Protecting the Mistress

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

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

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.

<>

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 - ANYthing 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