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Tales of the Cabal: Protecting the Mistress
by Tigger
Copyright 1998, All Rights Reserved.

Archiving and reposting of this work is permitted only on
sites where *no* fee (including so-called adult checks) of any
type is charged and provided that my authorship, the story
itself and this statement of rights are included and are
unchanged.

This story is based on the Cabal as I developed it in one of
my first stories, "Domination Games."  This story is archived
at the Nifty Archive.

Url:  www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Tigger/

The file is Domination-Games.html

***********

Protecting the Mistress
by Tigger


Prologue:  The Cabal - An Introduction

>From the Random House Webster's Dictionary:

Cabal (ka-bal'), N. 1. a small group of secret plotters. 2.
the secret plots or schemes of such a group.

The Cabal: A very secret, extremely selective and highly
specialized social organization. Cabal memberships are
tendered only to people of like interest who come highly
recommended by active members. Prospective members are
thoroughly vetted and must be approved by each of three other
active members who are experienced at checking out initiates.
Complete physical examinations and medical record reviews are
required of each candidate to prevent the slightest safety or
health hazard to the other members. 

Candidates who pass these in-depth reviews are then allowed to
take the Cabal "entrance examinations." These exams test
knowledge of current events, social graces, as well as testing
out certain practical skills. Candidates must acquit
themselves well and present themselves positively, regardless
of the situation, be it polite conversation or other types of
interactions. Upon passing these tests, candidates are given
the opportunity to take the final initiation. Initiation is
the ultimate test of a candidate's suitability for membership. 

Membership in the Cabal is prized among those who know of its
existence because it provides safe contacts who share a common
interest and because of the well equipped and safe facilities
it provides members in which to share that common interest. 

The Cabal exists to bring together devotees of the D/S, B&D
and S&M lifestyles. Mistresses and slaves, masters and
switches all find acceptance, companionship and safety, both
to person and to reputation, in the select community that is
the Cabal. 

In particular, the Cabal is dedicated to the more sexual
aspects of the lifestyles. Candidates and members are expected
to enjoy and excel at all aspects of sexual play, particularly
within the context of bdsm play. Indeed, one purpose of the
initiation process is to ensure that prospective members can
enjoy and be enjoyed within that context. Candidates who are
primarily into pain, dealing or receiving, or who do not
consider sex and orgasm to be a regular and vital part of a
scene's play are ordinarily weeded out quickly.

A unique aspect of the Cabal Charter Rules is that members
must maintain and periodically demonstrate proficiency at both
sides of top/bottom scene equation. New members are permitted
to choose to be primarily dominant or primarily submissive
once they achieve full membership, but the vetting process
tests their aptitude for both roles. To be accepted for
membership, initiates must be skilled and able to carry off a
successful scene in either role, to the satisfaction of the
other player or players in the scene. 

All current members are required to participate in at least
one scene as the dominant player and one scene as the
submissive player every year to maintain their membership.
This requirement ensures that every member respect and
understands the effects each role has on the other
participants in a session. 

Annual switch scenes for members who exclusively or almost
exclusively play only top or only bottom, are usually open
demonstrations for the rest of the membership. Committed
submissives acting in a dominant role have rare insight into
the mind of a bottom. Masters and Mistresses are always eager
to learn new ways to torment and titillate their favorite
slaves and who would know better than a submissive what really
reaches the soul of a bottom in a scene? 

Normally dominant members, submitting as a bottom, are often
stoic in the extreme. Such behavior, while not grounds for the
individual to repeat the required session, does not achieve
the desired goal of keeping the re-qualifying dominant in
touch with the feelings of their submissive partners. Any
member assigned to be the dominant in such a scene is expected
to provide that bottoming player an experience that reaches
into his or her hidden psyche. Assigned dominants who fail to
break through their partner's reserve often lose face,
particularly among the Cabal's more submissively oriented
members.  Therefore, sessions where predominantly top-oriented
members complete their mandatory annual submission are among
the most intense, demanding and imaginative scenes that the
membership is likely to see. 

The only limitation the Charter imposes for these annual
switch sessions, other than that the safety of each person
involved is never compromised, is that committed couples are
never forced to "switch" roles for the amusement of the
membership. Nor are they asked to participate in their other
half's scene. As indicated earlier, the switch sessions can be
uniquely intense and emotional. Some buried anger or hurt
might surface during the session and those aspects of even
semi-public relationships are simply too private to parade for
outside eyes. The Cabal's doctrine of safety includes the
safety of true lovers' privacy. The other players in mandatory
switch sessions are selected by either blind draw from
volunteers who want to scene with that member or by special
request from the switching member with the consent of the
Cabal's officers.

And sometimes, the roles are mandated by the Cabal Council, as
will be explained in our story.

Part 1:  A Dark Reprise

Gerald sat alone in his living room, staring at the glowing
embers of the dying fire in his hearth.  More than alone, he
was lonely.  In the past, he'd never understood that there was
a difference between those two conditions.  Just as he'd never
known that there was anything to distinguish a house from a
home.  Now he understood both truisms entirely too well.

Logically, he accepted that it was long past time that he put
the events of past three months ago behind him, that he needed
to make some effort to get on with his life again.  Only it
wasn't that easy.  He just wasn't ready to face that world
again.  He didn't know if he ever would be, and perhaps that
was the greater part of the reason for his seeming
indifference to his future.

There just wasn't much reason for a future spent alone, and he
had decided his would have to be both alone and lonely.

--------------

Gerald was trying to convince himself that he really wanted
the three fingers of imported single malt scotch he'd poured
an hour earlier when his door bell chimed.  Surprised, Gerald
set down the glass and went to open the door.  He expected it
to be a politician come to con him into voting for his lying
ass or worse, some missionary type come to save his immortal
soul.  Those and pushy salesman had been his only "visitors"
since . . . well, since *that* day.

Only it wasn't any of those options.

Shock vibrated down his spine as he recognized the small,
nondescript figure wearing a rain parka standing at his
threshold.

"Hello, Gerry."  The woman said in very soft tones as she
pulled back the hood to reveal her face.  "May I please come
in?"

It was the first time he had seen Mary Johnson in more than
three months. Mary, the woman he still loved, had wanted to
marry and to whom he had surrendered himself completely.

Mistress Mary.

How long had it been, he asked himself numbly, before
answering that question almost precisely to the minute, three
months, two weeks and four days of absolute hell.

And he only had himself to blame.

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

It had been raining that black Friday, too.  Mary had used her
key to let herself into his home and set up for the scene she
had planned.  She'd been waiting for him in his den when he'd
arrived home from work.

Gerald could recall every detail, every nuance as if it had
been moments and not months ago.  Mary had been dressed very
casually - a pair of thread-worn, snugly fitting jeans, a
short sleeved cotton knit sweater, and a pair of the most
decrepit, ragged running shoes in the world.  Hardly the
stereotypical garb of the domina bitch goddess, but there had
been no doubt in Gerald's mind that she had been there to
dominate him and to test him.

He actually took it as something of a compliment that Mary
would come to scene him dressed that way.  Early in their
relationship, she'd usually outfitted herself in more "scenic"
attire - leather bustiers, latex cat suits, stiletto high
heels - for their play together.  As they grew closer, more
comfortable with one another, she'd realized that he was there
for her, not for the scene or the scenery, not for the fetish
or the play. Gerald presented himself to her for her and her
pleasure.  Gradually, she'd begun dressing down for some of
their sessions, a little more each time.

The heels had gone first, replaced initially by a pair of calf
high riding boots, then by a pair of honest to god penny
loafers and most recently, by the refugees from the trash can
she had been wearing that night.  Over the course of a couple
of months, the rest of the latex, leather and vividly striking
cosmetics had followed the heels.  Eventually, the only way
Gerald could figure out if she was going to scene or just
being casual was that the scene stuff was grubbier and more
loosely fitting.

She'd said that she needed to be able to move freely in order
to take him where she wanted him to follow.

Oh, she had still pulled out the corsets and stockings, the
elbow length gloves and stiletto heels from time to time, but
that usually meant that she was playing for his pleasure more
than for hers.  Those were now reserved as special gifts for
him.

"Hello, Gerry." She'd greeted him as she sat languidly in his
favorite overstuffed chair, her face blank and revealing
nothing.  "How was your day?"

The question had not been a mere courtesy on her part.  They'd
both learned, through painful experience, that Gerald could
not play if he'd had a bad day at work.  He'd try, but any
scenes conducted after a difficult day were physically and
emotionally very hard on him. There were also very
unsatisfying for Mary.  In effect, saying he'd had a bad (or
worse) day was effectively the same thing as using his safe
word before the fact. 

"Not too bad, Mistress." He'd answered, fully understanding
the meaning behind the question.  "Actually, it was pretty
good." 

He'd watched in quiet fascination as her face changed, her
eyes becoming hard and her mouth stern.  "Very well, then."
She said as she rose to her feet.  "You will attend me in the
playroom, Gerry, in precisely thirty minutes.  I expect you to
be there, showered, shaved and clean - inside as well as out." 

She'd walked past him and out of the room without another word
or second look.

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

"May I come in, Gerry?"  The slightly sharper tones snapped
Gerald back to the present.

A little abashed at having stood there staring with her on his
doorstep, he stood aside.  "Of course, Mist . . . *Mary*." 
Gerald silently cursed himself for the slip, but months of
training along with the natural inclination of his heart were
difficult to overcome.

Her sad smile was proof that Mary had also caught Gerald's
near lapse.  With the graceful movements that had first drawn
his eye, she slipped in and then stood by, obviously waiting
for him to make the next move.

"May I offer you a drink?  Some coffee perhaps?  The tea from
dinner is still hot." He asked, feeling somewhat inane.

"Your special Darjeeling blend?" She asked hopefully.

"Of course."  

He walked over into his small kitchen and returned moments
later with a steaming pot and two cups.  Adding her preferred
touch of milk and dab of honey, he poured two cups with the
steaming aromatic liquid.  Mary watched him and came over to
get hers only after he'd retreated from the coffee table with
his own cup in hand.

It's like we don't dare come within arms' length of each
other, Gerry thought grimly as Mary took the chair farthest
away from his own.  Silence reigned between them as they
sipped the hot brew, but the quiet was not a comfortable one.

He thought he caught her studying him out from beneath her
lashes a couple of times.  For himself, he made no effort to
hide his own frank perusal of Mary.

She looked like he felt . . . like hell frozen over.

She'd lost weight, he noted, when she hadn't had any to spare.
The sweater and jeans, once fashionably snug, hung loosely
from her petite frame. Her cheeks seemed hollow and smudges
beneath her huge eyes spoke of far too many sleepless nights.

Then he saw it, and his blood turned to ice.  She was wearing
a brightly colored scarf around her neck.  She never wore such
things because she felt they were too much like collars and
only her slaves wore collars.  

Oh, God, no, his mind screamed. Did that mean  . . . ?  A
frisson of fear slid down his spine as his eyes shifted to
stare down the hall to a door he had not opened since the last
time she'd been here.

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

Sweat had poured out of Gerald, the salty fluid burning his
abraded skin, and adding a piquant descant to his other more
immediate discomforts.  Mary had been relentless, pressing him
harder and harder, taking him closer and closer to his
emotional if not his physical limits.  

He'd spent most of the previous two hours bound over the heavy
wood hassock they had converted into a whipping block.  Chains
and shackles locked his wrists and ankles to eye bolts that
Gerald had set into the wooden floor.  Scattered about the
room was just about every implement of corporal punishment and
other torment that they owned. Mary had used them all,
bringing every nerve ending in his body to screaming life.

His ass had been stretched by progressively larger toys
throughout the session.  Mary had been up to something, and
Gerald had believed he knew what that something was.  There
was one particular dildo, made from a plaster mold of his own
erect penis.  He knew that Mary planned to use that on him, to
fuck him with that toy firmly strapped to her own body.  She'd
been working him up to that goal since she'd gotten the
finished article from the artist friend who had made the
original casting.

The dildo had been standing on the floor, in front of his
nose, since she'd first chained him down.  There had been no
doubt in Gerald's mind that when the last plug came out, Mary
would ask him to let her have him.  It was something he'd
always resisted, even feared for some reason that even he
never quite understood.  

Mary had always respected that fear and had never pressed him
on the issue, so he'd never made it a limit.  But the anal
"rape" of a male slave was something Mary had never made any
bones about enjoying.  In fact, the weeks she had taken to
gradually work him up too larger and larger static plugs had
been as much to emotionally desensitize him as to stretch him
back there.

Mary had left him there, bound, looking at the instrument of
his imminent "deflowering."  It was not really all that large,
he'd told himself.  Gerald himself was pretty average in that
department - maybe six inches long on a good day with a very
forgiving measuring tape, and maybe an inch in diameter at its
thickest point.  In fact, he knew that the dildo was not as
thick as the widest part of the butt plug that was filling him
at that very moment.  Mary had solemnly presented each toy to
him for his examination before she'd    s . . l . . o . . w .
. l . .y slid each into his resistant bowels.

Still, there was a great difference between passively
accepting and then holding inside his ass - a butt plug that
did not move, that was simply there - and being ravished and
being actively fucked up his ass.

During that short intermission, however, Gerald had decided
that he would not resist her when she made her expected move,
nor would he use his safe word.  He *loved* this woman.  More
than that, he *trusted* her.  Mary was an experienced Domme -
she knew what she was doing.  

And he loved her.  Gerald's mind momentarily flew to his
jewelry box and the small velvet box nestled amid his
cufflinks and shirt studs inside the rosewood container.

He would give her this, he'd promised himself, and that very
night. He could do this.

Mary had slipped quietly back into the candle lit room and
moved to stand before him.  She'd shed her clothes leaving her
tight little body gloriously nude.  With great ceremony, she
donned a black leather and chain affair that fit snugly about
her hips.  Then, Mary had reached down to the floor in front
of him to retrieve the artificial penis and slipped into a
ring that was attached to the front of the hip-belt. 
Carefully adjusting the connecting straps, Mary had positioned
the base of the dildo directly over her vulva.

Stepping back, she'd turned to present her profile to him.  In
the flickering, shadowed light, all Gerald had seen was her
silhouette - a silhouette that now included a gently upward
curving appendage.

Moving back to stand directly in front of him, Mary had
crouched down in front of him.  The toy had prodded him before
she used his hair to pull his head up to face her.  "I want
you, little man." She'd hissed into his ear, her face a mask
of hunger and need.  "I want to take your tight, cute little
ass and make you forever mine!"

He'd stared into her eyes for what seemed like forever, before
he tried to nod.  Her grip on his hair prevented that
movement, but she felt the slight tugging as his head tried to
move.  "Oh, no, little man." She'd whispered softly.  "No
nonverbal, easily misunderstood responses to *this* game,
lover. You have to ask me out loud.  I won't make you beg me
to take you - at least not this time - but you will say the
words so there can be no doubt that you freely gave me this
gift, now or later."

She'd wanted it all - his complete and knowing surrender.
Giving her that, asking for something he did not want but knew
that she wanted desperately, had been so very hard.  Even for
her.  Gerald had needed to swallow several times to get enough
moisture into his suddenly parched throat to speak.

"Please, Mistress.  Do it." He'd rasped.

Mary had slowly shaken her head.  "Still not good enough, pet. 
Ask me to take you.  Ask me to fuck you. You have to give me
the words, Gerry, before I will give you this." Her hand
stroking the rigid length of her cock.

That had been even harder, and for a few shameful moments,
he'd considered refusing until he remembered the little blue
velvet box again.  "Please, Mistress.  Use me.  Fuck me."

"Oh, yes." She'd breathed, her voice just above a whisper.  "I
will, Gerry."  Moving quickly, as if she'd been afraid he
might change his mind, she'd undone the chains holding his
ankles to the floor, had slackened the ones on his wrists and
had raised the hassock several inches.

"Suck me, slut." She'd ordered once she'd moved back to his
head.  "Get it good and wet - all the way down to the root."

He'd tried - he really had - but he'd only managed to get
about two thirds of her toy down before he began to gag and to
panic.  She'd backed off and let him breath around her, let
him calm before sliding into him again.  Grimly determined to
give her full measure of her desire, Gerald had made the
conscious effort to control the reflexive contractions and
succeeded a little more on each stroke.

While he was trying to get that last bit down his throat, *it*
had happened.  The first clue was the feel of hands on his
butt cheeks, and then the feeling of the butt plug being
gripped and slowly pulled from him.

"It is long past time you graduated, slave." Mary had said in
the dark, frightening tone she'd only used when she was really
deeply into herself as Domme.
                                
Gerald had tried to turn around -  tried to see who was in
here with him and Mistress, but the six inches of rubber in
his mouth and throat, combined with Mary's suddenly ruthless
grip on his hair kept him from being able to move his head
around.

"Very nice, Mistress Mary." A very appreciative *male* voice
had complemented her.  Those few words had been followed by
the hands gripping his ass again, and then the feeling of
something blunt poking at his now empty anus.

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

That was the last thing Gerald remembered until the man was
pulling him off Mary and screaming at him. Gerald would never
forget the sight that greeted his eyes when rationality
returned.  

His hands locked about Mary's throat, her eyes bulging and her
lips moving without making any sound.  

He'd relaxed his grip immediately, and had slid back as the
other man had ensured she was breathing freely on her own.

The man had turned out to be someone Gerald had met at several
play parties he'd attended as Mary's submissive.  He'd even
participated in a couple of the scenes Mary had put Gerald
through as sort of a co-dominant.

Dimly, Gerald had realized that he'd been still chained, but
no longer to the floor.  In his rage, he'd evidently ripped
the woodscrew threaded eye-bolt right out of the floor.

Somehow, the male dominant, who reintroduced himself as
Richard, had gotten Gerald free and had gotten Mary into a bed
in his guest room.  She'd been nearly hysterical, not that
anyone could blame her.  In the end, Gerald and Richard
concluded that she would not rest there and needed to go home. 
Richard promised to stay with her until she was back in
control of herself.

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

Gerald had not seen Mary since Richard had carried her out to
his car and driven off with her.  She'd even waited until
she'd been sure he was not at home to come back and collect
her own car.

Until she'd appeared on his doorstep just a few minutes ago.

Finally, he had to ask.  "That . . .  that scarf. You aren't
still bruised, are you?  Around your throat, I mean . . .
where. Where I . . . "

A wan smile flitted across her lips as she reached up to pull
it away from her white skinned throat.  "No bruises, Gerry. 
It has been a while, you know." She said gently.

End Part 1


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