Message-ID: <19593eli$9902020431@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year99/19593.txt> From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger) Subject: [New Story] Protecting the Mistress (11/31) (FemDom, Romance) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: tigger@alices.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <36be6449.3229545@news.erols.com> Tales of the Cabal: Protecting the Mistress by Tigger Copyright 1999, All Rights Reserved. Archiving and reposting of this work is permitted only on sites where *no* fee (including so-called adult checks) of any type is charged and provided that my authorship, the story itself and this statement of rights are included and are unchanged. This story is based on the Cabal as I developed it in one of my first stories, "Domination Games." This story is archived at the Nifty Archive. Url: www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Tigger/ The file is Domination-Games.html *********** Protecting the Mistress by Tigger Part 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." 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