The Scavenger Hunt by Tigger copyright 1998, All Rights Reserved Prologue. The young woman almost sighed as she watched her supervisor stride into the office. At thirty five years of age, she looked ten years younger and she had a verve and dash that made even the staid grey power suit look attractive. Combine that with her position as the only female partner in the firm, with her future as the already-anointed successor to the president, and Amelia Douglas was just what the younger woman wanted to be when she grew up. "Good morning, Kelly." her boss caroled as she strode purposefully toward her private sanctum. She already had her hand on the door knob, when she came to a stop and turned back to face the younger woman's desk. "Kelly, would you make a note for me to call home at about nine o'clock? My husband is staying home today and he has a lot to do before the day is out. I want to make sure he gets up and gets at it." Kelly noted it down on her pad, and smiled shyly up to her boss. "Sleeping in on his day off?" A wicked grin lit Amelia's face and her eyes danced in suppressed humor. "Oh, yes." she said before letting voice drop down into a conspiratorial, just-between-us-girls whisper, "I'm afraid I wore the poor dear out last night." She sighed happily and her face softened at the obviously good memories. "But still, he needs to be up and at 'em no later than nine if he has any chance at all of getting his tasks done. Okay?" "Okay." Kelly responded, trying to look sophisticated and nearly failing as a giggle threatened. "Nine o'clock it is." With a sly wink, her boss spun on her delicately shod heel, and strutted into her office. Damn, Kelly thought to herself. Life just isn't fair sometimes. On top of drop dead good looks and a great career, she gets fantastic sex at home? Then, with a new determination in her eyes, she picked up her pad and started making notes to herself. If fifteen years from now, Kelly Adams intended to be where her boss was right now, then she was just going to need a plan. At least, she had a great role model. Maybe Ms. Douglas would agree to mentor her. She'd have to ask. Part One - The Rules of the Game. **Bee dee dee dee** *Bee dee dee dee* The electronic "ringing" of the bedside telephone brought Martin Douglas out of a sound sleep. Instinctively, he tried to reach over to the bedside table where the offensive instrument sat. Then, he discovered several interesting things. He was laying on his stomach which was, in and of itself, very strange. He had not been a tummy sleeper since he'd first learned how to roll over in his crib thirty seven years ago. His arms were up under his pillow, near the head of the bed. Moreover, he could not move them more than a couple of inches right or left. He was also blind. Momentarily, Martin panicked at being unable to move, unable to see. Then, a memory of burning heat, along with aching pain cutting deeply in the large muscles of his buttocks, reminded him precisely how he had come to be in this condition. Amy had dominated him last night. It had been one of her better efforts, leaving him limp and exhausted when she had finally pulled him back from that secret place of hers to reality. He'd fallen asleep before she had even taken off the eyeless hood or the restraints she'd locked onto his wrists and ankles. Obviously, she hadn't bothered to remove either once he'd drifted off to sleep. Suddenly, his reflections were harshly interrupted by a tinny reproduction of his own voice. "Hello, you've reached the home of Amelia and Martin Douglas." What the hell was their answering machine doing in the bedroom?? "We are unable to take your call right now. Please leave your name and number at the sound of the tone, and we will return your call as soon as we are able." **beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep** "Good Morning, darling." came the amplified voice of his wife, lover and Mistress. "I do hope you are awake, because I am going to say this only once." Martin shifted himself to try and get closer to the phone since the hood deadened his hearing just a bit. Whatever she was up to, he would need to hear it all. "As I am sure you have figured out, you are still restrained and blindfolded. Just so you know, you are also completely nude and collared. You even have that dog shock collar you turned into a cock restraint for me tightly hugging that exemplary symbol of your masculine gender. And every restraint is individually locked." Why had she done this, he thought incredulously. "I am sure you are wondering what I am up to and why I have done this. Glad you asked. We have a wonderful marriage, a great, mutually pleasurable sex life and a strong, loving relationship - both as friends and lovers, and as Mistress and submissive. However, you want us to have a child. Not that I don't want to give you a child, but having gotten this far up the corporate ladder, and having finally smashed through the glass ceiling, taking time off for a baby would put paid to my dreams of becoming the president of this firm." "And yet, I feel guilty about denying you something you want so badly. It really is too bad you can't carry the child, but Mother Nature is a fickle lady. So, I have decided we will have a little game - winner take all. First, the rules of the game." "I have set up a little scavenger hunt for you, darling. Five to ten tasks that, *if* you complete them, will result in you being completely free by the time I get home. Each successfully completed task will provide you the clue to the next task, and one key that you may use to unlock one of your restraints. Oh, I should explain about that. With one exception, all the keys are the same, but they can only be used once. You cannot remove the key from one opened lock and use it to open another one. So choose carefully when you decide to unlock something." "Now, let's talk about the prizes. If you are completely free when I walk in the door tonight, then I will give you my birth control pills and if we get pregnant, well, there you are. However, if you are still wearing any of my little toys, I win, and tomorrow I will ask you to check into Debra Hanson's clinic downtown for a vasectomy." "Now, I can hear you growling already, sweetheart. I said I would *ask* you to go to the clinic. That is all. You will make that decision. Of course, you can "safeword" at any time, up to and including the instant before the doctor conducts the operation. Also, each of the restraint locks has a "panic button" that will spring you free, and each of the chains has a snaplink that you may break to free yourself. However, if you do that, I will know since you cannot put them back together. As if you would, my trustworthy darling. Anyway, for the purposes of this contest, use of either a panic button or a snaplink is the same using your safeword. The game will then be declared a draw and we will continue as before. No babies, but no requests for a vasectomy either." "A few more things, Darling, since I want to be scrupulously fair about this. The lock on your shock harness is special. Only the successful completion of the last task will give you that key and set you completely free. Otherwise, you will know I am almost home because I will have the shock collar's remote control with me and set to zap you. Once I get within the remote's range on my way home, well, I know how much you love that ummmmm. . . electrifying sensation in your balls." He heard something that might have been a giggle before his wife continued. "The second thing is that what I have in mind is intended as a stretching exercise. In exchange for my surrendering my power of reproductive control to you, I want something of comparable value from you. In return for giving you a baby at the cost of my professional ambitions, I want a chance to do all those really nasty, wonderful and evil things I have always dreamed of doing to you, but have promised I would not do. Yes, dear, I am talking about our negotiated hard limits." There was another pause, evidently for effect as she let those words sink in. "The trials I have set out for you will involve several things that are expressly forbidden limits in our little contract. I don't think, my darling, that *I* am actually breaking those limits since you can choose at any time to call off the contest and to stop participating in the game. But, given the stakes and the ultimate prize, I think that is only fair to ask you to do the extraordinary for me - to challenge and defeat those monsters that lurk in the dark corners of your soul for me." "Martin, my love, I know that we have never talked about anything like this, nor have we ever negotiated anything like this. But *this* is not a scene. I am not standing over you, exhorting you onward with my voice and my strap. This is more like a chivalric quest, and you must decide if you are going to pick up the gauntlet I have thrown down before you. You are going to have to extend yourself to your utmost in order to win this Holy Grail, my darling, and only you can decide if winning the prize is worth the price each of my little challenges will exact from you." "Well, I am sure you are angry now, but as I just said, you can *choose* not to play. All you have to do is merely push the panic buttons, break the chains and go off to play that game of golf you were so excited about as if none of this had ever happened. It really is that simple. I have even rescheduled your tee time to ten o'clock since I knew you'd be sleeping a little later than you had planned on this morning." "Now, let me tell you the first two tasks. The first one is relatively easy and involves none of your limits. You simply have to get out of bed. The padlock chaining you to the head of the bed is a combination lock. I have already spun in the combination and left it on the last number. All you need to do is spin the dial left to zero and you will be free. . . of the bed, anyway." Martin tried to say something but the hood muffled it and Amy did not hear him. "Once that is done, you will face the first limit breaking task, and it is a major trial since it has the potential to shatter up to three of them. First you have to go out onto the patio where you will find three hoses dangling somewhere. Each hose has a nipple on it, and you must suck the fluid from one of the bottles dry to get your next clue. So, you will have to go outside in the nude in broad daylight. Limit number one, darling." "Oh, what did you just try to say? Oh, yes. I did say three limits, didn't I? All right. I have been saving my pee for the past several days, sweetie. Each bottle contains a one liter solution of tap water, urine, blueberry juice and bitter apple extract. I am sure it will taste vile. The blueberry juice is not there to sweeten the flavor of my little cocktail. No, I am using that lovely dark blue juice as a "tattle tale" that will show if you do not drink every drop. Any spillage, such as if you try and spit it out, will leave a dark blue stain on the deck. A blueberry stained deck means you cannot win, sweetheart. Now, as to the third limit." Martin heard a pause, a sigh, and then her voice came back, louder as if she was forcing herself to speak. "One of the bottles contains a mild, odorless, tasteless sedative in a dose strong enough to put you to sleep within about an hour of drinking it. If you should drink the contents of that particular bottle, you will sleep for several hours and will have no chance of winning once you wake up. There simply won't be enough time for you to complete all the tasks, although you will probably wake up in time to use the panic buttons and end the game." "Mmmmmmmmmmmfff!" Martin screamed at the phone. Amy evidently heard that through the speaker phone. "Now, calm down, Martin. Let me assure you that this is perfectly safe. They used this particular drug on you when you were in the hospital last year with no ill effects. And I have had a doctor friend of mine prepare it for me, so it is completely safe. It does, however, violate your limit of no drugs. Again, it is your choice whether or not you continue, not mine." "In fact, that is the main reason I am not at home to watch you in your quest, even though I would love to watch your struggles every step of the way. I do not want you to feel I tried to influence you in some way to do anything you really felt you could not do." "So, I will leave you to your decisions, and perhaps to your tasks. I will be home no earlier than four thirty, which gives you a little more than seven hours to complete your labors. I hope you decide to play. Just thinking about you crawling about the house collared, nude and restrained is making me very excited. I may have to slip out at lunch to buy clean, dry panties." This time there was no doubt, even with the poor quality of the over amplified phone. Amy *was* giggling, and Martin silently cursed her for it. "I am also just a little bit apprehensive. After all, my love, you are an incredibly strong willed and determined man. I *could* lose. I don't *think* I will, but there is that niggling doubt that I could. Well, I have to go now. I will probably be hearing from you throughout the day. . . " and then the voice dropped to just barely loud enough to hear. "unless you are sleeping, that is. Ciao, Darling. Good luck with your quest. I love you." *click* *buuuzzzzzzzzz* For several long moments, Martin just lay there, stunned. How could she even think of doing anything like this to him?? All she had to do was say "no" to having a baby. He'd taken it from her before, and dammit, he loved her enough that it would have been good enough again. . .and would probably be good enough for life. And to put him in a situation where he had to do things she had promised she'd never force him to do - be nude where other people could see him, drink urine or take a drug. Only, she wasn't forcing him, was she? In her view, this was some kind of bizarre exchange of gifts. If Martin gave her what she wanted, the knowledge that he had willingly met and exceeded his hard limits, she would give him what he wanted - a child of their love. Experienced fingers tested the chains holding his wrists together and holding his wrists to the headboard. There were the snap link weak links, just she promised. Then he found the combination padlock connecting the two chains and found the panic button on the back of the lock. *DAMN* her! He ought to just say the hell with it. Show up down in her damn office with her "clean, dry panties" and then take her to lunch. And yet. . . he wanted a child with her. . . a little girl to guard and protect, with her mother's auburn locks and startling blue eyes. He could always quit - at any point in time. Unless he was out cold, but if the stuff was all that mild, wouldn't he know it was coming? At least in time to push one of the panic buttons and in so doing, safety code his way out of this? Dammit, he wasn't going to let her just win. Not *that* easily, in any case. Grimly he reached for the padlock, and then cursed. . . she had not even told him what number the dial was set to. A deep breath calmed him, and he began making minute adjustments of the dial, then pulling on the latching bar after each fractional movement of the dial. It seemed to take forever, to the point where he feared he had gone past the zero and failed already. Suddenly, the lock came free in his hands. Undoing the two sets of chains, Martin carefully rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. Moving carefully, he tested his bondage and found he had about a foot of free play in his wrist restraints, and perhaps a little less in the ankle restraints. Not enough to walk safely in the blind. The slightest bit off balance and who knew what he'd hit as he fell. Carefully, he knelt to the floor, and began to crawl towards where he thought the door was. Part Two - The First Labor The house sure looked different when a person could not see, especially when that person was only about two feet tall. Martin wondered if Amy had moved some of the furniture just to make it harder for him because he kept bumping into things. Finally, he decided to find a wall, and crawl along it until he got to the patio doors. Moving slowly, he identified a book case and one of Amy's nicknack display tables, and then the family room television and stereo-center. The close encounter with the TV made Martin wonder if Amy might be video-taping this. They had two video camcorders and she certainly had access to several others at her place of work. Yes, he decided, that was just what Amy would want to do. Oh yes, his demanding love would want to be able to watch every little moment of his self domination; to count coup on each terror and humiliation she had planned for him. There would be video cameras at each site. Reaching up, Martin hand over handed until he found the door latch, which he unlocked to open the door. The warm scents of a spring morning assailed him. Well, at least it wasn't winter, or raining outside. He sat back on his haunches, forcing himself to remember the layout of the patio and the yard. There were bushes and a shed that would keep him from being seen by the neighbors if he could keep to the right hand side of the patio. Of course, Amy might have put the nipples out where he could be seen. Blindfolded, he'd never know. Well, he'd just start on the shielded part and decide what to do if the nozzles weren't there. They were. Amelia may have wanted him to quit early, but she evidently did not want their nosey neighbors picking up on their little games. Or worse, calling the cops. The first thing Martin realized was that the damned nipples weren't precisely nipples. They were a novelty item Amy had picked up in the city - hollowed out replicas of the male sex organ that were designed to be put on a baby bottle for big babies to suck on. Martin hated the things, as much for the fact that you had to suck really hard to get anything through them as for what they were and how his Mistress used them. Amy usually pulled these things out when she was in the mood for one of the fairly heavy humiliation scenes she was so very good at orchestrating. For such a loving woman, she could slice him to ribbons with that tongue of hers when it suited her. How much liquid had she said? A liter? Harsh experience had taught him that it took almost fifteen minutes to drain an eight ounce baby bottle through one of those things, so a liter was going to require upwards of an hour. That was a problem because it might just mean that the drugged bottle could put him out before he even got off the patio. His fingers idly toyed with the snap link on his wrist chains. Just a little twist against the long axis of the weak link and this was all over. Angrily, he gathered up the three nozzles and played another child's game - eenie meanie minie moe - and stuffed the "winning" dildo into his mouth. He almost gagged on the first taste, and then he remembered what the fluid was and almost gagged again. He took another sucking pull. It was a tiny bit less horrible this time. He could do it, and by all he held holy, he would do it. She *wasn't* going to win. Time loses meaning under such conditions. Without a clock or the sun, all Martin knew was that the bottle was not yet empty. So he continued to nurse the vile concoction. At some point, he noticed that there was a slight upward pull on the nipple. The pull became stronger as he continued to drain the fluid, until he had to rise up onto his haunches, and finally up onto his feet to keep it in his mouth. A subtle squeak of metal above his head caught his attention. He thought about where he was and what that sound might be. Then he knew. He'd installed pulleys into the ceiling of the patio/porch so that Amy could water her hanging plants without having to climb ladders. One of those pulleys should have been . . . just about where he was now standing. Carefully, he raised his still bound hands and felt about blindly. He almost fell once, but caught himself just before toppling over. Something brushed a hand. A box? He grabbed at it and missed, sending it swinging away. More cautiously, he held his hands still in the spot he'd first touched the box and caught it when it swung back to him. He pulled and felt it come free in his hands. Gratefully, he settled himself back down to the ground. The box was surprisingly heavy, but that was necessary for it to balance three one liter bottles of water - that was almost seven pounds. Martin felt around the box and found a latch which opened easily. Inside was a single key, and a hard rectangular box with what felt like buttons on it. He pressed one. "Congratulations, Darling." Amy's voice said. "You have passed the first trial. At least, you have managed to get your first key. Whether you are soon going to be sleeping the sleep of the pure and innocent remains to be seen. Anyway, you have won your first key. What are you going to free? Your eyes or maybe your hands?" "If you haven't already made that decision, let me tell you your next clue. The second key will be found where you found my engagement ring that time I thought I'd lost it forever. If not precisely there, then in a place just like it. Good luck, Darling. Do you hear any lullabies yet? And if so, are they for a baby, or for you? Ta, love." The sound became a hiss, and Martin stopped the microtape player. He knew where she'd put the next key. She'd been cleaning it in the bathroom and had accidently dropped it into the toilet. Which made his decision on what to free all the harder. He'd planned on being shed of the blindfold. However, if she had put the key into the toilet bowl, he might not be able to get both of his bound hands far enough down to pull out the key. He'd find someway to get it out, he decided. If he lost, he lost, but it would be infinitely safer to do this with his eyes open. Gripping the key, he reached up to the lock that dangled at the base of his skull, and carefully inserted it into the key hole. The lock opened with a satisfying *click*. Quickly, he unzipped the hood and tossed it aside. Before he left, he looked up at the three bottles suspended from the pulley. A knot in the rope had prevented them from falling when he'd removed the box. Unfortunately, he could not discern any difference between the contents of the two remaining bottles. That meant either he'd drunk the one with the sleeping potion, or the dark blue coloring of the blueberry juice masked any obvious difference between the two formulations. Shaking his head, he shuffled off, back into the house. Part Three: Task Two - Deep Sea Fishing. Unfortunately, the house had five toilets. Two master baths, a guest bath, a foyer powder room and another bathroom down in the basement recreation room. She'd lost her ring in the one off of their bedroom. He tried there first. It was not there. The bowl was clean, and he'd used the handle of the scrubbing brush to probe in the bottom for any signs of the key, or another clue. He even pulled the cover off of the tank, and found nothing in there. It was the same story in the other upstairs baths and in the powder room. That meant it had to be downstairs. A look at the hall clock stopped him for a moment. It was 11:25. Where had the morning gone? And how many more of these did he have to do in only. . what, five hours? Getting into the basement was accomplished by sliding down the steps on his butt. Which reminded him forcefully of the strapping he'd been on the receiving end of just the night before. When he got to the small bathroom, he had no doubt it was the right place. The toilet had been used recently, and moreover, had not been flushed. His stomach rebelled at putting his bound hands into the bowl because he knew what he'd end up with on his hands. "My God, Amy, what the hell are you *thinking* of? I can't believe you could even *conceive* of anything like this." he railed in furious resentment. His hand felt for the red button on his wrist chain - found it and then dropped it. He was not going to quit - not yet, anyway - not until he'd at least *tried* to figure a way around this. He couldn't flush the bowl because that might carry away the key. Using the handle of the basin brush, Martin probed the toilet again, and saw a small plastic cylinder in the bottom of the bowl. He tried to lift it using the brush, but the object was too slippery to get all the way out of the toilet water. Martin was just about to try his clumsy hands, when he thought of a tool that might work. Excitedly, he hopped to his workshop and retrieved the tool. He returned the same way, almost falling twice in his haste. The tool was a long, thin tube with a push button on the top. When pushed, three metallic fingers came out the other end which retracted when the button was released. The tool was used for retrieving screws and other bits that fell into hard to reach places. Martin carefully positioned the fingers around the long axis of the plastic tube and released the button. Moments later, he was rinsing the tube under the faucet while the toilet gurgled happily away. Inside the tube was another key, and piece of paper. Martin used the key to free his hands and then unfolded the paper. There were two pictures on the page - one was of a woman reading a book and the other was a picture of Amy. "What the hell does that mean?" he said aloud as he slipped onto the toilet seat. His brain worked at the problem and then he noticed a small arrow pointing at something in the first picture. He hadn't noticed it in the first place because it was only a slightly different color than the background onto which it had been drawn. It seemed to be pointing at the book. Martin looked at the picture more carefully. The woman was in the act of turning the page, and that was what the arrow was pointing at. "Page Amy!" he said aloud. Martin hopped over to the phone and had to work to remember the number of Amy's pager. He was wrong the first two times he dialed it, once getting another person's number. It was a salesman, and Martin had no doubt that the pushy huckster would call back regularly in the days to come. Well, he just hoped he did it when Amy was home. She deserved to have to deal with that guy for coming up with this. On the third try, he got a response, but not the one he was expecting. "Mr. Douglas? This is Kelly, Ms. Douglas' secretary?" "Yes, Kelly, I need to talk to her right away." The clock read 12:15. "She is at a client luncheon, Mr. Douglas. That is why she game me her beeper." "When do you expect her back, Kelly, I really, *really* need to talk to her." "I don't know, Mr. Douglas, maybe two-ish." Martin groaned. "But she did give me a message for you." she said quickly. "Even if it does not make a lot of sense." Martin pounced on that. "What did she say?" He heard paper rustling and Kelly mumbling to herself about where it could have gotten to, and then. "Here it is. Let me read this to you, okay? "In the height will look you, For the light Of your next clue." "That's it?" Martin asked incredulously. "I told you it did not make a whole lot of sense, Mr. Douglas." She said apologetically. "It's okay, just read it to me again, slowly." Kelly did, and he signed off, thanking her. The clock tolled 12:30, and the liquid he'd downed earlier was filling his bladder. As he sat down on the toilet (the shock harness made standing for that release impossible), it occurred to him that it had been well over an hour since the first task, and he wasn't asleep. At least he was still in the game. Now if he could just figure out what the hell Amy's rotten poetry meant. Part 4: Task Three: Conquering the Mountain. Martin plopped tiredly onto the futon couch they had in the recreation room, and pondered the strange clue. Heights? Lights? "Will Look You" probably was just "You will Look" arranged to rhyme. Light? His eyes strayed upwards as he leaned back to rest a minute, and then they went wide. "No, NO!" he all but yelled. "She couldn't. . .she wouldn't . . . She knows what happens when I. . ." In the center of the ceiling was a simple glass-domed room light, of the type where the glass dome is held in place by three thumbscrews around the perimeter of the light fixture's metallic base. It was something of a joke between the two of them that Martin did not like heights. One reason that the house was only one floor above ground level was a concession to his admitted phobia. Another concession was that Amelia had agreed to his very hard limit of no play that lifted him up off the ground. No suspension play, no ladders - nothing of that kind. Hell, Amy had to replace the bulbs whenever one of the ceiling mounted lights blew. *This* was not a joke, and he could not believe Amy would do this to him. Damn her, she knew he sometimes became faint when he had to look down at anything. Still, she had said his limits were not being respected in the game because he could always just quit. Light and height, it was the only thing that made sense. Hopping to the wall, he turned on the overhead light and went to look up at it. He did not see a shadow, but that meant nothing. She might have put it up off the glass where it would not make a shadow. Martin decided to check all the other such lights in the house first, before trying to check if the clue was somewhere else. Climbing the stairs with his feet still hobbled was difficult, but not impossible. He found it on the fourth light he checked. It was in the suspended globe light that hung in the foyer; it was visible as a thin, dark shadow on the otherwise faultless white glass. The fixture hung on a nylon cable suspended from the very top of the vaulted ceiling of the entrance way. It was easily twelve very long, very high and frightening feet above the hard marble tiled floor. Martin wondered when she had put it there. Maybe today, but it could have been anytime since she knew that he did not even like *looking* up. And this was the light that had necessitated their purchase of an extra tall step ladder since a mere six or eight footer would not be safe in this case. Then he wondered if any ladder would be safe for a person whose feet were still bound and hobbled? By the time he managed to get the ladder up from the basement, it was well after one o'clock. When he tried, he found he had just enough "play" in the ankle chains to put one foot on one rung, and the other on the next rung. Willing himself not to look down, or to surrender to the vertigo nipping in around the edge of his vision, Martin managed to climb up the ladder. However, once up there his fear stopped him. In order to remove the globe, he needed to use both hands - one to undo the thumbscrews, and one to hold the globe. That left him with *no* hands to hold onto the dubious support of that rickety step ladder. Determined, Martin tried, but each time he let go with the second hand, a minute tremor of the ladder had him grabbing for safety. He couldn't do it . . he just couldn't do it. With his feet free and his balance normal he might . . . Martin brought himself up short. It wouldn't make any difference. Slowly, he inched down the ladder, and stared up at the shadow on the globe. Tears of anger, frustration and loss burned at his eyes. What the hell could Amy have been thinking to put him through this? "That she did not want to have my baby, that's what", Martin growled to himself. Defeated, Marten bent down slowly and took the first snap link in both hands. Just a simple twist and it would break, just as the damn light had broken him. Then he came up short. That was it. Martin hopped off to the kitchen and dug in the junk drawer to find what he wanted. Moments later, he was inching back up the ladder, his prize held firmly between his teeth. At the top of the ladder, he held on tight to the top rung with his left hand, gripped the hammer in his right hand, and then realized that he had not thought to bring safety glasses. For a few moments, he considered going down the ladder one more time to get them, but at the very moment he would have started down, the ladder quivered. There was no way in hell Martin was going to get himself up this damned ladder again. Grimly, he touched the hammer to the shining fixture, closed his eyes as tightly as he could, and smashed the hammer into the milk white globe. It sounded like a small explosion, and he felt small bits of the glass bounce off his head and shoulders. When he finally opened his eyes, the glass had flown all over the foyer, but most of it ended up in a pattern opposite where he'd struck the globe. And there, at the edge of the field of shattered bits of glass, up against the far wall of the foyer, was another of those damnable small plastic cylinders. Once down the ladder, he had to step carefully to avoid shredding his bare feet on the broken shards of glass. Once he had the container, he opened it and freed his feet. Still stepping very carefully, he went back to his bedroom with his clue. He slipped into a loose sweat suit and sneakers before he unfolded the sheet of paper. The clock chimed two o'clock. Feeling more dispirited with each tick, Martin took stock of where he was in this game. Only his collar and the shock harness remained and he had two and a half hours before Amy got home. He had no doubt that she'd be on time. He looked at the sheet of paper. All it said was "time for a workout." Part Five. Task Four - Atlas and the Vault of Heaven It wasn't hard to figure out where to find the next clue. Both of them were fitness addicts, and they had set aside a large room in the back of the house for their exercise equipment. Their exercise room was better equipped than most health clubs, boasting a stationary bike, a treadmill, a rowing machine, a stair climber (jokingly referred to as the StairMistress) and a complete Nautilus Weight Trainer. Martin scanned the room, trying to find something out of place. Finally he began searching around the Nautilus, and that is where he found it. How she'd gotten it there, he'd never know. A piece of three by five inch note book paper protruded out from between two of the weight plates attached to the squats station. It was between the 300 lb and the 325 lb weights. A quick check and he'd figured it out. The key was taped to the paper which probably also held his next clue. Unfortunately, the key was well and truly stuck between the two weights. Trying to slip the paper out would only tear it and leave the key where it was. Martin moved the thick cotter pin to the hole between the 300 and 325 lb weights so that all the weight above the 325-er would lift with the squat, and the 325 lb weight would stay down. Grimly, he stationed himself beneath the lift bar and pushed up with his legs. He got the weight up, and once his legs were locked, was able to hold it up. Only he could not figure out how to reach the now freed paper slip. He tried to move one of his feet, thinking that maybe he could grab the slip of paper between his toes. He lost his balance as soon as his foot left the floor, causing the weight to crash back down with a loud bang. Furious, Martin railed against this latest herculean labor. If only he had more time, he might figure out how the hell his strong, but not *that* strong wife had managed this in the first place. But as he saw from the wall clock, it was now nearly three o'clock, and time was running out. "Fuck me!" he snarled. "Fuck me." he repeated more slowly. "Would that work?" he asked himself consideringly. It might, and it might not, he conceded. If she had taped the paper to the bottom weight, it was unlikely that his idea would generate enough force to pull the key free. Still, it was the only idea he had and time was slipping away. Grimly, he ran to their bedroom, obtaining what he needed from Amy's toybag and then back to his workshop. Ten minutes later, he was ready to try. Stripping off the sweatsuit pants, Martin lubricated up the medium sized butt plug he had scavenged from Amy's stash. A relatively short piece of thin, strong nylon string had been tied about the narrowed section near the base, the other end of which was fixed to the protruding edge of the paper with heavy duty duct tape. Ass play was something that Martin had always endured because it gave Amy pleasure to use him that way, and *not* because he enjoyed it. Most of her toys, this butt plug included, were sufficiently thick that they *always* hurt going in. And right now, the increasingly distressed, tense and resentful Martin had neither the arousal of sexual heat, nor the safe haven of subspace to blunt the initial pain of entry. Grimly, he tried to expel the intruder even as he pressed it home with his hands. He did not even have time to try a few smaller toys to loosen himself up. He needed this one, and he needed it in - now. It hurt like hell. But at last it was in. Slowly, carefully, he moved into position for the squat lift, this time facing away from the weights. Taking a deep breath, he began to lift against the heavy resistance. The tightening of all his lower body muscles increased the tension on the plug, and made the pain in his rectum even worse. With all his will power, he ignored the burn and continued the lift. He felt the nylon go taut when he was halfway into the lift, and then felt it go slack. Something tapped against the back of his calves. With his legs fully extended, Martin settled the weight on his shoulders and cast a careful glance back at the weights. The paper was no longer there. He let the weight drop and reached back to extract the plug. The cursed thing hurt almost more coming out than going in. As he set the plug aside, it suddenly occurred to Martin that he hadn't needed to use the damn thing. There was absolutely no reason he couldn't have held the string in his mouth, or tied it around his neck. Either would have worked equally as well, and would not have *hurt*! "Christ, Douglas, you are thinking like a god damned submissive in a Mistress and slave game, or like the character in one of those Internet sex stories." he muttered to himself. "Just because *Mistress* Amy set this up as one of her infernal games, doesn't mean you have to subject yourself to this crap. You better start thinking like a man on a mission and stop acting like some caricature of a submissive." Still fuming at himself, Martin retrieved the butt plug and its attachments. Dangling from the string was a paper with two keys taped to it. One was obviously the last non-cock restraint key, and the other appeared to be a standard door lock type key. On the other side of the paper was his only clue in Amelia's elegantly flowing script. "What did Blondie say you could do anytime, Darling?" Shaking his head, Martin unlocked and cast aside his collar, and then walked to the kitchen phone. Part Six. Task Five - The Hydra "Call me." was the title of one of the Blondie songs that Amy loved to use as work out music. "Ms. Douglas' office, this is Kelly speaking. May I help you?" "Kelly," Martin said into the phone. "I need to speak to my wife, please." "I'm sorry, Mr. Douglas, but she is out and I don't expect her back today. She said that the two of you had a very hot date and she wanted to get something special on the way home." Martin almost cursed into the phone. A quick glance at the clock on the stove showed that he had less than forty five minutes before her earliest promised arrival time. "Kelly," he asked with great control. "Did she leave me any messages?" The phone went silent for a moment. "Ummm. No, not really. She did say that you would probably be working in her office, so that if I needed to leave her a message, I should use her home office number and not your residential number. She said you were working on a problem that seemed to be like that Hydra thing in the old myths." She paused. "Does that make any sense to you?" Martin looked down at the remaining key, and nodded. "Oh, it makes sense, all right. Kill one head and two others sprout in its place. That is a very apt description of the problem I am dealing with, Kelly. Thank you. You've been a great help." The key did, in fact, unlock Amy's normally locked office. This was her refuge, her retreat; the place where she went to work on home projects, to wrap Christmas or birthday gifts and to plan Martin's next torment or trial. It was, under normal circumstances, the only room in the house that Martin was never allowed to enter on his own. Martin unlocked the door and slipped inside. The blinds were all drawn and the room was too dark for Martin to see anything. Blindly, he groped for and finally found the light wall switch. And immediately wished that he had not. Amy had a huge terrarium behind her desk. In it was a lush, tropical mini-rainforest, kept moist and humid by the glass lid that prevented the internal air from drying. There were also at least three snakes in that box. All of them were at least two feet long, and banded in bright colors of reds, blacks and yellows. And Martin Douglas *hated* snakes. Fear was too weak a word to begin to describe the terror those crawling, legless creatures spawned in his heart. And Amy knew it. Hydra. She had put the key in there, and she *knew* how he reacted to snakes. Damn her, she *knew* it! It took all of Martin's waning courage just to *look* into the sealed box. There, beneath one of the brightly colored bodies, was another of the now-familiar plastic containers. This close, he could even see the key resting inside its semitransparent case. Tears pricked at his eyes as he asked himself how Amy could do this to him. Asked, and received no answer. Martin sat down and stared helplessly at the terrarium. It was too heavy to carry outside so that he could dump the snakes out of it. Besides, the key would also dump, right into the middle of the snakes. Who knew if the damned things would crawl away before Amy got her remote control within range of his shock device. Painful experience told him that, if she had the setting on high, he'd be hard pressed to do very much of anything once the electricity started flowing. In the shrinking part of his mind that could still think rationally over the miasma of resentment and roiling fear, Martin knew that the brightly colored snakes were not venomous coral snakes. First of all, it was illegal to have those killers as "pets", and secondly, Amy would not endanger his life that way. No, these were king snakes, which were, by everything he had ever read in his effort to overcome this fear, completely harmless, docile, even friendly creatures. Children had them as pets. But they were still *snakes*. He watched in horrified fascination as the long, sleek bodies slowly undulated about on the sands of Amy's terrarium. Then the largest one reared up its head and stared *directly* at him, its long forked tongue licking out as if to taste *him*. Martin's empty guts knotted in stark terror, and he fought fiercely to hold back the dry heaving nausea. What was he going to do? Martin remembered how he'd beaten his fear of heights by breaking the glass. He could simply kill the snakes. Get his cooking cleaver and . . . But he couldn't do that. Their only *crime* was that they were snakes and they were being used by his Mistress wife because they were his ultimate bogey, his ultimate limit. Wearily, he sat back down on the floor, and just watched the snakes move and glide within their glass walled prison. "Goddammit", he swore under his breath, and then slammed both of his fists against Amy's heavy antique executive desk. "Goddamn *her*! She is going to win." Part Seven. End Game. Amelia Douglas breezed in the front door as the foyer clock struck a quarter to five. Not seeing him, she called Martin's name aloud, but received no answer. As she'd expected. By this point in her little scenario, Martin had either safe coded out of the game or was dealing with the shock collar on its maximum setting. He'd only have been waiting for her at the door *if* he'd won and had wanted to gloat at his victory. Lost in her thoughts, Amy almost tripped over the ladder and then almost slipped on the crumbs of shattered glass strewn about on the ceramic tiled entrance foyer. "Martin?" she called again as she strode through the quiet house toward her office. One thing she was now sure of, Martin was not still wearing the shock device. She knew from experience that he could not keep quiet when that toy was sending its wicked little pulses into his groin. The door to her office was open and she entered to find him seated in her desk chair, still staring at the terrarium and the snakes. "You almost made it, Darling." she said quietly as she walked over to stand beside him. "Frankly, I never dreamed that you would get this far. You did magnificently, my love. I am very proud of you." she said magnanimously. "I guess you "safeworded" a little while ago?" For a moment, Martin simply stared blankly up at her, having only just realized he was no longer alone. Suddenly, his eyes went hard and black causing Amy to take one surprised step back away. His face a mass of emotions Amelia could not quite decipher, Martin negligently flipped the shock harness into her hands. Reflexively, she caught the leather mass. Amelia looked down at the homemade toy and then immediately dropped it to the floor in shock. There, in the special lock she'd put on the toy just this morning, was the key. Moreover, the panic button was still unpushed. "How?" was all she could think to say as she reached down with shaky hands to pick up the toy. Martin sighed, not taking his eyes off the serpents. "I watched them. I finally figured out that they did not like laying on that key box - too sharp for their soft underbellies, I guess. Anyway, I just waited until they were all off of it, closed my eyes and grabbed." He did not mention that his heart had almost stopped when one of the sinuous forms had brushed against his hand before he could pull it back, but he was not going to tell *her* that. "It was probably the unthinking rage that got me past the phobia." he mused, as much to himself as to her. "I could not let you win, and you would have, even if I used the panic button safety net. You'd still have gotten what you wanted out of this whole damnable affair, and I simply could not stand to let that happen." "I see." was her toneless answer. Without another word, Amelia turned on her heel and strode out of her office. She returned moments later with a small, flat circular box in her hand. Idly, she walked over to ignite the gas fire in her office hearth. She watched the dancing flames for several moments before she finally straightened her spine, walked over to where Martin still sat and with great ceremony, handed him the package. "Your birth control pills?" he asked quietly. She nodded, all color gone from her normally vibrant face. "It will take several weeks, maybe even a few months before the conception inhibiting hormone levels in my system are low enough for me to ovulate, but we should be pregnant by the end of the summer." Martin fought to hide his still boiling anger and hurt resentment, which left his voice devoid of any inflection as he responded. "You mean, *you'll* be pregnant." She forced a semblance of a smile to her face and said in too bright a voice. "Yes, I guess that is what I mean, Martin. *I* will be pregnant." He saw her close her eyes tightly, and then shudder uncontrollably. Suddenly, it all became clear. It wasn't just her job or even the promised promotion that had motivated her to do this. That had been fear he'd just seen in her eyes. And not a small fear, either. His resentment vanished in the face of his fury at her for her game, and at himself for not having seen this before. "My God, Amy!" he roared. "Why didn't you ever tell me you were afraid of childbirth?" "I never said I was afraid." she snarled back at him, her head snapping up. "No, you've never admitted to being afraid of anything, have never accepted anything that smacked of weakness, have you, Mistress Superwoman?" Martin spat out sarcastically. "Tell me, Amy. Are you as afraid of being pregnant as I am of those snakes, or of those heights? Do you really detest thought of being pregnant as much as I detested being nude outside in the open, or drinking piss, or being expected to dig around in your excrement?" She looked at him, stunned by his ferocity. "I don't detest the thought of bearing your child, Martin," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "But maybe I am afraid." And then, her facade of control crumbled. "I am thirty five years old, Martin, almost thirty six. Although women are having children later and later nowadays, that is still fairly on in years for a first pregnancy. And. . .and my mother miscarried three times after she had me, so I am potentially a risky pregnancy." Amy turned away from him, walking over to stand by the hearth seeking its warmth. "Perhaps, I was hoping you'd win, so that you could take the decision of my hands, so I could give you a child and not have to voluntarily give up my promotion. I will still have my current position if I take maternity leave, but it is sure bet I won't be offered the presidency. Now, we can get on with it." Martin shook his head in wonder and disbelief. "Dammit, Amelia! *You* are the one who made such a big deal of communication. *You* are the one who told me we could not have a Mistress/slave relationship unless I was completely open and honest with you." Martin was in full bellow as he continued. "Don't you think that particular fundamental interaction goes *both* ways, Amy???" She quailed before him, almost afraid and Martin tried to rein in his emotions. He was only partially successful. "Do you *think*, for one goddamned moment, that I would have wanted a child if it put *you* at risk? You *KNOW* I wouldn't because I *LOVE* you, woman. But did you *ever* tell me about your Mother's history? Did you ever *once* intimate to me that there might be physical problems if you tried to carry a child to term?" Swallowing hard against the tears that threatened to choke him, Martin continued. "The answer to both of those questions is a resounding 'no!'. All you had to do, Amy, was say you did not want to get pregnant. I might have understood better if you had told me what you did just now, but I would have accepted your decision. It would have been like a limit. Last time I checked, even iron willed, bitch-goddess dominas are permitted to have limits. I'd have understood. I would have gone along as I always have. But. . but this." And his gaze shifted back to the terrarium. Pensively, Martin picked up the discarded package of birth control pills and studied it in silence for several long moments. Then, he rose and walked over to stand beside her at the hearth. Taking her hand in his own hand, Martin pressed the prescription packet into her palm and closed her fingers over it. "Keep these and keep taking them, Amy. I don't want a baby if you are that afraid, and even more importantly, I don't want one at all if the pregnancy might even possibly endanger you. You have to want her just as much as I do - enough that you will face down your own fears and limits to get her. *Not* because I won some damned game of "can you top this"." Amelia held the box up against her breasts, as if she feared he might still change his mind and take them back. Martin pulled her into his arms and pressed his mouth into hers. The kiss they shared was filled with emotion - mostly love, but some anger, too. They were both breathing hard when he finally broke the kiss. "Amy, I faced *my* fears today. Maybe I will be better for these experiences. Maybe, I will become a better sub for you and a better person for both of us, but as you said from the beginning, in each and every case it was *my* decision to continue the quest. I won't make that same type of decision for you. *You* have to decide what it is you want. If you choose to have a child *and* your ob/gyn says that it is not unsafe for you to try, then we will, but I will not be responsible for putting you through nine long months of what I faced today." "And if I simply decide not to have a child, Martin? Even if my doctor says that I can safely make the attempt? If I decide that I want the company presidency that I have worked and sacrificed for all these years?" "Amy?" he called back to her so softly, so lovingly that she tried to look away from him. Gently he reached over to tip her head back up to face him. "I may not like your decision, and I may not like you very much just then, but I will still *love* *you*. I will still *need* you and I will still *want* *you*. Always. Forever and ever, Amen." There were tears in her vividly blue eyes now, making them glitter like turquoise. "I would have asked *you* to *do* it, you know, and would have expected you to do it because I asked it of you." she said staunchly. "I really would have gone through with trying to get you into that clinic for that vasectomy." "No you wouldn't have." Even through his fatigue, Amy could hear the unwavering conviction in his voice. "You love me, and you would never ask anything like that of me. Hell, I know you figured I'd bail on the first trial, so you saw this as a no-lose situation. You wouldn't have to get preggers, and I wouldn't have to get clipped." "Just go on believing that, Martin." she snapped derisively, trying to regain control of this face off. "Just keep on fooling yourself that way." Martin only smiled for the first time that entire long day. "You are not going to rile me into forcing your decision, darling, because I know you far too well, Mistress-mine. Oh, I think you would have played your little scenario to the hilt, savoring fully every one of my squirms and every one of my whimpers. You might even have driven me to the clinic and let that female doctor friend of yours knock me out. But I *know*, absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt, that when I woke up, I would still have been physically capable of impregnating you." Her aggressive pose seemed to crumple before his eyes. "You have a great deal of faith in me, Martin. More than I deserve after this days work." "I *love* you, woman, and I am absolutely certain that you love me just as much. It has been a hellish day, and not one I care to repeat." and then he grinned boyishly. "But I am kind of proud of having won." "I'm proud of you, too, darling." she replied walking back into his arms to be held and to hold back. "Martin?" she whispered against his shoulder. "How much of what got you through today was pushing your limits for *me* and for my pleasure, and how much of it was the chance to have a child?" There was not an immediate response, and then he sighed. "Can't answer that precisely, love. Probably not as much for you as you might like. A big part of it was anger and not wanting to give in to you on something like this. I don't think I would actually dreamed of accepting a baby under these conditions, but I was damned if I was going to let you win by default." They stood there, unmoving for several minutes, before Amy pulled back. "Slave-darling?" she said, once again the mischievous Mistress she knew he adored. "*Someone* left a hell of a mess in my foyer." "I am afraid that was me, Mistress." he replied carefully. *This* was one of her sub-hub's favorite play scenes. Just what she would need to start making things right with her beloved. "I guess I am going to need to get a maid to clean that up, slave." she said teasingly, using their negotiated code phrase to initiate that scenario. "Know where I'm gonna find one?" she asked, her voice all coy innocence. She was going to be *especially* nice to him tonight. Before she was through with him this night, he was going to *scream* with pleasure. "Mistress?" Martin said softly. Amy looked at him and belatedly realized there was no spark of excitement or hint anticipation in his eyes. "Safeword. Please, Mistress. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, I'm a lot exhausted, a little hurting and most of all, I really need to be held. I really need to feel loved. Could we please forget about that for tonight?" Amy's teasing facade abruptly vanished and she firmly swallowed back her disappointment. She knew that she could, in all likelihood, have seduced him out of this mood - could have cajoled him into playing with her. After all, he'd only *asked* her if they could forego playing tonight. He had not insisted on it. But right now he had a far greater need of her as his lover and wife, than as his Mistress and owner, and she would not stint him what he truly needed. "All right, sweetheart. Go on up stairs and take a long hot bath before bed. Use my bubble bath." She gave him a gentle swat across his still bare butt. "I will be up to scrub your back and shampoo your hair as soon as I clean up the worst of the glass and prepare a light snack for you. I suspect you have not eaten at all today." Her instant acceptance and understanding of his unusual and special needs this night, and her genuine warmth and concern for his well being began to thaw that still resentful and cold place inside him. . . a little, anyway. But it was a start, and just then, it was enough. "I love you, Mistress." Martin said softly as he paused at her office door. He was trying so hard to be strong, and to forgive, she thought in wonder. Amy was now fully aware of precisely how badly she had fouled up this day, and yet, here he was, trying to forgive her. Maybe he would not be able to forgive her completely, at least, not right away but eventually? Eventually he would - of that, she had absolutely no doubts. Amy turned away from the door to hide the tears that were prickling at her eyelids. "With more certainty than I have ever known *anything*, Darling, I know that you love me. And I love you, too, Martin, more than ever. Now," she added in mock exasperation, "Didn't I just tell you to get your butt upstairs and into the tub??" Amelia watched him trudge his way slowly toward the stairs, fatigue evident in every movement, and thought about the hard lessons they had both learned this day. Reaching a decision, she called to him as he reached the foot of the stairs. "Martin?" Martin turned to regard her cautiously, obviously fearing she had changed her mind about delaying her intended scene. She gave him a lovingly reassuring smile. "Tomorrow, my love, or perhaps Sunday, when you are not so exhausted, we will sit down and really talk this all out. You are right about the communications and the limits needing to go both ways. Maybe we just haven't done enough of that to find the right answer." she paused for a long moment before adding, "Together." A slow smile softened Martin's tired face. "Thank you, Amy. I'd like that." And then he turned and started climbing up to their room. When Amelia heard the door close, instead of going to get the cleaning, she went back into her office, closed the door and dialed a number from memory. "Dr. Hanson, Please. Amelia Douglas calling." "Debra? Hi. No, Martin won't be coming in to the clinic tomorrow. What's that? No, he didn't safeword, but he did twig to the game we had planned, so even if I planned on going through with it, which I don't, there isn't much point to it. However, *I'd* still like to see you tomorrow. I need to talk, Deb, and I need some answers. Maybe some new questions, too, but I won't know what those questions are until we get the others answered first. Do you have time to do a physical tomorrow since we won't be putting Martin under? Great. I'll see you then. What? No, I don't have time to go into that right now. I will explain everything to you tomorrow. And thanks." Amy sat in her large executive chair for several minutes, just thinking. Finally, she decided that further speculation was useless - tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about the future - right now, she had a very special man who needed her. She stood up and walked over to turn off the office light before going off in search of a broom and dustpan, and to set a can of soup on to heat.