Contract Modifications

by Tigger
© 2002

 

Part III

 

Chapter 10: Clarifications

The annoyingly shrill command of his apartment's electronic door chime brought Ed out of his reflections with a start. He'd barely gotten himself changed and settled from his Saturday afternoon adventure and what he really wanted was a little time to deal with that. "Maybe it's a door-to-door salesman I can snarl at without mercy," he told himself hopefully.

The chime sounded again, grating harshly on his nerves and hastening his progress toward the offending door. "If I ever have my own house," he muttered as he strode to the door, "I am having a doorbell that is a real bell."

Feeling thoroughly jangled, Ed nearly undid the deadbolt before checking his peephole, but the painstakingly gained training of the recent months held. What, or rather who he saw on the other side of the door surprised him.

Opening the door, he looked at his visitor more curiously than anything else. "Marque. . .I mean, Mary," he corrected at the challengingly raised brow, "I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"I know that," she replied briskly. "But I thought we should have another little chat. May I please come in?"

Ed stood aside and waved her into the room. Once the door was closed, they went into his living room where he offered refreshment. "I won't be staying long, I think," Mary said as she sat down. "But a glass of ice water would be nice."

When he returned with the water, Ed sighed. "I haven't reached any decision about your demand, Mary," he said quietly. "At least, none that I think will suit you."

Mary dismissed that with a wave of her free hand. "Another issue for another day," she told him. "Veronica called me this afternoon - after you met with her."

The woman's unblinking stare made Ed want to squirm, but he resisted the urge and managed to sit quietly himself, letting the silence between them grow. Finally, Mary sighed. "I am going to break one of my personal rules," she told him. "Normally, I discipline myself quite as much as I do those who. . . serve me. I suppose I feel I owe you. . . ."

Again, Ed merely sat there as Mary obviously waited for him to respond. "You do that well," she said. "Most men in my experience do not handle silence well and feel obligated to fill the void it leaves, particularly when dealing with a woman."

Ed shrugged. "It is easier to hear when you aren't speaking yourself, and much easier to listen when you can hear."

Mary grinned suddenly, the expression changing her entire look from the stern, almost austerely attractive mature woman of Ed's dark night-dreams to a surprisingly pretty and young-looking one. "Excellent answer!" she complimented him and visibly relaxed. "All right, the rule I am going to break is that I don't get between other women and what . . or who they want."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I know you don't," Mary retorted. "If you did, I wouldn't have to break my rule. Look, Edward, I came here tonight because Veronica sounded rather . . . well, upset might be too strong a word - perhaps uncertain is closer - after your little luncheon with her yesterday. Evidently you learned some things about her that she is afraid might ultimately alienate you from her and she wouldn't like that."

"There were a few revelations and a few allusions that were disconcerting to me," he admitted. "I've been trying to work through all that this afternoon."

"Chief among those things you need to work through is that she is a dominant woman, much like me?"

"That never came out in so many words," Ed admitted, "Unless that is what being a Sister means. However, it was pretty clear that she was a dominant woman, yes."

"She is afraid that will alienate you from her," Mary stated flatly.

"She said that to you?" Ed's voice rose in surprise.

"Not," and here the grin came back, "in so many words, but it was clear to me nonetheless. Will knowing that facet of her past put emotional distance between you and Veronica?"

"Why should you care?" Ed snapped and then regretted it. "Sorry. I'm, ah, still dealing with some baggage as far as you're concerned, too."

"I understand, Edward, and in my case, that baggage is at least somewhat fairly earned. In Veronica's case, however, that is not the case, which is part of the answer to your question. My sense of fairness would be offended if, through no fault of her own, she lost something important to her because of this mess. Additionally, she approached you as she did because of me - because of things I said here last night in your presence and because of things I said to her over the phone the morning afterwards - so I have some blame for your new knowledge of your Veronica. And finally, because she is a Sister, too."

"I told her earlier that I don't know what that means and I still don't," Ed replied.

"Do you need to know? Really? Here, let me ask you this question. Do you consider Veronica to be an ethical person?"

Not willing to share the fruits of his ruminations with Mary, Ed shrugged and replied diffidently "I did."

Mary raised her brows in exaggerated question. "So, on the basis of a label, 'Sister', which you admit you do not understand, you have now decided she is unethical? That hardly seems fair. What if I were to tell you that part of what it means to BE a Sister is that you are held to the very highest ethical and moral standards?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell this woman that he already knew that about Veronica, but caught himself. This was the first time either woman had said anything to him about this so-mysterious name. To encourage her, he continued his act. "I might find that . . . claim needed a bit of substantiation."

Repressing a sigh, Mary nodded. "I suppose that's fair, since the only other Sister you have met is me, and we have already acknowledged that we share some unpleasant baggage. I can only say I have no reason to lie to you, and none to wish you or Veronica ill."

Ed considered her words and relented. "You didn't have to come here, I'd never have found you on my own. You could have stayed hidden from me and just let me stew."

Mary tilted her head, considering him, and smiled approvingly. "That sounded suspiciously like a compliment, Edward. Thank you. If you are coming to believe that, then perhaps you can accept that your Veronica's acceptance in the Sisterhood is not a problem that should come between you."

"She's not 'my Veronica'," he answered automatically.

Before Mary could reply, they were interrupted by the opening measures of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. Mary looked, for the first time in Ed's experience, nonplused and unnerved. "Excuse me a moment, but only three people have that number," she said as she hurriedly removed a small cell phone from her bag. "Yes? Hello?" she said into the tiny device.

Ed watched as La Marquesa's eyes suddenly softened and her voice warmed. "I miss you, too, dear," she said after a few moments of listening. "But I am with someone right now."

Ed started to rise, intending to give Mary some privacy but she waved him back into his seat so he was treated to her side of the conversation.

"Yes, I have. Several, in fact. There's one tonight, but I may not be able to go."

She paused and then frowned. "Well, no, I haven't yet, but I've been busy, dear."

"I know I promised, and no, I am not trying to get out of going. I know it's important, dear, but so is what I've been doing."

Something changed in Mary's eyes again, and this time, there was an almost liquid sadness in them. "You know there is nothing more important in my life than you. Okay, you're right. I'll go. What? When? Right now, of course."

"I love you, too, little nag. Look, I have to run or I'll be late, but sweetie? Thanks. yeah, you, too. Bye."

Mary closed the connection and took a deep breath before returning her attention to Ed. "I have to leave. I'll be back if you still want to talk, but, well, I have an obligation and. . "

Ed was on his feet offering his hand to the suddenly changed woman. "I understand obligations," he said smiling. "And I thank you for coming here. I don't know quite how you did it, because you really didn't say anything, but you've helped tonight. Maybe that's because you clearly cared enough to come," he added more to himself than to her. "I'll need to think about that some, too."

She reached up to caress his cheek with her fingers, and then leaned over to kiss where her fingers had been. "You do that, Edward. Now I have to run."

At that moment, Ed's door chime sounded again causing both of them to jump. "I am going to find the wires for that damned thing and do serious damage to it," he growled as he walked to the door.

"You might make it so it can't turn off if you aren't careful," Mary warned.

"Good point," Ed grinned back before looking through the peephole for his second surprise of the night. "Veronica?" he asked as he swung the door open.

"Hello, Ed," the petite redhead said with a tentative smile on her lips. "May I come. . . Mary?"

"Veronica," Mary acknowledged as she pushed through the door into the hall. "Well, I have to hurry. I will speak to both of you later."

Veronica watched open-mouthed as the ordinarily self-possessed woman literally ran to the elevators. She turned to Ed who had stepped back to beckon her inside. "What was THAT all about?" she asked, immediately adding, "And what the hell was she doing here?"

"Someone called her, and she had to leave," Ed replied, almost brusquely. He really wanted to be left alone so he could chew himself out at his leisure and in private. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, Veronica, but to ask you the same question you just asked me - what are you doing here? I've had a bitch of a day and I am not the best company in the world right now."

Veronica's spine snapped straight at Ed's tone and her eyes locked on his. "Where have you BEEN all day?" she demanded. "I've been trying to reach you since before noon!"

"Out," he retorted, trying to cut this off before it got further out of hand

"Out where?" she demanded, cutting him off from his escape route. "Dammit, Ed, I was worried about you when I couldn't reach you." *At least in part because of your mental state,* she thought, *but also because I can't get Mary's warnings about whoever pulled this stunt out of my head.*

Giving up, Ed waved her into a chair and dropped down into his own. "I went to a munch, okay?"

"A munch?" Veronica said surprised. "For goodness sake, why? The way you feel about the scene right now what possible purpose could you have attending a . . . . oh," she finished. "I see."

Sighing, Ed met her eyes again. "You see what?"

"You were trying to investigate on your own, weren't you?" and then continued before Ed could frame an answer. "Don't you think that is a little dangerous? I mean, calling attention to yourself like that? Suppose whoever did this to you was there or was watching you?"

With a snort of self-derision, Ed broke eye contact and looked away. "Don't worry about it. I didn't get very far with it and besides, I am not going back there. No point in it."

"Oh," Veronica repeated. "Okay. Something obviously didn't go as you hoped. What happened? Oh, and please start at the beginning. However did you come up with this notion?"

"Stupidity and coincidence," he replied. "I was clearing out my home office - tossing coupons and flyers and such that I never used. . . "

 

Chapter 11: Non-productive Inquiries

The embossed black envelope felt almost hot in his hands as he again read the note that had been enclosed in it.

"You are cordially invited to attend

a social Munch.

Food and non-alcoholic drink

provided by The Black Rose.

This is a non-play event, but

public-courteous costuming is permitted.

Come and meet like-minded folks

in a low-stress, friendly

environment."

The time and place of the meeting were printed on the back of the card, but it was the date that had Ed transfixed. The munch was that very afternoon.

He'd gotten the invitation because he had never cancelled his membership in the Black Rose, even after his experiences of last fall. His first reaction had been to trash the thing, but then had thought differently. Whoever had set him up had used Mary's contacts to do it, and she had as much admitted that some of those contacts were in the Black Rose. If he could find out who those people were, that might be step one in finding the truth . . . without acquiescing to Mary's demand that he become Edie again.

Maybe, just maybe, if he made some progress on his own, he could convince her to work with him on a more. . . equal footing.

Considered that way, attending the munch suddenly seemed like an excellent notion.

A few hours later, Ed showed his invitation to a greeter stationed at the entrance of the small, downtown-hotel meeting room the Black Rose used for munches and other public get-togethers. He was waved through the door. after only a momentary glance at his pass. Inside, Ed saw that there were about fifty other people in attendance - mostly clustered into small groups, chatting over sodas and chips.

The first thing he noticed was that some of the attendees had a more liberal definition of 'public-courteous costuming' than he did. Most were wearing some type of leather, if only a vest or a bomber jacket. Two of the women were wearing latex skirts. Dangerously high-heels, either shoes or boots were also common. There was one person, in particular, who wore platformed heels that made her appear a good seven inches taller, and she wasn't short to begin with.

All in all, Ed's own selection of jeans, western-styled leather boots and a white T-shirt, accessorized with a leather bracelet, seemed tame by comparison. He couldn't quite help wondering, however, about the man and the woman who both still wore the trench coats they'd been wearing when they arrived.

In any event, that more-liberal interpretation of the dress code probably contributed to the dynamic of this group. Ed had attended munches in the past, but those had been evening affairs, and had been held in the public areas of local bars. Open-to-the-public bars had patrons who might be offended were the munchers to get a little carried away and start a little impromptu D/s play. Upset patrons meant upset bar owners, who would then express their unhappiness by not permitting the munchers to gather at their establishment in the future.

Therefore, the hosts of those more-public events had always kept a pretty tight rein on any extracurricular activities at those parties. However, Ed realized, this gathering ceased being strictly public once one was past the final door. This munch was a by-invitation-only affair, and ergo sum, there was a generally accepted presumption that every attendee knew what the get-together was really all about.

Which meant that the goings-on could safely become a good deal more free-wheeling than Ed had anticipated when he'd decided to attend. In one corner of the room, there was a woman kneeling beside a man, her head resting in his lap while he sipped a drink, while at the makeshift bar, another woman, this one comfortably seated astride a man's back, animatedly discussed some point with yet another woman. As Ed moved to the buffet, he saw a man being led through the room by another man, the first fellow's necktie disappearing inside the second's pants-fly and serving nicely as a leash.

A sense of unreality began to tickle at Ed. This wasn't what he'd expected when he'd decided to attend. This munch was much more. . .blatant, and yet, the tone of the gathering was not really unpleasant. The attendees were obviously having fun being together and sharing their little jokes and games together. It was also clear that they all knew each other rather well. Few, if any of those joining the little groups seemed to need introductions, as people inquired after family, mutual friends, acquaintances and recent activities. That those inquiries were heavily weighted toward scene-related people and activities did nothing to diminish the friendly intimacy of those exchanges.

Which was the problem, Ed reflected. They did not know him any better than he knew any of them. For all his social graces and business skills, he couldn't just slip into one of those groups and offer up an observation about someone or some recent experience. That had been a big part of his problem letting go in the scene Pre-Marquesa. In this area of his life, Ed was almost painfully shy. Admitting to himself that he'd had sufficient interest to attend that first munch months ago had taken a great deal of soul-searching on his part - and nothing had happened in his life to change that intrinsic shyness.

Which made the impulsive decision to attend this function in the hope of finding out who knew something - anything - about his situation no longer seem to be such a great idea. He simply had no clue of how to broach the subject with these people. He could just see himself going up to one of those groups and saying, "Hi there, my name is Ed. You don't happen to know anyone who does kidnaping scenes by contract, do you?" Or perhaps, "Excuse me. My name is Ed. You didn't happen to help someone kidnap me a few months ago, did you?"

Yeah. Right. Like that would go over well.

He was trying to decide if there were anything to be salvaged from this wild hair when he realized that his non-participation and lurking were started to draw attention. The young man who was serving as his lady's seat had been trying to make eye-contact with Ed for some time. When he did, however, all he did was smile rather encouragingly and make a beckoning motion with his head. Ed was trying to decide whether he would when someone behind him shouted, "You don't think they're both. . .?"

What they both were or were not was left unsaid, but when Ed turned in the direction of the sound, he saw that the 'they' were the still-trench-coated man and the woman he'd seen earlier. A group had gathered around the pair. Ed noticed for the first time that each was accompanied by a partner of the opposite sex - and that both coated persons were also keeping their hands firmly in their respective coat's pockets.

"Aw c'mon, Angie, let us see." one of the gathered guests, a dramatically made-up blonde holding the hand of the very tall woman wheedled. "No one will mind, will we?" she then asked to the growing crowd.

The woman accompanying the be-coated man, evidently Angie, Ed decided, demurred. "Now you know that I can't do that, Hilary," she said in a teasing, sing-song voice. "Why, if he IS as you think, then I might be thrown out for violating people's private space at a munch, and if he isn't, why, you'd think I was getting soft on the old dear."

"What about you, Jeff? Surely you'll show us your cute little slave's goodies?" the woman called Hilary pounced on the partner of the coated woman.

"You know the rules, Hil, only in secured spaces at a Rose event.

"Secured, huh?" the woman growled as she spun on her heel to look at the little meeting room's only door. By happenstance, Ed was at that very moment, standing in front of that door. "YOU there," the woman ordered, "Don't let anyone in or out of here until I tell you otherwise."

For a moment, Ed didn't understand. He looked around to see to whom the woman was speaking, finding no one but himself within her target zone. When he looked back, Hilary's voluptuous hips were sauntering jauntily as she seemed almost to stalk him. Their regular, fluid swing caused highlights to dance across her painted-on leather jeans and red spandex top, highlights that were remarkably stable on an unnaturally small waist between the lush curves of her bosom and hips. Ed was trying not to let his eyes become captured by the cleavage so flamboyantly celebrated by the low-cut top, when his head was captured by surprisingly powerful arms that wrapped themselves tightly around his neck. A heartbeat later, the woman was simply ravaging his mouth with hers.

The kiss was unlike anything Ed had ever experienced. He felt his head begin to swim, whether from her feminine power or hypoxia, he wasn't really sure. Finally, she released the kiss, letting him up for badly-needed air. Full, blood-red lips curled up into a feral smile, and Hilary purred throatily into his wide eyes, "Now do I have your attention? I see I do," she nodded. "NOW, put that pretty little tush in front of that door and don't let anyone in or out until I say so. Got that, cutie?"

Momentarily at a loss, Ed finally nodded. "ummm. . .Okay."

Hilary gave Ed one last hard look, almost said something more, but decided not to and turned back to the two couples. "Okay, you two. The room is secure so it's put-up-or-shut-up time. Anyone who doesn't want to know, turn your backs and stick your fingers in your dainty ears."

Angie and Jeff grinned wickedly, first at each other and then at their individual partners. Almost as if they'd rehearsed it, the two dominants undid their submissive's belts and began unbuttoning the heavy coats, careful not to let the garments come open as they did.

"On the count of three?" Jeff asked when they'd completed the unbuttoning and stepped behind their partners, still keeping the coats closed. The movement required for that was rather complicated, Ed thought idly.

Angie's answer was a "ONE!" which was answered by Jeff's equally fervent "TWO". Both dominants, and every other observer finished with "THREE!" whereupon the lapels were pulled back and away from the still nameless submissives.

Whatever Hilary had wanted to know if both were, Ed didn't know. What he did know now was why the two dominants had been concerned about security. The woman was essentially nude under her coat, with only thigh-high hose and heels to cover her.

On the other hand, the man was somewhat more extensively outfitted, if not at all covered. A pair of knee-high trouser-legs held in place by elastic garters gave the appearance of normalcy beneath his calf-length coat and if one didn't look too closely, over a pair of platform-heeled boots that were only a little out of place on a male. Except that he was also decked out in a frilly bra and crotchless panty set, a waspie waist-nipper corset and a pair of black, seamed stockings. The image was completed when Angie reached down and jerked on the leggings, which came away in a loud rip of velcro.

And both submissives were restrained, as well. The inner pockets of the coats had been removed and each wore a pair of steel cuff-restraints about their wrists. The man's restraints connected to two thick leather straps that ran around his hips, behind his back where they met and split the cheeks of his bottom. The combined strap then fed between his legs where it snap-linked to a strange metal cuff-like affair that was locked about the root of the semi-erect male organ poking through the open crotch of his panties.

Ed heard Hilary ask, "Kali's Teeth Bracelet?" as she closely examined the device with evident relish. Angie's only answer was a grin as she exhibited a small gold key dangling from a pendant chain about her neck. "I wondered why he was so careful not to move those arms. Lovely job."

The woman's restraints were just as involved, and certainly no less restrictive. Her wristcuffs were attached to chains that ran from her pierced nipples to her equally perforated labia.

"Bravo!" Hilary cheered, raising her cup in toast to the two proudly grinning dominants.

An eerie sensation of deja vu swept over Ed, taking him back to one of the most trying scenes he'd endured at La Marquesa's island. It too had been an unveiling - one done to him during his period of 'maid-training'. The all-too-vivid memories washed over him as the revelers and the meeting room faded, to be replaced in his mind's eye by three women in another, far more ornately decorated woman's salon.

'Edie' was rigged out in a classic French Maid's ensemble - black satin mini-dress, white apron and flirty little hat, black silk seamed stockings and nose-bleed heels. The restrictive clothing effectively hobbled the cross-dressed man and greatly limited any threat he might pose to the three women he was ostensibly there to serve. Additionally, La Marquesa and the Hispanic woman who called herself Dona Isabella each had one of those damned remote control devices that could put him writhing on the floor at their least whim.

The third woman, however, had been a completely unknown quantity. A black woman who spoke with the liquid tones and broad vowels of the Carribean, she had also been big! Not overweight - just big in every way. She'd stood nearly a head taller than Ed, even in Edie's four-plus inch heels. Her body had been feminine and shapely, but in the way of a sprinter or other power-athlete - kind of like a very tall Florence Griffith-Joyner. He'd been ordered to call her Mistress Shamara.

Ed, or rather Edie, had done her very best to comply with all of La Marquesa's rules and orders that night - had obeyed every command with alacrity and with as much good grace as she'd been able to dredge up.

Why? Because La Marquesa's last word before their 'unexpected guest' had arrived had been a threat - a rather vague, ill-defined threat to be sure, but after Edie's recent experiences with that woman, all the more fearsome for those very reasons. All Edie had known was that "If my guest figures out that you are anything other than a sweet, happy little FEMALE slave, you will dearly regret that. Trust me, your treatment to this point will pale in comparison to what I have planned should you fail this simple little test."

The shoe had dropped about two hours after the party had started - just when it had appeared to be breaking up. The three women had just begun to shift about, looking as if they were about to say their good-byes. Edie had almost begun to believe that [a] - Mistress Shamarra hadn't already known *Ed's* true gender, and [b] - that the evening just might even end on that positive note.

Almost, until Shamarra's full lips had bowed into a mischievous grin and asked La Marquesa, "So, are we about ready to put this mon out of his miseries?"

"Mon? You mean *man*?" La Marquesa had asked with exaggerated and patently false confusion. "What *man*, darling?"

Instead of answering, Shamarra had merely strode over to a now-terrified Edie, forcibly grabbed the lapels of her fragile little uniform and then literally ripped the dress open from collar to hem. The too-tight garment had gaped open, revealing Ed's chastised male-parts - a stark contrast to Edie's overtly feminine self. "That mon," Shamarra had said, gripping Ed's penis tightly enough to make his knees go weak.

"Edie, I *told* you NOT to let her know you were . . . gender-deprived," La Marquesa had said severely, even as she reached beneath a nearby cushion. "Obviously you need more intense training in the art of appearing feminine."

A cold dread had washed over Ed as Isabella came over to cuff his wrists whereupon she and Shamarra had led him to an overstuffed chair and bent him forward over its broad back before chaining his cuffed wrists to the floor. His first thought had been that he was in for yet another whipping as his skirts had been flipped up over his back, baring his hairless buttocks.

Until La Marquesa had stepped in front of the chair and pulled his head up by his hair, bringing him face-to-face with the strap-on that now sprouted from the apex of her shapely thighs. "Perhaps after you are used like a woman sexually you will finally learn. Isabella? Shamarra? Prepare her!"

Strong hands had pulled the suddenly clenching cheeks of Ed's bottom a part and a cool, slick wetness introduced as La Marquesa disappeared from his field of view and something blunt began to prod at him. . there . . . .

"WAKE UP!" a sharp, feminine demand broke through Ed's reveries and brought his mind back to the present with a vengeance. His eyes refocused on the Black Rose event scene, and in particular, on the woman once again standing directly in front of him. Hilary had returned, and from the look of her, had evidently been trying to get his attention for more time than she thought necessary.

"Do you always fall asleep with your eyes open, pretty boy??" she demanded, one finely manicured nail lifting his chin. "I think you lack for manners, sweet-cheeks."

Ed swallowed hard, his reactions still affected by the memories of another scene and another domineering woman. "Yes, ma'am," he managed to choke out, his eyes dropping reflexively.

She smiled - actually it was more an evil little leer, a turn of her lip that sneered even as it showed an amusement her victim could not share. That is, until you noticed the dance of real humor in her eyes - an invitation to the game, a challenge to a contest that she felt both could win.

That touch of humor where none had been expected brought Ed up short, and he quickly reassessed the woman before him. She was of what is politely called, 'mature years,' - mid-to-late forties insofar as Ed could tell - and possessed of a lush, womanly body that stopped just short of 'plump'. She was of average height, and she had eschewed wearing excessively high heels so the top of her head barely came up to Ed's eyes. At this close range, the dramatic makeup that had first caught his eye didn't quite hide the tiny laugh-wrinkles at the corners of her deep-blue eyes, while the ash-blonde hair was just a bit too uniform in color to be natural. However, those factors in no way reduced her impact on his sensibilities. This was a woman confident in the power of her essential womanliness, and who was not afraid to exercise that power.

"That's better," she said approvingly. "Too bad you didn't get that honorific right the first time, though. I guess I'll have to see what I can do about teaching you some manners, when I feel like spending the time."

She stepped back to give Ed a more thorough inspection of her own, thoroughly enjoying both the exercise of her dominance and his discomfiture as she did. "Yes, you might almost be worth the time," she said as much to herself as to him. "You've got good bones, honey. Nice cheeks, too - both sets - great eyes, and that nose is just. . . purrrrrfect." Hilary moaned huskily, deep in her throat sending shivers down Ed's spine. "Wouldn't I just love to see you in a satiny little maid's outfit. Wouldn't you like that, too, cutie? Bet you would. . . Just like my darling hubbie, Willimena over there," she gestured to the unusually tall woman who raised 'her' drink in toast to Hilary.

Ed shook his head and began edging backwards toward the door. "You didn't answer my question, darling," Hilary persisted. "Wouldn't you just love to be my sissy-maid?"

*ANOTHER woman who wants me in skirts??!?* was all his mind could register even as the urge for flight became near overwhelming. "I. . .I. . I. . have-to-leave," Ed blurted as he spun about to open the door and bolt for the safety of the 'public world' without a backward look.

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

"So you can see," he finished, his eyes averted from Veronica's, "I am not going to be welcome in that setting again and after the way I ran, I'll be remembered for a long, long time. That bridge isn't just burned, it is well and truly reduced to ashes."

"Good advertising execs are supposed to be a bit more objective and a little less overly dramatic than that, Ed," Veronica said lightly. "But I agree that you will be remembered."

 

Chapter 12: Progress Reviews

"Well, I'm not sufficiently well-integrated into their group to get the answers I need. No way they would trust me that far. I just don't know any of their members well enough," Ed concluded glumly.

"Actually, you do," his guest put in softly.

"You mean Mary?" Ed asked sardonically. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to work."

"Well, Mary does have connections at Black Rose. I checked," Veronica agreed blandly, then grinned at Ed's startled look. "But she's not the only person you know who is a member."

"You're in Black Rose? I never saw you at any function, and trust me, I would have noticed you!"

"I'm actually rather active in the group, although in a very discreet way. That's how I knew you were exploring the scene, by the way. I'm on the membership committee. I simply made sure that our paths never crossed at any group functions until I was sure you'd made up your mind about what you wanted from us."

Struggling to assimilate this, Ed could only mutter, "I see."

"Maybe, but I really doubt that," Veronica said quietly. "Ed, you were right about the Black Rose. The folks there might open up with Mary, or with someone else they knew well and therefore, trusted, but I agree that you're too new. And as a newbie, you're going to stand out if you go to any functions alone, which is the last thing you want. I really think you'd be better off leaving this to Mary."

Ed sighed. "I wish I could, but Mary is still too much an unknown quantity to me, Veronica. Except for my experience as her prisoner, that is. That causes me two problems. First, I *do* know that Mary is a ruthless woman, and when she does find out who did this, she is going to do something about it. I need to know that whatever that 'something' is, that it is 'something' I can live with."

"You said 'two problems'," Veronica prompted when Ed became silent.

"I need to know who did this so I can understand why they did it, and I am not sure that Mary will feel any compunction about simply disappearing again without sharing any answers she uncovers with me."

"So, we're back to you wanting to be involved in the investigation again," the slim redhead observed steadily.

They both grew thoughtfully silent. After several minutes, Veronica exhaled heavily. "I will probably regret this, but you do have another way to go 'undercover', Ed. You could go with me."

"With you? I never considered that," Ed observed, perking up at the idea.

"Obviously," Veronica said drily. "However, before we go any further down that line of discussion, let's recognize that there is a potential problem with that solution," she said more guardedly, "because Mary and I are quite similar in some ways."

"But you're not Mary. You're my friend," Ed protested.

"I am," she agreed firmly, "but I am also exclusively a domme in the Black Rose, Ed - in other words, I don't switch, okay? If you come with me, you would be conspicuous - too conspicuous for your purposes - in any other role than as my submissive."

Ed considered her words carefully. "As your sub? Why does it sound like there's more to that than you're saying?"

Suddenly visibly tense, Veronica stood up and began to pace about Ed's living room. "This is probably as good a time as any to explain about the Sisterhood, and also, about Mistress Verita, the Lady of Truth."

"Verita? That's what Mary calls you," Ed observed, every sense suddenly sharply alert. "And it always makes you, I don't know, sort of close up when she does it."

"It's not something I am ashamed of, but neither is it something to bandy about in. . .well, uninitiated company." Veronica seemed to shake herself and then came back to her seat. "I was going to tell you all this yesterday, but we never got that far. You know about my family history, don't you? I mean, it is not a secret."

"That you are the oldest of several kids from a relatively poor situation?" Ed asked. "Sure. I've met your younger brothers a year or so ago during the holidays. They bragged on you whenever they got the chance - how you worked your way through Tulane and then made sure that each of them got their own chance at a college education."

"They're prejudiced," Veronica replied, a fond, almost maternal smile momentarily softening her face, "But that is essentially the truth of it. I'd won some scholarships and qualified for some loans, but those only barely covered tuition and books. Tulane is expensive and I didn't have nearly enough money to live on. I still had to work to pay for my living expenses, and flipping burgers at Mickey-D's or waitressing at some nightclub in a tight skirt and too-high heels wasn't cutting it. Then I found. . . another way."

"Mistress Verita?"

Veronica put down her fork and pushed her plate aside. "Yes. Another girl I knew was . . . working and she knew I was struggling - badly enough that I might be open to something unconventional. She needed an assistant for a special client. I am not unattractive, and besides, I had a special skill she needed."

"Special skill?"

"One of the things I tried along the way was selling Avon products door-to-door. They've got a fairly intensive product-use training program for their sales staff and I went through that. As it turned out, I made quite a bit of money that way, but the hours were terrible. I ended up having to give it up to save my grades."

"You're good with cosmetics," Ed stated, having put it together.

"Very good with them," she said with no hesitation. "It's the same kind of creative talent that I use now at work. Sort of an artist's vision of how someone or something - some product - can be made to look better, combined with the manual dexterity to make that vision happen for real. Anyway, this girl offered me enough money to pay my overdue rent for just a couple of nights work. It meant dressing. . . provocatively, but not much more revealing than what waitresses wear down in the French Quarter. The scenes went well, and the customer - well, it became customers - were pleased."

"She was a dominatrix, then? A professional, too?" Ed found himself fascinated by this heretofore undiscovered facet of his boss.

Veronica nodded. "She was, and it turned out I had a talent for dominance myself," she grinned, "Not to mention a taste for being in charge, too. Comes with being the oldest sibling, I guess. Anyway, I was soon working two or three nights a week, maybe a weekend day at her dungeon - first as her assistant, and later on my own under the same boss as my friend. Great lady. I doubt I would have graduated if it hadn't been for Mistress Saffron. Care to guess what my specialty was?"

"Cosmetics skill and a dominant bent? Throw in your quick recognition of my feminized mannerisms last fall and I'd have to guess you were known for petticoat discipline and forced cross dressing."

"Yep, got it the first time" she said. "My professional name ultimately became Mistress Verita. I was billed as the Lady of Truth."

"I see," Ed said almost to himself. "Verite is French for truth, isn't it? Is that where Verita came from?"

"Right. At first, I went by Mistress Ronnie, but then I found my niche in the scene and got the idea for my professional name from just that association you just made. 'Find your feminine truth hidden inside your masculine shell!' was the catch-phrase on my business cards. Oh, I did other types of scene, too. Mistress Saffron insisted that I learn how to handle myself in a variety of situations so that I wouldn't be limited and so that she could make sure I got enough work - enough money. Some of those other games were fun, some weren't, but they all helped to pay the bills. I graduated without any debt and enough ready capital to set myself up here."

"And you liked doing the forced femme stuff? Enjoyed it personally, I mean?"

Veronica looked at him steadily, her eyes never wavering. "Yes, I did. . . still do, in fact, although I'm very careful about with whom I play now, and in fact, I haven't done much of it since I left New Orleans. That's one reason I was so careful to avoid running into you when you joined Black Rose."

"I see."

Veronica resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the disbelieving tone of voice Ed had used, and kept her eyes fixed on his. "I'm sure you have some bad associations with forced cross dressing, Ed, but it can be a lot of fun."

"That's a concept I find more than a little hard to get around right now, Veronica."

"I can understand that, Ed, but it was the non-consensuality of your experience that was bad for you, not the experience in and of itself. Not really. I mean, think about it this way. Wouldn't you feel this negativity about whatever in the scene originally attracted you, had THAT been the focus of your experience with La Marquesa?"

Ed didn't answer right away. "I guess that's true," he finally admitted. "But forced femme was never really part of my fantasies to begin with."

"I, ah, wouldn't be so sure of that, Ed, dear. We've never discussed just why you DID join Black Rose, but it's clear you aren't a dominant. We don't have to go into just what you were looking for, but one day we really should discuss it. Just accept for now that for some men - for many of the male submissives in Black Rose, in fact - forced femme IS one of their main fantasies, and trust me, my playmates have always enjoyed their experiences with me."

Ed closed up again, and Veronica contented herself to let the silence continue this time. In truth, she needed the respite herself, as the confrontation was pulling at her own emotions. She just could not let them show - not yet, anyway.

"That's how you became one of those Sisters? Like Mary? Because you were a professional dominatrix?"

"In a roundabout sort of way," she replied. "Speaking of Mary, you never told me what she was doing here."

Ed grinned at the look she gave him. "She came to plead your case. Pretty effectively, too."

"Now *I* don't understand."

He gave a lift of his shoulders. "She wanted me to know that the fact that you're a Sister is a good thing - that it represents something honorable, not something bad."

"She TOLD you about the Sisters?" Veronica demanded, surprise evident in her voice. "About what that means?!?"

"No more than you did earlier at lunch yesterday," Ed replied. "You both tried to talk around it so carefully that I've concluded there must be rules about members talking to outsiders about it. Kind of a FemDom La Cosa Nostra."

"Close enough," Veronica said, chuckling softly at Ed's attempt at a joke. "Well, between the two of us dancing around that subject and your time off to think about things, have you reached any conclusions?"

Ed dropped heavily back into his own chair. "The fact you're one of those Sisters threw me for a loop, okay? And yes, because that meant you were like Mary - and she used to be my ultimate . . . ummm, bogey-woman."

"Used to be?" Veronica nearly pounced on the distinction.

He smiled ruefully, and nodded. "I won't say that I think she's on the side of the angels, but I don't see her as Satan's girl friend any longer."

Suddenly, resolution visibly ran through Ed. He even sat up straighter as he looked directly at Veronica. "And after, well, . . ." Ed found himself struggling to find just the right words. "Whatever being a Sister means, it doesn't cancel out all the things I already know about you. You've been my boss, and my friend, for years. That has to count for something. I'd already about sorted that through on my own, but Mary's intervention was the exclamation point on that revelation."

Veronica felt a moist heat prickle at her eyelids as the tightness in her chest that had bid fair to strangle her all day finally relaxed. "I . . .I see. I'm glad, Ed."

"Me, too," he said softly. "It's been, well, kind of lonely in a lot of ways lately. So many unanswered questions, you know?"

"That's one of the reasons I came here, tonight, Ed. To answer any questions I could, if you wanted those answers. Starting with Sisters and going on from there."

"Can you do that? About the Sisters, I mean?"

"As you said, there are rules," Veronica said, her voice growing stronger. "But my tongue won't burn with Hell's own fire for breaking them. Mary couldn't tell you, but I've decided that I can, and moreover, that I should. You have a right to know, I think."

"You won't get into trouble for telling?" Ed persisted. "I don't want you to lose anything by it - not for me."

She laughed gently. "No trouble. I might be asked to leave the Sisterhood, but that particular qualification is not something I need in obtaining partners any more."

"Then you don't need to tell me," Ed declared. "As I said, it can't be as important as the fact that you are who you are."

"No, I think it might help you in the long run," Veronica said firmly, and then took a deep breath. "Ed, a Sister is a woman who is a member of a group called 'The Delta of Venus'. They, or rather we, are drawn from women who are most often lifestyle or sometimes professional dominants."

Ed nodded. "The way you were both tiptoeing around the issue, I sort of figured that out. Kind of a dominatrix union, like that Coyote group for prostitutes out in Nevada?"

"Not quite," Veronica chuckled. "More like a social club, really."

"Somehow, I got the impression it was more than that."

"It is," she agreed. "Becoming a Sister is about a shared philosophy, a core set of beliefs as much as anything. Women are invited to join only after they have been found to already embrace those beliefs. It's about D&S, yes, but really, it's more about relationships and caring."

"I still don't understand, Veronica."

"I know. It's hard to explain and I've never really tried before. Look, Ed, any bimbo with a fairly nice body can squeeze herself into a leather corset and a pair of stiletto heels, swing a riding crop, and call herself a Mistress.

"To a Sister, however, that's exactly backwards. We put up with the uncomfortable clothes because it answers a need in our submissive, just as most things we do are focused on his needs, who in turn, feeds our needs. It's a symbiosis."

"But the punishments?" and Ed's tone was starkly disbelieving.

"Even punishments," Veronica affirmed. "Ed, in that, we grant our submissive partner absolution from the stress of life, taking away the responsibility that he feels is overwhelming him. We exude such feminine strength and power that any weakness he feels or perceives in himself becomes only a relative thing and not an intrinsic character flaw. Bruises heal, embarrassment wanes, but stress kills, and death is sadly forever. Our clients find it a good trade."

Ed couldn't quite keep the contempt out of his voice, "My, how noble."

Veronica sighed. "I am so sorry that your experience was . . flawed. Oh, I won't deny that I enjoy punishment sessions, too. It fulfills a need I admit I have. I *like* the feeling and the expression of the personal power that my partner surrenders to me, but that doesn't change the focus of the sessions themselves. To a Sister, the focus is on encouraging the submissive to GIVE us what we won't otherwise take."

"For, um, professionals?" Ed challenged. "They do it for pay, right? YOU did it for pay. And for just about anyone who walked in with the price of admission? It's hard to believe that you have this tight, interpersonal, emotional bond with just anyone, however willing they might be to let you be the dominant."

"Like a doctor who treats patients - who cares for patients even if they just 'walk in off the street'?" Veronica tossed back at him. "Personally, I think the analogy is appropriate. At our best, both doctors and dommes help their 'patients' at some deep level, although sometimes the price is temporary pain. Ed, I realize that might be hard for you to accept right now, and besides, your point is also sometimes valid. Toward the end of my time in New Orleans, I found that I was losing the ability to identify with just 'anyone', to form that essential person-to-person connection that helped create that emotional bond between us. Without that, I found that I could not carry through as I had anymore, and so, I quit being a professional domina. Now? I only play with those whom I do know personally and with whom I can connect personally."

Ed was trying to find something to say to that when a strange smile crossed the petite redhead's lips. "You know? That's how I became a Sister and got my pin. Mistress Saffron put me up for membership when I told her why I could no longer work for her that, for me, dominance had to be more than just a production line of bottoms to whack."

"And that pin Mary wore . . that is why you asked if she was my Mistress?"

"It is like a Phi Beta Kappa key, and prized by every Sister. And yes, I knew that pin meant she was a dominant woman, a very skilled and caring dominant woman. I knew you'd been exploring the scene to some extent and thought that you had made that connection with her."

"But if being a Sister says so much about her, why did you react, well, so negatively to her?"

Veronica became silent for several moments before answering. "As I told you, it was pretty clear you'd had an experience and that it had not been a good one. She was the first person I'd seen you with who I knew was a domina, but. . "

"But it was hard for you to reconcile that with her being a Sister."

"Exactly."

"Well, let me tell you that the experiences I had with her were no damned fun at all, regardless of her being one of your Sisters."

"Sisterhood doesn't imply gentle play, Ed. In fact, it often means they are tougher on their subs than other dommes because what they do means more to them. Recall that she thought everything she did with you was entirely within the context of that contract."

He nodded."Well, after that experience, I'm having a hard time imagining doing it again - period. I've decided that Mary is really trying to help, but she's told me I have to be willing to be Edie and I just can't get past the feeling she's screwing with me."

"She may be testing you to see how committed you are to the project," Veronica replied reflexively. Then her eyes went wide as the full import of that occurred to her. "Or she may simply be using your obvious reticence to resume that role in order to run you off. But your feelings do limit your options. Mary won't help you get inside the Black Rose, and as I said, you'd be conspicuous with me unless. . . "

Ed slouched in an exaggeratedly male manner. "You're saying that I'd have to go as Edie with you, too, aren't you?

"If you were to be with me in that environment, Ed," Veronica shrugged negligently. "That's the type of sub with whom I usually play. A guy-sub with me who is not in skirts would definitely draw a lot of attention. It would be out of character for me."

"Go.. .Gumdrops. . . . I . . .I," Ed faltered badly, reached for his drink and drained the glass.

Veronica saw there was more than disgust in his manner. She could see his hands literally shaking as he held the water glass between them. *That's fear,* she realized suddenly, *And it's fresh, too. What happened to make it so. . .so right now for him?* And then, she remembered his telling of the afternoon's events, and of his flashback to his time with Mary and her women. "Ed?" she said softly, reaching out to put a comforting hand on his shaking ones. "This isn't really about the cross-dressing, is it? This is about the. . . .the sex, isn't it?"

"You mean the rape!" Ed managed to rasp out, even as he jerked back from her touch "Yeah, it is. I can't face that again. I WON'T face that again!"

"It wouldn't have happened with Mary, Ed, if she had known the truth."

"BUT IT DID HAPPEN!" he almost roared at her. "To ME!!"

Fighting to seem unaffected, Veronica merely nodded. "Yes, it did happen to you. However, there is one thing you must take into consideration as you think about your options in this."

"What?!?" and there was a world of petulance and other, darker emotions crammed into that single word question.

"It will never happen to you when. . . if you are with me, or with anyone else when you're with me. I have never taken what a sub wasn't willing or able to give freely. I don't WANT what a sub cannot give freely. I am a SISTER!"

With that pronouncement, Veronica picked up Ed's glass and walked into the kitchen to refill it. She returned to find him staring at the chair she'd vacated. Handing him the glass, she began to gather up her things. "You have a great deal to think about, I believe. You have more facts now than you had earlier. If you need to talk, call my cell phone anytime. I'll be here or anywhere else you name in ten minutes. okay?"

Ed looked up at her, his eyes weary, and then nodded. "Thanks, Veronica," he said softly. "I'll. . .uh. . see you Monday."

And then she left.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Tigger. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.