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Tragedy II

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.