From tigger@NO_SPAM_alices.com Fri Jul 11 21:49:37 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-dc-2.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!feed1.news.erols.com!news
From: tigger@NO_SPAM_alices.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.femdom,alt.sex.stories
Subject: ASF/ASST - Story: A Romancing of Limits (I/II) (FemDom, Romance)
Date: Fri, 11 Jul 1997 21:49:37 -0400
Organization: House at Pooh Corner
Lines: 617
Message-ID: <MPG.e30acbbcb206f04989693@news.erols.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: spg-as17s33.erols.com
X-Received-On: 12 Jul 1997 01:54:20 GMT
X-Newsreader: Anawave Gravity v1.10
Xref: news1.infoave.net alt.sex.femdom:98768 alt.sex.stories:225858


The following is a work of erotic fiction.  It is
intended for the entertainment of mature, legally adult
individuals living in areas where the possession and enjoyment
of such material is legal.  If you are not legally an
adult, or if such material is not legal in your locale, then
you are violating a trust as well as the law. Please leave
now.

As a result of the copious email spam I have been subjected
to since I began posting, I have been forced to encrypt my 
"reply to" address.  Please read the sig at the end of this post
before attempting to send me email.

A Romancing of Limits
by Tigger
Copyright 1997, All Rights Reserved

Part I

The cold woke me.  Or more precisely, the absence of heat on
my sore and aching body jerked me rudely from the arms of
Morpheus.  The rustic little bedroom was shadowed in the gray,
phantom light of the nearly full moon that shone in through
the sheer-curtained windows.  

Blinking to clear my fuzzy vision, I did a quick search,
moving as little as possible in the doing of it.  The other
side of the bed was cool to the touch.  No tell tale line of
light shone from below the closed doorway that led into the
hallway.  I was alone.  Which was not what I would have
expected, not after yesterday.  She should have been there, in
my bed beside me, sleeping the sleep of the innocent, or some
reasonable facsimile thereof.  Especially after what we had
been through together earlier this night.

Concern cut sharply through my sleep drugged brain. 
Injudiciously, I started to heave myself up and off the
feather-ticked mattress and instantly regretted it.  The long
muscles of my arms, shoulders, thighs and gluteals screamed
their outrage and I froze in mid-step.  It took five
heartbeats for me to control the pain and start to move again-
albeit *much* more carefully this time.

The cottage floor was cold on my bare feet.  Originally a
hunter's lodge, my little retreat near Trukee, California, was
nestled in an isolated little canyon in the Sierra Nevada
Mountains of the western Rockies.   A long and winding country
road, paved at great expense, provided the only access to my
hideaway-away-from-home.  Unfortunately, for all the money
invested in the road, the trip to the cabin was still best
handled in a four wheel drive vehicle - and then only from
late spring through early fall.  Winter comes early and hard
to this part of California and it sticks around once it does
arrive.

I slowly crept out the bedroom door.  My cautious tread was
more to avoid jostling strained and bruised muscles than to
try and be stealthy.  Still, the solid construction of the
lodge minimized any creaking that my passage might have
caused.  Once down the stairs, I looked for any lights that
might indicate where she had gone off to, but saw none.  A
quick check of the foyer revealed that the keys to the Jeep
CJ7 still hung from the little rack by the door.  Relieved, I
turned back to check out the kitchen when I saw the top of her
head above the back of the sofa in the lodge's great room.

The huge, sunken great room comprised most of the first floor.
Essentially a combination living room/family room/recreation
room/dining room, I had always thought of it as the previous
owner's fantasy of a mediaeval castle's "great hall".   It had
a huge, stone hearth - a grand, circular fire pit that
occupied the center of the room.  A large iron canopy/chimney,
suspended above the hearth and running to the top of the rough
hewn wood ceiling, collected and exhausted any smoke.  That
hearth and this room formed the focal point of the lodge.  You
could talk and socialize in there, eat in there, drink in
there, game in there, party in there.  

I grinned at the thought - we had certainly proved that you
could make some spectacular love in there, too.  I glanced up
at the dark metallic glint of some subtle additions I had made
(at her direction) to those heavy ceiling crossbeams. You
could make love in many ways in this room.  So it did indeed
fulfill all the functions of a great hall.  All it needed was
a throne.

I might just see about installing a throne for her as a gift
in the near future.  For now, all it had  was some comfortably
casual leather furniture.  One of the sofa groupings was
placed so that it faced a large picture window that overlooked
the canyon's opening onto the valley below us.  And there she
was, lounging on that sofa with her feet tucked up under her. 
She was wrapped in the ratty, used-to-be-white terry cloth
bathrobe she loved,  a cup of what had probably been hot tea
held absently in her hand.

I took advantage of this rare opportunity to observe this
woman without her knowledge - this very special woman who
warmed my soul, my bed, and yes, my ass.  This woman who could
hold my heart and a flogger with equal ease, and with equal
care.  She is average in height, maybe five feet six inches
tall in her bare feet and she weighs in at maybe 125 or 130
lbs.  Physically, she is in good shape, but she is not
fanatical about it as are some of the fitness addicts who work
for me at my office.  She has a nicely taut body, but one with
all the curves of a mature woman - not voluptuous in the
manner of a 1950's movie star sex symbol, but definitely
statuesque.  A man has no doubt that she was all woman when he
holds her in his arms.  

And I am determined to be *the* man with that privilege.  

She is two years older than my own thirty five years, but most
observers assume she is ten years younger than that.  Her hair
is auburn, cut in a short, skull-hugging style that shows off
her long, elegant neck and her cute ears.  She has clear, dark
green eyes that see my every dream and every fear.  Her mouth
is a little too large to be considered classically beautiful,
except when she smiles.  Then her entire face lights up.  Her
smile can warm my heart, heat my libido or freeze my blood. 
And she knows it, the little devil.

She is also a dominatrice, and she owns me because I have
given myself to her.

We have been together, the two of us, for almost four years
now.  We met when she'd applied for an office manager position
at the business I had started after resigning my Army
commission.  Her r‚sum‚ had not been as strong as a couple of
the other applicants, but something about *her* had made a
very strong  impression on me.  Frankly, I felt rather smug
about my judgement because she had immediately taken firm
command.  She was the epitome of the competent professional,
and it seemed as if each new day brought to light another
little something about her to admire.

Now, I don't pretend to speak for all men, but to me, a smart,
confident woman touches something deeply male in me.  Maybe it
is just that I am getting older, but I find that mental
stimulation is at least as, if not more important than
physical stimulation.  Those youthful days of random and
instantaneous arousal in the face of a good looking female
are, thankfully, behind me.  I am a highly intelligent and
aggressive person, and a woman's intellect, her ability and
willingness to challenge those facets of my makeup are far
more arousing to me than the amount, placement and
distribution of flesh and muscle tissue she has. 

In any case, this lady has it all, the total package of
brains, determination and physical beauty.  Within mere weeks
of hiring her, I was fascinated by her.  Not much longer after
that and I was in the grip of a full force infatuation with
this woman who, unfortunately, also happened to be my
employee.  That presented a couple of problems for me.

First of all, it is more than just a little lowering for a
mature male of some thirty years to find himself in terminal
lust over a woman like some lovesick teenager suffering from
hormonal overload.  That required some real heavy
rationalization on my part, but eventually, I concluded that,
even at my advanced age, a very, very special woman could do
that to me.  I also concluded that she is very, very special.

The second problem was a little more difficult.  Hitting an
employee up for a date is a good way to find yourself in civil
court as the defendant in a sexual harassment case -
especially in California.  Because of that, I have made it a
point to remain scrupulously a friendly, but rigidly reserved
relationship with my female employees.  In fact, one reason
why I insist on having a woman fill the office manager
position is so that, on the rare occasion that I have to deal
with a disciplinary problem involving one of my female
employees, I can legitimately have the office manager with me
in the office.  She acts as both a party to disciplinary
action and as a witness to what actually took place inside my
office.

I never did figure out a way around that problem, but
fortunately, I did not have to.  About a year after I hired
her, she accepted a similar position with a large
multinational that was opening a new office in the East Bay.

I filled the organizational hole left by her departure by
promoting the woman that she had recommended to me. She even
trained the new office manager during her two week notice
period.  She was as good a teacher as she was a manager, so,
at the office anyway, very little changed with her departure.

My private life *did* change, and quite dramatically. 
Couching the affair as a casual farewell/thank you dinner, I
asked her to go out with me.  For me, there was nothing casual
about it.  The campaign had begun.

She, on the other hand, treated the evening as an extension of
our previous office relationship.  She was pleasant, but cool,
avoiding even the most casual physical contact with practiced
ease.  When I asked if she wanted to dance, she politely
declined - simply telling me that she did not dance and
leaving it at that.  When I took her home, she, again very
politely, vetoed my walking her to her door - stating that the
condo's security guard would see that she got safely to her
home.  She just thanked me for the meal, wished me good luck,
and got out of the car to stride into the brightly lighted
foyer of the complex.  Not the most auspicious of first dates.

However, I am, as I said, quite aggressive.  I am also
stubborn, although I prefer to think of it as being determined
and knowing what I want.  Over the next few weeks, I managed
to convince her to go out for lunch a couple of times.  She
was more relaxed at these get-togethers - maybe because she
knew I would not be dropping her off at her home at the end,
and we gradually opened up a bit more, becoming more friendly. 
For my part, I carefully listened to every word she said and
filed away any little bit of information she might drop about
her own likes and dislikes, her plans and her dreams.  I
discovered she liked old fashioned rock and roll and was
disappointed that she had not been able to get tickets to a
special benefit concert that was being given at the Concord
Pavilion that weekend.

I called in a few markers with some clients and managed to get
two tickets for the show at the last minute.  She was somewhat
nonplussed when I showed up on her threshold the afternoon of
the concert waving the tickets.  Maybe suspicious is a better
word, because she started to turn me down.  Frustration welled
up and I snapped at her.  "I don't know what I have done to
make you feel that you cannot trust me.  I promise, I am not
going to jump your bones, or hint that you should pay for the
ticket in bed.  It is a gift, because I like you and I would
like to get to know you better.  There are no strings attached
to either of these tickets.  In fact," and I pressed both
tickets into her hand, "Here... call up some friend you can
trust and have a good time."  I had spun away, and started
down the sidewalk feeling angry, hurt and empty.

Her shout of my name stopped me.  I turned to see what she
wanted, but she had followed me down the walk.  Warily, I
watched her walk up to me.  She gave me a sheepish grin, and
quirked a brow at me.  "Ummmm, Kenneth, I seem to have come
into some tickets for tonight's concert, but I don't have
anyone to go with.  Would you like to go with me.... friend?"

The concert was great, but the company was better.  Over a
late dinner following the concert, I apologized for putting
her on the spot with the tickets, and she apologized for her
initial reaction.  I tried to explain my feelings only to have
her stop me with a finger over my lips.  "I understand,
Kenneth.  In truth, I feel much the same about you - like we
could have something special together, but you were always so
aloof when I worked for you, and then you did not even try to
keep me on after I got the job offer from Consolidated - I had
pretty much decided you did not want me around.  Then all of a
sudden, you are making moves on me.  I was really uncertain
about your motives."

"Very simple.  I did not feel I could try to date you when you
worked for me, and I could not match the deal you got with
your new employers.  I am over 30 years old, Sharon, and I am
alone.  Until I met you, that did not bother me very much, but
now, I am not only alone, I am lonely.  I think you are a
special person, and I would like to find out if we could be
even more special together."

If I live to be a hundred, I will never forget the look that
crossed her face then.  Discomfort, hope, uncertainty,
wishfulness, doubt - and maybe more subtle emotions were all
evident on her face and in her eyes.  Finally, she closed her
eyes and took a deep breath.  Slowly, she expelled it before
looking me in the eyes and taking my hand in hers.  "I
understand those things now, too, Kenneth.  I cannot say that
I think it will be easy for us, because there is much about me
you do not know, and much about me and yourself that you would
have to learn.  And I am afraid..."  I gripped her hand and
started to say something, but she shook her head.  "Afraid
that you could become too important to me, and then feel that
you had to leave me.  That could destroy me, and hurt you
badly, too."

I looked at her, not understanding.  Surely, any developing
relationship had the potential for painful breakups, but that
risk could only be avoided by continuing to be alone and
lonely.  I said as much and she only shook her head.  "There
can be other risks, Kenneth.  In our case, risks unique to
belonging to me.  We will have to go slowly.  I will set the
pace.  If you need to leave, I will know.  Is that acceptable
to you, Kenneth?  It is the only way I can see to do this."

I smiled in relief.  "It would always have been at your pace,
Sharon.  I don't want to rush you."  Then I grinned again. 
"Too much."

That made her smile, too.  "Well, we will just have to see how
fast and far you want to go, Sir."  We shared a chuckle over
that, and then she became solemn again.  "Kenneth, this may
sound indiscreet, but I have to ask it and I must insist that
you answer me.  For all my talk of a slow pace, you and I are
going to end up being very intimate - Have you ever been
tested for HIV, and if so, have you been intimate with anyone
since that last test?  I have been tested annually, and I have
not been intimate with anyone for almost a year before my last
test.  Which was negative."

"I got tested before I got out of the Army three years ago.  I
have had one, long-term, monogamous relationship since then
and we broke up just before I met you."

Her face became stern - it was a look I had only seen her use
with subordinates at the office.  "Then I want you to get
tested immediately."  Then, as if realizing how imperious that
sounded, she softened her tone.  "Please, Kenneth.  I have
lost friends to that abominable disease.  I don't want to die
that way."

So I had gotten tested.  Frankly, I don't know how we kept
from making love before the results came back, but as it
turned out, we hadn't needed to worry.  Perhaps it was all for
the best, because in the six or so weeks it took for the lab
report to come back, we became friends.  I have been friendly
with women before, but never like it was with Sharon.  She was
not only my friend, she was my best friend.  We shared hopes,
fears, dreams and chocolate milkshakes.  

Ultimately, and with no little trepidation, she finally shared
Mistress Sharon with me.  It happened on a weekend date, or
what I thought was to be a date.  I showed up at her place,
ready to take her out for a night of dinner and dancing.  She
had me stay to dinner, instead.  Over the course of the
evening, she gently "felt me out" with regards to my
experience, or rather, my inexperience with dominance and
submission.  It was not a comfortable conversation for either
of us.  Finally, she broke down and told me, point blank,
about what gave her pleasure in a life bond relationship, and
what she would need from me if I was to be the other half of
that relationship.

I had been stunned.  Never had I thought of myself as being a
submissive person under any circumstance.  Being a commanding
officer in a Special Forces unit, or a business owner in a
highly competitive marketplace does not tend to foster such a
self image - just the opposite, in fact.  Yet, here was the
woman I knew I was in love with, telling me that if she was to
be mine, I was, in a very literal sense, going to be hers. 
She needed to own me, in ways that I had never considered. 
And further, she and I would have to prove, time and again
during the course of our lives together, that ownership
through my gift of submission to her will and to her tests.

In hindsight, knowing her as I do now, I realize that the look
in her eyes and on her face was as close to abject terror as I
have ever seen.  What would have happened if I had simply
stood up and left?  I don't know.  I think, somewhat
immodestly, that we still would have been together eventually. 
I think .... no ..... I *know* that she loves me. Eventually,
we would have gotten back together.  I believe that we would
have compromised, but I am glad that I did not leave.  What
she might have had to compromise might have been part of what
I love about her, and we both would have lost.  

As it was, I stayed, and was treated to my first adult bare
bottom spanking.  Not very trying physically, as her tests go
- my face was redder than my bottom when she finished - but
she was so pleased she cried, and begged me to hold her. 
Sitting there, my pants tangled about my ankles, bright pink
weals cris-crossing my butt from her old fashioned wooden
spoon, I had held the happily weeping woman who had humbled my
pride as she had warmed my ass.  Everything I had been taught
yelled that this was less than masculine, and yet, I had never
felt so .... much a man in the best sense of the word in my
life.  I was holding *my* woman, and I had made her happy.

Thinking back on that night, I recognized what was bothering
me - Sharon's face!  The look on her face, here tonight, was
the one I had seen that first night - when she had every
expectation of being told to go to hell.  She was hurting.

I could not stand it.

I strolled over behind her, and said softly, "Hey there,
Mistress-darlin', whatcha doing down here?  I was getting
lonely and cold up there."  She turned as I put a hand onto
her shoulder.  Tension rippled the muscles beneath her robe. 
Gently, I pushed the robe aside and began to massage her
shoulders and neck.

"Couldn't sleep,"  she groaned softly, "God, that is
wonderful.  And you needed to rest after last night."

"That's okay, Mistress-darlin', I will sleep as soon as you
do."

"I don't suppose I am ever going to break you of that habit of
calling me 'darlin'', am I, Kenneth?"  I could feel the
tension seeping out of her.  She needed to talk about
something and the chatter was helping.

"Nope.  I like it.  It combines what you are - My Mistress and
my darling.  That helps, especially when my Mistress wants or
needs more than I think I have to give.  In times like that,
remembering the darlin' part helps me try just a little bit
harder.  Besides," and I chuckled roguishly, "You know you
love it."  

She nodded her acquiescence to that truth, and then arched
into my hands in a silent demand for more attention.  I rolled
her onto her tummy and began working my way down her back. 
"Luv?  What is wrong?  Did something go wrong, tonight?  Did I
not perform well?  Did I miss some cue and not give you what
you needed?"

She rolled over and pulled me down to her, practically
strangling me as she ravaged my mouth.  When she came up for
air, "No, damn you.  You were wonderful.  You gave more than I
have any right to expect.  Look at your ass in the mirror,
Kenneth.  You are already bruising.   God, you took that
strapping and took it some more, all the while letting savor
your suffering.  You could have stopped me with a word or a
gesture, and you didn't.  You were wonderful."  She hugged me
again.

"Well, something is not wonderful, and I won't leave you till
I know what it is."  

I think my tone was a little too demanding, because her brow
shot up.  "Oh, is that so, Kenny?  Well, let me remind you
that I am not ill, so lose the parental indignation.  I am a
big girl, and I will deal with my own problems, thank-you-
very-much!"

I grinned at the reminder.  My goal in this relationship is to
become her husband.  The origin of that word translates to
"care giver".  Although I have surrendered to her, one thing
that annoys (and I think pleases) her is that I demand the
right to see to her well being, as she discovered soon after
we moved in together.  She had caught a virus and had become
very ill.  She is, by the way, a nasty patient - testy,
irritable and querulous.  She wanted to top those damn germs,
but they were too tough.  She collapsed trying to go back to
work when she had been told to stay in bed.  

I had gotten ..... upset.  VERY upset! Taking care of her
turned into an exercise in dominance of another kind, with her
on the bottom.  Yes, she had been a very nasty patient, but I
was an even nastier nurse - even if I did pay for my many
transgressions against her dignity after she'd gotten well,
again. Key point, however, was that she DID get well.

"I know, luv, I know.  But I can't help fix what I don't know
about."

Frustration edged her tone.  "It is NOT you!  It is ME!  And I
have to deal with it myself."  I started to interrupt, but she
silenced me with an imperious look.  One very real problem, in
my opinion, with being owned is that when you don't agree with
your owner, your options are limited.  I wondered if safe-
wording would work here?  I decided against that course of
action but filed it for future use if things did not improve.

Her words made me think.  Not me?  And the look on her face
before she saw me in the room?  The only thing I had ever seen
affect her that way was fear that I would leave.  Could she be
afraid that I would leave?  Did she want something from me
that she was afraid I could not, would not give?  God only
knew what she could ask of me that I would not try to give
her.  Nothing came to mind immediately.  "Is there something
you want, love?  Something you are afraid to ask for?  Talk to
me, Sharon.  I can't say yes or no if I don't hear the
question."

That fearful look flitted across her face again.  Bingo.  She
shook her head, a sad, sad smile on her lips.  "I know,
dear... But this is something that scares me, or perhaps it is
the possible aftermath of it that scares me.  I have to deal
with it, okay?"  It wasn't okay, but I could not do anything
about it, just then.  "Now, come to bed and rub my back some
more, darling slave, we both need our rest.  Once I am asleep,
you can curl up to me."  With that, she stood and headed up to
the bedroom.  I followed as best I could.

Once in bed, she relaxed under the rhythmic movements of my
hands.  She was almost asleep, when I took a chance. 
"Sharon," I whispered softly, "Can't you tell me what is the
matter?.  Please?"

"mmmm." she mumbled, "I just wish I did not want to do it to
you sooooo much..."  her voice trailed off as sleep finally
claimed her.

Only problem was, I was no longer sleepy.  What did she want
to do to me?  Hell, what hadn't she done to me.  I had been in
bondage positions that made pretzels seem straight.  She had
taught me the fine humiliations of being made to dress in
women's clothing and the terrors of going out in public cross
dressed.  I had been spanked, paddled, strapped and cropped. 
I had worn numerous teasing and often uncomfortable
contraptions on and in various parts of my anatomy.  

We had shared things I had never thought of as being sexy, and
ultimately found pleasure in them including having her pee on
me, or orally loving her during her period.  I had faced it
all, and if the acts themselves were not all that enjoyable,
her pleasure in my doing them for her made me feel wonderful. 
What in the name of all that was holy could she want that I
had not given?

I padded off to the bathroom.  On entering, I saw a book on
the sink.  Sharon had obviously been reading it earlier. 
Then, I recognized it - "My Darling Dominatrix" by Grant
Antrews - and my blood went a little cold.  She had given me a
copy of that book to read after my first experience with
Mistress Sharon.  

I do not like the book very much.  First, all the dommes
either die or get badly hurt in some way, and second, the male
becomes so dependent on the lead character that he accepts
treatment that endangered his health and his business to be
with her.  


I picked up the book.  Dog-eared and wrinkled, the book had
seen many readings.  I turned to the folded page that marked
the section that Sharon had been reading and stopped dead. 
Oh, God, was that the answer?  

She had evidently been re-reading the whipping scene.  In the
book, the hero accedes to the heroine's request (demand?),
that he submit to a whipping prior to their wedding - so he
will know the "worst of her".  During that scene, she exceeds
the promised count - whipping him to unconsciousness after he
had thought he had succeeded in meeting her test.  Is THAT
what she wanted to do?

I thought about her toys.  Was there a whip?  I could not
remember one, but I knew she had not used one on me.  Dazed, I
sat down on the toilet seat.  Could I give her that?  That
book had turned my blood to ice when I had read that section. 
I had even gone to.... My god, that was it!  

I had even gone to Sharon with that section, telling her how
much it bothered me, angered me.  She had tried to calm me, to
explain how, in some scenes, between some players, exceeding
the count like that was a way of stretching limits, of helping
a submissive grow stronger into his or her submission.  I had
not understood.  My reaction was that what had been portrayed
was a complete abrogation of trust.  She had asked for it, he
had given it, and she had taken more - *stolen* more.  Sharon
had not been able to make me see it any other way.

I wondered what had happened to her own whips.  I didn't doubt
that she had them, or used to have had them.  My reaction to
that book had surprised her, and I would have bet my business
that she had decided that whips would never be a part of our
play.  Now, a hunger for that implement on my backside was
eating at her.  God help me, I was caught.  I did not know if
I could give her that. Shaking, only partly from the early
morning chill, I crept back into the bedroom.  I held her
very, very close that night.  

I awoke the next day, determined to do nothing about what I
had surmised the night before.  I hoped that this was
something she could work out herself and that we could move on
without me having to face the whip.  Frankly, I did not know
that I could face it, even for her.  Why was it that I was the
one compromising all the time?  Was it necessary that I give
in to that, too?  Was the ledger always to be debited on my
part?

It did not get better.  In fact, things started getting very
bad, indeed.  Sharon seemed to start withdrawing from me, at
least during play sessions, discipline sessions or training
sessions. 

Over the next couple of months, she'd stop well short of where
we had been able to go together before that fateful weekend. 
Dress up games stopped short of the previously obligatory trip
out of the house for milk at the 7-ll or a burger from the
drive up window.  Corporal sessions ended well before I really
started to feel anything beyond the burn.  Bondage was simple,
not very stressful or imaginative, and usually was a precursor
to her bringing me to orgasm instead of the reverse as it had
been in the past.  For a while I thought that, maybe, she was
trying to play more gently with me.  Perhaps, I rationalized,
she was trying to help me find some intrinsic rather than
extrinsic pleasure in these games of hers.

Those misconceptions and self delusions soon suffered a quick
death. Gradually, even the frequency of our sessions seemed to
drop off.  She was tired, or she had had a bad day at the
office and was too angry to dominate safely, or worst of all -
"I just don't feel the hunger, tonight, Kenneth."

Now, you may think, that as someone who does not have a strong
personal image of myself as a submissive, that I would be
doing hand springs over this turn of events.  And sadly, you
would be right - at least initially.  That selfish joy lasted
until I saw what was really happening to the woman I loved.  

She was stopping as soon as I gave the slightest indication
that something within a scene was becoming difficult for me. 
This woman, who had always feasted on my emotions and my
sufferings, was almost afraid to let things go too far. 
Always before, she had read my real condition clearly, and
walked us down that fine edge where I could just endure, and
where she could exult in that endurance.

The powerful, self assured woman I loved was becoming
uncertain, reticent, unwilling to take risks of any kind,
especially in her interactions with me.  Where once I had
lived almost in dread of what her fertile mind would come up
with next, of what the next phone call to my office from her
would portend, now that had all changed.  She was becoming
almost predictable, and god help me, *normal*.
-- 
-------------------------------oOo-------------------------------
Due to the volume of autospam emailings, I have been forced to "encrypt"
my reply to address.  If you wish to comment or reply to this post, 
please be sure to delete the "No_Spam_" from my address.  I apologize
for the inconvenience.