Tragedy, Transition and Triumph
by Tigger
Copyright 1998, all rights reserved

Part 1.  Tragedy.

Megan sat quietly in the large, overstuffed chair that had
been relegated to her guestroom because it did not fit the
decor anywhere else in her country cottage home.  Actually,
the plush monstrosity did not really fit in here either.  The
chair arms' thick, velvet-pile upholstery was now permanently
crushed by the wall on one side and the room's bed on the
other.  It was just as well, though, for tonight she had a
vigil to keep, and the chair, at least, made that onerous task
a comfortable one.

In the dim lighting provided by the small bed lamp, she once
again looked over at the restless form bundled up in the bed
covers.  Every once and a while, the man on the bed would
whimper or moan, and she would bounce up to get a closer look,
to take a pulse, to check his temperature.

Fortunately, the medication had thus far kept him from coming
fully awake, while giving him surcease from the physical pain
if not from the mental and emotional anguish.  For those
hurts, the sedative only provided a short reprieve, a moment
of drug induced separation from the full and unknown
consequences of this night's travesty.  Which was a not all
that insignificant a blessing, she admitted.   For all her
will and fortitude, Megan knew she herself was not yet
sufficiently recovered from the past day's ordeal to deal with
those injuries. She, therefore, welcomed this brief respite -
watching over the man she had only recently realized she
loved.

It was hard to believe that just a few short hours ago, she
had been so exultantly happy.  Tears welled up in her eyes as
she made herself remember one more time the joy, and then, the
horrible grief and torment that had followed. . . .

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

Megan left the small private club in the Adams Morgan
neighborhood with a spring in her step.  She was so incredibly
happy that she could barely keep from laughing out loud as she
unlocked the driver's side door of her sporty Honda Prelude. 
The dashboard clock read 9:23 as she started up the engine -
an early departure for a club night, but Megan had things to
see and more importantly, a *very* special person to *do* this
evening.  And besides, because of that person, she was not
particularly interested in the evening's scheduled exhibits
and demonstrations at Club Domaise.

She'd floored her friends at the club with her announcement
tonight, but they had, without exception, been very happy for
her.  Of course, Deirdre had not been there tonight.  Odd
that, Megan mused to herself, because Deirdre hugely enjoyed
exhibitions like the one planned for tonight.  Deirdre loved
anal sexplay with her male submissives, and particularly with
newbies and virgins.  Well, Megan had always enjoyed that type
of play, too. Megan had even participated in such play with
the other woman in the past, and had, on occasion, enjoyed
double teaming a couple of male subs into making out with one
another with Deirdre.  Tonight, however, she was glad the
woman had not been there.  Deirdre would have been sure to
make snide remarks about Megan's plans.  The woman was a fine
technical top, but she did have her blind spots where men were
concerned.

She pulled out of the little parking lot with a foolish grin
on her face as she once again hugged her special secret to
her. Mistress Megan MacBride, lifestyle dominant and
successful entrepreneur, was giddily, irrevocably in love and
was loving every minute of it.

She'd never expected it to happen to her, and in fact, had
resigned herself to a life without a special someone, without
a soulmate.   Her past relationships had always burned hot,
but in so doing, had burned quick.  She acknowledged that much
of that was her fault. As a domina, she was stern, demanding
and strict with her submissives, and had very little patience
with "me-me" types.  Her intensity was legendary among the
scene players in the greater Washington DC area, and she was
greatly respected for her ability to train and to get the most
out of chosen submissives.  But it was a double edged sword,
for few submissives could maintain that peak of near
perfection for any length of time.

Life got in the way, usually.  A job, a family, perhaps
another less demanding dominant, and Megan would be in the
market for a new male to train.  Since she'd moved to DC ten
years ago, only three submissives had stayed with her longer
than a year, and none had made it a second anniversary.

Until Andre.

Andre Pedoran had been her submissive for nearly three years
now, and had all but lived with her for the last year. 
Remarkably, at each crisis point in their relationship, Andre
had found a way to keep them together.  When his job as an
advertising junior executive looked to become a impediment, he
had quit his job and had come to work for her in her marketing
business.  When his older sister had tried, on several
occasions, to set him up with a "nice old fashioned girl",
Andre had politely declined each time until finally, he'd told
her, outright, that there was no one else for him but Megan as
long as she would have him.

And it was not as if she had gone easy on him, either.  If
anything, over the past year, she had been even more demanding
and less accepting of anything less than perfect service. 
Punishment sessions had become more frequent as each little
slip had been documented, tallied and dealt with firmly.

It was after one such session that had involved a rattan cane
and a heavy paddle, both implements that she *knew* he did not
enjoy in the slightest, that Megan had asked him, point blank,
*why* he stayed.

His simple answer had floored her.  Through bitten and swollen
lips, with tears still freely flowing down his sweaty cheeks,
he had smiled at her, oh-so-very-tolerantly.  "Because I am in
love with you, and cannot imagine being anywhere else than
with the woman I love."

Those heartfelt words still awed her, and had marked a major
turning point in their relationship because in that moment,
she realized that she was in love with him, too.

She'd taken him to *her* bed that night in her own private
room.  She'd never done that before with *any* submissive. 
Not to that special, private place that was hers and hers
alone.  Not to that refuge where she had always gone simply to
relax or to take a moment's time out for herself.  But that
had been a night of many changes, and she had desperately
needed something physical, something *special* to express and
to celebrate that new and frightening emotion.  

And it had been so very beautiful. . .  glorious . . .
transcendent.  Megan still remembered being overwhelmed by
that exquisite loving they'd shared - so much so that she'd
been a little frightened the morning after.  Frightened of
what she'd gained, and more than just a little bit afraid of
what she might have lost.

Only she'd lost nothing, as she'd discovered the next time she
had worked Andre in her subterranean dungeon.  Throughout that
magical scene, and ever since, he had continued to challenge
her, to encourage her, to exalt and honor her.  And to love
her.  Never once had he tried to play upon their newly formed
bond to deter or inhibit her as his Mistress.

In fact, in all their time together, he'd only denied her one
thing she'd ever wanted or asked of him.  Denied was not quite
correct, she admitted to herself - actually he'd negotiated it
as a hard limit - his only such limit.  That limit was one
reason why she'd left the club early tonight - the exhibitions
were about an aspect of play she could not, would not indulge
with her favorite.

Odd, she mused to herself as she accelerated onto the
interstate, how she did not really mind that limit anymore.  A
thoroughly proprietary grin lit her red lips.  One aspect of
that limit might mean sharing him and she no longer had any
desire to share what was well and truly *hers*.  

That, in and of itself was quite a change for a woman who had
never had any compunction about sharing any of her other toy
boys.  For that matter, she'd never before failed to seduce
and tease one of her chosen submissives into eventually
willingly offering up to her any and all supposedly hard
limits.  Before Andre, that had always been a matter of pride,
that ultimately, none of her submissives would deny her
anything.  Now, that did not seem to matter anymore.  At
least, it no longer seemed to matter with Andre.

The ride home went quickly enough, but her anticipation of
what was waiting for her grew with every mile, stretching out
each minute, each second.  She found her eyes slipping to the
small, matching boxes resting on the passenger seat.  Andre
was going to be so surprised, and she hoped, so very pleased.

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

Another groan of pain brought her back from her memories. 
Quickly, she made yet another check, and found him still
asleep.  He'd tried to roll over and even the sleeping
medication could not protect him entirely from that painful
shock of that action.  Poor baby, she mused lovingly, he did
so hate sleeping on his tummy.  She'd learned that early in
their relationship, the very first time she'd bound his hands
loosely behind his back for a night sleeping at the foot of
her dungeon bed.  She'd finally had to restrain him further to
force him to *stay* on his stomach because his tossing and
turning had kept interrupting *her* sleep.

Gently, she brushed back a lock of his thick, almost-too-long
black hair from his face, and all but wept at the ravaged
torment she saw in a face that found no rest in sleep.  He
looked so . . .so diminished.

Not at all what she had anticipated finding when she'd finally
pulled into her driveway.

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

The house had been dark when she'd arrived home, but that was
in keeping with the orders she'd left for him.  She did not
believe in wasting electricity just to come home to a well lit
house.  He wouldn't be expecting her quite this early, and
she'd just see if he was following her orders precisely.  A
darkly mirthful grin lit her face - a nice little hiding might
be *just* the spice this brew needed to be *really* memorable. 
Nothing *too* rough, though.  Certainly, nothing that would
impair his . . . performance or his enthusiasm in Megan's bed
later on.

It had been oddly, eerily almost-quiet when she'd let herself
in the garage door.  There hadn't been any real discernable
sound, except that she'd been aware that the house was not
truly silent.  Some second sense made her pause to listen
carefully, and then urged her to move as quietly as possible
toward the stairs to her room.

She'd been halfway up the stairs when she'd finally heard the
first actual sound - the hissing wheeze of a overtaxed voice,
rasping out nearly noiseless sobs of pain and despair.  A
sound that came from now menacing darkness of her own room.

How she'd gotten into her room so quickly, Megan would never
remember, just as she would never forget the sight that had
greeted her when she'd clicked on the overhead light inside
her bedroom door.

Andre had been restrained to the bed, his wrists and ankles
stretched incredibly tightly to the corners of her brass
headboard and footboard.  Her knowledgeable eye had
immediately seen that this spread eagled position was not the
fairly gentle self bondage as she'd ordered.  In fact, there
was no way Andre could have possibly done this to himself.  A
bolster had been wedged under his hips and the bindings had
been pulled so tight that no part of his body, except his
fingers and toes, could touch the mattress.

She'd walked around behind the bed and had stopped dead in her
tracks at the first sight of his ass.  In all her experience
as a domina, and she had thought she'd seen or done it all,
Megan had never seen an ass in such a pitiful condition.  He'd
been brutally whipped with a very heavily caned implement. 
More welts than Megan could bear to count criss-crossed his
buttocks, making it appear like some incredibly large waffle
iron had been pressed to his backside.  Reddish brown tracks,
looking like dried rust, meandered down the sides his ass and
hips from many of the weals where blood had been drawn time
and again.  

From the top of his buttocks to the crease formed by his
cheeks and his thighs, not one square inch of skin was normal
flesh toned.  Blacks, purples and reds combined and blended
into something one might find hanging in a gallery of modern
art.

But that was not the worst of it.

Alan had been horribly, brutally raped.  Wet blood still
trickled down the crease of his ass and then down the length
his of his shriveled penis to drip onto the comforter.  Only
years of self discipline and control kept her from crying out
and sobbing aloud, because that would not help Andre.  He
needed far more than her grief if he was going to triumph over
this tragedy.

Someone had just broken his hard limit for him, and had broken
it savagely.  

Fear burned at her gut as she suddenly recognized the
implication of the liquid red rivulet still flowing from his
anal aperture when all the cuts on his buttocks had already
coagulated and dried.  He was still hemorrhaging, inside his
rectum. 

She had to free him, *had* to get him to a doctor.  Without
thinking, she'd reached for the key chain she'd always ordered 
him to keep around his neck during this type of self bondage
session.  For safety reasons, he'd been directed never to lock
that last handcuff until he heard her enter the house.  That
way, he would still be able to free himself in the event of an
emergency.

But her fingers touched nothing but skin.  The chain, and the
key that was supposed to be hanging from it, was not there.

~-------------~
                                                       
The key had been no where to be found, but since all her toys
used the same key, she'd quickly had him free.  She'd tried to
help him to his feet, tried to get him to the bathroom where
she could clean and dress his wounds, but the moment he'd been
upright, the trickle of blood out his ass had turned into a
spurting fountain.  That had put paid to her idea of taking
him to a scene friendly doctor she'd met at Club Domaise. 
Fearing for his life, she'd grimly called 911.

~-------------~
                                             
Megan closed her eyes hard against the dark memories, as if
that would stem the horror movie that played over and over
again in her mind's eye.  Sadly, what had started out being
*merely* horrible somehow became progressively worse.

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

The EMT's had arrived within minutes, although it had seemed
like hours.  They'd had Andre on a stretcher with an IV in his
arm in moments.  She'd tried to go with him, but they had made
her follow in her own car.

Once she'd gotten to the hospital, no one would talk to her. 
She'd tried to be patient, knowing that these people were busy
fighting death, but *her* Andre was in there and *no* one
would even *talk* to her.  Finally, she'd introduced herself
as his wife to a very "in-charge" - looking nurse, and that
finally had gotten her some attention.

Shortly thereafter, an incredibly young looking doctor in
blood stained surgical greens came out to talk to her.  The
compassionate look on his face changed to furious anger the
moment he saw her clothes.  Megan caught a quick glimpse of
herself in a nearby mirror and was dismayed to see she still
wore her club garb - a leather bomber jacket with tight
leather jeans and boots.  That was bad enough, but her
favorite flogger still hung, tails streaming gently down her
thigh, from the utility ring on her belt.  

"Don't you know enough to play safely if you are going to do
this kind of crap with your husband?" the young doctor hissed
at her.  "That man is seriously injured.  We've stopped the
bleeding and he will be all right so long as no serious
infections set in.  It is not as bad as it first looked, but
it was a near thing.  Another rip or tear in the wrong place,
and he might have bled to death internally before you would
have known anything was wrong.  Dammit, woman, you have to be
careful when you stick things up a person's ass."

Megan answered without thinking.  "I did not do it, he was
raped."

"What?!?!?" The doctor was no longer whispering.  "Where? 
What happened?"

Megan had explained that she'd gone to the club alone, and had
returned home to find him in that condition.  The doctor had
turned on his heels and walked away, leaving her gaping at his
back.

Minutes later, the cops arrived, for all the good they
*didn't* do.  She'd soon found herself longing to wipe the
smirking looks off their faces, but in the end, she'd
restrained herself.  She'd tried to answer their damned
questions, but it was obvious that they did not believe her
when she told them that she had not done it.  Their shifty
eyes had kept stealing not-very-subtle looks at her flogger,
before looking heavenward, as praying if for divine strength
and patience with this lying female.

The doctor returned to tell the officers that Andre was lucid
and could give a statement.  Without another word, all three
men had left a furious Megan behind.

The story that Andre told the two snidely grinning cops was
one of two burglars who had broken into the house and caught
him unawares.  He'd told them that he had been tied up when
they arrived and had not been able to get free quickly enough. 
They'd caught him, bound his other hand and then tightened the
restraints.  They then proceeded to beat him and rape him
before making their escape with Megan's jewelry case and some
art work.

After the cops left, all but chuckling, the doctor had let
Megan into his hospital room to see him.  She had stood in the
door, just watching those bastards walk away, wishing she
could do something that would pound just a bit of basic human
compassion into their unfeeling souls.  For the first time in
her life, she was seriously tempted to work someone over non-
consensually, so that those heartless piss-ants could feel
even one tenth the agony her man was feeling.

"Fortunately," the doctor had said, breaking her train of
thought, "there was no semen on the swabs we took.  Whoever
*they* were," and the doctor's tone indicated his own doubts
about the burglary story as well.  "Evidently, if they were
male, they used condoms during the rape."

That was something, Megan had mused.  They had at least
practiced "safer" rape.  Probably more for their safety than
for Andre.  Someone, she promised herself quietly, was going
to pay for this.  Someone was going to pay big time.
                              
The doctor had kept Andre overnight for observation, and had
wanted to keep him there longer, but Andre was having none of
it.  Megan had considered ordering him to stay, but had
discarded that thought the moment she'd seen the grim
determination in his eyes.  She'd compromised by saying he
could leave the hospital only if he came home with her and
promised to stay in bed.  That way, she could ensure that he
took his medication because she didn't trust the stoic, anti-
drug submissive to take the pain meds if he went to the
apartment he still kept, but rarely used any more.

Tragedy, Transition and Triumph
by Tigger
Copyright 1998, all rights reserved

Part 2.  Transition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, so?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello, Deirdre.  Rape anyone else tonight?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmmmmpphhh!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tragedy, Transition and Triumph
by Tigger
Copyright 1998, all rights reserved

Part 3.  Triumph.

Andre was waiting up for her when she returned.  He'd listened
with surprising calm as she explained what she'd discovered
and what she had done. "So, as you surmised, my love, she did
do it. We can try to get her arrested, Andre.  I am not sure
the police would find anything because she now has cause to
get rid of the goods, but we can try.  It will still be her
word against mine since I did have a key to her house.  I
could have planted the loot in her house, and cannot prove
that I didn't actually do just that."

Andre shrugged diffidently, and then sighed deeply.  It was
good to know for sure what happened, in any case.  And
infinitely better to know that Megan had believed him and had
taken action on his behalf.  "To what end, Mistress?  They
won't find anything because they won't look. Mistress Deirdre
will simply get off." he said tonelessly.

Raw fury erupted from Megan, shocking them both in its
ferocity. "Don't you ever, *EVER* call her Mistress again."
she screamed.  "She is not now, nor has she ever been, worthy
of that honorific, most particularly from *you*. In fact, *I*
am the only one you will *EVER* call Mistress from now on. 
You are MINE!  Do . . You. . .Understand . .  Me, . . . Andre
Pedoran??!?"

He made a show of swallowing hard and trying to look cowed,
but a soft smile broke through as he answered.  "Yes,
Mistress.  Thank you, Mistress."

"Smartass." she said affectionately as her own lips turned up
into an answering smile of her own.  "Give me your left hand,
Andre." she ordered, holding her own left hand out, palm up.

Bemused, he put his left hand into hers.  With grave
solemnity, Megan slid the masculine diamond ring onto his ring
finger before handing him a smaller, much more feminine
matching ring and extending her own left ring finger. 
Confused, his eyes flickered back and forth between her eyes
and the ring in his palm.  She took mercy on him and grinned. 
"You *are* marrying me, aren't you?  I really wouldn't
recommend letting me think you have just been toying with my
dommely affections."

The unbridled joy in his eyes was all the answer she needed,
but it got even better when he slid down to one knee, still
holding her left hand.  The mate to his own ring slid onto her
finger, and was sealed with a kiss.  "Yes, Megan-Mistress,
please.  And thank you from the depths of my soul."

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

"Mistress?"  Andre asked much later.  When she lifted her brow
in satiated and languid query, he asked "Did you really leave
Deirdre tied up that way?  Like you said you did?"

"I did." she answered with calm finality.

Sighing deeply, Andre nodded.  "We have to go back there,
Mistress." 

As she'd suspected, Megan thought.  Well, his compassion is
one of the reasons she love him.  "I was afraid you'd say
that," she said with a deeply disappointed sigh, "So I
retrieved the key.  Lets go and get this over with."

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

The gag came out of Deirdre's mouth with a wet, squishy
popping sound.  "I'll scream." she rasped out, her voice
barely audible as she looked up fearfully at the pair.

"Great idea. Go ahead." Megan replied hopefully.  "Andre might
enjoy hearing you scream."

"Did you bring him back here to rape me, too?  An eye for an
eye?"

"And an ass for an ass.  Nice concept.  I like it." Megan said
cattily.  "What do you say, Andre?  Want a piece of that?  I
won't mind, just this once.  I expect she might even be a
virgin back there - just like you were.  I won't even insist
that you use the lube."

"Mistress." Andre said reprovingly as he slipped the key chain
from about Deirdre's neck.  The cuff's lock clicked loudly
when he released the restraint on her right wrist.  Andre then
placed the key into Deirdre's freed hand and turned back to
Megan.  "Lets get out of here, please."

"Wait!" Deirdre yelled as they turned to leave.  "Why did you
come back?  The slave who's coming tomorrow. . .he'd have been
vicious, just like you wanted. . .he's the one who . ."

"Do you want us to lock you back up, Deirdre?"  Megan asked,
her anger at this woman getting off scott-free after what she
had done to Andre barely under control.  "I'd be more than
happy to do it for you.  Just ask me. *Please* ask me."

"NO!  Oh, god, please, no!  But why?  I mean, why didn't you
at least. . ."  She turned her confused and terror-filled eyes
up at Andre.

"Rape you as you raped me?" Andre asked with admirable
control.  At her shaky nod, he took a deep breath.   "Two
reasons.  First and foremost because I would not wish what you
inflicted on me on anyone - not even a miserable excuse for a
human being like you.  And I certainly could never bring
myself to be the one doing it and still think of myself a
worthwhile human being."

Deirdre winced at that before looking back up at him. "You. .
.you said there were two reasons."

Megan saw Andre's face turn cold and hard as he looked down at
the woman struggling to free her legs from their bondage. 
"Because in order to rape you, I would need an erection, and I
would need to put it inside your body.  You don't excite me
enough to get hard, and as to putting my flesh inside you? 
*YOU?*"  Andre barked out a derisive laugh.  "I'd rather fuck
a splintered knot hole.  I wouldn't want to take the off
chance that I might inadvertently give *you* pleasure.  Lets
go, Mistress."

Megan lagged behind one last moment.  Her eyes were hard, and
her tones ice cold as she faced her foe one last time.  "Stay
away from me and mine, Deirdre.  Not even Andre will save you
next time."  Then, for the second time that night, she strode
down the stairway to the open front door of Deirdre's house. 
She'd been denied her eye for an eye vengeance, but oddly
enough, she did not mind.  Andre had taken something far more
important from that bitch than Megan had planned to take from
her.  He had taken her pride.
 
~---------------~

Both Andre and Megan had parents who, although very happy for
their children, inconveniently wanted to attend the wedding. 
This delayed the nuptials for a couple of months, much to the
initial dismay of the affianced couple.  It was Andre who
finally pointed out that the wedding was only a reaffirmation
of commitments already made, which eased much of their anxiety
and allowed them to enjoy the planning of their wedding.

Deirdre resigned from Club Domaise, and shortly thereafter,
took a job on the west coast.  Megan never recovered any of
her lost items, but she did not much care since her heirloom
jewelry was still stored in her safety deposit box.  

Gradually, Megan and Andre began to play again as they had
prior to the incident.  She thought she occasionally detected
a slight retreat, or an uncertain pause, or maybe a truly
fearful look in his eyes when they game began to get deep, but
he always seemed to come back for her, to challenge her, to
endure for her.  And if his gift of submission was a little
more frightening and a little more difficult for him than it
had been before, his determination to give it in spite of that
made it all the more precious to her.  For her part, she
continued to avoid toys that reminded him of that night,
leaving her heavy whips and rattan canes in their closet.  He
probably could have handled them, but she did not want to take
the chance.

The cabinet that held her supply of toy cocks and other such
implements, remained locked.  Andre wore those keys around his
neck on a silver chain.  Neither of them approached or
discussed the cabinet or the phallic demons it contained.

~-----------~
                                                               
The wedding day finally arrived, and was all the pair could
have hoped it would be.  It was a perfect day, the bride was
beautiful and the groom was handsome.  Finally, after what
seemed like hours of family well wishes and innumerable
toasts, kisses and dances, a chauffeured limousine drove them
homeward from the reception.  

"I declare that I don't know why you wanted to spend our
wedding night here." Megan complained one more time as Andre
carried her effortlessly across the threshold.  It had been
their one disagreement since the night she'd returned from
Deirdre's place, and the first time Andre had ever cared
enough about something not to give into her.  She tried
pouting.  "I had such lovely girlish dreams of a nice, tacky
heart-shaped bed in the Pocono Mountains," then her grin
became wickedly sexy, "with a heart shaped mirror in the
ceiling."

Andre set her down on her feet in the living room before
kneeling at her feet.  "Megan. . . Mistress-love. . . would
you. . . I mean. . .I  . ."  

Surprised at his confusion, Megan frowned.  "Andre, what is
it!?" she said more sharply than she'd intended.

"I know I promised never to ask for a scene, to try and
manipulate you into anything you didn't want to do, but. . ."

"ANDRE!"

The snap in her voice seemed to help him focus his thoughts,
and swallowing hard, he blurted it out.  "Would you please do
what she did?  Only. . .only loving me while you do it?"  His
hands went to his neck and withdrew the keys which he offered
to her with both hands.

Megan stared at the dangling keys in mute amazement for
several heartbeats before she could finally regain her voice. 
"You want me to take you up your ass, Andre, with one of my
strapons?" she asked wonderingly, "But, why?  I've promised
you'd never have to do that, that I would never even attempt
to press that limit.  Ever!"  It was supposed my wedding gift
to you, she thought, her mind still reeling at this turn of
events.

"Because all I remember of that night is *her*," and the word
'her' came out as if its taste was foul on his tongue, "And
the pleasure she took in every painful nuance, in every
callously inflicted hurt . ." His voice broke momentarily, and
he literally shook himself to regain control of his emotions.
"Please, help me make new memories in their place.  Please?"
he entreated again softly.

Megan thought fleetingly of the ethereally sexy nightgown and
peignoir set she'd bought to wear for him, and of all her
plans for a very special, very vanilla wedding night with her
very special husband.  Well, maybe he was right, she mused,
maybe this perfect day *was* the right time for them *both* to
get past this last healing hurdle.

Besides, that outfit isn't going anywhere and neither is he. 
"Very well, Andre." she responded lovingly, her hands clasping
his before taking the keys from him.  "Go to the dungeon,
remove your clothing and lay over the whipping block.  When I
arrive, I will expect to see you up on your toes, presenting
your ass fully to me, your cheeks held wide apart."

"Yes, Mistress." he said quietly, and rose.  

He was almost to the cellar door when something else occurred
to her. "Andre? Wait." she called.

He turned, uncertain and watched as she strode up to him. 
Taking his face in her hands, Megan kissed him deeply,
lovingly, possessively.  "I expect you to use your safeword if
this gets too heavy, Andre.  This is not a normal scene where
we are playing with emotion.  This time, we are dealing with
something that is deeply painful for you and I will need all
your support if we are going to do this safely.  You *will*
give me your word of honor on this before we go any further."

Understanding, Andre nodded, his face still held firmly
between her soft hands.  "I. . .I promise, Meg." he replied,
using her name without honorific as a sign of his commitment.

Megan kissed him again and then swatted him on the butt. 
"Then go get that cute little ass ready for me, man-of-mine."
she ordered jauntily.  "I will be down as soon as *I* am ready
for you."

If this had been any other session, Megan might have delayed
her arrival in the dungeon.  She often let a submissive stew
alone with only his own thoughts for company, letting that
spicy broth of anxiety, anticipation and fear simmer to a fine
boil before making her appearance.  The responsiveness of a
slave who was just at that perfect blend of hopeful expectancy
and dark terror was a joy to work.

But tonight was not the time or the place to play such games. 
Whatever was going to happen tonight, she wanted it over as
quickly as possible.  She walked down the cellar stairs and
into the sound-proofed hidden room off the basement and under
the front lawn - her dungeon.  

Andre was where she told him to be, positioned over the
whipping block, his body forming an inverted "V", his hands
holding his cheeks spread wide.  Calmly, she walked to the
cabinet that had been locked and unopened for so long. 
Removing several items, she moved over to stand directly in
front of Andre.

"Look up, Andre." she said softly.

The look of stunned disbelief on Andre's face would have
elicited a laugh in most situations, and even now, she allowed
herself a small smile.  In her hurry to return to him, she had
elected to remove only her wedding dress and train.  She stood
before him in attired in the intensely feminine white
lingerie, hose and white heels she had worn as part of her
bridal ensemble.  She'd even put her veil back on.

Having gained his attention, Megan began to buckle on the
harness she would use in taking him.  His eyes locked on her
hands, following each practiced movement as she deftly
adjusted the myriad straps and buckles until the harness fit
just perfectly.  Megan was watching him just as closely,
gauging his mood and emotions as she slid the latex phallus
into place.  

An inspiration struck and she moved off behind him, returning
moments later pushing a rolling full length mirror.  Once she
had positioned it in front of Andre, she sat down beside his
head, the dildo jutting obscenely in front of his nose.  Idly,
she stroked his head and shoulders.  "Do you like my outfit
darling?  A bride deserves to wear her white on her wedding
night." she whispered teasingly.   Besides, she thought,
Deirdre wore black and this is as far as I could get from that
memory.

She let the quiet enfold them, continuing the petting to help
gentle him, and to help soothe him before continuing. 
"Andre?" she said, finally breaking the silence.  "I am not
going to restrain you for this.  You will be bound only by
your own will and by your submission to my desire.  If you
need to escape, I will not stop you.  You have to stay and
accept this of your own will.  This is *not* a test, darling. 
This is a choice - *your* choice.  Do you understand?"

A shudder shimmered down his spine.  She was putting it all on
his head, he realized.  Perhaps that was as it should be. 
"Yes, Mistress." he whispered raspily.

So far, so good, Megan thought.  "The mirror is for both of
us, Andre.  It will permit me to see you and to judge your
state of mind better, and it will let you see what I am about
so you won't be unduly surprised.  Work with me on this, luv." 
She bent down to kiss him.  "Let's vanquish Deirdre forever by
making this a wonderful experience for both of us."

"I. . . I'll try, Mistress." Andre whispered back, before his
voice strengthened and become firm.  "I *want* to."  he said
hopefully.

"Then let us begin, dear man."  she said as she rose
gracefully to her feet.  "First, I think, a little warm up." 

Megan picked up her favorite flogger as she strode behind him. 
Her left hand rested gently on his buttock as she shook the
flogger strands out, getting the feel of its familiar weight,
and then struck him full across his ass.  In the course of the 
next three quarters of an hour, she used every ounce of skill
she'd learned in her years as a domina, seeking to arouse more
than hurt, to awaken pleasureful nerve endings rather than
stimulate painful ones.

And every step of the way, she watched him, smiling when his
eyes lolled open in pleasure, and grinning as his penis
hardened into straining erection.

Continuing her campaign to excite him beyond the power of his
fearful memories, Megan began to tease his penis and ass with
knowing fingers, with smooth, tickling vibrators and finally,
with her lips and tongue.  Dropping to her knees behind him,
she kissed the length of his manhood, suckled gently on his
balls, and teased his rose pucker open with her stiffened
tongue.  "My, we are getting excited." she cooed as she
tightened his leather cockring around the root of his rampant
erection.  "Well, maybe this will help keep you that way."

Andre stiffened as he felt her cold, wet fingers press firmly
against his relaxed anus.  A single finger slipped through the
ringed muscle and his cock lurched in response. "Oooooo... so
you *like* that, do you?" Megan whispered as she kept
massaging the inner membranes of his rectum with one, then
another lubricated finger.  "I can feel you, Andre-lover, yes,
I can feel your bottom trying to suck my fingers deeper. .
.deeper. . " 

Another groan of pleasure from Andre was Megan's cue to go for
the final victory over the darkness Deirdre had brought into
their lives.  Shifting her position so that she was directly
behind him, she bent over his back. "Ask me again, Andre", she
purred softly in his ear.  Convince me how much you want me. 
Beg me to love you."

Andre could not believe how much he wanted her, how much he
needed her.  Never in his life had he been so aroused, so
excited.  Never in his life had making love been absolutely
the most important thing in his life.  "Oh god," Andre
whimpered," Oh god, Mistress. . *PLEEEEEEASE*. .*Take* me. .
.LOVE ME!!" 

With a gentle arch of her back, Megan positioned the blunt
head of her cock at the his anus.  In those critical moments
as she carefully, slowly nudged her way into him, her hands
and lips were everywhere else, teasing his turgid nipples,
stroking his rigid cock, fondling his balls and kissing his
sweat moistened back.  

The moment of first penetration caught him by surprise and he
fell off his toes onto his heels.  Megan playfully grabbed a
fistful of his hair and pulled his head back so her lips
brushed an ear.  "Ah ah ah, sexy man" she chided huskily, 
"Stay up on those toes, boy. . that's it.  Now, meet me,
darling. . arch back into me."  Andre did and the smooth toy
slid easily and fully into his well prepared bottom.

Megan stilled for a moment, letting him adjust to the fullness
before she began the leisurely rhythm of love, slowly moving
in and out to the accompaniment of Andre's inarticulate sounds
of pleasure.   How long they danced the waltz of love, Megan
had no idea, but it was wonderful as they alternately answered
each other's needs.

Suddenly, Megan felt him contract spasmodically about the
dildo, trying unsuccessfully to orgasm through the unyielding
clasp of the cockring.  His frustrated whimper momentarily
slowed her, but only until he arched even harder into her. 
His demanding backward thrusts ground the tickler at the
dildo's base against Megan's clit, driving her over the edge
herself.

Stunned by the unexpected power of that climax, Megan
collapsed across the back of her still aroused sub.  It took
her a few moments to gather the strength to move.  Finally,
with great care, she slipped the toy out of him, and unbuckled
the harness about her hips.  Shaky hands slipped beneath her
lover's arms to guide him shakily to his feet.  She was
pleased to note that he was still rigidly erect, but that
might only be the result of the cockring and the thorough
teasing she'd subjected him to before taking his ass.  She
needed to know that her lovemaking was responsible for his
arousal.  "Not bad, boy. . .we'll have to work on that some
more - soon.  *Very* soon." she said as a test.

Andre pulled her sweaty, silk covered body to him in a hard,
emotion charged hug.  "I think so, too, Mistress.  You . . .
you made it *so* wonderful for me." he choked out around the
tears of joy that leaked down his cheeks.  "Its. . .its not a
limit anymore, Megan," he vowed quietly. "At least, not with
you, anyway."

A mischievous grin lit her face.  "As if I am ever going to
share you, little man."  she retorted before grabbing his
bobbing penis and turning to lead him to the door.  "Now, come
to bed, lover. I have plans for this hard-on I so carefully
preserved tonight." she whispered to him as she scooped up the
still open tube of lubricant in her free hand.

At his confused look, her grin grew wider.  "Well, a lady *is*
supposed to give her man the gift of her virginity on her
wedding night.  *You* just gave me *yours* because what
Deirdre did to you doesn't count, lover." she told him
positively.  "And, as it turns out, I do have one to give you,
too."  Then her eyes became mockingly stern.  "And, little
man, since *I*, your Mistress, have just demonstrated the
correct procedure for you, I expect you to do it right so that
I enjoy every *single* second of it . . .or ELSE!"

"Or else what, Mistress-love?"  Andre asked, his lips turned
up into a hopeful grin.

"Or else I will do it to *you* again and again until you get
it right, of course."  she retorted.

"And if I get it right?"

"Trust me, sweetheart.  You won't ever do it *that* right."

He stopped and pulled her into his arms for another deep, hot
kiss.  "Sounds good to me, Mistress-love.  Sounds just
*perfect* to me."