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From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger)
Subject: ASSM: Tragedy, Transition and Triumph (2/3)(Femdom, F/M, Romance)
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Tragedy, Transition and Triumph
by Tigger
Copyright 1998, all rights reserved

Part 2.  Transition.

And so they'd come home.  The cops had been in her bedroom
before they'd arrived, supposedly "looking for clues".  The
place had been a mess, so she'd put him in the guest room. 
Probably just as well, she thought, her room was a mess.  The
bedding, particularly her beloved antique satin comforter, was
probably a total loss.

The drugs had kept him unconscious almost constantly since
their arrival.  She'd given him the last of the really strong
pain medication at eleven p.m.; the next bottle were supposed
to be milder - enough so he could function almost normally
without *too* much pain.

He shifted again, moaning in his sleep.  Megan longed to get
into the bed with him, to take him in her arms and comfort
him, but she didn't give into that wish.  She was exhausted
herself, and she'd soon fall asleep with him in her arms. 
Unfortunately, Megan was a cuddler when she slept, especially
with Andre, so it would only be a matter of time before she
slipped a leg or an arm over that bruised and welted bottom,
causing him more pain.

Grimly, she pulled the afghan up around her, and tried again
to find a comfortable position.  Tomorrow, she thought with a
conscious attempt at a yawn, she'd face what had to be faced
tomorrow. 

Finally, shortly before dawn, she managed to fall asleep.

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

It was a week before Andre was moving with anything even
remotely approaching his usual grace and ease.  Happily, the
antibiotics had staved off the feared infection.  Even then,
his ass looked like an artist's pallette for a painter with a
penchant for sickly yellows, dark purples, vivid reds and
basic black.  Sitting remained one activity he could only do
for short periods of time before he was forced to stand and
get his weight off his buttocks.  Still, he'd gone back to
work on Wednesday since a doctor's written explanation was
required for more than two consecutive days of sick time. 
Both of them were glad that the Emergency Room records
remained confidential. 

He needed extra cushioning for his chair, using as his cover
story that he had fallen and badly bruised his coccyx.  That
explanation also adequately explained why he was suddenly
avoiding the gym after work.  

However, it was their private time together that suffered the
most.  After having become so close and intimate in recent
months, they found themselves acting very tentatively with
each other, and being very cautious in their personal contact. 
Although Andre tried to take up his assigned chores that were
still within his reduced capacity, it was not the same.  For
one thing, he was nervous, edgy and easily startled.  When
Megan tried to tease him, or taunt him playfully, there was
this momentary, but perceptible pause before he would react,
as if he had to consciously remember who she was and that he
could trust her.  It made her want to weep, and on two
occasions, Megan had broken down and cried, although she'd
made it to the privacy of her room before the tears had begun
to flow.   Andre did not need that on his mind, too.  

She'd insisted on therapy for him.  Ordered it, in fact, but
the counselor had told her that any recovery would take time. 
Such personal violations were, the psychologist had told
Megan, particularly hard for man to confront since men never
thought of themselves as vulnerable to such an attack.

Especially difficult, Megan had mused to herself, for men who
had negotiated a hard limit against such things with a domina
they loved and trusted.

So it had come as something of a surprise to Megan when their
first breakthrough came only a little more than two weeks
after the attack.  Andre had requested a formal audience,
which she'd granted with some trepidation.  

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

"Mistress.  Perhaps it would be better if I went home to my
apartment."

A cold chill ran down Megan's spine, a fear of loss and
rejection, only to be swept away by an even colder
determination.  "Very well, come with me, please."

Andre followed her into her bedroom, and watched in stunned
amazement as Megan began to pack her things.  "Mistress, what
are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Andre?  I am getting ready to leave
here.  It is really very simple - you said you love me,
therefore, where you go, I go."

Andre's eyes went wide. "but. . .but . . .why?"

"Haven't you figured out yet, little man, that I .  . ." Megan
caught herself just before she blurted out love-word, "care
deeply about you?  If you don't feel safe in my home, then I
will take you where you do feel safe. . . .unless it is me you
don't feel safe with. "

Those words broke him, and he fell to his knees, his arms
wrapped about her legs.  "Oh, god, no, Megan. . .I love you. 
I just figured if I could not serve properly as your
submissive, I might be depriving you of someone else's
service."

The tight ball of fear in Megan's gut eased just a little, and
she reached down to stroke his hair before tipping his head
back to face her.  "Andre?  You think too much.  Where ever I
am, I want you there.  I will let you know if I am displeased
or disappointed with your service.  Now, do you want to go
home or do we stay here?  Either way, we will do it together." 
She gently pulled him to his feet and into her arms for a much
needed hug.

"I don't even think of it as home much anymore, Mistress. 
Where you are is home for me."

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

Unfortunately, other things did not improve.  The cops made no
real progress in finding either the assailants or the stolen
goods.  As Megan had expected, since they had already decided
that no real crime had been committed, they were not pursuing
the matter with any real interest or effort.  

A week or so after his abortive attempt to leave, Andre asked
Megan to recommence his training.  Still cautious with one
another, they'd tried a couple of sessions in the dungeon, but
it wasn't the same.  It nearly broke her heart to see him
flinch each time she started to restrain him, and eventually,
she stopped trying that type of play with him.  She still
pressed him, still required him to service her in bed, but
much of that special spark that had encouraged her to buy the
two small gifts the night of the attack, seemed gone.  

A little while later, again at his request, they'd
experimented with types of play that they had never before
explored together, but that had led to another unmitigated
disaster.  Megan had begun a cross dressing training session
with him - a full up, male-to-female makeover with body
shaping, wigs, cosmetics, clothes - the works.  She'd planned
to keep it light, teasing and playful.  More than anything
else, she had simply wanted to have *fun* with her sub again.

Although his slender build seemed made for this type of game,
it was something she had never tried with him before and for a
while, it had gone very well.  Andre had even begun to play
*with* her for the first time in weeks - swishing his skirts,
shaking his bootie and generally responding very well to her
soft verbal humiliation games.

Until she'd gone to one of the dungeon's cabinets to get a
ball gag for the next step in her meticulously planned drama. 
When she'd turned back around to face him, Andre had gone
rigid and she could literally see him shuddering with fear.
His eyes were wide and he was staring at the cabinet she held
open.  When she turned around to look, she saw what he saw,
and understood.  Her gags were stored in the same cabinet as
her plugs, vibrators and dildos.

She had "turned" him into a female in this session.  Females
could get fucked and he had been terrified that she would
reach for one of her phallic toys.

Megan had immediately ended that session using *her* safeword. 
Aftercare had lasted long into the night before she had
finally reassured him that she would never violate that limit. 
Megan was just a tiny bit smug about the inspiration that had
finally done the trick.  With Andre in tow, she had gone back
to the cabinet, locked it with a padlock and then had given
Andre both keys.  "The toys in that locker are yours, now,
sweetheart - every last one of them.  I swear to you that I
will never touch *any* of them again unless you give me those
keys and your permission."

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

But the major breakthrough did not come until over a month
later when the phone rang.  Andre was at Megan's feet, giving
her a massage and a pedicure.  "Deirdre.  What's up?"  

Engrossed in her call, Megan had not immediately noticed that
Andre had gone stock still on hearing that name.  "No, I don't
think I am going to the monthly meeting at the club tomorrow."
she paused to listen and then noticed Andre.  "No. . .uh. .no,
I have things here I need to take care of.  Fine. . .fine, I
will call you later."  She said and then slammed the phone
down on its cradle.

The look on Andre's face was identical to the one he'd had
when he thought she was going to use a dildo on him, and it
chilled her to the bone.  

Megan slipped down on to the floor beside Andre and got into
his face.  "Okay, give.  What is it that is bothering you?"
she demanded sternly.

He swallowed hard.  "You were talking to Mistress Deirdre,
weren't you?"

"Yes, so?"

"You and she are . . . friends, right?"

Megan was baffled by this line of questioning, but shrugged. 
"Yes, well, we're sort of friends - more like good scene-
partners, I guess.  We've worked together at the club a few
times, and we've played once or twice at each other's dungeon
before, but that's about it.  Why?"  Andre tried to look away,
but Megan caught his chin in her hands and pulled his gaze
back to hers.  "*Why*, Andre?  TELL me!"

It hurt her as he once again seemed to consider whether or not
to trust her, but then he straightened himself and spoke, very
softly.  "Mistress?  The ones who attacked me?  They . . .they
. .they weren't really burglars. . .at least, I don't think
they were." 

What ever Megan had expected him to say to her, that was not
it.  "What do you mean they weren't burglars?  Of course they
were.  They took my jewelry case, my stereo and my paintings."

Andre shook his head emphatically, his eyes closed tight
against the memories.  "*NO*, they were not burglars,
Mistress. Burglars don't wear custom-fitted, full-face leather
hoods from the Club Domaise Toy Shop.  There were two of them,
just like I told the cops, but what I didn't tell them was
that one of them was a woman.  They came straight to the
bedroom, Mistress.  They were looking for me, not for loot. 
And another thing - Female burglars don't wear stiletto heels
when they are on a job and they most especially don't wear
spiked dildos bobbing on their crotches.  *She* was the one
who really tore me up with that damned thing.  The male only
loosened me up a little."

Megan was trying to absorb this, trying to make sense of his
words.  "You're saying that they came here, with the intention
of raping you?" All she got in response was a shaky nod. 
"Okay, Andre, what are you *not* telling me. . ."

He swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat so that he could
speak.  "They said. . . no, *she* said, that they had your
okay.  That you were tired of being restricted by my silly
limit of no anal sex play with men and women, and that they
were going to get me past that foolishness once and for all so
that you could enjoy me as a Mistress ought to be able to
enjoy her slave."

The last words came out in a sobbing, emotional rush that
rocked the kneeling Megan literally back on her heels.  "I
see." she responded with a cold calm that totally belied the
fiery anger in her soul.  "Well, it all certainly fits.  I am
not home. You are alone, and you were ordered to restrain
yourself in a position suitable for being used anally.  Not
all that unusual a situation for us on a club night, but still
pretty damning, if you look at it that way.  Well, I still
have to ask. . . do you believe that?  And if you do, why the
hell are you still here?"

"NO!" his answering shriek left no doubt of its truth.  "You
promised to accept that limit, no anal play and definitely no
male/male sex in our relationship, and you have never broken
your word to me.  Not ever, and I know you never will."

"Then why hide those facts?  Why not tell the whole truth to
the police?  If you are sure it was Deirdre."

A blush of shame suffused his face.  "Because I thought
Deirdre was your friend. . " and his voice broke, "and
because, at first, maybe I did doubt you just a little.  I
could say that I was not thinking clearly, but I am still
ashamed of that.  Afterwards, it seemed too late to change the
story."

"I see." she repeated.  "Do you retain any doubts, any glimmer
of fear that I am in any way responsible for this . . . this
abomination?"

"None at all, Mistress.  If I did, I would have been long
gone.  I'm not drugged or scared out my mind right now like I
was then. And I could not love someone I could not trust,
Megan-my-Mistress, and I love you with all my heart."

Tears tracked down her cheeks.  "And I love you just the same,
Andre Pedoran."  She stood and pulled him to his feet. 
"C'mon.  Lets go to bed.  I think we both need to be held."

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

Megan sat in the dark room, waiting . . . thinking. She'd all
but forgotten the key that had ultimately granted her access
to this house.  Her thoughts were as black as the room.

The front door opened, and a switch clicked, flooding the
foyer with incandescent yellow light.  Back from your club
night, thought Megan coldly.  The figure that entered was that
of a woman.  The overcoat came off to reveal a form fitting
leather and latex ensemble that clung sleekly to the trim, fit
body.  Megan watched as the woman moved past her place of
concealment and into the darkened parlor room.  Languidly,
Deirdre sauntered toward the wet bar opposite the foyer where
she poured herself a drink.  

"Hello, Deirdre.  Rape anyone else tonight?"

It was hugely satisfying to see, Megan thought, that
dumbfounded, almost frightened look on her face.  Just as
quickly, however, Deirdre regained control and schooled her
features into a smirking grin.  "Hello, Megan.  Rape? Me? 
Why, Megan, from what I understand from one of my cop subbies,
rape is *your* game." she said, toasting Megan with the
snifter in her hand.

Megan responded by kicking a box that had been at her feet
toward Deirdre.  "Cut the shit, Deirdre.  That is my jewelry
box. You ought to look inside things you steal and then decide
to keep.  My name is inscribed on the metal fancy work.  The
stereo in your bedroom looks like mine, and I have the serial
number in my records.  I didn't find my paintings, but I
suspect they are here, too."

"You can't prove anything." Deirdre retorted gleefully.  "You
might have brought those things here with you tonight.  We
both know that the cops think you did it and made up the
burglar story as a coverstory when your slut got hurt."

"But you and I know that isn't true, Deirdre, don't we?" Steel
crept into Megan's voice as she advanced on the other woman. 
"Watch yourself, Deirdre, because I will be watching you, and
I will find a way to punish you for what you did to Andre.  It
may take a long time, but I can be very patient and you *will*
fuck up.  I will take something away from you that *you*
cherish, and when I do, I will make *sure* you will know who
did it and why." tears began to flow down Megan's cheeks. 
"You stole something from me and from the man I love.  He'll
never be able to face that limit, now.  He will never be able
to give himself to me in that way because of what YOU did."

Deirdre snorted derisively.  "Fool. *You* are his *Mistress*.
If you want it, take it for yourself and quit whining about
it."

Megan shook her head in amazement.  "God, I never realized
before now.  You are as stupid as you are uncaring.  A domme
does not take anything that is not freely given.  She might
have to seduce it out of a submissive, but she never simply
rips away what a slave cannot offer up to her."  The cold rage
inside Megan began to burn white hot. "But then, you would
never understand that - not being a domme yourself.  Oh, by
the way,"  tossing the key to Deirdre's house at her, "all the
locks at my house have been changed, so you can just toss your
keys away.  There won't be a next time, you heartless bitch."

"How dare you tell me I am not a domme!" Deirdre screamed as
she launched herself at Megan, clawlike nails reaching for her
face.   She was met by a palm thrust under the wishbone,
followed by a spinning heel kick to the solar plexis.  

Her last waking memory was of a now relaxed Megan, standing
there watching impassively as Deirdre slipped unconscious to
the floor.

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

Deirdre awoke sometime later, and found she could not move.  A
quick survey of her surroundings revealed she was in her own
bedroom, facing the full length wall mirror.  She was
completely nude, her hands were cuffed tightly behind her back
and her mouth was stuffed with a huge red ball gag that had
been forced behind her teeth.  She was bent face down over a
plush, overstuffed hassock with her knees bound to the legs.

"Awake, are you?"  Deirdre followed the direction of the sound
in the mirror and saw Megan entering the room, a large placard
in her hands.   "Here, you will need these." she said as she
put a chain necklace with keys dangling from it around
Deirdre's neck.  "And this" she held a tube of lubricant under
the bound woman's nose before slipping the cylindrical
container under the cuffed wrists against the sweat slick
back. "that is, maybe you will need it.  If you're lucky."

"Mmmmmpphhh!" 

"Why?  I am glad you asked.  I figure you have a slave who
comes in each morning to do things for you.  Tomorrow morning,
the slave who comes in to wait upon you is going to get very
*very* lucky.  Why?  I am *so* glad you asked that, too. 
Because you, his beloved Mistress, have decided to reward him. 
See?"  The placard slipped into Deirdre's field view and Megan
quietly gloated as the other woman went rigid at the words
painted onto it in bright red letters.  "Now, if he really
knows you, and if he cares about you at all - I figure he
might take the gag out first.  That gives you a chance to stop
him," Megan's voice became coldly hard.  "Which is *far* more
than you gave Andre. However, I doubt any of *your* slaves
will hesitate to take what's offered."  A truly malicious grin
lit Megan's face.  "I do hope it is the sonuvabitch that was
with you the night you raped my slave.  Andre said he was
particularly brutal."

Deirdre felt rather than saw the hard rod that Megan duct-
taped to Deirdre's back.  "And of course, you do have such
lovely canes.  I imagine that your morning slave is very
familiar with its use, at least from the receiving side.  I
wonder if he will be able to resist trying it out from the
other side, given the chance?  Oh, well, I must be off.  Have
fun."

With that, she carefully positioned the sign between Deirdre's
quivering ass and the doorway into the bedroom.

Megan stopped at the threshold for one last, self satisfied
look at the woman and the lipstick-lettered sign.  Both were
positioned perfectly for arrival of Deirdre's body slave first
thing in the morning.

                     SLAVE!
                    
          You see the cane and the tube of lube?  I
          expect you will use them effectively for
          our mutual self discovery and pleasure. 
          Use them both very, *very* well, slaveboy,
          or ELSE.

                    Mistress Deirdre
                    
With a final cold smile, Megan spun out of the room. 
Deirdre's gag-muffled screams were only just barely audible as
she strode resolutely down the steps.  She was halfway to the
front door when a sudden, unwelcome thought struck her. 
Sighing at the injustice of it, Megan made a quick detour back
into the parlor, before at last making her way out of
Deirdre's house.


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