wig was styled in a perfect French

Braid. She glanced around and found the other piece of that

answer - another book "Hair Care and Styling Made Easy."

Another detailed how-to picture book.

He'd spent his own time that last weekend buying this stuff so

that he could do as she had commanded. She ought to be ticked

off that he'd subverted her plans, but instead, she was

touched because there was no doubt in Mary's mind why he'd

done it.

Gerry wasn't trying to get out of her little game - the man

had enjoyed playing the various roles far too much. No, she

was positive that what had motivated Gerald in this case was

her stated plan for him to fix her face and hair for the Cabal

Congregation scene. She'd told him that anything less than

perfection would humiliate her in front of her friends, and

she already knew how Gerald felt about public humiliation.

His own, and now just as obviously, hers.

Very carefully, Mary replaced everything she'd moved as best

she could remember, and then slipped from the room. She now

had her plans for the remainder of the day. First, a very

satisfying, very happy crying jag to celebrate the wonderful

gift her man had given her without even telling her about it.

After that, she had preparations of her own to make before

Gerald got home tonight. He was going to have a dream of a

night, she smiled to herself, and the best part was, he

wouldn't know the reason for her gift to him. Sauce for the

goose, she thought happily as the first tears began to flow.

Part 14: First Night at Cabal Mountain Lodge

It was very late by the time they finally arrived at the Lodge,

and they were both exhausted from a full day at work and the long

drive to the mountains. "I will take care of our room, Gerry,

and I'll have one of the general service slaves take care of the

luggage. You go get yourself checked in." Mary ordered gently.

Gerald gave her one last, longing look. Mary simply stared back

at him, waiting for him to make his decision. He wasn't a slave,

at least not here at the Lodge for this weekend, until he

formally declared himself as one. If he didn't declare himself

as her slave, it was all over anyway. The Council wouldn't allow

them to do the demonstration scene unless he was a declared

slave.

This would then be his last opportunity to back out completely.

All he had to do was refuse to declare. Both of them would be

escorted off the grounds within the hour. After he declared, he

could still quit, but not before he'd been forced to deal with

some of the harsher realities of the Lodge. Harsh for him, at

least.

Gerald dreaded what he knew would come next. If he could find a

way to get out of this with his honor intact, he would take it

without a second thought. Gerald absolutely detested public

play, with all those people milling about him making their

teasing, mocking comments. Mary was well aware of Gerald's

feelings on that subject and had accommodated him in the past.

During their earlier visits, their play had been private. The

many facilities at the Lodge enhanced their experiences, but the

actual scening had always been between just the two of them.

This would be very different, but, there just wasn't any other

honorable way out for him. He'd given her his word - it was as

simple as that.

Gerald bobbed his head to her and let himself out of the car.

Off to the rear of the Lodge's main building was the entrance to

the slave dormitory; a place filled with just about anything ever

conceived by the human mind for the control and maintenance of

voluntary slaves. There were kennels, bondage devices, cots, even

designated bare-floor sleeping space, depending on how a slave's

owner wanted his or her pet quartered. There were also

punishment cells in the basement. Gerald had never seen one of

those and didn't want to, either.

He was greeted immediately upon entering the dormitory by a tall,

physically fit man of indeterminate age garbed in a leather vest,

trousers and boots. An executioner's hood hid his face and a

cat-a-nine tails dangled from a strap about his right wrist.

This man was this weekend's Overseer. His duty was to run the

dormitory, get the slaves into the specified night

accommodations, provide whatever punishment or discipline was

ordered by a slave's specific owner or by the Council for

unattached slaves. Mostly, he simply looked after the residents

of the Dormitory.

During an earlier visit, Mary had explained to Gerald that

members who performed this duty received discounts on their club

dues for "giving" up a congregation weekend in the service of the

Cabal. The plan benefitted everyone - the members had a place to

send their slaves for safe keeping when they needed some down

time, and it helped some folks afford membership. "Besides,"

she'd giggled, "Sometimes it's a real hoot to have fifty or sixty

naked, eager slaves hopping to your tune."

"Halt!" the Overseer's challenge breaking into Gerald's musings.

"Do you stand ready to declare yourself as slave before this

Congregation of the Cabal?"

Knowing the drill, Gerald answered. "I declare myself slave, and

property of Mistress Mary Johnson."

The Overseer picked up a book, much like an old-fashioned hotel

registry, and handed it along with a pen to Gerald. "Then sign

this book and indenture yourself to her."

Gerald had to kneel on the floor to get a surface on which to

write. That was probably intentional, he thought, having to

kneel while signing away his freedom of will for the remainder of

the weekend. He signed his name next to Mistress Mary's

reservation which indicated her sole ownership of the newly

declared slave. Short of a Council edict, no one but Mary had

the right to order or punish Gerald now, and in the case of such

an edict, he could choose to leave instead. Actually, he could

always choose to leave. It was as simple as saying his safe

word, walking back to the Dormitory and crossing his signature

off the registry.

Only he'd never be allowed back if he dodged a Council directed

discipline.

And Mary would never be allowed back if he left at all, at least

until he had satisfied the requirements of the contract.

He was escorted into a locked room at the rear of the dormitory.

Inside were rows of individual lockers, each with a padlock and

hasp. Under the watchful eye of the Overseer, Gerald was ordered

to strip down to the skin - shoes, socks, everything.

Fortunately, the Lodge itself and anywhere else he was likely to

go during this visit would be steam heated so he wouldn't catch a

chill in the crisp mountain air.

He hung up his clothes in one of the lockers and then padlocked

it shut. Then the locker key, along with Gerald's wallet,

personal keys and jewelry were checked into a safety box that was

in turn locked by the Overseer. Once he'd signed the receipt

form and given it to Gerald to give to Mary for safe keeping, the

two exited the locker area and the door was again locked shut.

"Your Mistress is waiting for you in the main salon. Her orders

are that you attend her immediately as you are." the leather clad

male dominant told him. "Now get moving. She is waiting for

you."

A sharp slash across Gerald's ass from the Overseer's cat helped

hustle him out of the relative privacy of the slave barracks and

into the public rooms of the Lodge. Mistress Mary was waiting

for him in the center of the main salon, just as he'd been told.

She hadn't even bothered to "dress the part" yet and was still

wearing her travel outfit of jeans, t-shirt and deck shoes.

Gerald quickly moved to her and went to his knees, head bowed.

A soft, cool hand began stroking his hair, before moving to his

neck and then his shoulders. Only it wasn't really a petting

kind of stroking, it was more like she was testing his muscle

tone with her hands, as if he were some type of show animal.

Gerald became increasingly aware that he was the center of

attention for most of the members in the main salon. His image

of himself as a show animal was apt. He was on exhibition here,

and Mistress Mary was displaying him as carefully and as

precisely as any show handler had ever posed a champion cocker

spaniel for a dog show judge.

For her part, Mary could see and feel the tiny, shivering

shudders in the tight, clenched muscles of his back, neck - even

in his arms and legs. A bright red flush of embarrassment had

crept up his face and down his torso. He was absolutely

miserable, she thought, being the center of attention like this.

He never saw himself as she did, as the beautiful, sexually

exciting male animal who had every other woman in the room

wishing that she was the one to whom he knelt. All he saw was

everyone present staring at him as he cowered before her, nude in

the center of the room.

Mary had been expecting something like this from Gerald -

expected it and dreaded it. Try as she might, she'd been unable

to come up with a single idea or scheme to help Gerald cope with

the intense humiliation he was feeling at that moment. He'd come

so very far, she mused. Actually, *they'd* come so very far, and

now, it might all come to a screeching halt.

After all the progress they'd made in the previous weeks, Mary

thought sadly. Geri and Gerrie had done so very much to help him

to open up to her, to get past the little humiliations of those

games and even enjoy himself. Even after all those positive

experiences, he still could not seem to deal with the deep

seated, near loathing he felt for being made to play the

exhibitionist. He just could not accept that this experience,

humiliating as it may have been to him, was just part of the game

among *friends* who understood that it was only a game.

Only one problem, Mary thought grimly, to Gerald, it simply

wasn't a game. By the look of him, it was as close to real

torture as she could bring herself to inflict on another human

being, let alone on the man she loved. Gerald was on exhibit and

he despised it and everyone who was watching that exhibition.

She hunkered down in front of him, and lifted his chin so his

eyes locked on hers. "Is it really so very bad, pet? Are you

really so very ashamed of being here, of being seen submitting to

me here?"

His eyes went wide, and he tried to shake his head no. "God, no,

Mistress, never ashamed of being *anywhere* with you, of doing

• anything* with or for you, but. . . but all these *people*, just

gawking and whispering. . .*laughing* . ." he said with a slight

catch breaking his voice. "Well, it is so very hard."

Mary could see that he was perspiring and breathing heavily. For

a moment, her mind flashed to the scene she had planned for the

next day's public demonstration. If merely kneeling before her

in front of these people while completely nude was doing this to

him, how would he react to that? How would he be able to begin to

cope with that?

One of the reasons she loved Gerald was that he was so different

from many of the other men Mary had met in the scene. Just now,

however, she fervently wished he wasn't quite *this* different.

Most submissives were at least mildly exhibitionistic. Few, if

any members of the Cabal would think twice about whether or not a

nude Cabal slave might actually be truly upset about being stared

at. In the Cabal lexicon, it was accepted, almost a matter of

faith, that nude slaves attending the Lodge Congregations wanted

to be seen, that they reveled in that delightful tingle of

enforced exposure humiliation.

But not Gerald. For her Gerald, his submission to her was a

private gift just between the two of them and what he was trying

to deal with at this moment was definitely not private. That was

why she'd been able to play the little girl games with him, or to

laugh *with* him as he minced about so awkwardly in those almost-

high heels as Gerrie. His response to those experiences had been

so open and beautifully playful because no one else had been

involved.

Oh, at her request, he'd played with other folks before, but

they'd always been known to him ahead of time, and for the most

part, friends of them both. And even then, the play had always

been done essentially in private with just Gerald, their friends

and Mary in attendance.

Real uncertainty clawed at Mary's belly, and her resolve wavered.

"Tomorrow will almost certainly be much worse than this, pet."

she warned him softly while thinking what an understatement that

really was and decided she had to make him understand that.

"This is very, very mild compared to what I will ask you to face

for me tomorrow, sweetheart."

"I. . .I know that, Mistress." Gerald whispered back, his voice

still raspy.

"We can still go home, love." The shivering was getting worse

instead of better; he was panting nearly to the point of

hyperventilating and the perspiration was literally dripping of

his body. Mary's uncertainty slid dizzily into shame at putting

him through this. Nothing was worth seeing him like this.

"C'mon, let's go get your clothes and leave. There's that motel

about ten miles down the mountain from here. We'll get a room

there for the night and have you safely at home in the morning."

"N. . . no.. . . NO!" Heads throughout the salon snapped around

at Gerald's bellowed negative. All they saw was Mary gently

stroking her slave's back and quietly whispering to him. "I have

to try, Mistress. I . . . I can't just quit without giving this

my best shot. I promised you."

"I don't want you hurting like this, pet. You are in real

torment and while I am truly awed that you would suffer like this

• for* me, I hate seeing you like this. That is not what this is

all about." she said firmly. "That's not the way this should be.

Regardless of why we are here, what we do here at this place is

supposed to have at least some element of fun. I refuse to

torture you like this because that is obviously what being here

like this is to you."

It was amazing, Mary thought, the emotions that flew across her

lover's mobile features. Surprise, hope, pleasure and finally

determination.

Gerald lifted his eyes back up to hers. "I want to stay,

Mistress." his voice once again steady. "It was just the shock

of it hitting me all at once. I'm okay now. I'll get used to

being. . " his hand swept down his nude frame, "being like this

in front of all these people."

She absolutely hated the invective and emotion Gerald invested in

the word, "people". Mary had heard men cursing, using the most

despicable language and epithets, that sounded less vile than the

feeling Gerald invested in that word. Still, she understood him

and therefore, she understood how he felt about the silently

watching members of the Cabal. They were, in his view, being

terribly rude and incredibly unkind. Even though, by Cabal

standards, they were being very courteous and letting her handle

what was obviously a problem.

Gerald had never faced the reality of being a nude slave in

public before. In the past, in recognition of his private

nature, Mary had always permitted him to wear something in the

Lodge public rooms - usually extra tight biker shorts and a

muscle shirt. He'd drawn more than his shares of interested and

even lustful looks then, too, but he hadn't been nude.

Now he was and that made him agonizingly aware of every single

stare.

For a few seconds, she considered getting him back into his biker

shorts, but rejected that. What she had planned for tomorrow

would lose some of its impact if she let him cover himself. Would

that really matter if he was still too upset tomorrow to even

start the demonstration? Should she relent? Take it easier on

him?

No, she decided, she couldn't. She had to be able to touch that

vulnerable core inside him if she was going to have any chance of

accomplishing something positive with all this. At least now, he

was open to her. So, it would be all or nothing. She really

didn't have much else to lose at this point. All she could do

was trust in Gerald and hope that her carefully crafted

preparations helped him find his way through the next forty eight

hours.

If he stayed.

"If we stay, this is the way it has to be for you, pet." she

finally answered him. "This time you aren't here as my favored

submissive friend, granted special privileges and dispensations

from the accepted codes for slave behavior and handling. You are

here as my slave and in accordance with those Cabal codes, you

will be nude almost all of the time. Whether in the privacy of my

suite or when you are out and about the compound. Whether you

are with me, or when you are on your own. Make the call,

sweetheart. What do we do? Only *you* can make this decision

for us."

Her use of the word "we" did it for him. The two of them were a

"we", an "us", and he was here because he wanted to help her.

Mary could almost see the resolve in him become rock firm. "We

stay, Mistress. I am going to stay. I need to stay. I have to

stay for you, and . . .and for me."

He was going to stay, to try - for her, she exulted silently. A

brilliant smile illuminated Mary's face. "Very nice, Gerry." she

whispered, making her voice softly teasing, "And if you are very

good little pet, I might even let you get dressed sometime before

we leave. Wouldn't that be nice, Gerry-boy?"

Her playful, teasing approach helped him, too. She even talked to

him like he was her favorite lap dog. A tired grin relaxed some

of the tension from his face. "That would be very nice,

Mistress, thank you."

She stroked his head one more time and then attached a leash to

his collar. Please let it really be nice for him, she prayed

silently. Let him see it as play and deal with it that way

instead of resisting it. "Thank me tomorrow, dear." If you can

bring yourself to do that after you've been through what I have

planned. But somehow, Mary just didn't think Gerald's post-scene

feelings would include anything so benign as gratitude.

Enough!, she almost said aloud. What's done is done, and she

still believed she had embarked on the correct strategy. And he

could always just safe word out at any time when . . .no, dammit

she corrected herself, *if* things got too rough for him.

Forcing a smile to her lips, Mary motioned Gerald to his feet and

led him quickly up the stairs to her room and away from the

avidly watching eyes. At least they'd have tonight, and she

would make special memories for them both with what time they

had.

Later, they both slept the sleep of deep satiation. Mary even

bent the house rules that night, and let Gerry sleep at the foot

of her bed, cuddled up in her covers instead of on the floor.

Part 15: Second Thoughts Before Firing the Crucible

Mary left Gerald to clean up her room while she went down to

the Grand Ballroom to ensure that everything was prepared per

her instructions. She almost hoped that it wasn't. Gerald's

reaction in the main salon last night had nearly convinced her

to call off the planned scene and do something else. But

sometimes the best medicine was the most bitter tasting. At

least, that is what she had to keep telling herself.

"Checking things out?" A soft, English accented voice asked

from behind. "I think you will find that it is all as you

specified."

Mary turned to face Gemma. The tall black woman was

strikingly attired in, of all things, skin-tight pink leather

from her fingers to her toes. Mary's double take drew a

rueful chuckle from her friend. "Alex, I am afraid. The

sight of me in this particular shade of electric pink just

turns him into an animal. When I let him be the dom, he puts

me in this color, albeit with a lot more shiny, well oiled

black skin showing, and when I am here as the Domme, I often

wear it because I like to indulge him." She sighed deeply.

"I can hardly believe I am saying this, but the color grows on

you. I have almost gotten to the point that like the look

myself."

"It is. . . . well, quite . . .eye catching."

"Good thing I am not shy." Gemma responded equably. Mary

winced at that. "As your Gerry evidently is." she added

quietly. "In fact, I would say he is terribly shy. Odd for

such a well built man not to want to show off the fruit of

what must have required hours in the gym."

"That's my Gerry. So. You heard, did you?"

"Darling, the whole compound has heard. Alex tells me you

were ready to take him out of here right then and there."

"I didn't see Alex, but it's true. Only he talked me out of

it. I am not at all sure that was the correct decision." She

stepped back and looked down on the stage and all the

trappings she had specified for this scene. "Oh God, Gemma,

he is going to hate this so much."

"Enough that he will balk? Not even try at all once you tell

him what you want?"

Mary considered that and shook her head. "No, he'll try. For

me, he will try." Her arms came up to clutch at her sides as

if to ward away a chill. "What he'll very likely do is simply

endure." They had been having such fun with their little games

at his home, and the thought of Gerry just . . .just enduring

her games like punishment again was a huge letdown for her.

Besides, it could ruin everything.

If only he could get past that wall of his fear by himself

today and begin to enjoy himself here - even a little bit -

they could make so much progress together. Was that too much

to hope for? Mary wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"I almost wish he had agreed to leave last night, Gemma. I

could lose everything with this."

"But you could gain it all, too. No one ever said that

everything a dominant asks of a submissive has to be something

the submissive enjoys. And for God's sake remember that is

all you are actually doing - *asking*! If the submissive is

only asked to do enjoyable things, what is the point all the

effort it takes to be the Domme? Hell, what's the point of

being the sub in that case? It is the conquering of the dark

and fearsome unknown that makes this thing we do special, that

instills the nobility into the gift of his submission. You

selected today's plot for a reason, Mary, and now you are

uncertain. All right, that is fair. Answer me this. Given

what you believe is the basic problem, does this scene

accomplish the purpose you set out when you planned it?"

"But after last night, Gemma, the way he reacted to the others

simply standing there and watching him. . ."

"Does it answer the purpose, Mary?" Gemma asked again firmly.

Mary wanted to say no, wanted to yell it, but finally nodded.

"I think so. At least, if he sticks it out all the way."

"All right. Is there another, less stressful program that you

could substitute that would accomplish the same purpose?"

Defeated, Mary shook her head. "No. I wish there was, but if

this doesn't work, or if he doesn't react as I've anticipated,

then I am completely wrong about him and why he attacked me

that night." She turned away. "And I will have lost. The

only problem, Gemma, is even if I am right, I could still

lose. He might very well hate me afterwards."

"You knew this was a long-odds gamble from the beginning,

Mary. So let me ask you this. Is there any possibility that

you might yet find another way to win without this?"

The answer was immediate. "No, the stubborn, loving and

lovable idiot would keep on trying to protect me by staying

away from me. And that is absolutely the worst thing that

could happen to me. . . .to us."

"Then there is your answer. So, are you going to play this

afternoon's scene out the same way as the last time you did it

here?"

Mary looked back down at the stage, and shrugged. "Just

about. Except the last time I used this script, I used the

threat of a public strapping as incentive for the sub's good

behavior and best effort. The sub in question did precisely

what I ordered or he would be strung up in the center

courtyard for the Whip-Mistress."

"Why not do that today?"

"Gerald would opt for the strapping in a heartbeat." Mary

responded wryly. "As strict and demanding as the WhipMistress

is, Gerry would handle whatever she could dish out without a

qualm. She would take him deep physically so that he'd carry

the marks and the memories for days afterwards, but she

wouldn't reach him mentally or emotionally. No, he can't have

any way out. Not if we're going to do what needs be done."

"No way out??!? You aren't thinking of denying his safe word,

are you??" Gemma was shocked.

"No, of course not. I just know he'll resist taking that way

out for as long as he can. His whole purpose in being here is

to restore my standing within the Cabal, and he is afraid of

how the Council might rule if he does safe word. No, I expect

that he'll just swallow hard, keep on trying and keep on

hating it." Mary checked her watch and realized she'd been

gone almost three quarters of an hour. "I have to go.

Gerry's got to dress me and fix my hair and make up before the

demonstration. See you there, Gemma. Wish me luck."

Gemma watched the petite woman make her way back towards the

living area. "Luck, girl. A whole big lot of it." And then

she turned toward her own rooms. She needed to be held and

fortunately, Alex would be right where she left him. Lazy boy

recliner chairs that converted into mini-torture racks were

very handy that way.

Part 16: A Challenge to Manhood

"Ladies, Gentlemen and slaves, I give you Mistress Mary and

her slave, Gerald." Gemma had finished the announcement of

the demonstration with the introductions of the participants.

Gerald looked out into the darkened ballroom. It was in the

nightclub setup of scattered tables and chair with dim lights

and candles. From what he could see in the minimal lighting,

the room was about half full. If his hands hadn't been cuffed

behind his back, he'd be trying to cover himself with his

hands. Mary gave a slight jerk on his leash and began to

stride down the center aisle towards the main stage. It was

show time.

He followed her, not too close, but not too far, either. His

station behind her and his lowered gaze provided him with an

excellent view of Mary's back and tight little bottom. She

was dressed in a simple, almost backless evening dress of

unrelieved black. Not overtly sexy or flashy, it showed off

her slender figure and small frame superbly.

He'd personally spent the last hour trying to get her hair

into that tight french braid, and had finally succeeded on the

fourth try. Her cosmetics had been a little easier. He

hadn't done a bad job on her at all, if he did say so himself.

Refined, elegant and sexy.

Gerald had always enjoyed playing the lady's maid to his

Mistress. Pampering her that way didn't embarrass him.

Actually, he found the experience affirming to his

masculinity. It certainly did not seem unmanly to take care of

the woman in his life, and there might not be many more such

opportunities in his life once the contract had been

fulfilled.

And her silly game of "geri and Mommy" had brought more fun

and laughter into their lives than they'd had in months.

Mary led him up on to the stage. He looked around for any

clues and was immediately confused. The stage was an exact

replica of the dressing room in Mistress Mary's suite right

down to the attached bathing area. Had she been making him

practice doing her makeup and hair on the sly for this? Was

that it? He was going to dress her and fix her up here? And

then what? He'd fail somehow and have to be punished in some

way?

Mary snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor in front of

her, and Gerald quickly took his place on his knees before

her.

"Slave." she said in starkly cold scene voice that always made

Gerald want to flinch from her. "You are here today to

entertain my friends and me." and she waved out to the

faceless masses beyond the stage lights. "Would you like to

know how you are going to do that, slave?"

Gerald remembered the woman who had comforted him last night,

who had offered to surrender her place in the Cabal and simply

take him home because he was so embarrassed at being seen bare

assed. And this was the same woman, he reminded himself.

"Yes, Mistress, please." he answered out quietly.

Mary spun on her high heel shod foot and moved toward the

large armoire located near the back of the stage. He nearly

fell onto his face trying to crawl after her on his knees, his

balance out of kilter with his hands locked behind his back.

With a theatrical flourish, she opened the door and showed him

and the audience the contents.

It was filled with women's clothing - lingerie, dresses, shoes

- and several wigs on their head-shaped stands. His first

thought was that he had guessed correctly, but then he looked

at the dresses more closely. They seemed a little large for

his little Mistress and not at all her style. In fact, he was

fairly certain that he'd never seen Mary wear anything

remotely like those before.

"I wish to be served today, slave." Mary continued.

I was right after all, Gerry thought to himself.

"I wish to be served by a maid, slave, and I have decided that

• you* will be that "female" maid."

Gerald felt his mouth drop open. That's what she wanted him

to do? Is that what she meant about letting him get dressed?

"Mistress," he asked softly. "You are going to put me in . .

.those . . . clothes and have me serve you that way? Here??"

Lord, it was one thing to become Gerrie for her, but this. . .

"Oh no, slave," she said in a sweet, teasing voice. "I'm not

going to dress you up." Gerald started to breathe again. "No,

indeed. YOU will be dressing yourself up in those things. I

said you were going to entertain me, and part of that

entertainment is going to be watching you turn yourself into a

passable female for me." she looked him hard in the eyes.

"Right down to your smooth, hairless skin, slave."

Gerald looked at the thick pelt of body hair that had been his

since his teens and then stared back up in disbelief at Mary.

Even when she'd made him dress up like a little girl until

she'd freed him from the Gerrie persona, she'd made no attempt

to de-fur him.

"Let me be very clear about this, slave, right from the very

start. I want to be served by a lovely woman, *not* by some

Saturday Night Live caricature of a drag queen. If you please

me with your efforts, then I will take you up to my room and

let you serve me for the rest of our stay in the privacy of my

suite." she let that offer dangle in front of him like a

carrot on a stick. "In the course of that, I will undertake to

further your tuition in feminine deportment and behavior."

Now it was time to brandish the stick, she thought.

"However," she continued in a darker, more intense tone of

voice. "Fail to entertain me, or worse, fail to please me

with your efforts, and I will not bother myself to train your

further. Instead, I will simply turn you over to the Mistress

in Charge of the evening meal and evening entertainments. You

will join the other slave *girls*, first as a waitress and

then as a serving wench. In the course of that evening, I am

sure that the Mistress in Charge, as well as the other

Mistresses and Masters will see to your to your training for

me. . . . and to your correction for failing to obey my

commands."

With that, Mary reached down and unlocked the cuffs from his

wrists and then removed his collar. "You may begin. I

suggest you start in the shower, slave, with the depilatory.

I don't have all day to watch you try to shave that mat of fur

off, and besides, you won't get it all off using a razor,

anyway."

With that parting shot, Mary strode off the stage and took a

throne-like chair directly in front of the stage. Gerald just

stared at her for what seemed like an incredibly long time.

Several of the guests started to fidget, waiting for him to

get up off his knees and begin.

"I. . . .am. . . .waiting, slave." Mary caroled from her seat.

His safe word was on the tip of his tongue. He hadn't

bargained for anything like this. There was no way he could

pull this off, and he was going to spend the entire night

being tormented by everybody here. It wasn't worth it.

Except, it was. Or at least, Mary was. And he'd promised.

Slowly, Gerald stood and began to make his way around the

stage, finding the shower, the vanity and the various tools of

the trade all put there for his use. Now the real purpose of

the past two weeks of training became clear. Everything, from

the body service to Mistress Mary, to being made to parade

himself about for her in those minimally heeled shoes to

learning the mysteries of lipstick and other cosmetics, had

been pointed towards what she wanted him to do here and now.

She'd told him she'd help him get ready for whatever came down

at the demonstrations. He just hadn't figured that he'd been

preparing to do himself up like that.

Shoulders drooping, Gerald found the hair remover, and moved

to the shower. His last thought before stepping in was that

the damn thing had a clear glass door and not an opaque shower

curtain. Then he looked at the box and began to read the

directions and the cautions.

~--------------~

The afternoon eventually became somewhat easier on the

humiliation-sensitive submissive. Throughout the long trial,

Mary sat in stern judgement of his efforts. Not once did she

touch him or offer him the slightest encouragement. Quite the

contrary, from her throne of power, she gleefully took every

opportunity to tease him further and to amuse the audience at

his expense.

It began the moment that Gerry stepped into the shower stall,

and began to apply the thick pink salve all over his body.

"Slave!" Mary commanded harshly. "I don't want to see your

back. I want you to always face your audience unless I order

you to do otherwise. We want to see your smiling face. . . .

among other things."

Finally, it was time to wash off the hair remover, and he

stepped from the shower. Uncertain what to do next, Gerry

walked over to look at the clothing he'd been provided for

this test.

Mary stopped him with an order to "Wait, slave. We should be

sure that you did an adequate job, slave. Some of that finery

is delicate and I wouldn't want to see it ruined by stubble."

"Dina!" Mary yelled and was immediately answered by a tall,

slender blonde kneeling at the side of the state. "Assist my

slave, please. Check him over to make sure that he. . . I

mean that *she* has gotten rid of all that unsightly body

hair."

"Yes, Mistress." she replied and moved up to escort Gerald to

the front of center stage. The woman carefully and thoroughly

checked what seemed like every square inch of his skin,

ensuring that Mary and not coincidentally, everyone else in

the room could see her every move. She put him through a

series of very embarrassing poses and postures so that she

could "be absolutely certain that every inch of your

Mistress's body is properly smooth."

It was a tossup which of two particularly nasty poses was more

emotionally difficult for him - bending over and having her

spread his ass cheeks as wide she could for her inspection, or

having her hold his penis in one hand while she twisted and

displayed his scrotum for her audience with the other. Both of

those positions drew laughter and not a few raucous comments

from the gallery, especially when, in spite of himself, his

cock erected under the woman's skilled and teasing touch while

she displayed him for Mistress Mary.

When Dina finally released him, he started to turn away, but

was stopped by a light kiss brushing his cheek. Shocked, he

looked up just in time to see her give him a teasing smile and

a sly wink. Strangely, it made him begin to feel a little

better.

In truth, he realized, he couldn't be much more "on exhibit"

than he'd just been. Whatever else she'd done, Dina had made

sure he had no secrets from the crowd of onlookers.

And he'd survived it.

He looked back at the open armoire and relaxed just a bit

more. Was this really any different than what Mary had done

to him over the past couple of weeks? That had all started

out being pretty humiliating, at least at first, but in the

end, it had been fun and exciting. He thought about the

chance to play with Mary in her room tonight and felt his

still semierect cock twitch. Down boy, he told himself.

Gerald was enough of realist to know that, in all likelihood,

he'd be spending the night in the cabaret serving drinks, but

suppose he really did well? Suppose he really gave these

gawkers a show they would not soon forget?

Maybe.

The actual dressing turned out to be more difficult than what

he'd done at home with Mary. First of all, he'd never dressed

up completely before, unless he counted Little Geri's play

dress or Gerrie's pullover latex dress which didn't really

count. Mary had dressed Geri, and Gerrie's dress was like

putting on a too-small, too long t-shirt. He just pulled in on

over his head and shimmied like burlesque dancer until the

damn thing was as low as it would go. And his only accessories

had been the two-inch high heels - no undies and no hosiery.

His second problem was the realization that none of the

dresses and skirts (if those tiny scraps of fabric could be

counted as such)would fit him. They were all several inches

too small particularly in the waist.

"Well of course they don't fit, slave." Mary chided after he'd

tried and discarded the third or fourth outfit. A mischievous

grin blossomed on her lovely face. "You haven't put your

undies and. . . .ummm. . . foundation garments on yet, silly."

A quick check of another drawer had unearthed a heavily boned,

black leather waist corset. Gerry tried, but he just couldn't

get the rear lacing corset sufficiently tight. He just wasn't

limber enough to reach in back of himself and then pull.

"Oh, all right. I suppose if I am to have any entertainment

today, we will have to move this along." Mary turned her head

to a table behind her. "Slave Dina, go assist my hapless

slave."

The blond slave girl again made her way up onto the stage

where, after giving Gerry a hearty slap on his still bare ass,

she began to expertly tighten the laces.

"Well," Mary huffed extravagantly, "I had to get someone to

help you carry out my orders, slave, when I specifically

wanted to be entertained by *you*! That is twice you've needed

outside assistance, dear. I can't say you've done all that

well just by your own efforts to this point, slave."

That cuts it, Gerald thought wryly. I am going to be playing

"Fraulein Slut the Tavern Wench" tonight. Is this one of

those cases where when something is inevitable, you might as

well close your eyes and try to enjoy it? Or was that think

of England? He decided he'd try to enjoy it. This time *he*

kissed Dina and gave *her* a flirtatious wink.

Gerry's wry conviction that his evening's fate was already

sealed became ever more certain. Mary refused to be pleased

by everything he did - just the opposite, in fact. The first

two dresses were all wrong for "her", Mary declared loudly,

much to the amusement of the assembled membership. Then he

laddered the first three pairs of hosiery he tried on, she

• hated* each of the first four wigs he selected and he was

simply not at all graceful in the "modestly high heels I

provided for you." Only the damned "modest" heels were

actually well over four inches high, which was a good two

inches taller than anything he'd experienced in his days as

Gerrie.

He thought, incorrectly as it turned out, that he managed to

do a creditable job with the makeup, and Mary conceded that it

was adequately done from a technical perspective, "But you got

the colors all wrong. Those are far too subtle for a blonde.

Those would be more appropriate on me. Now, clean your face

and try to get it right this time, slave. Quickly if you

please, before You begin to bore me and my guests."

The general laughter that ensued put lie to that assertion,

but it didn't really matter anymore.

He'd again done as she'd directed. Finished at last, Gerald

turned back to face Mistress Mary. He'd done his best, and he

was satisfied with that. Even all these people laughing at

him hadn't seemed quite so bad as it had last night. Slowly,

Gerry slunk back to stage-center, one hand riding high on his

hip in as vampish a pose as he could manage without falling on

his face in the spiked heels. Hips swinging, earrings

dancing, he pranced up directly in front of the throne.

For several long seconds, the two of them just stared at each

other. Gerry felt a muscle beneath one eye twitch as he

looked for some sign of acknowledgment, some tiny bit of

emotion, some glimmer of approval in Mary's visage.

He found none. She just kept staring right at him. What more

could he possibly do??? What more could she possibly want???

Then, inspiration struck. Gerald recalled a lesson Mary had

taught him the first night of his Gerrie French Maid

incarnation. Gerald daintily lifted the front hem of the tiny

skirt, slid one heeled foot slowly behind the other to curtsey

to his Mistress. Gerry sank down, his head bowed, and held

the position against the incredible strain of supporting his

out-of-balance-weight on one heeled foot.

Which ultimately did him in. In trying to impress Mistress

Mary, Gerald held the single-leg, deep knee bend too long.

That, along the fact that the deep curtsey was far more

physically difficult to hold in four inch heels than in two

inch heels, and there just was not enough strength left in the

forward leg to bring him safely upright.

Gerald overbalanced badly as he tried to rise and suddenly

found himself flat on his back, a leg pinned beneath him.

Without order, Dina ran forward to help him. Gerald didn't

feel the subtle, but expert hands checking his leg and ankle

for signs of a serious injury, nor did he see the nurse's

quick nod of reassurance aimed in Mary's direction. He was

too busy trying to struggle back to his feet.

Mary waited, using every bit of acting ability she possessed

to appear impassively disinterested, and every bit of her will

power not to run to his side, until Gerald was standing

upright and facing her again.

"I cannot believe," she said shaking her head in obviously

exaggerated disgust, "that I was so foolish as to believe that

you were ready to show off to my guests." She stood slowly and

looked past Gerald to the other person on the stage. "Slave

Dina, see that this . . . this person presents himself to the

Evening Mistress in Charge so that other Mistresses and

Masters may attempt to succeed with him where I have so

obviously failed."

Gerald watched as Mary turned on her heel and strode away from

him. It was going to be a long night, he mused with one last

glance at Mary's retreating form. Too bad he could not move

that gracefully.

Part 17. Service With a Smile. . .Or Else

The serving wench, Geraldine, looked over his assigned section

of the nightclub. He counted himself lucky that, despite what

Mistress Mary had implied, there were only *female* dominants

seated there. Gerald reminded himself again to think of each

of the dominant women as "Mistress". Mary's last order had

been a dispensation from her directive reserving that

honorific to her alone. "It is just too time consuming to

find out each Domme's title. It slows service, so all of us

expect to be called Mistress by the serving staff."

At least all the males currently in Geraldine's section were

submissives, and they could not order him around. He hoped

that wouldn't change any time soon.

But Mistress Mary was not in his section. She was seated in

the section next to his, but when she'd arrived at the

Cabaret, she'd loudly demanded that she be served by a real

wench.

"Why on earth would I want to be served by him, I mean her?"

she'd pointed out to the Maitresse D'hotel, "He's already

failed me once today by not becoming a good enough she, and

embarrassed me in front of my friends. I refuse to give him

another opportunity to hold my talents as a Domme and a

trainer of slaves up to further ridicule. Not this trip,

anyway."

But there had actually been a tiny, teasing little smile on

her face for him when she'd uttered those words. Gerald

thought there had been - wanted to believe that there had

been. That belief ... helped - a little bit, anyway. It got

him over those first few high heeled-tottering circuits around

the dining room during the dinner hour. At least he hadn't

dropped a tray. Another sissy had, and on a Mistress no less.

The sissy's own Mistress had given him a stern public paddling

and then turned him over to the victimized Mistress for the

remainder of the night. The pair of delighted Dommes had

hustled the sobbing submissive out of the dining area to get

started on their night of restitution.

Gerald had initially expected much the same fate was in store

for him, but miraculously, he'd made it well into the evening

without any major incidents or punishments. Actually, serving

dinner and then wenching at the Cabaret hadn't been all that

bad. The intensity of games the members played at the Lodge,

along with all that lovemaking depleted everyone's energies

and gave them ravenous appetites. Most of Geraldine's dinner

customers had been far too interested in eating to come up

with anything too involved to do to her...err. . him.

However, that had changed quickly once the evening nightclub-

style program of "entertainment" began - most of which was not

on the stage. And a very great deal of the off stage

entertainment starred a certain cross-dressed male serving

wench.

Dina, who was also wenching that night, had been wonderful to

him and a great help. The gorgeous slave girl had taken him

under her wing and shown him a few of the tricks of his or

rather her new trade.

But being the center of attention of all these people still

bothered him when he let himself think about it, so he tried

not to think about it. In his mind, he visualized himself

back home, playing with and for Mary. Every Mistress who

called on him became Mary, and he tried to react to each of

them as he had to his Mistress during their recent wonderful,

playful scenes.

Much to his surprise, it had worked. He had been able to

focus on each Domina as an individual and once he'd gotten

caught up in that interaction, the other watchers had faded

and his anxiety had eased.

And even more to his surprise, some of it had even been fun.

The Mistresses were, in the main, cut from the same cloth as

his beloved Mary - playful, teasing, caring and - he very

strongly suspected - deeply sensitive to what was going on in

his head. At least two had noticeably backed off just as he'd

felt his shields start to go up again. That obvious concern

had helped him slip back into the fun of the thing, too,

before they had released him back to his duties.

More than once that night, he'd caught himself unconsciously

rubbing the well-tenderized cheeks of his bared fanny that his

tiny skirt presented rather than hid. The first thing that

the Mistress in Charge had ordered was that he strip off his

panties. Of course, no self respecting Domme and only a very

few of the privileged slaves could resist such a blatant and

open invitation. Geraldine the serving wench had been patted,

fondled and pinched so many times he did not even want to

think about what his butt would look like in the morning.

He'd been spanked at least a half dozen times with bare hands,

paddles and once with something that looked like a leather

slipper with a handle.

That had been quite the experience. Gerry had not thought the

odd little toy could do very much and had very quickly learned

otherwise. The Mistress who wielded that instrument from hell

had taken exception to Geraldine's serving wench-voice, or

rather, to her lack of one. "Sweet cheeks," the pleasingly

plump, matronly Domme had said as she squeezed the cheeks in

question. "You just don't sound girlish enough yet. Why

don't we just help you, eh?"

Moments later, Gerald had found himself laid over the woman's

lap with his tiny skirt flipped up. "Here's the drill,

cutie." she said with a teasingly gentle first swat on his

upturned butt. "We will keep this up until my friends here

think you sound like the sweet little maid-slave your Mistress

wants you to be for her."

Initially, Gerald had reacted as he always responded to

corporal punishment - with determined stoicism. Which was

precisely what the Mistress did not want. After a few hard

swats that elicited no obvious reaction from Gerald, she'd

bent over to whisper for his ears alone. "Now, honey, you

aren't being whipped and this isn't punishment so there's no

need for the enduring martyr act. This is a game - C'mon and

play it out with me!"

Her next swat had been the hardest of the lot and caught him

by surprise, evoking a startled little squeak from Gerry. A

pat on his back told Gerry his inadvertent loss of control had

somehow pleased the woman. The "Still not very girlish,

Elise." comment from one of the other women seated at the

table finally clued him in. They weren't using him solely for

their own amusement. They really were playing with him.

And Gerry resolved to play for and with them, too.

Gerry spent the next ten minutes squirming and squealing -

generally raising a hellish din - as the Mistress gave him a

very thorough, very expert paddling Much to the amusement of

everyone else in the Cabaret. Finally, he reverted to his

"little girl Geri" voice. "Please, Mistress, no more. Geri

will be a good girl! Don't spank Geri anymore, PLEASE!" he'd

begged in the clipped falsetto tones.

The spanking had stopped immediately and his skirt replaced

with great ceremony. Gerry had stood, and with tears

trickling down his cheeks (a few of which were real), Gerry

had curtseyed and thanked the Mistress. She in turn had

admonished him to "present a more properly girlish countenance

in the rest of your duties, slut." in very officious tones,

but her smile and wink had let him know she was pleased. He'd

minced away, swinging his hips and ostentatiously rubbing his

fanny to the amused applause of the other tables in his

section.

Dina had pounced on him immediately and made him fix his face

before the Mistress in Charge caught him. "Good job, sweetie.

That was just perfect. I could tell your Mistress was

delighted with you. I was watching her watch you and she was

grinning ear-to-ear. Just keep it up, just like that. Next

time someone grabs your butt, hip into their hand, give a

little wiggle and smile." Then she'd kissed him and sent him

back to his station.

A tall, large framed Domme with unusually bright blond hair

beckoned him over. Stifling a bemused sigh that would

certainly have earned him yet another bare-bottomed public

spanking, Gerry picked up his serving tray and strutted over

to the woman's table in the far back corner of the club room.

"How may I serve you, Mistress?" Gerry asked in the stylized

ritual greeting of a Cabal serving wench.

The woman smiled broadly as she stood to face Gerry. In her

heels, she was considerably taller than he was, despite his

own heels. Moreover, now that Gerry could really see her, it

was evident that her large size was entirely due to muscle and

not fat. The lady evidently pumped some serious iron.

"Well, now." she'd purred in a pronounced southwestern accent.

"You've just looked so damn cute wobblin' around on those

purty heels," suddenly she was on Gerry, pushing him backward

and wedging him into the nearby corner. "I just have to get to

know you a little better, slut." She'd mashed her mouth down

onto Gerald's own, claiming him with her tongue before backing

off just a bit. "Yeah, make that a lot better, Sweet cheeks."

The woman had a grand time, "feeling you up, you sexy little

slut." Gerry pretended to try to escape, but didn't. She was

just too strong, and besides, he couldn't get any leverage in

those damnable shoes, anyway. Her hands were every where at

once, stroking, fondling, and pinching, her body grinding

against him.

Suddenly, his body thoroughly crushed between her and the

corner and unable to move at all, Gerry's self protective

instincts flared and his shields momentarily snapped back into

place. He froze for several long moments as the he reeled

under his attacker's sensual assault.

She was skilled, this amazon domina, and she had her prey just

where she wanted him. Grinning malevolently, she slid her

hand under his skirt, and took possession of his cock.

"Guess you like this a heap better than you want to admit,

slut. A hard dickie doesn't lie." she whispered as she

continued to fondle him.

It was almost too much, too quickly for Gerry. His safe word

sprang to his mind, his lips and tongue curled to form the

words, his lungs filled with the necessary air.

He never got it out. Whether by design or by luck, her mouth

descended once again to claim Gerry's, effectively gagging him

while she continued to stroke his rampant erection. His

imminent orgasm began to clutch at his guts, and Gerry began

struggling even harder to escape.

The Domme also sensed Gerald's imminent climax, and backed off

precisely at the last crucial second. She just stepped back

and watched as Gerry fought to recover himself, a thoroughly

self satisfied smirk on her face.

In the sudden surprise, it was all Gerry could do not to reach

down there finish what she had started and so rudely had just

interrupted. Dimly, Gerry realized that was what she was

waiting for. Her hands were poised to capture his own if he

made any move to grab his aching cock.

Another game, Gerry, he thought to himself. For a second, he

considered following through and letting the Mistress "punish"

him, but he discarded that idea. She was a very powerful

woman and his fanny was still very tender from that infernal

spanking slipper.

Well, he was learning that when one was dealing with Dommes,

unpredictability was an consummation devoutly to be desired.

Or something like that, he mused. Without warning, Gerald

went up on his tip toes and laid a loud, smacking kiss of his

own hard on the still smiling lips the surprised Domina.

Gerald took advantage of her momentary amazement to duck

around the woman and then ran away as fast as he could,

squealing in his little girl voice, completely unaware of the

wildly cheering audience or of the small, but growing smile on

Mary's face.

~---------~

Mary had watched Elise's spanking scene and Hera's fondling

scene intently, all the while wishing she knew what was really

happening in Gerry's head. He was obviously trying so very

hard, she thought. He'd gotten a fairly nasty surprise when

she'd explained the scene to him. It was one thing to make a

fool of yourself in front of the woman you love, knowing that

is what she wanted you to do for her. It was an entirely

different matter to be put on very public display while making

a fool of yourself, particularly for someone with Gerald's

distaste for humiliation play.

Playing the bitch during his afternoon adventure into women's

clothes had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

She had been so proud of his efforts, but she had not been

able to let any of that show because the whole point of the

exercise was to get him out onto the floor tonight as a

serving wench. That was where the real lessons would be

learned. Where Gerald could learn that regardless of how

apparently humiliating something appeared to be to him, here

at the Lodge it was *only* a game. And that "people" when

used to describe her friends here at the Cabal should not be a

curse word.

Letting Dina go to him when he fell was the hardest, but now

it looked like she might have won - at least a little because

the lessons were apparently being learned by her beloved.

Somehow he'd shed at least a part of that infernal self

control of his. Somehow he'd found it in himself to play the

fool for her and at least seem to enjoy himself while doing

it.

There was no way the old "I-am-in-control-Gerry" could have

come up with that little topper to Hera's game. Nor would he

have reacted the way Hera obviously expected, either. No way

would Gerald ever do something so personal and intimate as

masturbate in public, but what he had done had both shocked

and thrilled Mary. And the dumbfounded look on Hera's face

had been absolutely priceless.

Mary sat back and signaled Dina to bring her another glass of

the non-alcoholic wine she preferred when she was going to be

scening afterwards. She had a big night planned. Her little

serving wench maid was going to get the reward her truly

superb efforts so richly deserved.

The deplorable condition of Gerry's makeup after his escape

from the big bad blond had necessitated another trip to the

Sissy's Room. (as opposed to the Ladies Room where only Dommes

were allowed. Girl slaves had their own facilities, but often

used the Sissy's Room)

Something caught his eye from his service section. A tall,

slender auburn haired Domina dressed in white was gesturing,

quite insistently, with her empty wine glass for him to come

to her. Beside her was a large, powerfully built man,

kneeling at her feet and gazing up at her with love-filled

eyes. Sighing in soft appreciation of their obvious love,

Gerald began mincing, toward her table, his cramping toes and

insteps screaming every inch of the way. Only then did he

wonder what the hell she had that long, white-plumed feather

was for.

~--------------~

Gemma slid into the empty chair at Mary's table with a worried

frown on her face. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing okay." she said diffidently as she watched Gerald

make his way towards the white clad domina. "About as well as

he is, I guess. He's trying so very hard, Gemma, and doing so

very well, but he's walking very near the edge right now,

Gemma. I hope the women in that section know and understand

that."

"Most do, I think. You'll notice he hasn't been quite so much

in demand since Hera groped him. I don't know what surprised

her more - the Gerry didn't try to masturbate for her or that

incredible kiss he laid on her before he took off to get away

from her."

"Yes, I saw her surprise. Frankly, I'm a little surprised

myself. Things are actually going much better than I dared

hope. I was afraid he was going to lose it with Hera."

"We had the safety monitors nearby just in case, but he didn't

lose it. In fact, he has done very well. And Rayna's going

to try to help. She is going to see if she can tease him into

a even better frame of mind. She can do magic with that

feather of hers, and a good laugh and a much-delayed orgasm

may just help him really turn the corner. We may make an

exhibitionist out your shy little control freak yet, sweetie."

Just then, a helpless, almost hysterical giggle turned

everyone's head toward the red-tressed domina's table. When

she turned, Mary saw Gerald, stretched out on his back over

Rayna's table, his high heeled feet bound to one pair of legs,

and Rayna's sub-husband Stefan holding Gerald's arms and

pulling his body taut.

She'd divested Gerry of his almost useless skirt and had left

him only in his hose, garter belt, waist corset and gloves.

The source of his forced mirth was currently flicking at the

pale white flesh, just above tops of his dark stockings.

That sound almost broke Mary. It was the first time Gerry had

laughed since they'd left home Friday night. Maybe there was

still a chance, she dared to let herself hope as another, very

girlish giggle drew her attention back to her lover.

She'd have to find a few feathers of her own for after the

Cabaret - when she showed Gerry just how much his efforts

pleased her this day.

Part 18: The Beginning of the End

A happy and sexually relieved Gerry once again made his way

back to his station after yet another mandatory trip to the

Sissy's Room. Dina had met him there, giving him another

"attawench" and encouraged him to keep on keeping on. His skin

still twitched where that redhead Domme had plied that

incredible feather. And the post-orgasmic afterglow relaxed

him even further. A quick glance at the clock told him he'd

be off duty in another hour or so. Maybe then Mary would

relent a bit, and let him know that he hadn't really done all

that badly today.

"WENCH!" a loud, imperious male voice called. "HOW LONG MUST

WE WAIT FOR SERVICE?!?!"

Gerald looked in the direction of the shout and saw that it

came from his section. Someone had left and their place had

been taken by a pair of couples - one obviously the Domme and

Master, the other pair just as obviously their leashed and

collared submissives.

A brief chill crawled down Gerald's spine as he contemplated

serving a Master. "What are you waiting for, wench?" Mistress

Cynthia, the Maitresse D'HOTEL hissed into his ear. "Go tend

your table." Her sharp order was marked by a warning swat of

her crop.

Gerry vamped his way over to the table and presented himself

and asked for their orders. He was careful to keep the Domme

between himself and the male dominant. He took their orders,

thinking it odd that they wanted some of the pudding left over

from the evening meal, but went to carry out their requests so

he could run back to the safety of his station. Something

about the dominant couple, particularly the male, had what

little hair Gerald had left standing on end.

When he returned with their drinks and the pudding, the

Mistress spoke for the first time. "I understand, wench, that

you provide other . . . services, in addition to serving

drinks."

The sly tone in her voice made alarm bells go off in Gerald's

head. In spite of his decision to play this out, he became

once again wary. "Yes, Mistress, so long as it does not

violate my Owner's orders or my own limits."

"You do use the standard Cabaret safe word, slut?" she asked.

Gerald nodded, swallowing hard. Along with calling every

dominant Master or Mistress, another simplification of the

regular dominant/submissive protocols was that all serving

persons were given the same safe word which was "safe word",

"Very well. My Lord has had a difficult day." she sneered at

the male submissive who literally cowered under her fierce

scowl. "*Someone* has required a good deal of discipline

today and My Lord's arms and shoulders are painfully stiff

from all that. . . . correction."

Not knowing what else to say, Gerald cautiously replied "Yes,

Mistress?"

"Well, don't just stand there, slut! Massage him!"

Gerald blanched. This was getting too close. And he couldn't

really safe word out of it. He could see that Cabal Council

Kangaroo Court.

"And what heinous thing were you asked to do that caused you

to safe word, Mr. Harris?"

"I was ordered to give a neck and shoulder massage to a male

dominant, Sir."

"And is such behavior specifically in violation of your

contract with Mistress Jones?"

"No sir."

"So, the mere act of touching another male's shoulders is so

repugnant to you that you needed to safe word? How do you

survive in the vanilla world, sir?"

No, Gerald thought as he broke off that line of thought, he

could not safe word over this. He could do this, he told

himself. Just treat it like the old days in the locker room,

helping someone massage out a cramp. It's a guy thing, after

all.

His plan of action clear in his mind, Gerald set down his

serving tray and took station behind the male dominant.

Calling upon his massage lessons learned helping Mistress Mary

through her monthlies, Gerald gently probed for areas of

localized tightness before beginning the massage.

His mind still in the locker room, Gerald was gratified by a

soft groan of relief as he broke through a particularly

stubborn knot.

"Shayla." the male ordered to the slave girl. "Under the

table, girl, and pleasure me.

Without a word, the woman slipped beneath the table. Almost

immediately, the man's groans of relief became moans of

pleasure. He began to shift restlessly beneath Gerald's

fingers.

This was no longer the locker room and this was no longer just

a therapeutic massage. This was now a sexual act, but at

least he had not been the one ordered under the table. Then

the man, deeply into whatever the girl was doing to him,

arched into Gerald, turned his head and wetly kissed the one

of Gerald's hands closest to his face.

Gerald froze, his hands stilled as he struggled to regain his

emotional balance and control. The Domme, seeing that Gerald

had ceased the ordered massage, jumped to her feet and began

to "encourage" him with her flogger. "No one told you to

stop, slut!" she cried loudly.

Mechanically, Gerald resumed his hand movements, although

without the skill or intent he had used before. Suddenly, the

man stiffened, his entire body going rigid as a cry of

pleasure escaped his lips.

With his orgasm, the Domme ceased flogging Gerald and the

slave girl slipped back into her seat. His vision was locked

on the Master, but still, out of the corner of his eye, Gerald

saw that she had the bowl of pudding with her which she then

slid over to her Master.

He smiled and then looked up at Gerald. "That is enough of

that for now, wench." With a quick, bobbing curtsey, Gerald

moved to pick up his tray, but was stopped when the dominant's

hand came down on top of it. "The reason I asked for the

pudding, is because I was not satisfied with it at dinner. I

thought it was a bit. . . salty."

He put a spoon into the bowl and handed it over to Gerald who

took it without moving his eyes from the male dom. "Perhaps

you would taste it for me and tell me what you think?"

Slowly, Gerald began to dip a spoonful of the caramel

concoction out of the bowl. It was then that he looked down

into the bowl and saw a thick, white gruel-like substance

covering the top of the cream colored pudding. It took Gerald

several long moments to put that together with the slave girl

having the pudding with her when she pleasured her master to

come up with what that was and what these people intended him

to do.

Red rage began to bubble up inside him. If the pudding had

been in the Cabal's fine dinner china instead of the slave mug

Gerald had used, shards of pottery would be decorating the

floor and table. Only the last frail sliver of Gerald's

control prevented him from exploding and trying to take down

the man in front of him. With a cry of fury, Gerald hurled the

offending cup to the floor, turned and fled from the room as

fast as his high heeled feet could manage.

~---------------~

Mary had again been watching the impromptu scene, curious and

fearful as to how Gerald would react to being made to serve

another male. She had specifically not made this a limit in

the scene because it was one of the things she had to get

Gerald past and besides, she trusted the Cabal men to be as

sensitive to Gerald's situation as the Dommes had been thus

far.

Mary had been very pleased that he'd not safe worded when

ordered to massage the man. She'd half expected it when she'd

heard the orders. He'd even continued once the play became

overtly sexual, albeit after having been encouraged with the

Domina's flogger.

Her interest had quickly changed to concern when Gerry had red

with fury. Something had gone badly wrong. She saw all the

signs of an infuriated Gerald and then the cup of and its

contents ended up smashed on the floor at the feet of the two

dominants. There was no doubt that it had not been a part of

whatever play scene the two dominants had been acting out with

her lover. Gerald was truly trying to escape, she thought

sadly, but where could he go?

Dressed as he was, Mary sighed unhappily to herself, the

answer was no where. She still held the receipt for his

personal belongings so he could not even retrieve his clothing

or wallet without returning to her.

~--------~

"Geraldine!" Cynthia, the Mistress in Charge yelled into the

kitchen. Like most of the others in attendance, she had been

enjoying Master Victor's and Mistress Beth's play session with

the male slut of Mary's, so she had seen him run, deserting

his station. "Come here, Geraldine."

If only I could have had a few more minutes, Gerry thought as

he rose and walked over to face Mistress Cynthia. Just a few

more stinking minutes.

"Follow me, slave." she ordered coldly.

Moments later, Gerry was back, his shoulders slumping in utter

defeat as he followed Cynthia up on to the raised dias, where

she quickly restrained him in the standing hand and neck

pillory. Even from her position, Mary could see that Gerald

had completely lost and forgotten all sense of fun or play.

"This slave has deserted her station and attempted to hide

from her duties. I sentence her to five hard strokes of the

crop." The tall Domina announced.

Mary turned away at this point, but she still heard the

"whizzz' of the crop slicing through the air, and the

"swacckk" of it striking flesh. Five times. What she did not

hear was a single sound from Gerry.

And that frightened her.

~---------~

Gerry slowly made his way back down from the dias. Mistress

Cynthia ordered him to "Take your break, slave and while you

are at it, fix your face. You have fifteen minutes."

Gerald did not even bother to acknowledge her. He simply

trudged off in the direction of the Sissy's Room. There was

none of the bounce or flirtatious hip-sway to his movements

now - just a man walking as best and as quickly as he could in

the painfully tall heels.

The domina Gemma had called Rayna joined Mary at her table

with her tall, blond husband in tow. She introduced herself

and then waved away Mary's attempt to thank her for trying to

help Gerry.

"It's okay. Gemma has done it for me in the past when I

pushed poor Steffy too hard." Rayna gave her husband a loving

and proprietary caress on the cheek with her hand. "Only

problem is, whatever good it did went down the tubes when

Victor and Beth tried to push his buttons with their games.

Was that part of your plan for him?"

"No. I did not set that up as I did with Hera and as Gemma

obviously did with you. I just did not do anything to prevent

it."

"I guessed as much." Rayna said with a grimace. "They try to

pull that stunt on any first-time serving wench. Victor gets

off on seeing them eat his semen and he particularly enjoys it

when the wench is a sissy-slave."

"I didn't know that." Mary sighed. "Since I started with

Gerry, I haven't spent much time in the Cabaret. He prefers

to serve in private and until this. . . event, I have always

honored that preference. Those two are new members and I

haven't seen their play style before. If I had, I would have

pulled him out of there as soon as I saw them sit down in his

section. I was even pleased with the massage thing because he

needed to learn how to deal with such things a little better,

but after that. . ." Mary shook her head sadly.

At that moment, Gerald returned to his station, a wide smile

pasted on his ruby-red lips. Mary and her table companions

watched with growing dismay as he went through the motions of

serving snacks and drinks to the revelers in his section.

Mary kept a close eye on Gerald over the next half hour as he

moved from the bar to one of his assigned tables with yet

another tray of drinks, and then back to the bar with another

list of orders. Throughout, regardless of how he was touched,

what was said to him, that smile did not waver a bit, but

neither did he even acknowledge or slow down when one of the

women slid her hand up beneath his skirt as he passed her by,

as he had been doing earlier.

Rayna shook her head sadly. "It's an act. There's nothing

there. No reaction, no sense of having another person on the

other side of that smile. He's just going through the

motions."

"I think you need to get him out of here, Mistress." the man

called Stefan said softly, his clear deep voice surprising

Mary. "Nothing good is coming from keeping him out there on

the floor. It's like he is in shock."

"Exactly." Rayna continued. "That trick with the semen in the

pudding was one step too far. And yet," she said wonderingly,

"He's still trying. Maybe not as well as he had earlier, but

he hasn't quit. He must love you something fierce, Mary."

Rayna sighed. "I have never seen a slave hate what he is

doing that much and keep on trying."

"I'd have safe worded before I ever let Cynthia drag me up on

that dias." Stefan added as he saw what Mary had. "Hell, I

probably would have backed out before the end of the afternoon

session, but definitely before being put with the serving

wenches. I can't imagine why he still hasn't. Don't you two

have a safe word?"

Rising to her feet, Mary replied absently, her eyes fixed on

Gerald. "I thought we did, and right now, I wish he'd used

it. Look, I need to go. Thank you for trying to help, and for

coming over here to tell me what you just did."

"I really am sorry, Mary." Rayna added. "I hope things work

out okay for you both. He seems like a nice guy."

"I hope so, too, Rayna. And thank you again for your help in

this. Really. I will take it from here." And with that, she

moved off toward the Maitresse D'hotel station to speak with

Mistress in Charge Cynthia.

Apparently, she'd guessed right when she'd decided what she

needed to do in these demonstration scenes to get into her

lover's head and get him past the walls and demons that

threatened to separate them.

Unfortunately, this demonstration had evidently gone too far,

and they now stood to lose everything they had just gained.

Part 19: Aftermath in Fugue

Mary was as frustrated as she could ever recall being with a

submissive and was getting more so by the minute. Not a good

state of mind for a dominant, particularly for a dominant

working her submissive partner as hard as she was finding it

necessary to work Gerry at that very moment.

Gerry simply wasn't responding to her in the scene, wasn't

giving anything back to her as she pressed him. He was just

taking everything she dished out without a whimper or a

complaint. He did exactly as he was told, when he was told,

where ever he was told. It was like he was a character in a

book she was writing, following her plot line perfectly.

Except characters in her writing usually argued and fought

with her more than Gerald was right now. She'd gotten more

real reaction from spanking her Ken dolls when she was a

little girl.

She knew why, of course. It did not take very much empathy or

understanding to figure out what was going on in his head.

He'd been like this for almost two weeks - ever since they had

returned from the Lodge a day early.

That femme scene had gotten to Gerry. He'd been able to

internalize the more humiliating aspects of the scene, and had

successfully faced down that dark place in his soul. More

importantly, he had finally been able to begin playing with

the monsters that lurked there, hidden in the darker corners.

At least he had been able to play until the very last when

he'd been forced to deal with Victor's stupidly insensitive

game. And then, that dark place, with its anger and rage, had

closed back in on him, again, frightening him once more. In

reaction he'd reasserted and strengthened his normal, already

rigid grip on his control, until he had become this . . .this

thing, this automaton psychic vampire that sucked every bit of

life and energy out of her, but refused to open itself enough

to give anything back.

Damn Victor! Mary fumed to herself. Damn her, she conceded.

She could have predicted something like this would happen.

She'd prepared him for the other parts, and after some initial

uncertainties, her Gerry had faced those demons and dispatched

them. Until Victor and Beth. As soon as she'd seen him being

forced to deal intimately with a male dom she should have

intervened - should have at least given him a time out while

she negotiated with the dom.

But that was something only seen clearly now in hindsight.

It did not help her current problem, but Beth had called to

apologize for the game that had precipitated this. She'd said

"I am really sorry, Mary, but I even reminded him of his safe

word before anything much happened. I mean, with everything

he'd been through that day, I thought he was an experienced

player who'd understand I was giving him the chance to safe

word."

Mary had assured her that he was very experienced but had been

under a lot of stress that day. "But darling, he never even

tried to safe word. Heavens, one minute he's there looking at

the pudding, and the next, we're surrounded by shards of

pudding covered glass and he's running away."

"It's not the first time, Beth."

"Not the first time? Good lord, you don't mean he's the *one*

who jumped you? And you are still with him? For god's sake,

why?"

That answer was easy, Mary mused. Because she loved him, both

as a man and as a submissive. He had so much potential, if

only she could get him far enough past his fears for her for

him to relax that inhuman self control of his. Hell, from

what Gemma had told her, several of the Dommes were still

raving about how much fun they'd had with him once he'd

started to loosen up a little. If only they could have ended

the evening on that positive note.

But now, like a turtle who had pulled in every emotional

extremity, Gerald was simply letting her flail away at his

hard, unfeeling shell. No matter what Mary tried, and she had

tried almost everything since their precipitous escape from

the Lodge, she simply was not touching any part of Gerry's

soul.

Still, that cloud came with a silver lining of sorts. Mary

was now certain she understood the greater part of what had

led to his mid-scene attack on her months ago. With that

understanding she'd begun to develop a more detailed plan of

action in her campaign to get her man back on a permanent

basis.

But that plan would only work if she could reach the damned

idiot again, and so far, nothing she had done since that

Saturday night had produced the slightest reaction other than

"Yes, Mistress." Even "No, Mistress." seemed to have been

purged from his scene vocabulary.

She was so damned frustrated she did not think she could be

held responsible if she heard that reply even one more time.

Justifiable homicide would have to be the verdict of any

honest court in the land. Either that or innocent by reason

of temporary insanity. The damned, stupid *male* was making

her *crazy*.

Christ, she was even thinking about changing her title to

Goddess, Queen, Empress, *Dogcatcher* - *ANY*thing just so she

would not have to hear "yes" and "Mistress" in the same

sentence again anytime soon. She'd gone so far as to almost

order him to say "No, Mistress", - just once - but in the end

she had rejected the idea. He'd have said "Yes, Mistress" to

acknowledge the order.

She looked at the heavy leather paddle in her hand and at the

nicely presented, swat-pinkened buns mooning up at her. For a

brief moment, she thought about just cutting loose and seeing

if she could beat her way past that damned control of his.

But only for a moment. That would serve no good purpose and

would probably make things even worse. She was too good a

Domme to do anything like that.

Besides, she really was exhausted - physically, emotionally

and mentally. Intentionally or not, Gerry had left her

drained after the past two weeks and she just couldn't work up

the will to try even one more thing with him.

Wearily, she dropped the paddle and unsnapped the locked cuffs

on Gerald's ankles and wrists, freeing him from the spanking

block.

"Take off your gag, Gerald." she said, using the name she only

used out of scene. "Go get cleaned up, dress yourself and

meet me in the den in a half hour. I am going to take a soak

in the hot tub and I want to be alone while I do it."

"Yes, Mistress." he responded, and then watched in speechless

shock when Mary flushed furiously and ran from the room

shrieking.

Gerald had started a fire in the den's hearth by the time Mary

arrived. She'd stayed in the tub longer than she'd planned,

but it had been worth it. Most of the negative energy had

been simmered out of her as the most heat of the water had

soaked in.

On seeing her, Gerald began to genuflect. "Thank you,

Gerald." she said quietly. "Now, would you please rise and go

take a seat on the couch. We need a time out, and that means

we are meeting without any exchange of power at this moment."

Nodding, Gerald rose. "Yes, Mistress." he responded, almost

setting Mary off again. She avoided screaming again only

through an incredible effort of will.

"Maybe," she said slowly enunciating each syllable separately

with great calm and precision, "it would be better if you

called me by my given name while we are in time-out mode,

Gerald, as I will refrain from calling you Gerry."

"All right. . . . Mary." the hesitation obvious in his voice.

At an impatient gesture toward the sofa, Gerald sat and then

regarded Mary curiously. "What do you want to discuss?"

Mary sat down in his favorite recliner, now her throne.

"Can't you guess?" she asked sarcastically.

More confused than ever, Gerald could only shake his head.

"Why no, Mist. . . I mean, Mary, I have no idea. One minute

you were working me, the next you are running out of the room

screaming like you were being chased by all the demons of

hell. Is it something I did?"

His blatant sincerity stopped her completely. She wanted to

grab him by the ears and shake some sense into him, but

couldn't. He'd just take it, like he'd been taking everything

else, and would not understand why. "You really don't have

any idea what you have been doing. . . or rather, what you

have *not* been doing, do you?" Now, she shook her head, this

time in wonder. "Gerry, . . I'm sorry, Gerald, do you have

any idea how hard it is to top someone? How much thought and

time and energy that demands from a person if he or she is

going to do it properly and safely?"

"Not that I have ever thought much about it, Mary, but now

that you bring it up, I can see how all that responsibility

and concentration could be pretty hard on the top."

"Well, it is about a hundred times worse when your partner is

playing sponge - soaking up everything you have to give but

not giving back so much as a single damned drop in return.

Christ, Gerald, I haven't gotten one honest, emotional

response out of you since the congregation. Its like you've

wrapped your heart, mind and soul in armor plating. Oh, you

can still feel - physically, anyway. Sometimes you grunt or

even whimper when something gets a little severe or when you

are honestly surprised, but I guess not even you can turn off

your nervous system." The frustration was back in full force

and it required everything she had not give in and lash out at

him in anger.

Gerald sat back on the couch, his eyes staring into the

dancing flames, and for a moment, Mary felt incredibly alone.

It was as if everything but his body had left her - which was

a pretty good description of where they'd been whenever she'd

tried to train him since their early return from the lodge

almost two weeks before.

"Was that scene at the Lodge really so very awful, Gerry?" she

asked with intense feeling, "Now that you've had some time to

put a little distance between yourself and the immediacy of

everything you went through up there? I thought you might

even have been enjoying the play there for a while - at least

you seemed to be enjoying it. Until that last session with

Victor and Beth." she asked softly, her voice entreating, "Did

that stupid game of theirs really make you feel that you need

to protect yourself every moment you are with *me*? Did my

failure to prevent that damned, supposedly-sensual humiliation

scene with another male destroy what trust you still had in

me? Or did it just suck out everything good inside you so

that you really don't have anything left to give back to me

when we scene?"

"Is that what I have been doing? What you think I have been

doing?" he asked tonelessly, his eyes still not meeting hers.

"What I *think* you've been doing, Gerald?" she realized she

was shouting again and tamped down her emotions once again.

"It is what you have been doing. Even in the silly little

just-for-fun, spur-of-the-moment games, you don't play with me

• at all* anymore." She stood and walked around the room for a

few moments, visibly working to calm herself.

Finally, she returned to her seat, sitting on the edge of her

chair and looking at him intensely. "We'd come so far before

last weekend, Gerald. We had begun to rediscover the

childlike joy of our play together again, but now, it is just

work for both of us. Whatever makes up the essential Gerald

is withheld from me. You are merely enduring, dammit, and

that simply is not enough. Not for me or for you. You sure as

hell aren't playing with me. I might as well be playing with

a mobile, talking blowup doll. Although you don't say all

that much lately, either, and dammit, "Yes, Mistress" does not

count."

He thought about that. That final scene at the Mountain Lodge

• had* been hard on him. Very hard. And even after he'd made

it through all the previous stuff, and yes, enjoyed some if

not quite all of the evening's play, then that Victor

character had to come along with his massage demands and his

semen-topped pudding. Memories of that still cut at him like

a dull knife.

The only way he'd gotten through the last hour until Mary had

come for him had been to simply block out everything.

Everything, that is, except the orders. Had to follow the

orders. If he did everything perfectly, at least they

couldn't honestly complain. If he ignored what was going on

around him, it wouldn't matter. He'd been surviving just fine

that way. Then, out of the blue, Mary had come for him and

had taken him straight home that very night.

Now, on reflection, Gerald had to admit that he had been

behaving precisely as Mary had described - what ever it was

that made up "Gerald" had retreated deep inside of himself.

He had hidden his soul where the pointed comments, touches and

pinches could not reach Gerald, only Gerald's body.

Had he carried that over into his relationship with Mary?

Evidently. "I guess that's right." Then he looked at Mary,

really looked at her for the first time in days. "But I don't

really think that's all that much of a problem. In fact, it

is what got me through that."

"DAMMIT, Gerald, that is why I gave you a safe word! So you

can protect yourself! Don't you understand??!? If you need to

hide like that from me, or if you need to hide like that from

something that I have asked you to do, then I. . HAVE . .

.GONE . . TOO . . .DAMNED. . . FAR! And I expect you to

protect yourself! Even from ME!"

"It wasn't hurting me, Mary." Gerald whispered, now uncertain.

"Not really. How could I safe word over some guy ordering me

to give him a massage? On his shoulders and neck, no less?"

Mary lurched to her feet again and spun away from him to stand

in front of the hearth. She was just too tight, she thought,

her control was just too tenuous.

With her back to him, she finally responded. "There is

physical hurt and there are other types of hurt, Gerald. I

agree you were not being hurt physically, but that is not the

point. The physical aspects of what we do, and in particular,

what we did that day at the Lodge, pale in comparison to what

is happening mentally or emotionally, Gerald. Were you past

your limits when you were directed by that Domme to massage

her husband? I suspect you were. More than that, I truly

believe that you knew that you were. Or did you just become a

zombie for the hell of it?"

He thought about it a little more and then sighed. "I guess,

Mary. Maybe. I thought about safe wording - almost did -

twice in fact," he admitted thinking of the tall blond Texan

Mistress and then Victor and Beth when first ordered to do the

massage, "But in the end, I was afraid they'd rule against you

if I did - saying that the use was inappropriate and a

violation of the contract. So, I just stopped letting it

matter." He shrugged. "It worked."

His matter of fact tone destroyed Mary's fingernail grasp on

her temper. "No it DIDN'T! Don't you understand, Gerald.

You are the one in violation of that contract right now - the

way you have been behaving for the past two weeks - far more

then you could ever be by the simple act of safe wording to

end a scene. Why you ask? I will tell you! The contract

says you must submit to me! Well, you haven't been submitting

since you ran from Victor's table and you sure as hell AREN'T

submitting now! You're just absorbing punishment to no

purpose."

"Not submitting? Absorbing punishment to no purpose, Mary?"

Now Gerald was incensed and yelling, "How about that I ceased

to be a danger to anyone around me? How about that I ceased

to be a danger to you!?"

All the anger and rage drained out of Mary in an instant,

leaving her feeling empty and exhausted once more. "No one

was ever in danger, Gerald," she told him sadly. "and you

ought to know that. Every single minute, from the moment you

stepped on to the stage in the afternoon, until I escorted you

back to the slave quarters so you could retrieve your clothes,

there were always three, very strong men on guard within ten

feet from you. You were not a danger to anyone until you

started that zombie bit, and then you became a danger to

yourself."

Mary saw the look of disbelief and consternation on Gerald's

face and smiled weakly. "It's true, Gerald. That type of

behavior does you no good, and in the long run, will probably

do you a great deal of harm. It certainly doesn't do *me* a

damn bit of good. I can't read you when you pull this crap -

I can't tell if I am going too far or not far enough. I might

as well try to beat a rubber mannikin for all the reaction and

feedback you are giving me. Except you're not a lifeless

mannikin and you could - very likely will - get badly hurt."

"Haven't so far." he shrugged diffidently.

Mary shook her head and turned to face him, tears streaming

down her cheeks. "And I will not take the chance that it will

be me who hurts you. Less than an hour ago, I was within a

hair's breadth of trying to beat my way past that icy shield

of emotionless indifference you are wearing around your heart.

I was so frustrated, so angry, so empty inside that I was

ready to do anything, *anything* just to get a single real

expression of feeling from you - even if it was a scream of

agony. I came that close," and she held her thumb and

forefinger together, "To becoming an abuser, and whatever

else comes of this, I won't do that to you or to myself."

"You didn't, and you won't." he replied with quiet certainty.

"Damn right I won't, but I very easily could have done. If I

can't reach you again, like I used to be able to reach you,

before we have to leave for the Lodge the next time, if you

can't find it within you to open yourself back up to me, to

respond to me like you have in the past, then we simply won't

go to the Lodge."

"Of course we are going to go!" Gerald snapped back.

Mary just shook her head. "There is no 'of course' about

this. I won't work with a submissive who can't or won't feel.

I especially will not endanger you, and tonight, whether you

want to admit it or not, you were in danger, my love. I was

swinging that damned heavy paddle - you couldn't get free. I

won't chance that again."

"But you won't hurt me, dammit!"

This time, Mary nodded, her head feeling incredibly heavy with

emotional, physical and mental exhaustion. "You've got that

right, Gerald." she agreed again. "Let me tell you what you

and I are going to do. I am going to get a very large brandy

and go to bed. You are free for the remainder of the night.

Watch television, go for a walk, get drunk, whatever. I hope

you will think about what I've just said, but I am not going

to order it because I can't order something like that. It's

something you have to do for yourself. In any case, tomorrow

evening, we will try to play again. If you can play then, or

at least, play like some reasonable semblance of your old

self, we will continue. If not, we will quit again, and try

again the next night."

"And if you don't get what you say you want from me?"

"If you cannot open yourself to me again by the Thursday

immediately prior the Congregation, then I will call Gemma and

default on the contract."

Furious, Gerald stormed over to stand in front of her, every

muscle in his body rigid. "You can't *do* that!"

Mary went up on tiptoe and kissed his tension-hardened lips.

"Oh, but I can, dear heart. It takes at least two to play,

darling, and at least two to make a contract. However it only

takes one to walk away and it only takes one to break a

contract. If that is what I must do to protect you from

yourself, darling, I will. I love you too much to permit this

to go on and possibly go tragically too far. Good night,

Gerald."

She turned and walked slowly towards the stairs, but stopped

at the last moment. "One thing you might consider, Gerry, if

you do spend some time tonight thinking about what I've just

said. That little outburst of yours was the first real

emotion you've given me in over a week, and sadly enough, it

was anger. Anger for me, I will admit, but anger nonetheless.

Is that really all you have left for me? Is that the legacy

of that damned Congregation scene? I hope not, my love. I

sincerely hope not."

And with that parting shot she was gone, leaving a heavily

breathing Gerald staring after her. "Me, too, Mary. Me too."

At a loss about what to do next, Gerald turned to look around

his den. The wet bar beckoned him and he poured himself a

double shot of single malt scotch. Getting drunk had a real

appeal just then, but he couldn't do it. Sighing softly, he

carefully poured the whiskey back into the bottle and walked

away. He had a lot of things to work out in his head, and he

couldn't do that with an whiskey fumes deadening his brain

cells. Maybe he would take that walk.

Part 20: A Safe Bondage Interlude

He was just so goddamned beautiful, Mary thought wistfully as

she watched him struggle against the stringent binding straps

and other restraints. Except for his head, every gorgeous

inch of the man she loved was on display for her pleasure.

She mused that, as much as she had always loved petting his

soft, furry pelt of body hair, there was a lot to be said for

smooth, perspiration dampened skin glinting in the lamplight,

showing off each rippling muscle. A delightful shudder of

pure desire made her yearn to do more with him. . . . and to

him.

Well, she promised herself, she could do all of those lovely

things because he was all hers. Later. After she'd

accomplished the goal she'd set for herself earlier this

evening.

Mary had ambushed him the moment Gerry had finished his

evening office work. She'd caught him from behind, quickly

pulling a thick leather, full-face blindfold hood over his

head. Confused by the sudden darkness, Gerry had not put up

much resistance when Mary had pulled his hands behind his back

into her police style handcuffs.

Locked in darkness and handcuffs, Gerald had permitted himself

to be hustled into the four wheel drive. Some time later,

they'd finally come to a halt.

Once she had gotten him inside the building, Mary had stripped

him and begun her plan, of which the first order of business

had been to restrain him. Artistically and rigorously, Mary

recalled with a mischievous grin. That had been fun all by

itself.

At her command, Gerald had knelt to the floor. Adjusting his

position just so had taken several minutes, spreading his

knees wide until he'd begun to feel the resistance in his

hamstrings. Strong, wide straps at each knee and ankle

anchored him like in that position.

Mary knew just how difficult the final bondage she had in mind

would be, and carefully prepared Gerald to prevent injury. It

had surprised Gerald when Mary had begun "rocking" him back

and forth from the hips. Each repetition pushed Gerry just a

bit further over backwards, all the while carefully supporting

his upper body so he wouldn't fall too far too soon.

Mary's stretching warmup eventually loosened him up so that

Gerald was able to lay all the way over on to a cushioned

bolster positioned in the small of his back without distress.

She had completed her living sculpture - almost an upside down

hog tie - by clipping his handcuffed hands beneath the bolster

to the same floor anchors that also held his ankle straps.

Then she had gotten *really* creative.

As loose as his muscles were, Gerald was still sweating

profusely. The tension on every muscle and ligament was still

tolerable, but the effort to hold himself in a position that

minimized that strain was not the only reason for

perspiration.

The vibrations started again, sending a near electrical shock

through Gerald's body and causing him to clench his already

overtaxed muscles. Mistress Mary had put some type of

vibrating cock-ring device onto the root of his penis. From

what he could tell in his blindfolded condition, the toy

vibrated madly until his penis erected enough to click off

some type of switch, then it would stop. When his erection

began to ease from the sudden lack of stimulation, the switch

would close and the vibrations would start again.

The toy had already cycled on and off at least six times, and

the interval between the toy turning off and then back on was

getting shorter and shorter as his overstimulated cock became

ever more sensitive.

Time for phase two, Mary thought, feeling quite pleased with

her progress thus far.

A piece of leather over Gerald's ear came away from the hood

with a snapping sound. "How is my boy doing - all tied up and

oh-so-very sexy?" Mary cooed into his ear. "My, but your

muscles are so tight and hard, Gerry." her hand slipped down

to grip and stroke his rampant erection very slowly. "Mmmmmm,

so is this muscle."

Gerald groaned and began to struggle hard against his

restraints. Mary loved it. "What's the matter, sweetie?

Don't you like my little toy?" He felt her nails graze his

nipples just before white hot sensation burned holes into his

chest. "Maybe you will like these better, Gerry."

Gerry held his breath, and remained absolutely still, going

along with the burning sensation. Grimly determined, he

waited for the numbness that experience told him would soon

follow the clamps' initial bite.

The sudden, unexpected pain had another effect. It effectively

blocked the maddening vibration around his groin, so his

erection, even with the vibrator going wild, drooped.

Gentle fingers once again wrapped around the trunk of Gerry's

penis, massaging and fondling him gently. "Poor baby." he

heard Mary whisper. "You went all soft. We can't have that.

It will spoil all our fun. Here, let me tell you just what I

have in mind for that lovely little hardon, darling." Mary

dropped her voice another register as she began to tell him

all the marvelously kinky, sexy things she was going to do to

him and have him do to her. In spite of himself, blood surged

back into his groin, making him even harder than he had been

earlier.

Gerry began pumping as much as his rigid bondage would permit,

trying to add just that tiny bit of sensation that would send

him over the edge. He . . . was . . . ALMOST. . . *THERE* . .

Three things combined to stop Gerald's climax in mid-surge:

The vibrating cockring stopped again;

Mary's hand stopped;

And the clamps on his chest came ALIVE!!!

Gerry screamed his dismay - the damned nipple clamps were

vibrators, too, and they evidently turned on at the same

moment the one on his dick turned off. The dull ache of the

clamps exploded anew into fresh misery as the vibrations awoke

the no-longer-numb nerve endings.

Time for phase three. "Please let this work." she breathed

under her breath.

"So!" Gerald heard Mary say aloud, "As you can see, my slave

is caught between Scylla and Charybdis. Either his poor little

man parts or his cute little nipples are always teasing him;

their pain and pleasures at war, always fighting for supremacy

while he tries to navigate between them to the safety of his

orgasm. So, my honored friends, the question is: Will he make

it all the way and come, or will the gentle torment of his

nipples continue to thwart him? Will he still be trying to

come when the bell rings? Set your wagers, please. This test

will last.. . " The leather ear patched snapped back into

place, garbling the remainder of Mary's statement.

She might as well have said forever, because for Gerald, time

stopped.

If the tension straining every muscle in Gerald's body could

have increased another iota, it would have. There were

• people* here, dammit! Another fucking audience and they were

watching him, *again*! They were watching him suffering,

hearing him moan and even scream. . . betting on the outcome

like he was some damned race horse. Oh God, his mind

shrieked, just like when that guy Victor and his wife had

pulled that damn stunt on him at the Lodge!

He couldn't face that again - he just could not deal with that

humiliation again! He had to HIDE - had to get away to

someplace where what they saw, what they heard and what they

said wouldn't matter.

Gerald felt himself begin slowly sinking back into that safe,

dark, and private corner of his mind again, when the

vibrations shifted back to his groin. The sudden shift of

focus momentarily snapped him back. Then, he felt Mary's hand

as she caressed the length of him again, and the ear flap once

again snapped free. "Are you still with me, Gerry? Talk to

me, sweetheart. I specifically did not gag so that you could

communicate with me."

What the hell did she mean? his mind growled. Communicate with

her?

"Stay with me, Gerry." she called to him as he sought to slip

away from this place, away from her friends.

Away from her.

He was doing it again, he realized, and he promised her he

wouldn't. Grimly, he fought back his way back to the

conscious plane. "I'm . . . I'm here, Mistress." he choked

out, and found himself kissed softly.

And he stayed, throughout the entire trial.

How long it lasted, Gerald could not tell. His only time mark

was which vibrator was on and which one was off. Was he

getting harder or softer? Did his nipples hurt or merely

ache? However long it actually took in real time, for Gerald

it seemed to go on and on and on . . .

Toward the end, he became aware of something else happening to

his body. There was a new sensation to deal with - a deep,

cramping muscular pulling in his lower abdomen, directly above

his penis, around his groin to a spot just above his rectum.

The ache swiftly turned into real pain that grew in intensity

each time his penis erected, each time that muscle contracted

to lift the weight of his lengthening cock.

Until finally, everything else paled in comparison to that

burning muscle cramp and that was all he felt.

"Safe word!" he screamed when the cramps finally became

unbearable. "Please, make it stop!!!"

Instantly, the vibrations ceased, and safety snaplinks opened

to relax the restraints holding his arms and legs. As he

tried to stretch out, an incredible moist heat enveloped his

tortured, over sensitive manhood. He felt a hand gently

fondling his balls, while another massaged the still painfully

cramping muscles. Gradually, the pain eased and his

excitement grew under the loving ministrations. "I am going

to come!" he yelled to warn whoever was giving him this gift.

Mary did her best to answer him, but with her mouth full, all

that came out was an affirmative sounding garble - at least

she hoped it was positive because his overworked muscle could

not have held off the eruption a second longer. The spasms

that ejected the semen brought the cramps back with a

vengeance, but Mary continued to massage them away as she

drank in his very soul, lost in the pleasure of loving him

orally.

When the last dribble had escaped, he felt that other body

slide up his own, followed by a pair of soft lips gently

caressing his mouth. An insistent tongue teased him into

opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, for which he was

rewarded with a mouthful of some viscous, slightly salty

fluid.

"Swallow, pet, and I will take you home." Mistress Mary said

softly. Dutifully, Gerald swallowed his own semen. "Good

boy, love. I am very proud of you." She kissed him again,

much deeper than the last, until Gerry groaned his growing

discomfort into her mouth. "Oops," she giggled. "Here, let me

finish getting you on your feet."

That was not a quick process. Gerald had been in that severe

bondage for nearly forty minutes, much longer than Mary had

anticipated this exercise lasting. They had to stop several

times so that Mary could massage out a muscle spasm, or ease

another cramp. Finally, he was on his feet - shakily so - but

on his feet. Gerry raised his hands to his head, feeling for

the zipper on the hood, but Mary's touch stopped him. "I know

that you safe worded, Gerry, and if you insist, I will remove

the hood. I'd rather wait until we are home, but a safe word

is a safe word. So, it is up to you."

Gerald did not particularly want to see the people who had

been watching him throughout this test of Mary's. Did not

want to know who they were or worry about ever meeting them

again in some other, more polite situation. What he didn't

know, could not embarrass him. Wearily, he shook his head.

"Leave the hood on, Mistress. I've kind of gotten used to it."

Mary sighed inaudibly, greatly relieved at his decision. She

had taken a big risk with this little game, but she had read

him correctly. The derived benefit of this exercise would

have been greatly reduced or even lost if Gerry could see his

surroundings.

She gave him a gentle hug in response. Mary stayed close to

him, her shoulder propping him up, helping to support his

weary body. "Sally, you will please see to the payoff of the

wagers - Gerry needs to be home and in the hot tub. Thank you

all for coming." Mary said, thanking the non-existent people

of the audience who "filled" the empty room.

And with that, Mary led Gerald, in a very circuitous route,

through various rooms and hallways, and finally out the

backdoor of his own house. She drove them around again for

about twenty minutes, same as she had on the trip to the

"borrowed dungeon" before returning to Gerry's house for the

second time that evening. This time, however, she escorted

him through the front door.

It had been a very good night, she smiled happily. He'd been

damned close to going back into hiding on her again. She'd

seen his body seem to relax even while the intentionally

tormenting toys were going at maximum strength. Only he

hadn't gone away, hadn't left her. He'd heard her call him

and he had stayed with her, had endured for her. He had

wanted to protect himself from her non-existent audience, and

yet, he had stayed open for her.

And it wasn't over, she thought happily. If she did not get

loved at least four times tonight while she took care of his

hurts in the hot tub, she'd be very surprised. Gerry needed

to rest his aching body in the swirling, bubbling heated

water, but there was nothing wrong with his tongue. Another

delightful shiver crawled down her spine, and curled around

deep into her womanly core. Who knows, she grinned

lasciviously, maybe Gerry might even be able to get it back up

tonight, with a little TLC and the right motivation.

Mary was definitely motivated enough for both of them!

Part 21: Conversations in the Night

Mary was relaxing in Gerald's favorite chair, sipping his

cognac and watching the flames dance in the hearth of his

darkened den. She loved the aroma of leather and Gerry, and

she snuggled deeper into the chair's cushiony depths.

It had been a marvelous week, particularly considering how

badly things had been going just before that. Gerry was such

a dear. Once he realized how his protective shell affected

her, impeded her, he'd improved immediately. Oh, he'd still

drop into that "dead zone" from time to time, especially if

she did anything that reminded him of his last experience as

Geraldine, but he'd snap out of it once she pointed it out to

him.

She'd just sent him up to bed. He had very sweetly given up

his eight hours of Sunday football so that she could play with

him for an extended period today. He'd said that the games

weren't all that good and that he *really* wanted the time off

to watch Monday Night Football this week, but they both knew

that was a polite fiction on his part. First, because she had

not yet, nor did she have any intention of ever denying him

that simple pleasure. For her own part, Mary hated football,

and Gerald knew it, but to date, she'd managed to have Gerald

in the vicinity of the television when Hank Jr. started

singing about getting ready for some football. Even if he was

there only as her footrest.

No, Gerald had given up his time off because he knew that she

wanted to play with him, and because he *wanted* to play with

her. At least, he wanted to work at playing openly with her.

Besides, even though football bored her, keeping score could

be a lot of fun - for her. There were just so many ways an

imaginative Domme could account for each point in the game.

One evening she'd tied him to his chair and then put a

clothespin on him for every point scored - one on the right

breast for the home team, one on the left for the visiting

team. Another night, she did something similar on his butt

using a crop for one team and her tawse for the other.

Unfortunately for Gerry, that game had been between Green Bay

and San Francisco. Final score: 35 to 34. Gerry had finished

watching that game standing up and had slept on his tummy that

night.

Her happy reveries were broken by the soft electronic chiming

of the telephone. Wondering who'd be calling at ten o'clock

on a Sunday night, she picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mary, How are you and Gerald doing, love?"

"Oh, hi, Gemma. Actually, we're doing pretty good. How are

you?"

"Fine, fine." the softly accented voice returned. "And I

really want to know a little more than that. You were pretty

upset when you called me Thursday night."

I certainly was, Mary thought wryly. She'd been so tired when

she'd left Gerald to his own devices, but she had been too

keyed up to sleep. Finally, she'd called Gemma and had cried

out her frustrations, her anger and yes, even her fears, for

she had been very afraid that Gerald would not be able to open

up to her again.

"Well, we're not back to where we were all those months ago,

but we're pretty close to where we were before the last

congregation. He is trying very hard to remain open to me,

and to feed me emotionally when we're in a scene together. If

anything, he is almost trying too hard. I swear, if I hadn't

yelled at him for it, the poor dear would have tied himself up

for me this afternoon."

"Would have spoiled your fun, eh?" was the amused reply.

"Well, lets just say that I am currently trying to figure out

a tactful but effective way to punish him for being too

determined to be perfect. I guess he's figured that if he has

to feel, he is going to do everything exactly right so that he

doesn't get disciplined."

"He's been in the game long enough to know that it just

doesn't work that way, Mary. Sometimes a Domme just wants to

see her knight-errant/submissive suffer for her. That's not

punishment and he knows that. I am sure it will all work

itself out now that he isn't hiding mentally and emotionally

from you or himself anymore."

"It could make for a very interesting scene at the Lodge next

week." Mary giggled. "Give him the planned scene script on a

typewritten piece of paper and let him go torment himself for

me."

An amused chuckle answered her. "Remind me to tell the story

of how Alex caned himself for me back before we got married."

then her voice changed." Mary? We have to talk about your

next Lodge demonstration scene. We both agree that the last

scene you did with him up there really got deeply into his

head. I mean, if he needed to resort to those extremes at the

very end of it and then again after the scene, then he was

really into it what we had going on, at least up until the

very end."

"Yes. And both of those reactions pretty well validate my

theory about what actually happened that night that I told you

about."

"I know, you told me about that when you called the other

night, too."

"I did?!?" That surprised Mary, and disconcerted her. She

didn't remember telling her that and really wasn't all that

sure if she wanted Gemma to know that. She must have really

been out of it when she'd called her friend.

"Yes, and I agree with you. In fact, that is the reason I

called. Listen."

And Mary listened, her anticipation quickly turning to

disbelief and then to dismay, but she held her counsel until

Gemma had finished her proposal. "I don't know about that,

Gemma. That particular scenario is pretty far out there on

the edge. I really don't think I want to try that one with

him."

"Mary, several members have expressed concern about him."

Mary fumed at that, certain that number included that silly

bitch, Beth and her damned husband. "We all know your feelings

about him, and we know that you plan on having him with you at

the Lodge regularly once you complete your contract. But

having him at the Lodge, say on one of the "all slaves must

submit to all Dominants" weekends, frightens some folks.

Particularly if you are not there to control him."

"Gemma, for god's sake, why should he need to be controlled?!?

If we get through this damned contract, won't that be proof

that he is safe and trustworthy?"

"They are concerned because it was obvious how much he cares

about you and the limits he will go for you. It was also

obvious, however, just how tight a rein he was keeping on his

emotions towards the end of that nightclub scene. What if he

isn't as motivated to hold himself in check for someone other

than you?"

"Of course not, Gemma. Come on, now, please. Are you really

afraid he will lose it again? Go berserk and hurt himself or

someone else? The answer to that question is *NO*, DAMMIT!"

Mary yelled into the receiver. "Of course he won't do

anything like that."

"Are you really that sure, dear?" Gemma asked very softly.

"Wouldn't you prefer that if it does happen, that it happens

at the Lodge, where he can be kept restrained and where there

are other people to help control him and to protect you?"

"I just told you, Gemma, nothing like that is going to happen,

regardless of what I put him through on Saturday." Mary's

voice was icy cold even though her temper was running red hot.

"Then there's no problem with the plan I just proposed, is

there? We think you should do it, Mary. You have to be sure.

• We* have to be sure before we go much further with him. Just

as importantly, he has to be sure that he can live in our

world. Besides, if your theory is right, and I agree with you

that it explains a great deal, this would be a logical next

progression in your program for him, wouldn't it?"

"I wasn't planning anything that harsh, Gemma."

"Is it against his contract or in violation of any verbal

promises you've made to him?"

Mary hesitated, wanting to lie, but in the end, opted for the

truth. Gemma just might ask Gerald herself and the honest

fool would answer her. "No, it's not. However, that is only

because I haven't done or discussed anything remotely like

that with him in the past. I know him and I have always

considered that scenario out of bounds with Gerald. Christ,

Gemma, if he knew about that scene, it might well be a limit -

I'm not really sure, but one way or the other, it would be

damned close. And he will positively detest every stinking

minute of it. . .AGAIN!"

"If it is not a prohibited limit between you, we think you

should do it." Gemma repeated with grim finality.

Mary said nothing for almost a minute, as she ran through the

possibilities in her head. On one hand, it might just get him

over the hump. Assuming, of course, that she was right about

what happened in his head when he went for her throat. On the

other, she knew this would be extremely dangerous ground, from

the perspective of her hopes for a long term relationship with

Gerry.

There were limits and there were *limits* - just because

something wasn't negotiated to death and then set down in a

contract written in virgins' blood did not mean that the

activity was not a real limit. She was pretty confident that

the only reason this particular concept was not a hard

negotiated limit was because Gerald couldn't begin to conceive

of such a thing being in any way considered 'play'.

"Mary?" Gemma's voice broke into her mental argument with

herself. "You still there?"

"I am," she replied flatly.

"Well?"

"I don't know, Gemma. I just don't. I am going to have to

think about this one for a while."

"We think you should do it." Gemma repeated for the third

time.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out for myself," Mary snapped

sarcastically. "But what matters in the final say-so is if I

think I should do it. And right now, I just don't know. I'll

think about it some more and let you know before Friday

evening."

"I need to have the staff set up for it if you're going to do

as we ask, Mary."

"So fucking do it." Mary hissed out angrily. "If I decide not

to do as you've *requested*, it won't be all that difficult to

change the staging. That is, if I will be allowed to

substitute another script of my choosing."

"Oh, you know you'll be allowed to do whatever you damn well

please," Gemma retorted, her own temper starting to show in

her voice. "You *are* the Domme, after all, but if you do

something that does not press him hard, there will be some

serious unanswered questions about Gerald. The congregation

after your last demonstration is one of those "every slave

submits to every dominant" weekends. You have to at least

accept the possibility of him lacking the motivation to worry

about some other dominant's safety as he does when it is you

pushing his buttons. God, that sounds so strange, doesn't it?

A submissive being concerned about and taking responsibility

for the Domme's safety in a scene. It is supposed to be the

other way around."

"So he's special. I've always known that. Cut to the chase,

dammit. Make your point." Mary growled.

"It is pretty simple, I would think, Mary." Gemma said

aggressively. "The membership knows what he did to you, Mary.

We are going to have some bloody uncomfortable friends if you

show up with him in tow that weekend. Unless you can prove

that he does not represent a danger to the other people at the

congregation."

"Like I said, Gemma, I will let you know if we are coming. I

have to go. Good night."

Mary slammed down the phone without waiting for Gemma's

response. "And to think," she told herself as she took a

large swallow of the fiery distilled wine, "Just a few, short

moments ago, I was feeling really good about Gerry and me, and

the world in general." She shook her head sadly. "Just goes

to show that Murphy really was an optimist. DAMN!"

Part 22: Confessions and Other Confrontations

It began as a fairly ordinary Thursday night. That is, Gerald

thought later, if anything in the past weeks could be

considered even remotely "ordinary." He'd arrived home, had

taken care of his evening chores, had eaten his dinner and

then had gone into his study to work. There had been a bit

more paper work in his briefcase than usual but still, he'd

only spent about thirty minutes more than his typical hour.

That was all - just a mere half hour longer before coming back

out to face whatever Mistress Mary had planned for this

evening. Nothing very significant in that.

There were, however, two very significant differences between

that Thursday evening and all but one of the other Thursdays

he'd spent in Mistress Mary's keeping. The first was that

this particular Thursday immediately preceded a Cabal

Congregation weekend, which was why he had brought home the

extra work that evening. He wouldn't have Friday night or any

other time over the weekend to catch up before Monday at the

office.

The second, more significant difference was that Mistress Mary

had not been ready or even wanted to play when he'd exited his

office. When he'd started to make the ritual obeisance that

she had devised to put him back into his slave role, she'd

caught him mid-kneel and told him to remain standing.

Instead, she had beckoned him into the living room. Gerald

followed wondering just what the hell was going on.

She'd surely been acting strange lately, he reflected - very

quiet and pensive. Even her scene chatter had seemed

restrained, almost forced - like something she felt she had to

do, but wasn't enjoying very much. He hoped she wasn't

sickening or anything, but whenever he asked, she'd said she

was fine. Maybe now he'd finally find out what was really

bothering her.

A crystal decanter of his favorite brandy and two snifters had

been set out on the small coffee table. Mary settled herself

onto his sofa and then gestured him into his favorite chair -

a chair that had been denied him for the last eight weeks

except during his eight weekly hours of freedom. Mary had co-

opted it for her throne immediately after his period of

servitude had formally begun.

"We need a timeout, Gerald," she said firmly, using his

"freeman" name.

"Yes, Mary?" he responded, his non-use of her title signifying

his acceptance of the temporary setting-aside of their formal

Mistress and slave roles.

Mary blew out a breath and took a sip of her drink. She

started to speak at least twice and each time stopped at the

last minute, seemingly to reconsider. Finally she shook her

head and looked him in the eye. "Gerald, what I am about to

do could be construed as, and probably is a violation of the

contract, but I feel that I must do it anyway. You know that

the contract prohibits me from telling you anything about what

I have planned for the demonstration scene before-the-fact?"

Cautiously, he nodded, but did not say a word. Mary sighed

again and then pressed on. "Well, I am not going to really

tell you exactly *what* I am going to do, but I need to

discuss one aspect of what it will entail with you before we

go any further."

"I am not sure you are even supposed to do that, Mary," he

said thoughtfully.

She waved that away. "Perhaps, but this cannot be helped.

Gerry . . . I mean, Gerald, the Cabal Council has

communicated a new requirement to me. Unfortunately, that

requirement involves you *and* it involves the type of scene

they want me to carry out with you on Saturday. In their

view, you have not *not agreed* to what they've requested.

However, in my view, that is only a hair splitting

technicality and not the actual truth of the matter. In fact,

you did formally appeal to the Council requesting to have much

of what they've demanded I do to you this weekend be excluded

from the contract. Unfortunately, your appeal on that point

was specifically denied by Gemma."

Uncertain where she was going with this, Gerald said "Okay.

So what is it you are trying to tell me?"

Mary set her snifter down and scooted to the edge of her seat,

leaning over toward him. He'd never seen her look so . . .

earnest before, and it unnerved him. "They want me to let

someone else - someone you do not know, in fact - work you for

part of the scene this weekend." She said, with her eyes fixed

on his. "More to the point, they want this person to work you

without me being present during that part of the scenario."

Why, he thought stunned. "Why?" he repeated aloud.

Wearily, Mary's head bowed under the stress she was feeling.

"Because they know that if I come back to the Cabal, so will

you," she gave him a tired little half smile. "At least, you

will if I have anything to say about it. About the only thing

that scares a dominant more than an out of control, abusive

dominant is an out of control submissive with a potential for

violent reprisal against a dominant."

Mary took another sip from her drink before continuing. "A

basic assumption of the Cabal is that, at the Lodge, anyone

there registered as a submissive wants to be there and is

willing to play within the rules. Or at least," she amended

quickly, "That person doesn't mind being there in a

submissive role to balance an out of kilter distribution of

registered dominants and submissives if he or she had

originally registered as a switch. Folks, particularly

dominant folks, react to the submissives accordingly. They

figure any "resistance" they get from a sub while at the Lodge

is part of the game - part of the play from someone who wants

to be "conquered" by the dominant."

"And a submissive who might take violent exception to that

assumption and really take someone's head off before anyone

else could do anything to stop him is just too dangerous to

have around." Gerald said with quiet resignation.

She sat back in her seat and nodded. "That's about it,

Gerald. Someone has decided that you might be able to

translate your obvious caring and affection for me into

control that will assure my safety with you, but that no one

else could afford to rely upon you protecting *them*. There

are times at the Lodge when they hold "all submissives belong

to all dominants" congregations. They are literally afraid

that you won't care enough about someone other than me to

control that beast they fear is inside you."

"And there is no other alternative to this little brainstorm

of theirs?"

"Yes. You could sign a contract that would bar you from ever

returning to the Cabal and that would legally enjoin you from

ever talking about the organization."

"Why not just give me the contract to sign?"

Mary's eyes flashed angrily. "Because I am not willing to ask

you to do that," she said flatly.

Gerald sighed, knowing that there was no point in arguing with

her about that. "Well, assuming we make it through this, and

assuming we are still together, if they are so afraid of me in

that situation then why don't we simply agree not to attend

any of those "all subs submit to all dominants"

congregations?"

"Not good enough for them, I'm afraid," she said with a shake

of her head. "They insist I give you over to someone else

without me being there to help control you."

"God." Gerald replied in disgust. "Why do I feel that is not

the worst of it? Maybe because the scene itself is not going

to be very much fun?"

A sad smile answered him. "I've already told you more than I

should, Gerald." Then her eyes went dark with fury as she

reconsidered that. "Oh hell! I don't give a damn about them

and their contract anymore. This is beyond anything I ever

considered and to be all but ordered to do it!"

Gerald sat quietly, waiting for Mary to go on or to decide not

to say anything more. The Cabal was hers and if she was to

endanger her standing in that organization, she would do so

without prompting from him.

Mary took a deep breath and continued with a wry smile. "In

for a penny, in for a pound. They have told me to conduct a

scene that I have done there in the past - before I met you

and one I haven't ever discussed with you. A scene I have

never run on you, never planned to run on you, because I knew

that it would be hellish for you, love. I may want you to

suffer and endure for me, but this is different. What they

want me to do and to permit to be done to you is as close to

the edge of your limits as I have ever knowingly gone. So

close, that it may well be over the line for you."

Damn. "So why are you even telling me this? Suppose they ask

me if you told me anything?"

"Then you answer them honestly, lover," she shrugged

indifferently. "As to why I am telling you this? Because I

want you to think very carefully about this, and in

particular, about how you might feel and react. Think about

how you felt, about the emotions evoked during the most

difficult, painful, humiliating experiences I have ever put

you through . . . " her voice trailed off "Short of that

night three months ago, that is, and then double or triple

those feelings and emotions. And after you have all that

clearly in your mind, I want you to think about someone other

than me doing all that to you, without me there to protect

you."

Gerald started to speak, but Mary forestalled him. "Don't

answer me now, Gerald. Tomorrow evening, before we leave, I

need to know if you are *absolutely positively* certain you

can handle that kind of stress meted out by someone other than

me without you losing it. And one more very important thing.

I am fairly sure that whomever they pick will not be all that

interested in giving you any pleasure or cutting you any

slack. That person will be testing you - period - to satisfy

herself and the Council that you are safe to play with. If

you think you can handle all that without losing it and* if

after having been given this very minimal warning, you are

still willing, we will leave for the Lodge."

"What about my safe word?"

"It will still be invoked, darling, but I don't know what good

it will really do in the greater context of the contract.

Recall that their evaluation of whether or not its use was

justified is very subjective and they specifically set this

scene up to see you in action. The other scene and the one to

come are more to evaluate me."

"Shit" Gerald snarled disgustedly, his mind a wild,

uncontrolled maelstrom of swirling emotion and barely rational

thought. "And if I cannot guarantee my control?" There was

no question about him not going - truly willing or not.

"Then I phone Gemma and we call this whole trust demonstration

thing off. I am not going to put you through that kind of

hell unless you go into the scene knowing and accepting that

it will be hellish. And obviously, if you are not absolutely

sure of yourself under those conditions, I won't put you or

anyone else in that type of danger. The Cabal is important to

me. But you are infinitely more important."

"So, where does that leave us?"

"I am not going to train or play with you tonight, Gerald. I

want you to go off and think on this. Take a walk if you

want. Go down to the corner bar and have a beer - talk to

your friendly neighborhood bartender to whatever level of

detail you can or want. Come to your own conclusions. I will

accept, without question or penalty, whatever you think best."

"My first conclusion is that this really sucks, Mary." She

winced at the utter disgust he invested in those words.

Sighing sadly, Mary nodded to him. "I know, love, and I won't

disagree with you." With that, she stood and moved over to

stand in front of him. She took her face in both her hands

and brought her mouth down on his. The kiss was fierce, at

once both possessive and giving. She broke it and moved away

before Gerald's arms could fully enclose her. "I am going to

bed, Gerald. Forget that damned contract until we get to the

Lodge," she paused a moment and then amended. "*If* we get to

the Lodge. I want you to think this through carefully. We

will talk again tomorrow evening when you get home. Until

then, consider yourself a free man."

With that, she spun on her heel and moved quickly out of the

room. Moments later, he heard the door to what had been his

bedroom close. He contemplated the light playing off the

mostly untouched amber liquid in his snifter and wondered -

what the hell am I going to do now?

Part 23: Not a Perambulation in the Park

Mary silently cursed herself, the contract and the whole

damned Cabal as she watched Gerald sleeping fitfully on the

floor at the foot of her bed.

Gerald had told her, hell, damn near ordered her to take him

to the Lodge and to go through with the Council-mandated

scene. He promised that he would handle it. She could only

hope that he was correct, because she knew he was incapable of

conceiving what was really in store for him this weekend.

Of course, he might surprise her and avoid the third part of

the planned three part scenario, but she didn't think so.

None of the other three subs she'd played this evil little

game out with had been able to hold out - not even the one

who'd known what was coming because he had witnessed her

conducting the exercise with one of the other two.

She looked at the clock, and sighed. Freda would be arriving

shortly to take him away. She'd been the one selected to

prepare him for the afternoon's demonstration. Poor darling,

she thought sadly. If only Gemma hadn't been so insistent

about this one. If only she had picked someone less . . .

Mary wanted to say nasty, but that wasn't quite the correct

term, but it was close. Couldn't Gemma have picked a Domme

with little more compassionate play-style than Freda?

Some subs really loved Freda, but others avoided her like the

plague. Mary knew of one particular, fairly experienced, deep

playing submissive who always checked ahead to find out if

Freda had a reservation before he'd even attend one of the

"all subs submit to all dominants" weekends. Freda was

strict, perhaps even severe, and in her heart of hearts, Mary

knew that Gerald was not one of the subs who would blossom

under Freda's darkly demanding style of dominance.

Abandoning her expected role, Mary knelt beside her slave and

gently shook him awake. She wished she had kept him in her

bed last night, but she'd been concerned they might oversleep

or that Freda would arrive early. She didn't dare take the

chance of making things worse by flouting those codes of

conduct again. "Good morning, my love," she whispered before

kissing him softly on the mouth. "It is time for you to get

up."

Gerald rose only to his knees, and then bowed low, touching

his forehead to the floor. Mary unlocked the sleeping chain

from his collar and attached his leash before rising to her

feet.

"Gerry? In a few minutes, Governess Freda will be here to

take you off to be prepared for this afternoon. Taken alone,

these preparations will be very extensive and very demanding

for you. I expect you to do your best."

"Yes, Mistress," he responded, feeling the knot of anxiety in

his gut double in size.

"I know you will, Gerry," she said warmly, "But then, you

always do. However, that is not what I meant to say. Yes, I

expect your best but, I also expect . . . no, make that I

• insist* that you safe word if you feel you need to do so,

especially if you would have done so without the specter of

this contract hanging over our heads. I want you to promise,

no, even more than that, I want your word of honor that you

• will* stop the scene if appropriate, regardless of what you

feel the implications might be for me here at the Cabal."

Mary held his chin, her eyes boring into Gerald's, and she saw

him hesitate. "If I do not have your word of honor, Gerry,

• right now*, I will call off the scene myself and we will be

on our way home within the hour," she said with awful

finality.

Gerald still held back, unwilling to make such a promise.

"You can't be serious, Mistress" Gerry countered hopefully. It

was really a question.

Mary rose and picked up the phone from the bedside table.

"Gerry, if I do not hear the words "I give you my word, Mary,"

from you in the next fifteen seconds, this is all over and we

are out of here." She began to punch the numbers on the

handset's keypad.

Gerald's resistance deflated. "I give you my word, Mary, that

I will not consider your continued membership in the Cabal in

my safe word decisions."

An imperious knock on the door interrupted whatever response

Mary had intended. "Come," she called out.

The door opened to admit a tall, powerfully built woman

wearing a long, Victorian style, bustled dress of unrelieved

black silk. Gerald thought she looked like Mary Poppins on a

day when she wasn't "practically perfect in every way." Her

dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the back of her

head, a perky black box hat perched jauntily on her head with

a netted veil shielding her eyes. Her scarlet lips were

sternly set as she gave Gerald's nude form a slow, arrogantly

thorough perusal. A long, thin rattan cane beat a staccato

rhythm against very high-heeled button-down ankle boots.

Obviously, this woman was "Governess" Freda. Gerald disliked

her on first sight.

"This is the demonstration slave?" she demanded in a sharply

imperious voice.

"Yes." Mary answered equably. "This is my slave, Gerry."

"Well, we have much to do before the open demonstration,

Mistress Mary. With your permission?"

Her words were more demand than request, but Mary simply

nodded, and offered her the leash. "Go with the Governess,

Gerry. Be a good boy and do exactly as she says. I will see

you later on today."

Freda snatched the leash from Mary's hand and gave it a sharp,

painful tug, pulling Gerald off balance. "Oh, he'll be a good

boy, darling." Freda smirked. "Or else he will be a very

unhappy boy, and he will still get to the demonstration just

the same." She turned to leave and then stopped. "Perhaps,

Mistress, it might save some time if you would give me your

slave's dormitory receipt? If he safe words out of this, the

Council wants him off the grounds as quickly as possible, and

that will permit me to deliver him to you ready to depart."

Mary did not like that idea one bit, but it was consistent

with what Gemma told her was the plan for this afternoon. Mary

left the sitting room and then returned moments later carrying

the yellow carbon copy of the receipt for Gerald's private

effects. Freda pocketed the offering and then turned back to

the door. "Come with me, boy," she ordered with another sharp

tug.

Gerald started to rise and was given a stinging slash of the

cane across the fronts of his thighs. "I did not tell you to

stand, little boy, only to follow," she said coldly. "That

means stay on your bony little knees and crawl." She tossed a

malevolent grin back at Mary. "Might as well start getting

him into his new role right from the start."

Shaken, Gerry began to crawl behind the rapidly striding

dominant. Mary closed her eyes, trying to block out that

picture, but not before she saw the look of resignation on her

slave-lover's face. It made her want to weep.

~---------------~

A working party comprised of every able bodied submissive at

the Lodge had arranged the main building's Great Hall into the

"Dinner Theater" layout. Small, intimate table groupings were

arrayed in a semicircle about the round, elevated stage. A

low rumble filled the room as the guests made small talk with

other members seated at the same table. The "house" was

packed, and Mary was certain that anyone who was not required

by their duties to be elsewhere was out there waiting. Hell,

she thought in exasperation, every active member of the whole

bloody Cabal must be here today.

Mary's heart was thudding heavily in her chest. This

brainstorm of Gemma's just kept getting worse by the minute.

Gerald hated public humiliation scenes. Going along with

them, fighting through them, enduring them, had always been

one of his extra special gifts to her. A gift made all the

more treasured because she knew just how difficult such play

was for him. This type of scene gave him nothing in return

for what it pulled out of him. His only reward was the purely

extrinsic pleasure of knowing how much his willing compliance

pleased her.

And the script Gemma had specified for today was easily the

heaviest, pure-humiliation scene that Mary had in her arsenal.

She'd never put anyone through this scene who wasn't *very*

deeply into humiliation play. She'd certainly never

considered playing it out with and to Gerald.

Not only that, just about every member was going to watch him

suffering through it. They would cheer her as she drove him

further and further, and they would jeer him. Not that they'd

really mean their little taunts and jibes - they simply would

not believe anyone would willingly tolerate what she'd planned

for this afternoon's demonstration without being into that

type of play. The generally good natured banter would just be

their way of joining in the scene, of trying to help tease the

submissive deeper into his humiliation-derived sub-space. In

their own way, they'd be trying to make the entire experience

better for her slave-lover.

However, Gerald would never see their participation in that

light.

Peeking out from behind the stage curtain one last time, Mary

could see the anticipation on their faces. DAMN! "How had

they known?" She fumed to herself. Even assuming that all of

them had been at the Lodge, why were they here? There had

been almost the same number of members on site last time as

there were for this weekend, but nothing like this many people

had attended that first demonstration.

Freda, she realized, it had to be Freda. Besides herself,

only Gemma and Freda had known what was planned, and she

trusted Gemma implicitly. DAMN the woman!

The room went suddenly silent and Mary saw the reason. A

tall, incredibly regal form was making her way to the center

of the impromptu stage. Almost six and a half feet of

elegantly beautiful black woman, turned out in a finely

tailored, form-fitting black tuxedo complete to the ruffled

white shirt and the black velvet bow-tie, smiled out over the

assembled membership. "Welcome to the second exhibition by

Mistress Mary Jones working her slave Gerald. Today's

demonstration is one of erotic humiliation. I give you

Mistress Mary."

A smattering of polite applause and a general air of excited

anticipation answered Gemma's introduction. Mary gulped down

a last, deep cleansing breath, closed her eyes, and then took

that critical first step out onto the stage.

Conscious of the importance of presentation, Mary moved about

the stage like a model showing off the latest fashion, giving

everyone in the audience a chance to appreciate her costume.

It was a sight well worth appreciating. She wore a blue silk

dress, designed to duplicate the cut and fit of a 1950's house

dress. Black patent leather pumps and black, seamed stockings

completed her outfit. She'd even done up her hair and

brightly hued cosmetics in styles straight out of a 1950's

issue of Redbook Magazine.

She bore a striking resemblance to the television show's Donna

Reed, except for three little facts. The dress fit her like a

second skin, there was obviously nothing between her and the

dress, and her high heeled pumps were well over five inches

tall. This Donna would *never* have passed the purity test of

the old television censorship board.

No sense delaying the inevitable, she told herself grimly, and

then gestured for the next grand entrance. The main curtain

behind her parted to reveal Freda pushing what appeared to be

a huge baby perambulator before her. Which is exactly what it

was. Almost.

Freda positioned the pram center-stage, its long side toward

the audience, and then moved off to one side of the stage to

wait and to watch.

Mary made a theatrical approach to the baby carriage, feeling

almost like a magician's assistant about to open the "lady-

sawed-in-half" box. As she passed the push handles, she

fingered a small, hidden switch. Electronic locks on each

corner of the pram released, whereupon gravity took over. All

four sides immediately fell away to reveal Gerald.

A murmur of surprise was followed by ripples of amused

laughter filled the room as the assembled membership took in

just what had been done to her submissive. Mary did not need

to look. She knew precisely what the others saw. After all,

she'd designed both the baby carriage and the special bondage

restraints.

Surprisingly, Gerald was not actually bound to the carriage.

That was because such additional restraint was unnecessary -

he wasn't going anywhere very soon. Strong, inch and a half

wide nylon web cuffs were cinched tightly to his upper arms,

wrists, waist, throat, thighs and ankles. Bungee cords

connected his upper arms to his waist and to the respective

wrist which were, in turn, similarly attached to the neck

collar. His thigh cuffs were bound, again via bungee cords,

to the ankle bands. His hands were fitted into flesh toned,

very stiff, fingerless gloves that eliminated most of his

manual dexterity.

The bondage was deceptively strict. Although the flexible

bungee cords permitted him some freedom of movement, it was

mostly illusory. He could not control or move any of his

extremities to any real degree. Even if he could have gotten

down from the carriage without hurting himself, there was no

way he could have stood on his two feet, much less walked.

With a great deal of effort, he might have been able to crawl,

but not very far before his muscles wearied from the constant

fight against the strong bungee cords.

Gerald had been effectively reduced to the mobility and

physical self control of an infant. A large diameter ring gag

to deprive him of understandable speech and a pink latex baby

bonnet completed his ensemble.

Mary finally turned to face her subject and began to examine

him dispassionately. Freda had decided to dispense with the

diaper, but whatever body hair that had grown back since the

previous month's demonstration had again been removed. The

reddish tinge to Gerald's skin was probably more the result of

a very strong depilatory than embarrassment, although that

emotion was there, too.

The nipple of a ridiculously large baby bottle had been pushed

through the open center of Gerald's ring gag. She could see

the fluid level in the two-quart bottle slowly but steadily

going down. Gerald had no choice but to swallow the fluid as

it steadily trickled into his mouth. Water with a little

vinegar to act as a mild diuretic, Mary knew, and this was not

the first nor likely even only the second such bottle he'd

been forced to drink in the past three hours.

Finally, she looked at his face, and had to steel herself not

to look away or to flinch. He looked so diminished laying

there. More than that, he had to be, at the very minimum,

extremely uncomfortable because Mary was sure he had not been

permitted to empty his bladder since she'd wakened him. But

more than that, it was the hurt she saw in his eyes that made

her want to call this whole damned thing off. Only the fact

that he had an electronic "red-light" panic button within easy

reach to signal he was safe wording gave her the strength to

continue. Gerald could press that button whenever, or if ever

he reached his limits. Depressing that switch would cause a

red light bulb on the pram to flash on, whereupon she or Freda

would end the scene and release him from his bonds.

A ripple of impatience moved through the watchers. She had to

get on with it if she was going to do it at all. She moved

behind the carriage and pulled the still leaking nipple from

his mouth. Theatrically, she tickled him under his chin and

cooed at him in baby talk. "So, is Mama's little snookums all

full?" she asked as her other hand slipped down to grip his

semi-hard manhood. "My, but aren't you a big boy . . . well,

for a baby, anyway." The snidely delivered comment drew an

appreciative laugh from her audience.

Mary moved off stage for a moment, returning pushing a white

enameled cart similar to what might be used in a hospital . .

. or in a nursery. Earlier, she'd laid out the toys she would

need for this script onto the cart. There were feathers for

tickling, a variety of corporal punishment tools, some

surgical and nipple clamps among other toys, and a large, old

fashioned, sand-filled hourglass. Mary picked up a long-

plumed feather and moved back to her "infant."

Gerald nearly jumped off the carriage when Mary stroked the

feather down the underside of his cock and around his scrotum.

"I bet that my little baby wants to know what Mommy has

planned for her little sweetie, doesn't he?" she singsonged at

him. When he didn't react, she chucked him underneath his

chin. "Aw c'mon, sweetie, aren't you just a little curious?"

Mary realized that he was absolutely furious. Well, she had

warned him and he did have the panic button she told herself.

"Well, let me tell you anyway, baby-boy. We are going to do

some potty training so you can prove to all of us here

watching you that you are a big boy and not just a baby.

Doesn't that sound like fun?"

In a pig's eye, his eyes yelled at her.

No one else "heard" that, so Mary doggedly continued with her

script. "All you have to do is not do your pee-pee for the

next two hours," and here she held up the hourglass, "Just two

times through this without wetting yourself means you are a

big boy who gets to be a grownup for the rest of the weekend."

She stroked the feather along his balls again and watched him

go rigid. "But if you aren't a big boy, and go wee-wee before

the end of the two hours? Well, then you must still be a

baby, so you'll spend the rest of the weekend in the nursery

with Nanny Freda." Gerald closed his eyes.

Mary gripped his penis and stroked it slowly, making his eyes

snap back open and lock on her. "Of course, if this little

thing actually orgasms before you wet yourself, then you must

be a big boy. So, all you have to do to get free, lovey, is

either hold your water for two hours, or empty your balls

before you empty your bladder." She bent over and pressed a

kiss to his forehead and whispered, "Good luck, sweetheart. I

love you."

Standing erect once more, Mary reinserted the bottle's nipple

into the ring gag, flipped the hourglass before reaching onto

the cart for her first toy. "Nanny Freda," she called. "If

you would be so good as to assist me, please?"

Part 24: Nursery Games

Mary sat alone in her suite at the lodge, quietly, coldly

furious. Against all odds, Gerald had almost made it. He'd

been spanked, paddled, tickled, teased and generally tormented

to distraction for almost the entire two hours and he'd almost

made it. He'd kept his concentration and had somehow held out

for the whole scheduled session. She could have counted the

number of grains of sand left in the top of the glass on one

hand.

Freda, damn her black soul, had literally gut-punched Gerry

right on top of his bladder with the sharp point of her elbow.

Damn the bitch, anyway. The combination of the sudden added

pressure on his bladder and the painful shock from the blow

had shattered his last reserves of control.

Once the flow started, there was nothing he could do to stop

it. A surprisingly powerful column of water had erupted from

his tormented penis. The length and duration of that fountain

had been impressive. Hell, the damned audience had applauded

him for that as much or more than they had for the

"successful" completion of the second phase of the scene.

Of course he hadn't come either, even though she and Freda had

teased his penis mercilessly throughout the two-hour scene.

He'd certainly been erect throughout the session, but it had

only been a "pee hard-on" which had made him physiologically

unable to climax. Nothing like a painfully overfilled bladder

to block off the semen flow, but that was the whole point of

that particular play scenario anyway. He was *supposed* to

wet himself and spend the rest of their visit being worked

over and tested by Freda. Now, she wished she had been able

to get him off.

Well, until and unless Gerry safe worded Freda, she was going

to be stuck alone in this room - unless someone decided to

take mercy on her and drop by for a visit. God, she wished

Gemma had minded her own damned business.

Still, if things went well, there were other good lessons to

be learned in this scene. Who knows, she mused, maybe Gerry

would be able to relax once he was in private and play again.

The scenario called for the "baby" to be allowed to crawl

about, be made to play with baby toys and other silly things.

Gemma was superb at getting the sub into the game as nanny,

but they couldn't use her since she was already well known to

Gerry. Hopefully, Freda would be as good for all her

reputation. She knew what was expected.

And there were the other, less pleasant but still very

important lessons that Gerry would have to absorb before the

scene was over. Mary just hoped there would be sufficient

playfulness for him to balance the humiliation of those other

lessons.

Thank God she had ordered him to use his safe word and not be

stupidly brave about this. At least he knew she wanted him to

do so, regardless of the potential consequences. The whole

point of that bondage scene two weeks ago, besides getting him

to stay open to her in the presence of an "audience," was to

show him that he could safe word without repercussions.

Mary really wanted to go home.

~-----------~

So did Gerald.

Gerald's trip back to the "nursery" was distinctly

uncomfortable. In addition to the bloody baby-restraint

system and the jawbreaking ring gag, Gerald had a knot the

size of a grapefruit in his lower abdomen from Freda's little

shot to his gut. Almost as bad as the hurt was the stench.

When he'd lost control, not all of the escaping urine had made

it to the floor. A substantial quantity of that flood was now

soaking the "bedding" of this baby cart from hell.

Rationally, as in the previous congregation scene, Gerald had

never expected to be allowed to "win" Mistress Mary's little

wager, and yet, he was disappointed that he had not won.

Dammit, he fumed silently, he had almost made it. Just a few

grains of sand to go, a mere handful of seconds, and he would

have made it. He'd seen the surprise in Mary's eyes as she

too realized that he had won. And then Freda, pretending to

slip on one of her high heeled boots, had given him an elbow

drop to the gut that would have done Hulk Hogan proud.

That was all she wrote. There was absolutely no doubt that

she had done it on purpose, but it didn't really matter. Very

little happened in this place that was not intentional.

Besides, Mary had intended this to be his fate, so other than

a very bad stomachache, nothing much had really changed. At

least the pressure on his bladder was relieved.

Once inside the nursery, Freda began setting out what she

wanted to use for the next few hours. Some of that stuff,

Gerald recognized. Diapers, especially adult-sized diapers,

were hard to miss, as were the various implements of corporal

correction. Some of it, he could not figure out at all, and

that bothered him.

Well, he was not going to go hide. This *was* a Mary

scenario, so there had to be something positive about it -

just like there had been in the serving wench scene once he'd

let his guard down enough to let the Dommes come inside and

play.

With that realization, Gerald forced himself to relax. He

would have smiled if the gag had permitted it. He put his

trust in Mary's caring and understanding, and opened himself

to whatever the austerely garbed Domme had in store for him.

Humming a silly lullaby, Freda slipped the diaper under his

buttocks and proceeded to powder him thoroughly. At least it

was real baby powder and not some type of itching-irritant

powder. She hung a small rubber bag, about a short pint's

size from what Gerald could see of it, from a hanger above her

head.

Gerald's eyes went wide as he watched her connect a tube with

a pinch clamp to the bag and then fill it with water. No, by

god, his mind screamed, not that. He'd surrendered control of

his bladder to Mistress Mary, publicly in fact, but there was

no way in hell he was going to surrender that to this female.

"Aaaa errr" he shouted, the infernal ring gag garbling the

sound of any letter that required closing of the mouth or

lips. Freda just looked at him, and then continued her

preparations. "AAAAAA ERRRRR!" Gerald screamed, trying to

bite through the damned hard rubber ring so that he could get

out the missing "s", "f", "w" and "d" sounds to make "aaaa

errrr" into "safe word."

It did not work.

Christ, he fumed, what the hell good was his promise to safe

word if he couldn't signal the damned safe word? Couldn't

Freda tell what he was trying to say? Wasn't she an

experienced enough domina to know how "safe word" would sound

under these circumstances, even through this infernal gag?

Mary could, and had done so with him several times in their

relationship. And when she wasn't sure, she fucking asked!

Having finished her setup, Freda turned back to Gerald. In

her hand was a nozzle affixed to the end of the tubing

extending from the bottom of the enema bag. Two squeeze tubes

connected to the nozzle and dangled on either side of her

hand.

The bungee cords made it easy for her to gain access to

Gerald's anal aperture. He couldn't really lower or

straighten his legs to any real degree. Gerald felt the cool

slick feeling of lubricant sliding in between cheeks of his

butt, and went mad.

Using every ounce of strength and determination, he began

moving about frantically, at least as much as the restraints

permitted. Freda tried to insert the nozzle, but missed each

time. Unfortunately for Gerald, the effort to fight the

elastic restraints was just too much. Freda kept jabbing, but

it quickly became obvious to him that she was letting him wear

himself out.

Finally, exhaustion won, and Gerald lost. Panting, his

muscles screaming for oxygen, he waited for the enema tube to

slide into his body. Grim faced and obviously furious, Freda

set down the nozzle and picked up the cane she had carried

when she had first fetched him from Mary's suite.

"Bad boy!" she taunted. "Nanny is going to clean you out, you

naughty boy." She pushed up on his feet with one hand, the

bungee restraints aiding in that, and brought the cane

slashing down across his defenseless bottom.

Gerald screamed through the gag, the force of his shriek

making his own throat hurt. He had not even finished that

first scream when Freda struck again . . . and again, until he

had taken six of the best.

Her face flushed, and her eyes burning with an emotion that

truly frightened Gerald, Freda bent over and got into his

face. "Now, I am going to give you that enema, and you are

going to be a good boy and not fight me. Fight me, and you

will get double what you just got, fight me again and it will

double again. Eventually, you will give in, little boy. It's

up to you. As for me, I'd just as soon beat your ass as look

at you."

Utterly defeated, Gerald tried one last time. His eyes fixed

on her, he ground out "Aaaaa Errrr!"

Shaking her head as if she did not understand, Freda said.

"Nod your head yes or no, boy. Yes means you are going to be

good and take your enema, and no means you want more of my

pretty little cane across those hairless little boy cheeks of

yours."

Closing his eyes, Gerald nodded. He was trapped, his only way

out of here was somehow denied to him. By Mary's decree? No,

he'd never believe that. Hell, she'd *ordered* him to use it.

The violation of Gerald's rectum was accomplished quickly and

without any more fuss. He felt the fullness inside and the

tightness outside his anal ring as the two air bladders were

filled with air.

"Now, here it comes, little boy." Freda cooed as she released

the hose clamp.

Liquid fire flowed into Gerald's guts. It was hot, and yet,

it was more than just hot. It was like there was a chemical

burn to it as well. "I made it good and soapy so we can

really clean you out."

Gerald was sobbing, crying openly with the last of the fluid

spilled into him, but Freda made no move to stop or even to

remove the now empty enema kit. Instead, she began kneading

his lower stomach muscles, forcing the hot fluid into every

nook and cranny of Gerald's intestines. Then, she simply

waited, watching him as the pressure inside him built, as he

strained to control the overwhelming and painful need to empty

his bowels.

After what seemed like eternity, Freda moved back to his

bottom. He heard the hiss of the bladders deflating and felt

some of the fullness and pressure subside - at least briefly.

Moments later, the nozzle was gone and Freda was pinning the

diaper to him.

"Nap time, little boy," she smirked, giving him a none-too-

gentle buffet to his straining lower abdomen. "Sleep well. I

will bring you your bottle in a couple of hours. Nitey

night," and she turned the lights in the little cubicle out

and left him alone.

It was only a matter of time, he thought grimly. Removing the

nozzle had only been a momentary respite - the pressure and

the pain began building back up almost immediately. He could

fight it, and lose control in fifteen or twenty minutes -

maybe as much as almost an hour - but in the end, he was going

to lose control and mess the diaper. And then he'd be stuck

wearing the shitty thing until Freda returned. On the other

hand, he could just let go and accept the inevitable. That

would relieve one problem, but might cause others. He really

did not want to think what that hot, soapy waste would do to

the welts Freda's cane had cut into his butt. And the sooner

he let go, the longer that stuff would have to eat into him.

Gerald set about holding out as long as he could. That was

not nearly enough, however, and Gerald had a very long wait

before Freda finally returned.

Only, when Freda did return, it was with another bottle of

that damned water for him to drink or choke on, but she did

not bother changing his soiled diaper.

Part 25: Aftermath

Mary's obnoxiously cheerful alarm chimed to announce that a

new work day had dawned. Her fatigue-fogged mind did not

react immediately, and it was several seconds before she was

alert enough to slap her hand in the general location of the

snooze button. The alarm cycled again seven minutes later,

and then seven minutes after that before Mary could finally

drag herself from beneath the covers.

That was when she realized something was missing, several some

things, in fact. Gerald up and with her morning coffee for

starters since that service was one of his primary morning

chores. A quick sniff of the air didn't even carry a hint of

brewing coffee either.

Well, she thought, if she was this blitzed, how must he feel?

He'd been very listless when Freda had returned him, fully

dressed yet oddly still restrained hand and foot, to Mary's

suite a little after four the previous evening. Mary had been

a little surprised that Freda had taken the time to stop by

the slave dormitory so that Gerry could dress and gather his

things ahead of the other homeward-bound slaves. That

unexpected consideration on Freda's part had permitted them to

leave immediately for home.

Gerry had been so wasted, she remembered - he did not even

offer to drive as he had in the past - he'd simply settled

very carefully down onto his seat, and had not said a single

word for the entire drive. She'd thought a couple of times

that he'd fallen asleep, but each time she'd checked he'd been

awake, and staring off into the darkness.

Once they'd reached home, Gerry had requested and received her

permission to go straight up to his room and get into his bed.

He must have overslept.

A quick check downstairs revealed no sign of Gerald, although

his four wheel drive vehicle was still where she'd parked it

the night before. Back upstairs, she heard him talking on the

phone in his room and had slipped inside. Gerry was laying on

his stomach and talking into the phone.

"Yes, Vicki, that's right. I fell and hurt my hip. I can

barely walk. No, I don't know if I will be able to come in

tomorrow, either. If it isn't better, I will probably have to

go to the doctor. Yes, I will call and let you know. Thanks.

See you later."

Gerald set the phone on the hook and only then realized that

he was not alone in the room. "Good morning, Mistress," he

said, but did not attempt to rise from his bed in her

presence.

"Good morning, Gerry. How bad is your hip?"

A surprised look flitted across his face. "Oh . . . well,

that was just a little white lie. I need some more time to

rest, and I would like to take my weekly eight hours today

after you get home from work."

Mary saw him trying to look sheepish, but he was too

intrinsically honest a man to dissemble very well. "All

right, Gerry. Tonight it is. In the meantime, I want my

coffee. I am going to go take my shower while you fix it."

She turned and left the room, but stopped just outside to

listen out of Gerald's sight. Hearing nothing, Mary reentered

the bedroom catching Gerald's tortuously slow, obviously

painful efforts to crawl out of his bed. "*Stop* . . .

• right* . . . *there*!" she ordered coldly. "Now, I want you

to pull down your shorts, right now."

"Mary . . . " Gerald said in an exasperated tone.

"I am your *Mistress*, sir, by your own consent," she said

with quiet intensity in her voice and fire in her eyes, "And I

will remain your Mistress until *you* tell me otherwise and

terminate our contract with the Cabal. Now, either formally

renounce me as your Mistress or do as I just ordered. . . . I

mean NOW, Mister!"

Gerald looked at her for a moment, and Mary could almost see

him considering trying to argue her out of her chosen course.

For his part, Gerald saw the unyielding steel in her. Then he

remembered why he was in this condition. She would terminate

the contract, damn her, and then what he went through over the

weekend would have been for nothing. Slowly, and with great

care, Gerald slid the white cotton jockey shorts down over his

ass.

"Oh . . . My . . . god," Mary choked out, horrified. Tears

started to prickle and burn at her eyes as she forced herself

to carefully examine the condition of her man's backside.

With a cry of anguish, she ran from the room, slamming and

locking his door behind her.

~-----------~

Mary furiously brushed the wayward lock of hair out of her

eyes and snarled into the telephone. She wanted to cry some

more, but just then, she was just too damned angry. "Gemma,

Look. I want the Cabal's doctor over here at Gerry's place

right now, okay? I don't give a good goddamn what he may be

doing. Short of lifesaving surgery, I want him here in thirty

minutes . . . "

"God damn it, of course I am serious. Let me tell you just

how serious I am. If that damn Doctor is not over here in the

next half hour, I will take Gerry to the Emergency Room, and I

will answer every damned one of their questions - truthfully .

. . "

"Screw the damn parole file, Gemma. He needs help. Gerald is

a physical mess and he can barely move . . . "

"Gemma, you should see his ass, okay? What isn't welted and

badly bruised is splotched with diaper rash! And at least

three of the welts are showing signs of being infected. The

bitch must have left him in wet diapers all damned night! . .

."

"Fine. You do that, and while you're at it, why don't you

come over and see for yourself. . . ."

"I don't fucking care how well respected she is nor do I care

that he didn't use his safe word during the nursery scenes

with that bitch. He's been *abused*, damn her soul to hell,

and if she is half as good as you seem to think she is, then

she couldn't possibly have missed that. . . ."

"God damn it, Gemma - NO, I am *not* exaggerating and I am

most definitely not overreacting. I have been doing what we

do for a long time, and I know when a scene has gone too

fucking far, particularly when I god damned know well the sub

involved. If Freda is so damned experienced and well

respected, then she should have known the scene had gone too

fucking far, particularly since she knew next to nothing about

the slave involved and what he could or could not handle."

"Good. See you then." The phone survived its sudden and

abrupt return to the cradle. Not by much, but it did survive.

For several long moments, Mary simply stood there, staring

down at the phone and fighting to regain some semblance of

composure. Other than for effect when she was playing the bad

ass Domme-bitch, Mary did not often permit herself to resort

to such language, but as enraged as she was at that very

moment, no other words seemed sufficient to her needs.

Actually, even those were insufficient to her needs. She

simply did not know any words vile enough to express her fury.

Mary took several more minutes to start hot coffee and to cool

off a little more. Not too much, though - she wasn't done

venting her acute displeasure on the Cabal Queen Bee yet - not

by a long shot. In fact, the only reason she was trying to

calm down at all was that she still needed to see to Gerry,

and she couldn't be raging when she did that.

The coffee making took even longer than she'd planned. In all

the time she'd been here, she'd never had to raise so much as

a pinky-finger in Gerald's kitchen. As a result, she didn't

know where anything was stored. Well, that was about to

change, too, at least until Gerry was well and truly on his

feet again. Mary decided she had to enjoy doing such things

for him as much as possible while she still could. DAMN Freda,

she thought with a spurt of renewed anger, and damn the whole

blasted Cabal as well.

Not good, she told herself, you have to be cool and collected

when you face Gerry again, and so she turned her attention

back to the task at hand. The simple ritual of measuring out

coffee beans, grinding them and starting the brewer finally

helped calm her. She called her own office and told them she

was ill. By the time she was off the phone, the coffee was

done. Mary filled two mugs with the dark, fragrant brew and

carried them up to Gerald's room.

Gerald was laying on his stomach atop his blankets. His

shorts still down around his ankles, when Mary opened the

door. Silently, she handed him one of the steaming mugs and

then settled herself on the edge of the bed, being careful not

to jostle him. "Gemma is sending a doctor over to check you

over." He started to protest but her hand on his mouth stopped

him. "You will let him check you over, so don't waste your

breath trying to argue me out of that. He is a member of the

Cabal, completely. Discreet and very good at what he does.

You don't have to worry about what his records will say." She

took a sip from her cup and grimaced. Gerald made much better

coffee than she did.

"So," Mary continued in a saccharine sweet voice, "Why don't

you take this opportunity to explain to me just how the hell

you let yourself get into that abysmal condition when I

specifically ordered you use your safe word and when you gave

me your *word* that you would?!!?"

Part 26: Reconstruction of the Crime

"You'll have to make do with my coffee, Gemma. Gerald's is

much better, but he isn't going to be moving around the

kitchen or anywhere else for a few days." Mary said acidly as

she poured coffee at the table in Gerald's little kitchen.

Gemma closed her eyes at that little gibe, and nodded. Mary

had read her the riot act again as soon as the doctor had

taken his leave. Although she stood nearly eight inches

taller than the more diminutive domina, Gemma had felt very

much the erring schoolgirl, with Mary playing the role of her

old boarding school Head Mistress taking her to task for some

failure or infraction.

Determined not to give Mary cause to get started again, Gemma

decided calm agreement was the safest path to take. "Too

right, Mary, God, how could Freda do that? I mean, I know we

told her to be tough with him. Hell, the whole point of this

was to press him hard and see if he could handle it. Assuming

you were correct and it was the humiliation aspect of that . .

. incident . . . that set him off, this was a natural, if

very demanding next step from the forced feminization game you

played on him at the first congregation."

"If that damned bitch had played by the rules, Gemma. She

didn't and Gerry is suffering because of it!"

Gemma saw the martial glint in her friend's eyes becoming more

pronounced. She spoke quickly to interrupt her tirade a'

borning." "I know, Mary, I know. I even selected her because

of her style of play. I don't know what she could have been

thinking of to go that far." Gemma just shook her head. "On

the other hand, Mary, how could he let her do that to him?

Was he afraid we'd rule against you if he tried to protect

himself or did you order him not to safe word, Mary?"

"He couldn't safe word." Mary replied in a dangerously soft

voice.

"Of course he could." Gemma responded instinctively until she

caught the deadly look on Mary's face. She was furious again,

but this time it was a cold rage, and all the more frightening

to Gemma."um mm . . . Couldn't he?" She tentatively asked

seeking more evidence for Mary's emotion

Mary forced herself to calm down. Nothing would be gained by

screaming at Gemma any more. She screamed anyway. "She left

that fucking ring gag in his mouth the whole damned weekend.

She kept the baby straps on him, too. He couldn't make a

single intelligible word. Not only that, but in direct

contravention of my instructions to her she did not even

bother telling him about the panic button built into the baby

carriage. Of course, it is only Gerald's word against hers,

but Gerry has never lied to me and he has nothing to gain by

lying to me now."

"Well, from the looks of his ass, I would say revenge might be

a pretty good motive. Hard to believe he would break out like

that from wet diapers, though. Maybe Freda was just careless

or fell asleep."

"They weren't just wet, Gemma." The other woman's eyebrows

rose into her hairline, her mouth open in shock. "He soiled

himself, the first time shortly after they left the

auditorium, and she didn't change him or clean him up until

just before she was to return him to me."

"How?" was all Gemma could say to that.

"According to Gerry, Freda gave him a couple of moderately

sized but very soapy enemas - one right after the scene, and

one just before she put him to bed for the night. He tried,

but eventually the soap's irritation was just too much for him

and he lost control of his bowels. She left those damned

messy diapers on him until the end of the weekend, Gemma!

She's damned lucky he doesn't have a really serious infection

because of that nasty little stunt. I *might* still let her

live."

Mary's face went very hard and her voice dropped too just

barely above a whisper. "Initially, I didn't really

understand why she felt she had to deliver him to me in ankle

and hand irons. Now I do, and I am only sorry I did not turn

him loose on her. No, I take that back. I am sorry I did not

turn myself loose on her."

"That is what got you into this mess in the first place,

darling. You are wagering a great deal on his self control.

Don't fuck it up now."

"Well, as you said yourself, Gemma. Look at the condition she

returned him in. Christ, I want to break that damned cane of

hers over her head, and stick the two jagged ends up places

where it does her the least good and that is just for

starters."

Gemma's stomach fluttered at the memory of what Gerry's

buttocks had looked like. She was still having a hard time

believing that a Cabal-vetted Domme could do something like

that to a submissive in her keeping.

"That would gain nothing, either." Gemma said, trying to keep

the lid on her friend's mounting anger.

"True enough, but I can dream, can't I? As he pointed out,

bringing charges against another member of the Cabal is

serious business, and if he couldn't prove it, he might do

more harm than good."

"No witnesses to the scene?"

"None that stayed for any length of time according to Gerry.

One actually mentioned the stench, but Freda said it was time

for his changing and that she'd take care of it after the

visitor left. And Gerry did not recognize her, anyway."

Gemma shook her head. "Then there is nothing I can do, at

least officially. As you said, it is only his word that she

did not give him the opportunity to safe word out of it. She

won't tell on herself as you did. Unofficially, however, I am

going to keep a *very* close eye on our Nanny-Dearest. We

don't need that kind of incident messing things up for

everyone else. If she is really that vicious, she will slip

up again, and I will be there to catch her next time."

"Thanks." Mary replied wearily. Her anger was starting to

wind down again, at least for the moment, and the post-

adrenalin-rush fatigue was on her.

"What are you going to do?" Gemma asked gently.

"Stay home and take care of him. For as long as he'll let me,

anyway," she said with a defeated shrug. "As I should have

done over the weekend."

"I will say this just one last time, dammit." Gemma's own

temper was fraying under the morning's revelations. "There

was nothing you could have done once you agreed to the scene,

Mary, and to Freda's assumption of responsibility for him in

the scene. Under the current rules, you could not have left

your room, even if you'd been absolutely positive she was

abusing him. That is the way the contract is written. The

fault lies with me for selecting Freda and then not monitoring

her, and with Freda for abusing him, as you said, in total

contravention of your direction."

"Screw that god-damned contract." Mary snapped. "It is not

going to matter much longer anyway." At Gemma's quizzical

look, Mary laughed bitterly. "Do you honestly think I would

ask him to go back up there? After what our oh-so-precious

Cabal with all our high-minded rhetoric about safety and

sanity and all that consensuality bullshit just did to him?

Christ, Gemma, he has every right in the world to tell me to

go to hell if I even suggested such a thing. I'm somewhat

amazed he hasn't already."

"He tried to hide it from you, Mary. Seems to me he did that

because he knew this is how you would react and he did not

want that. And also because he knows that you are in no way

responsible for his current condition. In a way, your sub is

still trying to look out for your safety - just like we said

back when I asked you to do that scene with him. Since he

could have already called the whole thing off over this, I

would say he has already decided to stay the course to the

end," Gemma encouraged.

"He has a lot of discomfort to live through yet, Gemma. He

might just change his mind. The bruises from that damned cane

of hers are deep. The doctor figures he will be almost back

to normal in a week or so. In some ways, the worst is yet to

come. He'd have to be a masochist to be willing to continue.

He's not a masochist and I am not a sadist. Don't expect us

back, Gemma."

"No, he isn't a masochist. He's a man in love - one who wants

to slay dragons for his lady. He's just worried that he might

also be one of those dragons that threaten her." Gemma stood

and offered her hand to her friend. They shook hands where

once they would have hugged, which saddened them both. "I

expect I will see you up on the mountain with Gerald at least

one more time. Good luck, dear. I can find my own way out.

Go see how your patient is doing."

Mary watched Gemma leave the house, and then watched as her

car disappeared from view before heading up the stairs to

Gerald.

~------------~

"Why?"

Mary looked up from the book she was reading. She had moved

Gerald back into the Mistress Bedroom for the duration of his

recovery. The bathroom was closer for Gerald and the bed was

better. Besides, there was also a comfortable chair in which

Mary could rest in as she kept her vigil.

"Why, what, Gerald?"

"That damned scene. I know Freda disobeyed you, but I don't

understand what you hoped to accomplish with it."

Mary considered her answer, trying to decide how much of the

truth she should give him. All of it, she mused. It was time

for him to know all of it, and if he ordered her out of his

life for it? Well, maybe that was fair.

"Part of it you already know. The Cabal wanted to be sure you

could be trusted with someone other than me - especially if

that person pressed you and your buttons hard."

"And they still don't fucking know, do they? It is not like I

was free to do anything the entire time."

"True, but that is not the point. You should have been, or at

least somewhat free, anyway." At Gerald's derisive snort of

disbelief, Mary bristled. "Do you want to know this or not?"

Gerald gave a sharp nod. "Then listen. The public part was

intended as another humiliation treatment. In case you

haven't realized it, you react very badly to that type of

play. I think that may be a large piece of what made you snap

and attack me. I was so proud of you, Gerald. You almost

won. You should have won."

"Freda couldn't have that. She told me later that she has

been dreaming about having a sub who couldn't say no to her

for a very long time. What was supposed to happen?"

"First and foremost, you were supposed to be teased into

playing with her. Baby games mostly like crawling around,

sucking on a pacifier or perhaps on your thumb and playing

with a rattle. All the games were with a hint of humiliation,

but more playful than anything else. Freda is supposed to be

particularly good at that type of scene. We thought that, in

the privacy of the nursery, you'd be able to let go and enjoy

yourself, much as you had when I put you in little girl

rompers. We hoped that you'd realize you could "suffer" some

gentle humiliation in privacy and still have fun, and with

someone other than me pushing your buttons."

Gerald considered this and nodded. "Like the Cabaret before

that guy interfered."

Mary nodded. "Just so. The other part of the planned

program, however, was not quite that benign."

Her defensive tone brought Gerald's head up with a snap. "Not

quite so benign?" The question was actually a demand and both

realized that.

"You were going to be a baby for the entire weekend, Gerald,"

Mary said with soft emphasis, "Just as I said you would be at

the beginning of the afternoon demonstration on Saturday.

That meant no access to adult facilities. You were to spend

the whole time in diapers and yes, *using* diapers."

"For god's sake, Mary," he breathed, "Why?!?!"

"To show you that being dependent on someone else is all right

when you are submitting to that someone. She was supposed to

change you regularly, even if you did not need it. In case

you are wondering, yes, you would have needed it. She was

going to keep feeding you fluids, keeping you super hydrated.

You could not possibly have held it for more than twenty four

hours."

"What about bowel movements?"

"Why do you think we had soup for dinner Friday night and why

I gave you an enema before you went to bed that night? So you

wouldn't have to move your bowels, but if you had, she was

supposed to handle that, too."

"I can't believe you mean that." He growled.

"Why do you think I ordered you to safe word if it got to be

too much for you, love? Why do you think I drove you to safe

word with those vibrating clamps and cock ring? I figured it

would be necessary for you, especially if you did need to move

your bowels. I wanted you to know without the slightest

shadow of doubt that using your safe word was exactly what I

wanted you to do if the situation got too rough for you."

She watched as Gerald went very still and all emotion left his

face. Here it comes, she thought bleakly - he was going to

order her to leave him the hell alone. It won't be enough for

him. Well, she really could not blame him.

Gerald took a deep breath. "Thank you, Mistress."

"What did you say?" Mary goggled in disbelief.

"Thank you," he repeated. "I can see that you did everything

you could to make this easier for me. It is not your fault

that any of this happened. And while I can't say I would have

liked having control of my most basic bodily functions

stripped from me, I know beyond any doubt that you intended

that I safe word out of that."

"You believe me?" Mary asked, her heart singing.

"You've never lied to me, Mistress. Of course I believe you."

"Oh," Mary said, still dazed.

Part 27: The End???

Gerald came home from work early. It had been a week and a

half since the last Congregation, and he'd been damn glad to

get out of the house and back to the office. Mary as Mistress

was a very formidable person used to getting her own way.

Mary as Nurse was even more determined to get her own way, and

she was just so . . . so nice about it. A sweet smiling,

ruthlessly-committed-to-getting-someone-well-or-else Domina

can be a very scary experience. Still, he'd had no choice but

to lie there and take it. He'd been in no real condition to

go to work until Friday.

Fortunately, the Doctor's note to his Human Resource

Department had cleared the way for him to stay home most of

that week - at least until he could sit for extended periods

of time without too much discomfort. Oddly enough, it had

been the lingering diaper rash that had kept him down the

longest. Sitting down on those itching, irritated tissues had

nearly driven him nuts until the creams and ointments had

finally soothed him.

He was mostly all healed now, at least physically. It wasn't

hard to heal when all you did was rest. If Mary had given him

a single order other than 'go to bed' or 'eat your dinner' or

worst of all, 'take your medicine' in the past ten days,

Gerald couldn't remember it. Helluva way to run a slavery.

"Hello, Gerry," her voice surprised him. "You are home

early."

"Mistress?!? I didn't expect to see you here," he replied,

feeling somewhat inane. "What are you doing here?" he blurted

out.

She smiled at that. "I was just asking myself the same thing

about you. I was planning on doing this later, but we might

as well do it now as later. Would you please join me in the

den?"

Again a request, not an order. "Of course, Mistress."

Another sad smile. "Thank you," was all she said.

Inside the den, she again gestured him into his favorite chair

and took a seat on the sofa opposite him.

"Is this another time out, Mistress?" Gerald asked, trying to

figure out what the hell was going on.

"You might say that," she said, reaching over to the end table

to pick up a manilla folder. "Gerry, the reason I came home

early . . . " Her voice suddenly broke on a sob that she

tried to stifle and did not quite succeed. "Home," she

repeated, almost to herself, "I said I came home. Not 'to

your house', but to *Home*." She batted her hand at a tear

from her eye. "Such a short time and your house has already

become 'home'."

"I want you to think of it as home, Mary. All along I've

wanted to give it to you."

"I know, but after that damned night with Richard, you are

still afraid that you might hurt me, afraid that I might fear

you." She just shook her head. "Anyway, as I was saying, I

came home to pack my things." Her hands flexed on the folder.

"But you can't leave here. The contract says we have to live

24/7 until after the third congregation. We can't do that

unless we are living together. Unless you mean for us to move

into your apartment?"

"You mean this contract, Gerry?" she offered him the file

folder. "And no, I don't propose that *we* move into my

apartment. What I propose to do is rip that contract to

shreds and get on with our lives."

Fear cut across Gerald's soul. "But . . . but why? We're so

close. Only one more of those things and you are home-free -

back in the good graces of the Cabal. Why are you quitting

now?"

Tears began to flow faster. "How can you even ask that? Lord

above, Gerry, how can you even consider continuing this? Why

aren't you demanding that we quit while you are ahead? How

could you think of going back to the Lodge? After what that

bitch did to you? How can you think of trusting me any more

after what they did to you . . . after what I let them do to

you?"

Gerald was off his seat and kneeling before her. "We've

already discussed this, but let's go over it just one more

time. Did you know what she was going to do? Did you ever

dream a Cabal Domme would do something like that?"

"No! Of course not. That is not what the Cabal is all about!"

Mary snapped, sounding almost offended for the Cabal if not

herself.

"I did wonder about that." Gerald murmured, almost to himself.

"Anyway, does whatever it is you have planned for the next

time, involve letting someone else have at me without you

around to see to my protection and safety?"

"No." Mary replied flatly, her head shaking to emphasize her

negative response.

"Do you intend to ignore or prevent the use of my safe word?

No! Don't even bother answering that - you would never do

anything like that."

Now he did take the file folder, opening it to look at the

document contained within. "I have a lot of reasons for

finishing what we started when we signed this thing. First of

all, I gave *you* my word on this. What is more important, I

gave my word to *us*," he said pointing to the boldly scrawled

signature on the bottom of the page. "Second, I am not going

to let that bitch win, and that is precisely what I would be

doing if I don't go back and finish this thing we started.

Third, I have never *not* trusted you and I have no reason to

stop."

Gerald handed the folder back to her. "You . . . you are

really sure? You really want me to go through with this?"

She whispered, her eyes wide with hope.

"Last time I checked, Mary, it wasn't only my signature on the

bottom of that page. I'm not the only one who made promises

to us."

"Is . . . Is that the only reason?" she asked softly, a

slight hiccup in her voice.

Slowly, Gerald stood up to his full height and pulled Mary up

into his arms. His eyes were blazing and she could feel the

tightly reined emotion inside him. "That damned contract was

never my motivation in all this and you damn well ought to

know better. I love you. That was my only reason for ever

embarking on this little journey of discovery. And because I

love you, we're going to finish this thing, once and for all."

Mary clung to him with all her surprising strength. "And

then? After that last demonstration scene? What then,

Gerry?"

"I don't know, Mary. Maybe I will be able to believe in

myself again, trust myself again enough. One thing about that

Freda messes, I feel better about myself. I figure if I can

handle that, I can probably handle anything, but for now, we

need to go on and see this thing through."

Mary sniffled again. "Okay. I can do that. Gerry?"

"Yes, Mary?"

"Earlier you said you wondered about something. What was

that?"

Gerry considered whether or not to answer or not and shrugged.

"You said what happened is not what the Cabal was all about.

I mean, with the exception of the red-haired amazon and her

feathers, none of what you've had me do or have done to me has

had much to do with being or feeling sexy. I guess I just

figured that the Cabal rules don't apply to me until we finish

this."

"The rules do apply, Gerry, but the members are concerned

about safety, so they are stretching the rules in this case."

"They still want to know if I will snap again and take some

Domme's head off the hard way."

"That's it, Gerry, but I know you won't. For what it is

worth, Gerry, I have done each of those scenes before at the

Lodge. I accept those two experiences were not sexy or

pleasurable for you, but you must trust me when I tell you

that there are many submissives who would be rock hard and

dripping the entire time, and who would rush off to relieve

themselves the moment they were released."

Gerald just looked at her quizzically for several moments and

then shook his head. "Maybe the first scene. That was

starting to feel okay until the very end, but that baby thing?

Even if it had been done according to your plan? I just don't

get it. I understand doing it, but I would be doing it for

you. Beyond pleasing you, none of that would do anything for

me."

"I know, dear, and I promise you that nothing like that will

ever happen to you again in my keeping once this mess is over

and done with." Mary whispered, stroking his back as she

hugged him. "Gerry?" she asked again softly.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Would you sleep with me tonight? Just sleep? And maybe hold

me? Can we just forget everything else and just be two people

in love?" Gerald could hear the incipient sobs in her voice.

"Then, maybe I can worry about going back to being Mistress

again tomorrow. Oh god, Gerry, I thought I had lost you!"

"I'm still here, love, and there is nothing that I would

rather do than sleep with you in my arms."

Part 28: The New Beginning

Gerald pulled the big four wheel drive vehicle into his

driveway, still bemused by the phone call he'd received just

before the end of the work day.

"Gerry? This is Mistress Mary," she'd begun before he'd even

gotten out a greeting of his own. That she'd called him at

the office at all had really caught his attention. He'd known

she must have been calling from her office and since she

wasn't "out" there to any of her co-workers any more than

Gerald was at his place of business, she had taken a risk to

call him and refer to herself that way.

A quick glance had assured him that his office was devoid of

listening ears. "Good afternoon, Mistress. How may I serve

you?" Mary was still a little sensitive to "Yes, Mistress" and

he'd learned other ways of responding in the affirmative to

his Mistress. Some of them, he thought rubbing his still

slightly tender butt, had been learned a little harder than

others.

"Do you have any work that you absolutely must bring home

tonight? If you can put off whatever it is that you had

planned for tonight, I will give you a free night tomorrow

evening, but I really would like your undivided attention this

evening."

Gerald had scanned the stack of files he had planned on taking

home with him to work on after dinner. He'd been trying to

get a little ahead because there were only three more days

until the last mandatory congregation demonstration. Still,

he'd reassured himself, there wasn't anything all that

pressing and with the extra time the following evening, he'd

be just fine. "I am at your command, Mistress."

"Excellent," she purred huskily. "I want you to drive

directly home and dress in the outfit I have laid out for you

in your bedroom. Close your bedroom door and do not come out

until I call for you. Got that, Gerry-boy?"

"As you command, Mistress."

"Well, gee, Gerry, aren't you at least going to try a little

wheedling?" she pouted, "Aren't you at all curious about what

I have planned for you tonight?" The whiskey-smooth voice

went in his ear and straight to Gerry's groin, making him

shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"No, Mistress. I will wait and be surprised."

"Oh, I think you will be, lover. I really do think you will

be. Ta, darling. Be a good boy." And then she'd hung up.

He pulled up to the house and parked behind Mary's car. She'd

beaten him home, as usual. Although he hadn't made the faux

pas of trying to find out what she wanted of him, he was still

curious as to what she'd had up her sleeve.

Things had been on a steady upswing since her abortive attempt

to move out. He'd even found himself feeling steadily better

about himself day by day. He had started to understand just

how strong he was, and how much he really loved Mary Johnson

in all her many guises.

Over the past weeks, he'd begun to put the two Congregation

contract scenes and the scene in which he'd lost control into

a new and different context. Whatever had set him off that

night could not possibly have been worse than what he endured

those two trial-by-fire weekends at the Lodge.

And he hadn't snapped. Oh, he might have, hell, he most

definitely would have enjoyed getting his hands on the bitch

Freda, but there was nothing of that "being-out-of-control-in-

a-blind-rage" feeling toward her. No, this hatred was of the

clear headed type. When it finally happened, that little

confrontation would be a coldly rational, clearly thought out

assassination.

But truth to tell, Freda did not seem to matter all that much

anymore. It was just too bad that she couldn't go through the

hell his Mary had to go through to stay in the Cabal. But his

Mary was honest and she had taken responsibility (albeit more

than her fair share in his not so humble opinion) for what

happened while Freda continued to deny any wrong doing in her

behavior toward him.

Even their evening training sessions were starting to feel

like their old play scenes again. Not that Mistress Mary was

taking it easy on him, he mused as he again felt the last

embers of the fire she'd lit in his rear last night. And they

certainly were not all fun and games. One evening, she'd put

him back in that damnably constricting serving wench outfit

and had put him through a very demanding, carefully

orchestrated period of servitude. She'd even brought the Lady

Gemma in to help with that training. He'd walked pretty

carefully for a couple of days after that - the heels were

murder on his ankles and insteps - but he'd gotten through it.

They'd even hit him with a variation of the pudding scene

(after he'd provided the sauce without having been given

permission to climax) and he'd gotten past that, too.

Confronting that demon had felt very, very good. Defeating

it, as he had with Mistress Mary's guidance and the Lady

Gemma's help that night, had felt even better.

As he made his way up the stairs, he heard the shower running

in the Mistress Bedroom, and wished he was still serving as

Mary's combination body slave and lady's maid. Giving

Mistress a bath and a shampoo were about as much fun as a man

could have without actually making love.

Gerald wondered what Mary had laid out for him. The last time

she'd pulled this stunt, it had been a full-body leather

harness consisting of about fifty buckling straps that went

around the body, the arms, the legs, the neck. That had been

such a bear to get into that he'd been late for the start of

his training session with Mistress. Of course, she quickly

got to the "seat" of that problem which made sitting down at

his desk the next day rather. . . . stimulating.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and swung open his

door. When he opened them to see his mandated attire, his

mouth fell open in utter shock.

~--------------~

He'd just finished getting ready for her when an imperious

knock sounded from his door. If he'd been surprised by what

had awaited him earlier on the bedroom side of this door, he

was almost floored by what he saw on the other side now.

Mary was wearing a jewel bright blue, off-the-shoulder evening

gown cut to show off her shapely bosom. One side of the dress

was slit almost to her hip. Gerald could see this because she

was standing with most of that leg, sheathed in faultless

black silk, was outside the slit.

"Mistress?" He asked in an awed whisper.

She smiled broadly, pleasure lighting up her deep, dark eyes.

"You don't look so bad yourself, darling. I do so adore a man

who wears a tuxedo well. You may consider that bow tie your

collar for the night, Gerry."

The tux fit him as though it had been made for him. "Are we

going somewhere, Mistress?" he asked, still staring at her

reverently.

"Yes, we are. *You* are taking me on a date. Come along. We

don't want to be late."

They were soon heading back into the city in his car. "Where

to, Mistress?" Gerald asked as he accelerated onto the

interstate highway.

"I guess it is safe to tell you now. You are taking me to a

late supper, darling. *After* we take in the performance of

"Carmen" at the Music Hall."

"Carmen, Mistress?" Gerald asked uncertainly. "Isn't that an

. . . "

"Opera?" she asked with a sly grin. "It certainly is,

darling, and *no*, you may *not* safe word. You are just

going to have to stick it out for a couple of hours, tough

guy." At his hangdog look, Mary burst out laughing. "Its

only music, silly, and besides, any man who can stand up to

what Freda did to you doesn't have anything to fear from some

coloratura soprano."

"Yes, Mistress," he replied deadpan.

Mary's eyes narrowed. "I was going to let you pick the

restaurant, slave. One more "yes, Mistress", in that patently

obsequious tone tonight and we are eating sushi. Got it?"

Gerald hated *cooked* fish, so the very thought of raw fish,

regardless of who thought it was such a delicacy, made his

stomach turn. "Got it, Mistress," he said in a too-bright

voice and both of them dissolved into delighted laughter.

~--------------~

Actually, Gerald thought afterwards, Carmen wasn't all that

bad. A couple of the soprano high notes still reminded him of

fingernails on a chalk board or the time Mary Lou sat down on

a thumbtack in Algebra class, but other than that, it was

okay. The women had even been pretty cute, it seemed to him

that Carmen herself was quite the Domme, too. Gerry had

momentarily thought about finding out how Mary would take to

being called Mistress Carmen, but self preservation won out.

No, the opera had not been all the terrible. He could handle

it again, too - in a few months anyway. In truth, he would and

had dared far worse things to put a smile like that on Mary's

face.

True to her word, she let Gerald pick where they ate. They

were a bit overdressed for the cozy little family-owned

Italian ristorante, but the food was great, and the company

even better.

Gerald felt more at peace with the world and himself this

night than any time in almost half a year. They were having

fun together, he realized, like they had before . . .

He thought about that some more - when had they last simply

had fun together without the trappings of the Mistress -

submissive relationship? Just a simple date between two people

in love? Certainly not since they'd signed the contract, and

there had not been a hell of a lot of fun in either of their

lives during their three-month estrangement, a very long time,

he realized. Somewhere along the line, he'd just forgotten

how to simply have fun. Even before the incident, he'd been

started down that dull, dark road.

No more, he promised himself. It was just like Mary said. If

he could keep control after what that bitch Freda did to him,

he could handle anything and not pose a danger to his or

Mary's safety.

Mary licked her last spoonful of the decadently rich homemade

spumoni ice cream and then groaned. "I will need my girdle

just to get into my work clothes tomorrow. And we will have

to be very careful lacing up my corset for a few days, slave,"

she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, I could get you up and take you running with me,

Mistress," he teased, knowing that if there was anything in

the whole world Mary hated more than getting up early, it was

running.

Mary waggled a warning finger at him. "None of that, Mister,"

she growled. "There is only one sadist in this family and

that's me."

Each of them blanched momentarily as they realized what she'd

said, and became immediately solemn. Finally, Mary broke the

silence. "I'm sorry, Gerry. I . . .it was a slip of the

tongue. Please don't take that wrong," her face vivid with

her embarrassment. Would he bolt now?, she wondered. How

would she stop him if he tried? Oh why couldn't she have kept

her big mouth shut?

He reached out with his right hand to take her left hand,

turning it palm up. With infinite delicacy and care, he ran

the index finger of his left hand up and down her bare ring

finger. "Don't be sorry," he said warmly. "You were

absolutely right. We are a family. It doesn't take a

ceremony or a ring or some official looking piece of paper to

make that true. It takes two people, bound by love to start a

family."

"Oh, god, Gerry." Mary cried, tears streaming down her smiling

face as her free hand reached over to close over his. "Do you

mean that??"

"With all my heart. That night . . . well, the night I . . .

the night Richard joined us," he finally got out. "I had a

ring in my trousers pocket, for after the scene. I wish I had

it with me now. I don't, but I'm still going to ask you,

anyway. Mary Johnson, would you please marry me? Be my wife,

lover, Mistress and the Mother of our children? Will you love

me and guide me, train me and test me for the rest of time,

forever and ever, Amen?"

"I *still* want the ring, Gerry," she demanded cheekily, and

then something else occurred to her. Her eyes glinted with

pure happiness and her lips turned into that wonderful 'I've-

got-you-just-where-I-want-you-now' grin of hers. "And I want

you to let our special friends call you Gerry. 'Gerald'

intimidates people."

"You'll get the ring, I promise, just as soon as we get home."

"And what about Gerry?"

All he could do was smile. "How do you do, Ma'am. My name is

Gerry Harris, and I would like to spend the rest of my life

loving you and taking care of you."

"Pleased to meet you, Gerry Harris, and Yes, thank you." Mary

responded with all the dignity and hauteur of a Grand Dame. "I

will marry you." Then her face flashed into that elfin grin

of pure mischief. "God help you, Gerry. Now you truly belong

to me."

Part 29: Interludes

It had been one hell of a fight, Gerry thought happily. Even

fighting with this woman was wonderful.

"God dammit, Gerry, NO! We are NOT going to do that." Mary

bellowed again at her fianc of less than three hours. She

waggled her index finger in his face and repeated herself, "We

are NOT!"

Grinning at her fury, Gerry caught the hand that threatened to

break his nose and brought it up to his lips to kiss. He

lingered on the finger that was now decorated with a square

cut emerald, chosen because he thought it matched her

unusually dark green eyes. "Yes we are," he said with calm

assurance.

"Gerry, there is no reason for us to go up there anymore."

Mary entreated. "I have everything I want right here, right

now. I don't need to finish the contract. You have nothing

else to prove. Not to me, not to the Cabal, not to anyone.

I've told you and told you - after standing up to those two

scenes without losing it, there is nothing at all you need to

do to make me believe that you are safe for me to play with

and I am the only one who counts in all this. There is

absolutely no reason for you to have to display yourself in

front of all those people again."

"Except that I promised I would, and I am not going to take

the Cabal away from you on the same night that I gave you my

ring. We're going, and we're going to finish this."

"Gerrr-rrry!" Mary almost whined in exasperation.

"Marrrr-rrry" Gerry parroted. "Sweetheart. I need to finish

this. I have been through so much with you, for you. I can't

stop now, not when we're so close to having it all again."

"You're supposed to be the sub in this partnership, dammit.

Why the hell aren't you surrendering gracefully to my Domme-ly

power?" she growled under her breath.

Then he took her in his arms and held her close. "We have to

do this, Mary . . . Mistress, so we can get beyond that awful

night, and go on with our lives together. There is nothing

you can do to me up there, nothing that you or anyone else has

done to me up there, that could be worse than the fate I had

sentenced myself to . . . a life without you. As you pointed

out . . . if I can get past those first two, I can get past

anything. Having you just makes me stronger still."

Mary went limp in his arms, and sighed her defeat. "You're

right. All right, Gerry. One last time, and after that you

are mine and I only share with a few, very special friends.

No more having every damned Domme in the Cabal lusting after

what's *mine*."

"Does that special few include Sally, Mistress-darlin'?" Gerry

asked slyly.

"Oh ho! So you liked Lady Sally, did you?"

"She was okay, but the one I really liked was Pet," he said

lasciviously and then watched her eyes go wide with

indignation. "She wore this perfume that I *really* like, and

she just fit perfectly in my arms, ya know?" He pulled her

close again. "Kinda like you do, Mistress-darlin'. Almost

exactly like you do, Mistress-darlin'."

"You DID know!" she said jumping back to pin him with a

furious glare. "You knew it was me making love to you that

night! Since when?"

"Since the moment I had my arms around you . . . I mean, Pet.

But, I might have been wrong, you know. Maybe we could go do

little experiment to test out my theory?" he asked looking

hopefully toward the upstairs door to the Mistress Bedroom.

"Welllllllll." Mary drawled before snatching his arm and

dragging him up the stairs.

~-------------~

Mary shifted the phone into her right hand so that she could

continue to gaze at the sparkling green ring on her left hand

ring finger. It felt enormously heavy, and it distracted her

constantly, but that made her look at it, and that made her

feel wonderful each and every time. She was so deliriously

happy that she did not mind a bit that originally, an

engagement ring was the male's mark of claim on the female

wearing it. Still, she thought, there were ways of dealing

with that, too. She had found this really nice masculine onyx

ring that would make a perfect laying-claim engagement ring

for her Gerry. She couldn't wait to put in on him.

"Hallo?" her party answered, making Mary smile. Gemma's

British was showing.

"Gemma! Guess what!" Mary realized she was squealing and

tried for a modicum of decorum. And failed. What the hell,

she thought, a woman doesn't get proposed to every day.

"Gerry proposed! We're going to get married!"

A lilting chuckle answered her. "And you sound so

disappointed about it."

"Oh you." Mary chided. "He did it last night, even after I

had spent two hours torturing him ruthlessly. Even took away

his safe word for the night."

"MARY!" Gemma's scream made Mary snatch the phone away from

her head. "TELL me that you are joking! NOW!" This command

was from the Chairperson of the Cabal High Council.

"No joke, darling. Forced the poor man to sit through two

solid hours of opera. Didn't even let him go to the men's

room except during the intermission."

"Dammit, girl, don't DO that. I am already having trouble

with the last Domme who denied your intended his safe word."

That reference caught Mary's full attention. "Anything new?"

she asked hopefully.

"Unfortunately no. She is being very careful. None of her

regulars will say anything against her, and the newbies she's

tried out and then discarded apparently thought and still

think they were simply mismatched. I think she steps over the

line regularly, but she only keeps the ones who seem to like

that kind of game or who won't say anything about it. With

Gerald, I suspect she saw an opportunity to get really nasty

and took it."

"His name is Gerry." Mary corrected. "One of my little

demands for agreeing to marry the lad - my special friends get

to call him Gerry."

"I am honored." Gemma said solemnly. "So, what are you and

Gerry going to do about the third demonstration? Everything

is already set up for the one you planned. Everyone you asked

for has committed to being there."

"Damn. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten that we'd set

that up. And Gerry, the honorable fool, is insisting that we

go to the Lodge and finish that damned contract. He says he

owes me that and that we need to get past it." She sighed.

"Well, I'll let you know what I will need for Saturday when we

arrive at the Lodge on Friday."

"Mary?" Her friend's voice became very grave, "Don't you

think you should go with the original script? People have

changed their personal plans around to be there on Saturday.

At your request, by the way, and besides, I think you and

Gerry need the closure."

"But I don't want to do that scene, Gemma. I never did." Then

she amended quietly, "Well, maybe I did, but maybe that should

stay in the past where it belongs."

,

"You still planned it, and I think it would be a good idea to

finish it."

"I don't think a whole helluva lot about what you think are

good ideas, Gemma, not after last time." Mary said coldly.

"And this is my call - not yours."

"I guess after my poor judgement last time I deserve that,

Mary," the other woman replied sadly. "Okay. I've told you

what I think. All I ask you is that you give it some thought.

If you tell me on Friday that you are changing the plan, fine.

I won't say another word. And you're right. It is your call

to make."

Shit, Mary thought. "Gemma, I am sorry. That was a cheap

shot, and as you told me that morning, the fault really lies

with Freda. I don't know what I am going to do, Gemma, and

that is the truth. Even if I do go forward with the basic

plan, I will be departing significantly from the letter of the

plan that I gave you originally."

"It's okay, dear. You were completely correct, after all.

You are his Domme, his Mistress and now his fiancee. It is

your call, and I will back you fully if anyone questions you

changing your agenda. Well, enjoy your new relationship,

Mary. I look forward to being able to hug both of you soon."

"Me, too, Gemma. We'll be arriving late on Friday, so if

nothing has changed after all, I won't wake you up. Gotta

run. Be well."

"Same back at you."

Mary held the dial-tone-buzzing phone until the computer began

to tell her that if she wanted to make a call, she should hang

up and dial again.

What the hell was she going to do?

Part 30: Closure in Reprise

Sweat poured out of Gerald, the salty fluid causing his

abraded skin to sting badly. Mary had been relentless,

pressing him harder and taking him farther into himself with

each passing minute.

He'd spent most of the past two hours bound over the heavy

wooden whipping block that had been manhandled up from the

dungeon to the Grand Ballroom stage. Chains and shackles

locked his wrists and ankles to eye bolts that had been set

into the wooden base of the raised stage. Scattered about the

semicircular dias was just about every implement of corporal

punishment and other torment that Gerry had ever seen . . .

or felt. Mary had used them all, bringing every nerve ending

in his body to screaming life.

His bondage was different from it had been that night almost

six months earlier, courtesy of the Lady Gemma who had been

asked to see to his preparations this time. A broad strap

around his back snugged his torso tightly against the block,

effectively preventing him from going anywhere, even if his

hands were somehow freed from the chains holding them to the

floor.

The other major difference was his hands. Gemma had put these

strange, rubber sacks onto each of his hands after having him

make them into a fist. The rubber was so strong that he could

not move so much as a single digit. It was like there were

two stumps down there instead of hands and fingers, but that

wasn't all. The bloody things inflated. Gemma had hooked

each glove up, in turn, to a small air compressor. After

that, his "stumps" each looked like some kind of kinky kids'

balloon toy for playing "rock 'em, sock 'em." pillow-boxing

fights.

There was no way he was getting free this time, and even if he

did, there was no way he could possibly hurt Mary with those

pillows on his hands. It relieved Gerry, who was pretty much

certain he knew what was coming, and at the same time, almost

disappointed him. He really believed he could handle it this

time. Whatever shame or humiliation had sparked him to such

violence last time had been burned out of him in the fiery

crucible of his first two demonstration scenes.

The ballroom was standing room only. If there was a member of

the Cabal not at the Lodge and not in attendance, well, that

person was probably the only one not present, Gerry mused.

And surprisingly, that didn't bother him either. He'd get

through this.

He knew he'd get through this, and move on. With Mary.

He still groaned when the butt plug he'd worn for the past ten

minutes or so was removed, only to be replaced by another,

larger implement. His ass had been filled with progressively

larger toys throughout the session. Mary had taken him down

this path once before. His eyes shifted to the "tool table"

just off to one side of him, and there it was - the special

dildo that Mary'd had made from a plaster casting of his own

erect penis. That must have been in that locked suitcase

she'd refused let him unpack for her.

Mary planned to use that on him, planned to fuck him with that

toy firmly strapped to her own body, taking her own pleasure

as she took him. In front of all these people. Gerry

realized that this moment was what she'd been preparing him to

face since the moment he had signed the Cabal contract.

Soon, the critical moment would come. Soon, that last plug

would come out, and *his* Mistress Mary would ask him to give

himself to her. It was something he'd always resisted, but

had never made into a limit. Now, he thought, it was time to

surrender himself to the anal "rape" strap on scene that

Mistress Mary made no bones about enjoying.

In fact, Gerry was only surprised that he had not seen this

coming. Once again, in the weeks leading up to this final

demonstration, she had been gradually working him up to larger

and larger static plugs.

Mary picked up the Gerry-dildo, and placed it on its base

directly in front of him on the floor. Then, she had walked

off stage, leaving him behind, bound, and staring down at the

toy. It was not really all that large, he'd told himself, no

bigger than his own relatively modest proportions, and it was

not nearly as thick as the widest part of the butt plug

currently filling him.

Still, there was a great difference between passively

accepting a butt plug that did not move, that was simply there

and being ravished. However, his Mary's bottom was much

smaller than his own, and just last night in her suite, she

had honored him with the gift of her own anal virginity. The

intensity of that incredibly intimate moment had overwhelmed

him, and humbled him.

He would do no less now for her.

Mary slipped quietly back into the spotlighted circle at

stage-center and moved to stand before him. She'd shed her

own scene 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 it into a ring that hung from the

front of the hip belt. Carefully adjusting each connecting

strap, Mary had positioned the base of the toy directly over

her vulva and cinched it up tight.

Stepping back, she turned to present her profile to him. In

the nearly blinding brilliance of the spotlight, all Gerry

could really make out was her silhouette - a silhouette that

now included a gently upward curving appendage where the

female of the species did not normally have such an appendage.

Moving back to stand directly in front of him, Mary crouched

down in front of him. The toy 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 words picked up and

amplified by the hidden microphones about the set. Her face

was set into a mask of hunger and need - for *him*, he thought

reverently. I want to take you in that tight, cute little ass

of yours and make you mine!" her voice was a growl now.

"Mine, forEVER!"

The audience broke into spontaneous cheers at her triumphant

claiming, and Gerry's heart nearly burst with pride and love.

He'd stared into her eyes for what seemed like forever, before

he tried to nod. Her firm 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.

"Nonverbal doesn't cut it this time, either. You have to ask

me out loud, lover, in front of all these friends who are here

to stand as witnesses. 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, now or later."

She'd wanted it all - his complete and knowing surrender, and

now, he thought, he could give it to her. Gerry swallowed hard

several times to get enough moisture into his suddenly parched

throat to speak. "Please, Mistress. Do it," he'd rasped.

"Love me!"

Again, the cheers broke out, but neither participant heard

them.

Mary had slowly shook her head. "That's good, lover, but

still not quite good enough, pet. Ask me to take you. Ask me

to fuck you. Say the words so that I *know* that you mean it

and that you want it!"

"Please, Mistress. Fuck me. Make love with me, please?"

"Oh, yes. I will, Gerry." Her mouth descended to his,

kissing him deeply before she moved back. "But first . . . "

Moving deliberately, Mary reached down and opened the stopcock

on each of the gloves, letting the air bleed off. Once they

were deflated, she pulled them off his hands and tossed them

aside. Then, she slipped behind him and undid the chains

holding his ankles to the floor, before moving to stand once

again in front of him.

So similar, Gerry thought, and yet, so very different.

He was only beginning to find out how different. In the space

of a few moments, Mary undid the strap holding his waist to

the block, and then unlocked the cuffs holding his wrists.

Shocked disbelief registered in Gerry's eyes as they flew up

to find Mary's own.

She smiled down at him as she tossed away the last of his

chains. "I want you, my slave. I want to take you and hear

you scream in surprise, in pain and ultimately in pleasure.

However, I want more. I want this experience to be your gift

to me as the woman you serve and as the woman you love. You

will give yourself up to me freely, without chains or any

other fetters, or I will not take your ass. So, my darling

slave, if you wish to surrender this gift to me, you will lay

there, on that block, bound only by your desire to obey my

will and to give me pleasure. Nothing else will hold you. If

you cannot do this, and have to get up, I will accept breaking

position as the same as you safe wording. Do you understand,

beloved slave?"

"Yes, beloved Mistress, I do." Gerry replied, and then

realized something more was needed. "Mistress?" he asked.

"Yes, slave?" she asked with just a hint of impatience and

tension.

"Would you please accept the gift of my body and soul, and

make love to me and with me?"

The look of wonder in his beloved eyes brought tears to his

own. "Oh yes," she whispered as she stroked his head again.

"Indeed I will."

Mary knelt in front of him one last time, her mouth claiming

his own, hungrily. She broke the kiss and then brushed her

cheek along Gerry's own. "One more thing, my dear," she

whispered for him alone, "Last time I forgot to say something

very important. I loved you that night, more than I dreamed I

could love anyone. And my love that pales beside the love I

have for you tonight." Mary kissed him again, and rose to her

feet.

Her love shone from her eyes, even when she schooled her face

into the stern imperious mien of the Mistress Mary. Gerry

wondered how he'd missed that last time.

"Suck me, slut," she ordered in her cold voice of command.

"Get it good and wet - all the way down to the root."

He tried - he really did - but he could only manage to get

about two thirds of her toy down before his gag reflex kicked

in and he began to choke. Seeing that, Mary backed off and

let him breath around her, let him calm down a bit before

sliding into him again. Thoroughly determined to give her

full measure of her desire, Gerry consciously tried 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

happened.

"Good afternoon, Master Richard." He heard Mary's voice

announce.

"And to you, Mistress Mary," the deep voice from the past

replied. "So very good of you to invite me to participate in

your celebration. I am very glad to be here with you,

Mistress."

"Oh, the pleasure is all ours, Master Richard. Isn't it,

Gerry?" she asked facetiously before adding teasingly, "Oh

that's right. It is such bad manners to talk with your mouth

full."

Gerry had been expecting this, too, though in truth he had

thought the male participant would likely be Gemma's husband,

Alex. Then, the real scene started, Gerry's first clue being

the touch of large, strong hands spreading his buttocks,

followed by the feeling of the butt plug being gripped and

slowly pulled from him.

"It is long past time you graduated, slave." Mary said in the

dark, frightening tones she only used when she was really

deeply into herself as *the* Domme.

Even though he knew what was coming next, Gerry could not stop

himself from trying to turn around - trying to see the man

who was here with him and Mistress, but the six inches of

rubber in his mouth and throat combined with Mary's iron grip

on his hair kept him from being able to move his head around.

"Very nice, Mistress Mary," came the sound of Richard's very

appreciative male voice. Those few words were followed by the

sensation of something blunt poking at his now empty anus.

"I love you." Gerry thought he heard Mary say. Was that

really her, or was that just the memory of her whispered

declaration of a few moments ago?

It didn't really matter. Regardless of where the words came

from, he knew them to be true. Closing his eyes, Gerry put

his faith in the surety of that love, and then arched his back

to meet the blunt intruder.

Whatever the thing was, it was very hard - much harder than

anything human could possibly be. Mary stepped back, her

rubber cock making a childlike "popping" noise as it broke

Gerry's oral suction.

Suddenly, Gerry felt a pressure inside his bowels, like when

that bitch Freda had administered those enemas to him, and

then something wet oozed out around the plug or dildo in his

ass and slithered down his legs.

And then Mary was leaning onto his back, her rock hard nipples

digging into his back, her hands reaching around him to hug,

to tease and to stroke. Her cock suddenly rested on the ring

of his anus. "All right, lover," she said softly, "relax as

much as you can." And he felt the muscles of her body

tighten, and the pressure on his bottom spiked.

The actual penetration was almost anticlimactic, except the

sudden stretching as his rectal ring accepted the bulbous head

of the dildo did make him squeal, just as he'd been promised.

After that, Mary slid smoothly into him, until he felt her

thighs snugged up against his own. "This is the way it would

have been that other night, too, lover. No one but me gets

into this tight little bottom. It, along with the rest of

you, is *mine*! And I don't share worth a damn."

More of the wet stuff oozed out of him and slid down his legs,

and then he knew. Whatever Richard had inserted into him had

been filled with a lubricant - sort of a pre-anal-sex grease

gun.

That was the last rational thought he had for quite sometime

as Mary took him to paradise with her kisses and nibbles, her

hugs, tickles and pinches, and yes, the smooth, in-out cadence

of her strap-on inside his yielding body. Soon, he was

arching himself up and back to meet each thrust.

How long they loved, Gerry did not know. There was no time

for them, only each other.

Another squeal surprised them both as Gerry's climax was

suddenly imminent. His movements became jerky and erratic,

and much faster. The powerful backward surge of his first

orgasmic contraction set off Mary's own release.

And they both squealed their ecstasy and love before the

entire assembly of the Cabal.

Mary recovered first, and eased herself out of him with

infinite care. Gently she checked for any sign of blood, but

there was none. She'd prepared him carefully and well for

this.

Wearily she rose, finally remembering where she was. In the

audience, a woman rose to her feet and began to clap her

hands. She was joined almost immediately by another woman,

and then a man, and another . . . and another, until the

entire room was giving the two lovers a standing ovation.

Richard approached her and bowed over her hand before walking

off the stage. Gemma was on her then, holding her tight.

"You did it, girl. We won! Our plan worked, just like I told

you it would when we came up with it!"

What plan, Gerry wondered, still lying limp over the wooden

block. That sounded very personal - like just Gemma and Mary.

"What do you mean, our plan worked?" he asked weakly. "There

was something more to this than that damned contract?"

Mary registered Gemma's words, then Gerald's, and horror

filled her. He was like a dog with a bone once he started

asking questions. She might be the Domme, but he was

relentless and eventually he would find out the entire plot.

Or at least, enough of it to be absolutely furious with her

for her half truths and little deceptions. Oh, god, he was

going to *hate* her now. "Oh my god, what have I done??" she

cried, and then she ran from the stage, the Gerry-dildo

bouncing obscenely at her pelvis, a stunned Gemma close at her

heels.

Part 31: Revelations

Gerry fully returned to the living moments after Mary's

escape, to find Alex beside him, watching over him. Long

strained muscles vigorously protested his attempts to stand,

but he finally made it to his feet with a little help from

Alex. Only then did he realize who was missing. "Where's

Mistress Mary?" he asked.

Alex quickly recounted what he'd seen. "I don't know what was

said, because the applause blotted over everything else."

Forcing his leaden muscles to respond, Gerry started to move

off the stage. "I have to find her," he mumbled. "Have to

find out what went wrong *this* time."

Alex called to him just as he got down off the stage. Gerry

turned and just barely managed to catch the keys that flew

toward him. "The black key is to Gemma's suite and the red one

is to her office. If Mary isn't in your rooms, Gemma will

probably have her in one of those two places, trying to help

sort this all out."

"Thanks." Gerry said as he moved off through the ballroom

toward the main salon.

Gemma's office was closest, so Gerry headed there first. As

he entered the reception area, he could hear the sound of

crying coming from the inner office. He started to enter, but

something stopped him.

"I don't see why you are so bloody upset, Mary." He heard

Gemma's strident British accent. "Bloody hell, girlfriend,

our plan worked. You were correct, and what we did helped him

get past it."

"Why am I upset? WHY am I upset??!?" Mary was screaming at

her friend. "Because he heard you say there was a plan.

Because I *lied* to him, dammit! And now that he's asked me

to marry him, and after he just gave himself to me that way in

the ballroom, I feel like a real bitch, okay? When I think of

what I put him through and what that bitch Freda did to him .

. . "

Gerry heard a muffled sound like a hand going across a mouth.

"You did what you had to do and Freda will get what's coming

to her. You did what had to be done. He could not have given

himself to you as fully and as completely as he did today if

you hadn't gotten him past his fear and his inability to deal

with a bit of humiliation in the scene. He would have just

continued trying to protect you by staying away from you."

"What the hell does that mean, Gemma? The end justifies the

means?"

"How about "all's fair in love and war", and you two, my dear,

are definitely in love."

Gerry had heard enough. He used Alex's key and opened the

door. The dumbfounded looks on the two women's faces would

have been oddly satisfying if it had not been followed

immediately by Mary crumbling into tears.

Gemma saw him first, and tried to avoid the confrontation she

saw in his eyes. "Leave us, Gerald," Gemma ordered. "This

conversation is a private discussion between your Mistress and

me. It does not concern you, slave."

"I think it does, Gemma." Gerry responded, intentionally

denying her the honorific. "In fact, after hearing the last

few minutes, I know it does. What plan? What lies?"

"Oh god, no," sobbed Mary. "Not this! Not now! Not after all

we've accomplished."

"You're only going to hurt her if you press this issue,

Gerald." Gemma said very quietly, as she stepped between the

powerfully built man and her weeping friend. "Is it really

that important that you know? Weren't you blissfully happy

just a few moments ago? Proud of what you've overcome?"

Looking at his sobbing fiancee, longing to go and comfort her,

Gerry shook his head. "That was then, Gemma," he said slowly

and distinctly, "and this is now. How can I be happy about

anything when the woman I love is in pain?" He moved past

Gemma and knelt before Mary. "I heard you say that you lied

to me, Mary. Holding it in is evidently hurting you. Tell me,

and then let's move past that, just as you helped me move

beyond what happened six months ago."

Uncertain, Mary looked from Gerry to Gemma who shook her head

at Mary. Gerry cocked an eyebrow at her in query, but

otherwise said nothing more.

Finally, Mary closed her eyes and nodded her head. "It was

all a trick, Gerry, an act in a play - since the day I arrived

on your doorstep to ask you for your help. The charges, the

trial, the suspended sentence, everything. I was never in any

real danger of being thrown out of the Cabal because it takes

real evidence to throw someone out. Usually, when someone is

really abusive, that evidence is really easy to come by. In

my case, there wasn't any."

"If I hadn't completed the contract, the Council would not

have kicked you out?" Gerry asked.

"I was never in danger of losing my place in the Cabal,

Gerry," she repeated steadily, wiping away her tears.

Gerald pulled back and regarded his diminutive fiancee, a

curious expression on his face. "So there really isn't a

bylaw that preemptively throws out a dominant. There really

is some type of fair witness process? Does that mean that

parole file thing is a lie, too?"

Gemma shook her head. "We are very careful with our pre-

initiation vetting of prospective members, Gerry. They are

all acutely aware of their own worth and would not tolerate

being treated as Mary was supposedly treated. Most of them

would sue the leather pants off us if we did something like

that with them. As to the parole file, I am afraid that is

all too real. I can show you yours, if you like. We've been

pulling it together in anticipation of you becoming a full

member after your wedding to Mary."

"If there is going to be a wedding now that you know the

contract was a fraud." Mary added, trying to pout and failing

miserably.

Gerry chucked at her, then reached out and snatched at her

left hand. He held up the emerald engagement ring for all

three of them to see. "Let's deal with the important part of

that first, okay, Mary-my-love. There *is* going to be a

wedding," he growled before kissing the hand and the ring,

"*Count* on it," he said with the same sincerity he would use

in making his vows to her. "I guess this is why you were

going to move out on me? Because of this "lie" of yours?"

Mary nodded. "You told me you trusted me when I explained

about what was supposed to happen in the nursery scene." She

blew her nose loudly into the tissue Gemma provided. "You

said it was because I had never lied to you," she accused and

then flushed bright red to her hairline. "I have never been

so ashamed in all my life."

"Gotcha." Gerald grinned down at her and then stole a kiss.

"And as for that contract, it really wasn't a fraud. At least

not for me. I signed it, and I made promises - made 'em and

kept 'em," he added with just a touch of arrogance.

"That's not the point." Mary argued. "We lied to you about my

being expelled because it was the only way we could think of

to get you to let me back into your life, but it was still a

lie. There was no need for you to go through all that." Mary

grimaced. "Well, maybe there was, if only to get us back

together, but there was no reason as far as the Cabal was

concerned."

Gerry thought about that for a minute and the shook his head.

"I don't think that's quite true. There were reasons that

involved the Cabal. Answer this question for me, love. Do you

really believe you'd have come back up here to the Lodge ever

again without me?"

"I could have . . . "

"Not what I asked, love." Gerry cut her off. "Would you have

come up here without me?"

"Probably not," she agreed finally. "Hell, I didn't even try

to top anyone during the three months we were separated.

Didn't want to. I would have left the Cabal, but I would not

have been forced to leave. What it is that we do up here had

. . . lost its attraction to me."

"You seemed to like it bloody damned well with me over the

past months." Gerry snapped back at her.

"That's because it *was* with you. You damned blockheaded

male!" Mary shouted and then controlled herself with a

visible effort. "I don't much care to work with bottoms who

are playing at slavery now that I have tasted dominance and

submission done with love."

"You were really going to leave the Cabal, just because you

couldn't take me there, weren't you?" It was more a statement

than a question

Mary rose and came over to stand in front of him. She took his

chin in one hand and lifted until his eyes locked with hers.

"Gerry, I wanted you then and I still want you now. The Cabal

has been very important in my life, but that pales beside my

need for you. You are vital to my life. Hell, I was ready to

try going vanilla for the rest of my life if that is what it

took to have you in that life."

"You'd never have made it," he replied, the smile he'd worn

since entering Gemma's office growing ever wider. "You are

too much *The* Domme. Don't think I would have made it,

either."

Gerald pulled the still unsmiling Mary into his lap and then

placed her arms around his neck. "Well, I would have tried,"

she sulked.

"So, the contract did get you back up here, didn't it? So it

wasn't a fraud for you either."

"Why are you being so blasted nice about this?!?" Mary

shrieked. "How can you sit there and be so magnanimously

forgiving after what happened to you in those first two

debacles up here? Especially now that you know you didn't

have to go through that."

"Well, I've sort of had a while to get used to the idea."

"What???!?" both women yelled. "Since when?" Gemma demanded.

Gerry smiled benignly at Gemma. "Since Freda. No matter what

you said about how well she had covered her tracks, the fact

that the Council could damn Mary so easily and yet have Freda

beyond your power just never did pass the stupid test. Then I

realized how often you were around, and how close you and Mary

were, and that didn't add up either." He shot Gemma an

appraising look. "Can I assume that since I know Mary was

"Pet", that you are "Sally"?"

"You *told* him?"

"Nope," Mary giggled a little hysterically. "Figured that out

all by his lonesome. Seems that I wear a very distinctive

perfume and he knew my body by the Braille method."

"Am I to assume, that you two super Dommes decided that it was

my inability to handle public or semi-public humiliation that

set me off that day with Richard and then came up with this

brainstorm of a plan to desensitize me?"

Now Gemma was shocked. "How . . . I mean, who . . . "

"How did I know, and who told me?" he asked. Dazedly, Gemma

nodded. "Mary and I talked about that a couple of times,

during the healing times after Freda. Up until then, I didn't

know for sure, but I suspected that something wasn't quite

Kosher with this whole demo scene thing. No one spilled the

beans before that, though."

Mary nodded, also remembering those open, cathartic exchanges.

"I told you that you have never responded positively to

humiliation play, Gerry. You always erected those damned

walls around yourself and I hated it when you wouldn't let me

in," Mary said softly. "That's why, after the first few times

I tried those games with you, I put that away for good, or so

I thought. Then I surprised you with Richard during your

ritual deflowering. That was really stupid, in and of itself,

and you lost it on me. But the humiliation was only part of

the problem. The other part was that damned control of

yours."

"My control?" he asked confused.

"Yes." Mary said distastefully. "If you really hate

something, you go into this . . . this control trance. You

just start that damnable enduring act of yours, playing sponge

again. You tried that in that first scene with Richard, but

for what I suspect was the first time in your entire life,

that iron control of yours failed. Catastrophically."

"Okay, so?" Gerry asked, still not making the connection.

"Our between-Congregation play was specifically designed to

help you find other ways to deal with play that you dislike

that much. Like when you safe worded that time. Like when I

worked to get you to go with the flow in the little girl

stuff. You had to know that you could let me know when you

had a problem, and then if I still kept going, as is my right,

that you could use the safe word. Then, after the big scenes,

we were supposed to talk about what worked and what didn't.

You know, reflect on how you felt when it was going good and

why if felt bad when it wasn't going well. Unfortunately,

things went so badly each time that we never got around to

having those discussions, at least not explicitly."

Gerald nodded, remembering. "But we did end up talking things

out each time. That is something," he said, getting a

cautious nod from both women. "And each time it helped, too.

A lot. I mean, I couldn't have gotten past that fear of

hurting you again without the talking we did." He paused, a

frown lining his forehead. "But, . . . but even so, I always

thought going that extra mile for you, going beyond myself was

a gift to you."

"And so it is, Gerry. But if you reach the point where you

start using that control-Zen of yours, I want you to safe word

instead. I don't always recognize it in time, but I don't

ever want to play with you in that condition again. That is

• my* limit."

He thought about that and nodded. "All right, Mary. You have

my word. So all of this was not just getting us back

together, and to begin dealing with my phobia for public

humiliation play, but also to help us find ways around my

control response?"

"That's the whole of it, love." Mary said softly. "The truth,

the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I swear it on my

love for you."

She watched Gerry consider that, his face blank, his head

nodding every once in a while, as if agreeing with some

thought or idea. "And so the contract?"

"Well, yes, but there was also the chance to get to live with

you, Gerry." Mary offered, a surprisingly shy smile on her

face. "I thought I had lost you, and I will admit I added the

24/7 part to Gemma's original idea of getting you to the Lodge

so that I could be with you every day and every night."

"Okay, I guess I can understand that. And you explained about

the Freda thing. I didn't like it, but I understand."

"That was at the Council's direction, Gerald." Gemma cut in.

"We knew that Mary would continue bringing you here after the

contract period. We, that is the Council, were concerned

about what would happen if some unsuspecting dominant tried to

work you on those weekends when we play out a communal

submissive scene, where every submissive can be commanded by

any dominant. It was decided that you had to be worked by

another dominant, specifically one you did not know, where we

could keep an eye on you. I remembered that scene, having

played the nurse part a couple of times, and told Mary she had

to run it."

"If you've done the nurse thing before, why did you use Freda

with me?"

"You knew me," was Gemma's matter of fact answer. "We thought

that you might have twigged to how close Mary and I really

are. We wanted someone you didn't know working you. Freda

seemed a good choice. She is skilled, and has a very strict

play style that almost always includes a healthy dose of

humiliation. She seemed ideal."

"Wait-a-minute!! You said we were under surveillance!?!? Why

isn't she out of the Cabal on her unfeeling ass? How come you

don't have miles and miles of video tape of that bitch

violating my Cabal Charter-given rights?"

Gemma's black eyes became dangerously cold. "Because she

evidently damaged the surveillance camera intentionally. We

thought it was just broken. We let her continue on the

grounds that you would be continuously restrained in one way

or another throughout the session and that she had a panic

button to call for security in case something went wrong. I

am personally sorry about that mess, Gerald. I am the one who

insisted on the scene over your Mistress's objections and I am

the one who ultimately approved Freda."

"Something needs to be done about that cold hearted, lying

bitch." Gerry said in quiet fury. "She is a living insult to

every other loving Domina in the Cabal."

"Working on it, Gerald. She isn't getting away with this. I

am watching her and I will fix her. How did you just put it?

Oh yes, I will fix her fat arse for you - trust me." Gemma

said positively.

Mary eyes flew to Gerald's, hope now glittering in them. "You

said we were still getting married, didn't you?" she asked in

a slightly shaky voice.

"Yes. We are! If I have to raid your damned dungeon for

chains and cuffs and then carry you off bound and gagged to my

cave to have my wicked way with you until you surrender to my

manly charms."

"Hold that thought," she ordered with a touch of her normal

demeanor again. "Gemma, call him Gerry. I told you before.

It is one of his betrothal gifts to me that my best friends

get to call him by my favorite nickname."

"Yes, Gemma, please do." Gerry added.

"I am honored, Gerry. Thank you."

"Gerry, I want to clear the air once and for all. Do you have

any other concerns or questions? I give you my word of honor,

on my love for you, that I will answer any question

truthfully."

Gerry wanted to ask, and started to twice, before finally

getting up the courage. "Would you have banished me for good

if I had lost control again during one of those horrendous

scenes?"

Mary closed her eyes in pain at that question, and took a deep

breath. "Perhaps I deserve that, given how I deceived you with

Gemma. I wouldn't have wanted to, Gerry, but you were bloody

hard to reach until Gemma and I came up with our scheme. I

don't know if even my love would have been strong enough to

batter my way through your resolve to protect me from you. But

the answer to your question is not only no but *hell no*! I

would have kept trying and trying. Until I died or you gave

in."

"Probably would have haunted me." Gerry smiled.

"Damn straight. I *love* you, dammit!"

Pulling her tight, Gerry rested his head on hers. "Same goes,

Mary-Mistress. Same goes."

• ****

Epilogue:

"But, Gemmmmmmaaa" the name came out in an almost childish

three toned whine, "I don't want to top anyone." Gerry

repeated for what seemed like the one hundredth time. "I am

just getting used to being a lifestyle sub for myself instead

of just enduring as a gift for Mistress Mary. I don't need my

thinking messed up right now when I am just starting to find

my head space."

"Sorry, darling, but rules are rules. You've been with us now

for over a year, and not once in all that time have you

registered as a switch, let alone a dominant." Gemma

explained for what seemed to be the one hundred and first

time.

"Dammit, after what you pulled on me, you owe me, Lady. How

about just a little consideration?"

"Sorry, my hands are tied by the Cabal bylaws on this one,

dear. I really can't cut you any slack, Gerry, and to be

frank, I don't really want to. You've been, at my instigation

to be true, deeply submerged in the submissive role for almost

four months. Okay, so I am happy that you and Mary have made

your commitment to one another, but you need to demonstrate

the balanced outlooks and understanding the Cabal insists upon

in our members."

Gemma saw him start to protest one more time, and cut him off

with a look. "Wouldn't it be awful to have endured what you

went through only to be removed from the membership because

you didn't follow the rules?" She said with soft entreaty,

taking his hand in her own. "And you know that Mary won't

attend if you can't. She's become bloody proprietary and

single minded where you are concerned. Hasn't done more than

the simplest, most elementary little play scenes with anyone

else since she first met you. Talk about love at first

sight."

He sighed in defeat. "When and who?" he asked.

Gemma thoroughly enjoyed the look of dumbfounded consternation

when she answered his question.

~----------------~

Mary sat at one of the tables in the Dinner Theater. Alex,

Gemma's husband, sat with her while they waited for Gemma to

perform the introductions.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the public exhibition of

this Change of Role scene for two of our members. In this

case, Mistress Freda will be bottoming to one of our more

submissively oriented males." The room lights went out and a

single spotlight focused on the curtain behind Gemma. Slowly

the velvet barrier parted to reveal a nearly nude female

figure.

Freda stood in the center of the small stage, her hands bound

loosely above her head to chain shackles hanging from the

ceiling. She couldn't pull her hands below the top of her

head, but she wasn't under any real strain, either. Her tall,

muscular body was garbed only in a very tight, latex G-string

Thong and a pair of moderately tall high heeled shoes, lace

gloves . . . and a blindfold. Her long ash-blond hair had

been pulled back into a skull hugging ponytail that was in

turn, tightly braided. The single, thick rope fell to the

small of her bare, tautly muscled back.

Gemma slipped into her chair at the table after giving her

husband a kiss. "Regardless of what I may have said about

her, there isn't anything fat about that arse. A

magnificently put together female animal, isn't she?" she

whispered. "It is little wonder that some of the hormonally

challenged guy-subs fall all over themselves for her."

"Like a work of art," Mary agreed. "Just like a statue of

white marble and almost as warm and cuddly."

That elicited an appreciative chuckle from her two table

mates, but Mary herself did not share the joke. She had grave

misgivings about this . . . had tried to talk both Gemma and

Gerry out of it. She'd even offered to stand as Gerry's bottom

herself, but to no avail.

"Stop worrying, Mary." Gemma hissed. "Nothing bad is going to

happen. Trust me," she paused before continuing, "Hell, trust

• him*."

Mary's response stuck in her throat as Gerry made his

entrance. A couple of the women gave a moue of disappointment

when they saw how he had chosen to dress. There was nothing

the least bit fetish-like about it, unless you thought

unrelieved black was somehow kinky. Black jeans, black work

boots, black T-shirt . . . and Gerry. Still, he looked quite

good to Mary. "He's got great buns." Gemma pointed out with

relish. "Love a man with good buns in tight jeans. Yum."

"Hey!" Alex protested. "Don't forget you're the sub this

weekend, lady. A little less appreciation of other women's

guys and a little more worship of your own, if you please."

Mary enjoyed the loving byplay of her two friends, all the

more because she saw the same kind of banter growing in her

own relationship with Gerry. If only he could get past this

last hurdle.

~-------------------~

Gerald stepped up to Freda and simply looked at her. The

spotlight flashed glittering highlights on the tightly-

defined, perspiration-dampened body. Her lips were pressed

tightly together in grim determination. Was that a slight

tremor he heard in her breathing?

Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not.

"Freda," he spoke aloud for the first time, "I am going to

call you by your given name during this scene. You will, when

necessary to speak, refer to me as "Sir". Do you understand?"

Some moments pause before she responded, "Yes. . . . Sir."

Gerald had expected her to play it this way. He'd spoken with

a pair of dominants, one male, one female, who had overseen

Freda's previous two mandatory switch scenes. She always did

what was ordered, but always as slowly as she thought she

could get away with and usually with a certain degree of

disdain. "Freda, since you just might need to use it this

day, I want you to speak your safe word aloud for me and for

the audience."

"Bastard," she whispered, "I will never safe word to you. You

can't go far enough here at this place to make me safe word."

But then she obeyed. "Sir, my safe word is 'baby'." Gerald

had personally chosen the safe word, too.

At his signal, Dina, in the role of assisting submissive,

wheeled out a cart with his chosen tools laid out for him.

Then, he stepped right up to Freda and jerked the blindfold

off her. It took a moment for her eyes to clear in the sudden,

unexpected glare of the single spotlight, but Gerry knew

precisely when she recognized who was standing in front of

her.

"She didn't know." Gemma whispered to Alex and Mary. "She had

the right to know who had been assigned to work her, but she

didn't even care enough to ask. Wonder if she cares now?"

Gemma's face carried a look of supreme self satisfaction. Her

off-the-record investigation of Freda had turned up a great

deal of information, but nothing she could take to the

Council. That did not mean, however, that Gemma was going to

let her get way with what she'd done. Justice, she mused,

comes in many forms and definitions. The most basic of which,

however, starts with "an eye for an eye." Maybe Gerry would

appreciate the symbolism with an arse for an arse. She'd have

to mention it to him later.

"You!" Freda gasped. A moment's fear tickled its way down her

spine as she stared into the face of the man she had knowingly

denied the most basic protections of the Cabal.

"Me." Gerry agreed quietly. He saw and reveled in the panicky

fear in her face, and part of him knew he should feel ashamed

of that pleasure. And he would be . . . almost ashamed . .

. later. Smiling now, Gerry dropped his voice into a whisper.

"And I would not be so certain about not needing your safe

word, Freda. At least, you will be able to use yours and *I*

will honor it."

Gerald moved behind her to his toys and picked up a huge

bottle of baby oil. He began by filling one cupped hand with

the golden-colored fluid before beginning to rub it into

Freda's shoulders. That completed, Gerald poured more into

his hand and repeated the process between her shoulder blades

and down the center of her back.

With painstaking, meticulous care, Gerald anointed every

square inch of exposed skin from Freda's chin down to her

toes. He even rubbed some into the skin exposed by the open-

toed heels she wore. He paid particular attention to her

breasts, especially her nipples, and to her bottom. By the

time he finally set down the bottle, the shimmering light

reflecting off Freda's oiled body danced merrily in time to

her heaving, panting breaths.

Gerald had been careful to arouse Freda with his thorough

massage, using skills and techniques he'd developed in serving

Mistress Mary's pleasure. From the closed eyes and relaxed,

open mouth, he decided that he'd been successful in that goal.

Every muscle that had once been taut with tension was now

pliantly loose with pleasure.

It was time for phase two.

Gerald rolled the handcart from behind her to a place where

she could see what it held. The relaxation died immediately

as she recognized the items he'd chosen to use on her. With

the showmanship of a silent movie star, Gerald held up an

enema bulb to display to the crowd and to Freda, before he

began filling it with the remaining oil. He affixed the

nozzle and set that aside.

Then he picked up an adult disposable diaper and set that

alongside the enema bulb. Laughter rippled throughout the

room as everyone recognized his intent. Some even knew what

she had done to him and approved of his apparent plan for

Freda.

The laughter broke away the first chink out of Freda's

reserve. They were laughing at *her* and no one EVER laughed

at Mistress Freda.

Only she wasn't Mistress Freda just then, but she would be

again, just as soon as she showed this stupid little man-sub

how ineffectual his plans really were. She would get past

this. She promised herself.

Her resolve lasted only until Gerald pulled out his next

implement.

He had a cane. One identical to the one she had beaten him

with months ago. Gripping it firmly in his right hand, he

walked over to stand to her left side and just a bit behind

her.

She felt the cool, hard rod come to rest gently across the

rounded cheeks of her ass. Freda closed her eyes against what

she knew was next, but it didn't come. He just held it there,

sliding it back and forth across the slick, oily moons.

"Ya know," Gerry said conversationally to his audience, "I

have never used one of these before, although I do have more

than a passing acquaintance with the other side of the thing."

With a sudden flick of his wrist, he snapped the rod sharply

into the tense ass flesh. "Seems to me, that this is a great

time to experiment."

A chorus of laughing agreement sounded in response.

"Unfortunately, she is clenching on me. Her ass is so hard,

she might not even feel it if I gave her my best shot. Well, I

did some research about that and found out about something

called "figging"." Gerry pulled a plastic sandwich bag out of

his pocket and held it up for Freda and his audience to see.

"Fresh ginger, carved into the shape of a butt plug."

Freda began to fight as Gerald started to slip the burning

plug in between her cheeks, but she had no where to go. A

squeal of indignant dismay signaled the seating of the spicy

toy in her seat.

The fiery oils began to do their painful work almost

instantly. Freda couldn't expel it and she couldn't bear to

squeeze down on it to clench her bottom cheeks tightly against

the cane. "Oh, I know that hurts, but that is why I saved

some of the baby oil - just to soothe your insides. I am even

going to diaper you so you won't leak on the floor." Then he

dropped his voice back to a whisper. "That is the reason for

the latex panties, Freda, so you can go poo-poo in your

diedees and not get a nasty little vaginal infection. Get

ready to go to hell, bitch."

Everyone seemed to move onto the edge of their seats as Gerald

lowered Freda's arms and then tied them to the feet of the

cart which would serve as a whipping block. The enema bulb

was right beside her head on one side, while the diaper was on

the other. She realized that she was surrounded by the

implements of her defeat, and for the first time, she doubted

herself and her resolve. Surely the membership wouldn't let

him do to her what she had done to him? Surely, she could

handle this.

Gerald recovered the cane and again rested it on his target.

Freda closed her eyes, and tried to somehow "suck in" her

bottom, to get it away from what she knew was coming. But the

action caused her gluteal muscles to contract, squeezing fresh

oils from the ginger and renewing the chemical fire in her

bottom. And the rod stayed against her anyway. Defeated, she

relaxed her bottom.

God, she really couldn't handle this.

"Ready?" he asked, and Freda's mind shouted "NO!", but the

cane was moving before he'd even finished that one word

question. Before she could give voice to her last thought.

The cane lashed at its target with buzzing sound and landed

with a loud "thwack".

"BABBBBBYYYYY!!!!" Freda screamed in broken humiliation.

"Please, doooonnnn't. BABY!"

Gerald set the cane down and moved back in front of his

tormenter. "Very well, Freda, *I* acknowledge and honor *your*

safe word. The scene is over." He looked over at Dina.

"Free her, Dina. Once she is free, she can remove the fig

herself. If she wants the enema, she can use it and expel it

here on stage or not at all."

Loud applause filled the auditorium as Gerald made his way

toward the table where his love sat waiting for him. He

started to kneel, but Mary caught him and pulled him into a

tight hug. "You are a registered dominant for this whole

weekend, love, no kneeling allowed."

"At least not in public," Gemma chimed in. "Well done, Gerry.

I think old Freda is going to remember this for a long, long

time. And you did not let your natural animosity toward her

lead you to do anything wrong. It was a lovely little scene."

"Whatever" Gerry said diffidently. "Can we go to our room

now?" he asked Mary. "I feel the need to be "out of public."

Mary grinned. "Of course, Sir," she chirped. "There's just

one small problem I need to apprize you of."

• Sir??* what the hell was that all about?, Gerry thought.

"And that problem is?"

"Well." Mary smiled up at him. "You are registered as a

dominant, and I registered as a switch, remember?" He slowly

nodded. Still, confused. "Well, Gemma just told me there are

too many switches this weekend and they are going to have to

make some more subs to balance out the number registered as

dominants. First come, first serve, and I wasn't nearly

first." They'd delayed their arrival as long as possible.

Gerry because he did not want to have anything to do with

Gemma's plans for Freda and Mary because she was trying to

talk him out of doing it at all.

"What does that mean?" he asked, starting to be suspicious.

"It means I have to be a sub, and since this is an "all subs

submit to all dominants" weekend, if you don't hurry up and

leash me, someone else might snap me up."

"Like me," Alex added.

"Like hell." Gerry responded as he caught a mass of straps

Gemma tossed him. It was a leash and collar. "You are sure?

We could just leave. I've done what I had to do."

Mary snatched the collar, put it around her throat before all

but slapping the looped end of the leash back into his hand.

"At the risk of topping from the bottom, my love. DON'T YOU

DARE EVEN THINK ABOUT SUCH A THING!" She slid slowly into his

lap and cuddled him lasciviously, her bottom wiggling

teasingly against his growing erection. "Little Mary wants to

play, Sir," she whispered huskily into his ear before taking a

sharp nip at his lobe.

Laughing now, Gerald caught her hands and gently fastened the

collar himself before connecting the leash. "Well, I guess I

have a scene already figured out, and I figure you are far

braver than that Freda-bitch."

Mary's eyes went wide as she took his implication. Her gaze

darted over to the stage where a very chastened Freda tried to

soothe away the fires from the hot oils still licking at her

insides. Then she swallowed very hard and looked back to

Gerry. "I hope I am, Sir."

"Oh, I didn't mean that, love." Gerald said as he rose, leash

in hand. "Tell me, dear, are you at all . . . ticklish? I

know this lady who has these *really* fantastic feathers."

End and a New Beginning