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Subject: [New Story] Protecting the Mistress (8/31) (FemDom, Romance)
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Tales of the Cabal: Protecting the Mistress
by Tigger
Copyright 1999, All Rights Reserved.

Archiving and reposting of this work is permitted only on
sites where *no* fee (including so-called adult checks) of any
type is charged and provided that my authorship, the story
itself and this statement of rights are included and are
unchanged.

This story is based on the Cabal as I developed it in one of
my first stories, "Domination Games."  This story is archived
at the Nifty Archive.

Url:  www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Tigger/

The file is Domination-Games.html

***********

Protecting the Mistress
by Tigger

Part 8:  A Prologue to First Exhibition.

Gerald relaxed as he maneuvered the beloved LandCruiser along
the narrow roads in the deepening evening gloom.  It was
Friday, and for once, he'd managed to leave the office without
a full briefcase.  Well, all that meant was that he would not
have work as an excuse for a couple of hours off slave duty
this weekend.  At least he gets the prime football time on
Sunday afternoon off.  He'd negotiated with Mistress Mary his
eight hours a week was scheduled for noon until eight p.m., on
Sundays.

Except for Congregation weekends - one of which was looming on
the near horizon, they'd be returning to the Lodge in only two
weeks.  Anticipation of that day was starting to cost him
sleep at night.  Gerald just did not know if it was the "kid
on Christmas Eve" kind of anticipation, or if it was the
"tomorrow's my root canal appointment" kind.

So far, the trial period had gone fairly well.  Most week
nights he came home, fixed and served Mistress Mary's dinner,
cleaned up after the meal and then went into his office for an
hour or so to take care of whatever he'd brought home.  Mary
was not into slave-as-a-dog games, so once she was served, he
was allowed to take his own meal like a civilized human being,
usually seated at the table with his owner.  It was very easy
to forget, in those convivial times over a homey pot roast or
a bowl of chili, the cloud that hung over their heads.

But Gerald could not let himself forget. Not for a moment for
to forget might put Mary in danger again.  He had to stay in
control.

He was usually out of his den by eight thirty, whereupon Mary
would have some little training exercise planned.  One
evening, she'd ordered him to strip and then stand at military
attention.  While at attention, she had begun to stroke him
one place, to pinch another or to spank yet another.  Each
time he'd broken position, she'd assessed him a demerit.  Mary
was very good at that game and he'd "earned" more than twenty
demerits in the half hour she'd kept at him.  The demerits
were redeemed by means of an old-fashioned spanking using her
hairbrush until she'd literally swatted him to orgasm.  Gerald
had just cause to remember her every time he sat down for the
next couple of days afterwards.

They planned that weekends would be spent in more rigorous
training and play - particularly on Friday nights and most of
Saturday.  With Saturday night and all of Sunday for him to
recover (especially since he took his time off on sundays),
Mary could do some particularly painful or physically
demanding scenes with him.  He was still just a bit tender
across the shoulders from the muscle strain of the very
stringent bondage scene she'd run him through last weekend,
even after six days.  He'd have to tell Mistress Mary about
that before they got started tonight.

Actually, Gerald mused, after he'd been so concerned about how
their relationship would be changed by that damned contract,
he was feeling pretty good about how little had really changed
between them.  In fact, so far the only significant difference
Gerald had noticed was that Mary invariably cuffed his hands
behind his back when she restrained him.  Not that he could
blame her.  If she'd done that three months ago, they wouldn't
be in this mess now.

Still lost in his reveries, Gerald was surprised to realize he
was home.  For once, Mary had beaten him home - her sporty
little Honda was already parked under the carport. (As she'd
told him that first Monday - "one advantage of being the
Domme, Gerry.  I don't get wet when it rains.) What did she
have planned for him tonight, he wondered one last time before
he hauled himself out of his car.  No time like the present to
find out.

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

The house was dark when he opened the front door, and seemed
empty for all Mary's car was here.  He shrugged and went up to
the guest room they had converted into his room.  Mary often
went for a short walk after getting home, so he figured that
she was off getting a little fresh air.  Clear her head before
going into battle, he thought.  Then he decided that he could
use a little fresh air and exercise, too.  Shucking out of his
suit, Gerald donned his favorite running outfit - a Pittsburgh
Steeler jersey that had seen far better days, a pair of light
running shorts and a new pair of barely broken in running
shoes.

Stepping out of his room, he was surprised to see that the
hall light was off again.  "I know I turned that light on," he
said aloud.  Still not used to finding his way around in the
dark from this side of the house, Gerald felt along the wall,
looking for the light switch.

Something hard jabbed into the base of his spine and a leather
gloved hand came up to cover his mouth.  "Don't move" hissed a
sibilant voice and Gerald went rigid in surprise.  "I don't
want to blow your spine away, but I will."  The voice rose
slightly in volume - enough so that he could recognize it. 
Mistress Mary.  He relaxed slightly and the hand on his mouth
seemed to almost caress him in response.

"Hands behind your back!" she snapped, her voice still not
above a whisper.  He obeyed and immediately felt the metal
grip of handcuffs snapping into place on his wrists. "On the
floor," she ordered.  "Face down!"

It was difficult getting to his knees without his arms for a
counterbalance, but he made it.  In short order, he was flat
on the floor.  A weight. (A knee?) pressed hard into his spine
and then he felt something being slipped over his head,
covering his eyes.  In the now total darkness, the sounds told
him what she had done.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

A zipper closed and the hood (for that is what he was now sure
it was), closed tightly about his head, leaving only his mouth
and nose free.

Sshhhhhhhsssshhhh

What felt like a leather collar tightened about his throat,
and made the hood even tighter.

<<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?"

End Part 8


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