SoulMates Part 5 of 19 (FemDom, Romance, F/m)

Chapter 10:    Just Another Day at the Office.

Over the weekend, the pain in my backside and muscles gradually
became soreness which became discomfort. By Monday, I was just
about fully recovered, except for my usual bruising. I was not
really tender, but I was definitely colorful. 

Monique had gone out of town Saturday on a previous, weekend
engagement.  She had left word not to expect her return until
sometime after lunch.  My desk looked like a disaster area, and I
leapt at the opportunity to clear up the work that I'd left
undone on Friday. Anxiety and anticipation had affected my
efficiency more than I had realized.

Roselie was her usual bright, effective self, and between the two
of us, by noon the only work that wasn't finished was work that
required Monique's signature. Still feeling pretty good about
Friday, especially about the time after dinner, I wanted to
celebrate and took Roselie to lunch. If Monique was going to
insist on involving Roselie in our relationship, I wanted to be
on friendly and comfortable terms with her.

We went to a small restaurant on one of the side streets near the
George Washington University. Small and dark, the house specialty
was spicy Indian fare. Since the place was not overpopulated by
the 90's version of the Yuppie, we could relax, chat and enjoy
the food. 

Roselie was as enthusiastic about food as she was about
everything else. As the waiter left with our orders, I frowned at
her with mock dismay. "You might have let me choose my own
appetizer, at least."  

Roselie's blue eyes went wide in alarm. "Oh, I am sorry. I didn't
stop to think. You do like the food, don't you?  It is just that
if I ate everything I want, I would turn into a blimp. This way,
I can have tastes of everything."  Then she gave me a dark,
narrow eyed look that reminded me of Monique as Mistress. "You
ARE going to share, AREN'T you Nathan?"

Laughing, I raised my hands in surrender. "Yes, Roselie, I do
like what you ordered and I will share. In fact, it will be nice
to compare. The appetizer you ordered for me is the same one
Monique served me on Friday. I really liked her version."

"You had dinner with Mis...Monique on Friday?"  The slip was
there, but, after the incident in Monique's office, she knew I
was aware of their relationship so she pressed on. "What was it,
a late dinner after work?"

"Nope, she just invited me to dinner. It was lovely. She has a
wonderful house and the grounds are beautiful."

Roselie became pensive. "She gave you a .. tour of the whole
house?"  I wondered at the strange emphasis she put on 'whole
house', but told her that I had only seen the main floor. "Oh,
well, I am glad that your discovery of Monique's and my ....
relationship has not hurt your own with her. She really is a neat
lady." 

Conversation devolved to small talk about Roselie's family, and
her plans to go to night school and finish her degree. She tasted
everything on my plate and hers, and we ended up trading main
courses when we each found the other's more palatable. The only
down point was when I shifted in my hard wood seat to get my
wallet to pay the bill. I rocked onto the one spot that was just
the least bit tender. I grimaced and shifted back very quickly.

Roselie caught it. "Nathan, are you all right?  What's the
matter?"

I tried to smile. "Nothing, Roselie, just a muscle twinge. I will
be fine once I walk a bit."  Roselie seemed to accept that, but
looked at me for the longest time. I was really happy to sign the
credit slip and get out of there, out from under her knowing eye.

Monique was back when we arrived at the office. We said our
hellos and Roselie took the letters in for signature. I went and
sat down to clear away the afternoon's correspondence. 

The door to Monique's office opened and she stood in the doorway.
"Nathan, could you come in for a few minutes, please?"  I smiled,
picked up my paper brain and followed her into her office.

We sat and discussed the morning's work, how the weekend had gone
and her flight home. I was getting ready to leave when she
stopped me. "One more thing, Nathan. Roselie has been my
submissive for over a year now, and she was quite experienced
when she came to me. She has put together a few bits of data, and
asked me just now if you were scening with me."  I was
dumbfounded and I am sure it showed. "Yes, I can see you are
surprised. I am, too, although only by the fact that she picked
up on it so quickly. The final clue was that you could not sit
normally at lunch, so she assumes you were corrected corporally
by me, and quite severely, too.  In fact, she as much as scolded
me for being so harsh with a novice. She will pay for that one,
but I am concerned that I may have overdone. Please strip,
Nathan. I need to see what the condition of your bottom is."

I started to sputter. "Monique, that really is not necessary. I
am fine, really, I just hit a little sore spot..."  She silenced
me with her hand raised in the air.

She lowered her hand to the door lock controls. "We can do this
one way, or we can do it the other, Nathan. I," and she put
strong emphasis on the pronoun, "merely wish to ensure you are
not injured. Mistress Monique, on the other hand, may have
additional items on her agenda once she inspects that cute little
butt of yours."

Resigned, I stood, dropped my pants and turned to face away from
her. Her gasp of dismay brought me spinning back. Her face was a
mask of shock and dismay. "My God, Nathan. What did I do to you? 
How can you sit on that?"  She was out of her chair, kneeling
behind me in a flash. "Dear God, why did you let me do this?  Why
didn't you stop me?  Did I not make it clear that you are
supposed to protect yourself in these scenes?  This stuff can get
intense. I am human. I can make mistakes. And I obviously have if
you are this badly marked."

That I found strangely amusing. "Monique. You told me it was a
go-no go test. If I left, or stopped you, you told me that you
would not, could not consider me as a potential mate."

Her face fell. "I did, didn't I. God, Nathan, I never thought I
could do that kind of damage with a hairbrush, but then, I have
never spanked anyone that particular hand brush."

I pulled up my trousers. "Monique, remember please. I told that I
bruise easily and colorfully. You cannot judge my state of health
by the color of my skin. If you are going to continue this way,
you will mark me, probably every time you use something more than
your hand. Maybe even then. I am fine. I went running this
morning and am not in any pain."

"But how am I going to tell if you are getting hurt?"

"Listen to me, I guess. Hey, I am not the expert here, but I will
say one thing. I will not fail a go-no go test as long as there
is a chance for us to be together. I have promised to use the
safeword, but if you have a go-no go session, and you tell me
that using it kills any chance of an "us" in our future, well,
don't expect me to use it."

Rising to her feet, Monique moved shakily back to her seat and
sat heavily. She looked strangely small behind her executive
desk. "I see. I had not considered that aspect. We will have to
proceed slowly then, more slowly than I might otherwise, so that
we can both approach your limits with care. I certainly can't
trust the Technicolor tushie of yours."  She sat quietly. I could
almost hear her arguing with herself. "Very well. I will not
impose go-no go conditions on any further corporal play, Nathan.
I had not realized how unfair that was to you. But you will have
to ensure that you are all the more challenging for me. I need
that. You have promised me that."

"Yes, Monique, I have promised and I will keep that promise to
the best of  my ability."  Then, I grinned as I headed for the
door. "By the way, you owe me a date."

Caught off guard by the sudden subject shift, Monique nearly
giggled. "A what?  I owe you a date?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I took what you wanted, now you have to take what I
want. Fair is fair. I know it will be tough, but I expect you to
stand up under the stress."  I ducked the pencil that followed me
to the door.

Chapter 11:    The Dance Begins
    
Life began to take a pattern after that. Wednesdays became
training day. From my arrival at work, until my release from
whatever game or scene Mistress Monique had planned for my
training and edification, I was at her command. 

For her part, Monique played fairly. She always locked the doors
as she had promised, and she always gave me a chance to repair my
appearance before she unlocked them. Nothing she did during the
day was obvious or dilatory to my work performance. Sometimes, my
attention would slip from my work, thanks to some little
"reminder" she had given to me. A pink satin bow tied tightly
around my penis and testicles. Fine nylon thread tied around my
nipples, so that any movement pulled at them. Her sweet, musk-scented
panties carefully folded into my jacket pocket
handkerchief. A touch of her signature perfume dabbed behind my
ears and on the septum of my nose. Each little ploy focused my
attention on something other than my work, making me intensely
aware of her and of her affect on me.

Monique did not involve Roselie in these day long scenes, but I
am sure that she quickly twigged to Monique's games.  Certainly
by the third or fourth Wednesday, she knew what was going on. 
And she thoroughly enjoyed adding to my discomfort and insecurity
by teasing me. Scarcely veiled innuendoes, a delicate sniff at
the air behind me as I walked by her desk, or a compliment on
that "marvelous new .... aftershave or cologne" greeted me any
time I'd emerge from Monique's office following a workday mini-scene.
I began to wonder if this constant teasing was Monique's
chosen method to involve Roselie, subtly in her games. Whatever
the reason for them, I began to dread Roselie's little inputs and
asides nearly as much as I dreaded waiting for the door locks to
snap shut behind me in Monique's office.

One game that became a regular aspect of the Wednesday training
ritual was the "Panty of the Week" contest. Every week, I was
ordered to shop for a new panty to wear for Mistress Monique's
delectation. I was ordered to always buy two, one for me and one
for her. I would present hers, suitably gift-wrapped, of course,
after the morning business had been cleared away. The doors would
lock, so that I could safely model my own pair for Mistress's
inspection. 

While moving around the office in a parody of a fashion model's
strut, I was required to describe, in embarrassing detail, what
had drawn me to that particular pair of panties, how they felt to
wear, and how badly I wanted to see them on Mistress Monique.

If she liked the look of them herself, and if my descriptions
were acceptable to her (I soon learned the more erotically and
enthusiastically I described my reactions to the panties, my
sensations wearing them and my fantasies of her in them, the
better), then she would open the package, and hand the panties to
me. Then, I was permitted to kneel in front of her, and to slide
the panties up her long, stockinged legs. 

If she did not like the offering, or if she deemed my
descriptions inadequate, then the package and the pair I was
wearing went into the trash. Immediately. And we would both spend
the remainder of the day bare beneath our outerwear. Of course,
that was not the end of it. I was given (what I learned to be)
mild hand spankings, on an hourly schedule, throughout the
remainder of the workday. Mistress did not want her slave
catching a chill from being underdressed.

The sessions on Wednesday evenings were imaginative and varied.
Monique loves to tease, and hugely enjoys making me blush like a
teenager. She loves seeing me flush with embarrassment, loves
hearing me stammer as she eggs me on. 

Once, at dusk, she sent me outside, in the nude, and told me to
get her mail for her. Her mailbox was at the highway entrance to
her driveway. I was a six foot tall, panting and sweating blush
when I made it back to the relative safety of her house.

I learned that Monique absolutely loves being pampered. She saw
to it that I learned skin and hair care, as well as the art of
giving long, sensuous foot massages and pedicures. I attended her
in her bath and prepared her favorite special foods and drinks.
All told, I became quite the proficient lady's maid, and to be
honest, loved it. Caring for her in these delightfully intimate
ways, making her feel special were and are very masculinity
affirming acts for me. In my opinion, a real man is one who makes
one very special woman feel cherished and loved. One thing to be
said in favor of a D/s relationship with the woman you intend to
marry, is that the woman gets the chance to ensure you know what
she likes and how she likes it.

Not all of the sessions and games went as she planned. Some fell
completely flat. One time, her teasing backfired when she tried
to needle me about one of my responses to her infernal
questionnaire. "Don't you think you are little old to play with
yourself, Mr. Evans. I mean, you are a fairly good looking man,
and you earn a decent wage. Can't you find yourself a nice woman
to relieve your urges?  I mean, really,"  Her eyebrow rose in
simulated amazement. "You masturbate THAT many times, on average,
a week?"  She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Really,
what a waste. What do you have to say for yourself, sir?"

In hindsight, I know that I was supposed to fumble around and
mumble in embarrassment at this "flaw" in my character and
maturity. The climax of the play would have involved me
"demonstrating my technique" to the accompaniment of her teasing
comments, critique and directions. It did not work that way. 

I regarded her for a long time, saying nothing. I even considered
safewording the whole thing, but thought better of it. She would
not have understood if I did not try to explain. She might even
have decided that I was TOO embarrassed by the topic, as opposed
to how I really felt about it. I had promised her honesty.
"Mistress, masturbation is safe, it is clean and it is relaxing.
I don't have to go to some hole in the wall pickup bar or to a
prostitute, and put my life and health in danger to do it or to
reap its benefits. It is lonely, true. It is also emotionally
unsatisfying. But I don't have to put myself at risk to do it." 
I considered stopping with that on the table, but decided she
would get the whole shot. I looked up from my kneeling position
to see that she was no longer smiling.

"Mistress, have you ever known anyone who has contracted HIV, or
died from AIDS?"  She shook her head slowly her eyes never
leaving mine. "I have. A wonderful man, a giving man. He was a
teacher. He had so much to give the world, and now, he is gone." 
Tears formed in my eyes. "I know he died of AIDS related
infections. I don't know how he contracted the virus. He might
have been unlucky on a transfusion for all I know, but that is
what is out there, for the unwary. A long, slow lingering death
that wastes human potential. Masturbation does not embarrass me,
Mistress, and I freely admit to doing it, quite often in fact.
The waste of a single human life saddens and sickens me."  I
became silent then, not much interested in what happened next.
Neither of us mentioned that I had looked up at her without
permission. 

That scene ended soon afterwards. We tried to regain a semblance
of playfulness, but neither of us were much in the mood for any
more that night. Looking back, however, that was the evening when
I saw how wonderful life could be with Monique, when she showed
me her compassion as well as her strength.  Monique would not let
me leave that night. Instead, she kept me with her the whole
night and simply held me into the early hours of the morning.
Throughout that evening, she quietly shared my loss and sorrow,
as I remembered my friend.

Chapter 12:    A Step Too Far

Over those first few months, we learned together, what we could
and could not do within the constraints of our personal and
professional lives. For my part, I did my level best to keep my
word, to answer her challenges and to provide her scope to test
her skills. I did use the safeword during those early weeks,
twice in fact. In each case, her enthusiasm for paddle games took
me beyond what I could cope with, beyond where I felt safe.  In
each case, as she had promised, Monique stopped the session
immediately, and brought me back. 

The first time she took me to my codeword was the Friday before
the Memorial Day Weekend. She spent the whole three day weekend
with me, coddling me and praising me. The attention she gave me
almost made it worthwhile, and Tuesday, I was able to go to work
and function without too much loss of efficiency. 

The second time, however, was during one of the Wednesday night
training periods. In hindsight, it went too far. I should have
safeworded sooner, she should have backed off sooner. Neither of
us did and it was uncomfortable in more than just physical ways
when we parted that night. Neither of us took much positive from
that evening to bed that night. Endorphins kicking in from the
session or adrenalin from the anger that I felt got me home that
night, but nothing was going to get me into a car seat the next
day. I took the bus to the Metro Station and then the subway to
work, standing the entire trip. 

Roselie saw immediately that I was hurting. She could not miss
it. My hip and buttock muscles had stiffened up badly on the
train and bus. The walk to the office from the station had been
hell. Pure feminine fury radiated from Roselie as she watched me
shuffle toward my office. She opened her mouth to say something
fierce, and I spoke first. "Don't do it."  I ordered as I opened
my door. "Let it be. Remember what happened last time you
intervened."  Roselie had gotten a thorough paddling the day she
upbraided Monique for my go-no go first spanking. I did not want
a repetition over this, particularly with Monique's mood over
last night uncertain. "I will be okay. I just need to loosen up a
bit."

Roselie's eyes were black. "It was that damn sorority paddle of
hers, wasn't it?  She knows better. And you, I bet you did not
even safeword her, did you?  And HOW, may I be so bold to ask, do
you expect to work today?"

My smile was rueful. "Not soon enough, anyway. Let it be,
Roselie. What is done is done and I will know better next time." 
I chose to try and ignore her last question because I did not
know the answer. My one hope was for a nice quiet day.
"Next time?  NEXT time??  What about her??  Why shouldn't she
know exactly how far beyond she went so SHE will know better next
time."

"Enough, Roselie. I said I will be all right."  I headed into my
office, trying to end the exchange.

A sniff of haughty disgust followed me. "She knows better, and
you can be damn sure that I am going to be a lot quicker with the
safeword until she gets this out of her system and gets her sense
of control back."

I closed the door, finally putting an end to it and closing out
the world. I wished I could lock the doors to my office, but only
Monique's office had locks, and those locks only worked from her
side of the door. 

My second gross error of the day (the first being the decision to
go to work and spare Monique's feelings) was trying to sit down.
I could not take the pressure of my weight on my behind. Standing
back up was even less pleasant. Pain stiffened muscles screamed
as I pulled myself back to my feet and forced my legs straight. I
had to work standing. Hell, I had to stay standing. And, I would
have to avoid spending time with Monique. I would also do what I
should have done when I awoke and call in sick the next day.

Avoiding Monique was not to be. The Chief Operations Officer of
the company called Monique. He had been away during the most
recent briefing to the Board of Directors, but, since everyone
had been so impressed with me and my brief, the COO wanted to
hear it for himself. From me. Today. Monique came, unannounced,
into my office to tell me the good news of such a feather in my
professional hat, and to tell me to get ready.

Monique's smile of pleasure for me died the instant she really
looked at me saw me try to move. "What is the matter with you?"  

Roselie had come into my office to see what the commotion was
about and looked at Monique in utter disbelief. "My god, Monique.
You did it to him, and you are asking what is the matter with
him?  The man safewords a session with that infernal paddle of
yours and you are surprised that he can't move or sit?  You have
only been training him, for what, a couple of months?  He does
not know what he can and cannot take yet. He took way too much
last night, obviously."  Sarcasm and disgust dripped from her
words like winter icicles.

"Enough, Roselie!"  I practically snarled. I was trying to defuse
this confrontation between two friends, but Roselie was past
listening and Monique looked to be in shock.

"He would not let me tell you. He thought he could hide it from
you. You have him so damn concerned about being able to take your
worst that he is delaying his safeword. You are not taking proper
care of him, Monique. It is YOUR responsibility to protect him
while he is in your keeping."
"I said that is enough, Roselie. This is between me and Monique
and..."

"No."  Monique spoke for the first time since she had entered.
"No, Nathan, she is right. And as my submissive, she has every
right to be concerned. This.... this is a misuse and abuse of the
gift of your submission."  She shook her head. "I will have to
find a way to atone for this. However, how are you going to
possibly brief James Farquare?"

My mind was spinning. If I ever decided to advance in the
company, Farquare's sponsorship would be a real feather in my
cap. "Well, if Roselie flips the slides, I could stand at the
screen and not move around. Hide behind the podium."

Monique shook her head grimly. "Disregarding the fact that
standing in one place and not moving during a presentation is not
your style, James hates stand up briefs. He wants a lap brief, so
he can sit  across the table from you and look at you face to
face . He swears he gets more from reading the briefer than from
reading the slides."

"Well, maybe if I am seated before he gets in the room?"  

Roselie's snort of derision sounded again. "Try sitting in your
nice well cushioned chair, Nathan."  Her voice oozed saccharin
sweetness. 

I sat, stifling with great will, the inhalation at the hurt that
shot up my buttocks and thighs. It was no good.  Even with my
full concentration, I could sit still for no more than a minute
at the most. I tried to stand and fell back into the chair. My
bellow was stilled by Roselie's hand. "And how would you rise to
shake his hand, even if you could sit, Nathan?   He can't do it,
Monique."

"No, he can't. Roselie, see if you can get it rescheduled. If you
can't, I will have to give it and make apologies to James. For
now, we will say that Nathan had already gone home sick and I had
not known when I told James we were a go. Make it my fault, since
it really is. Then I want you, Roselie, to get one of the company
courtesy vans and drive this man home."  Monique whirled and
strode from the room.

The presentation could not be rescheduled. Monique was briefing
while I was resting on my tummy at home. Roselie had put an ice
bag on my tush to take down the swelling and given me some
aspirin before heading back to the office to try and help Monique
salvage the day. Reflectively, I tried to consider the positives
and the negatives of this fiasco.

The obvious downside, besides being hurt and immobile, was that
my failure (or perceived refusal) to brief Farquare could end any
chance I had for any job promotion or selection he might
influence. Which was most fast track jobs at the main corporate
offices. Farquare had a reputation as a shrewd evaluator of
talent among the other chiefs. In fact,  rumor had it that his
opinion was often solicited, if not required, prior to filling
any important managerial vacancy at the corporate offices.

But, I had not taken the job with Monique looking to advance into
the corporate hierarchy. I had taken the job to work with people
and to be with Monique, my flower lady. My position with Monique
was secure, at least for now. What would happen if I ever decided
that I could no longer play her submissive games was a question
for another day.

The bottom line was that what I wanted out of this job was not
threatened by what happened with Farquare today. In fact, if this
experience resulted in Monique taking more care, and going a
little slower, then that was a huge positive in my eyes. I really
did not want to feel like this again anytime soon.

Monique arrived shortly after six. I expected her, so I had left
the front door unlocked. I did not expect her to have company. If
I could have moved quickly enough, I would have run and hid. All
I did do, however, was stare in amazement at this intrusion,
laying on my stomach on my living room couch, my bare ass
prominently displayed.

The woman Monique brought with her was an older lady, late
forties, early fifties. Her hair was black shot with gray, her
eyes were gray and seemed kind. She was not slender, nor was she
overweight. She femininely solid, somehow, both physically and
otherwise. "Nathan, this is my friend, Jennifer Danvers. She is a
domme, but more to the point, she is a doctor. I would like you
to let her examine you."  For the first time, I noticed the black
bag the woman carried.

"You're kidding."  Not the most original of responses, I admit,
but nothing in my life prepared me for the things Monique brought
into my life. My response, as is often the case when I am
surprised, was negative. "No, thank you. I would like to be
alone, please."

Monique shook her head. "I am afraid I can't do that, Nathan. You
are hurt, and I did it. I have to know how badly and if you
require medical care. Jennifer is here, because I trust her and
because, if you do not need to go to hospital, she will see to
you without putting either of us in a professionally and
personally damaging situation."

I shook my head. "No, I am not going to submit to this, Monique.
I will be fine. Dr. Danvers, thank you for your time, but please,
just leave."

"Nathan, you do not get a choice. Either you permit Jennifer to
examine you, to see to your injuries, or I will call the police
and turn myself in for assault, and they will haul you off to the
hospital."
That shook me. "You're bluffing."  I said, not as certainly as I
would have liked.

"Try me."  Green fire blazed in her hazel eyes which I met with
even determination of my own.

A soft chuckle broke the tension of our facedown. "Children,
children, enough foolishness. Monique, go make some tea. I could
use some and I suspect your young man has not had adequate fluids
today. Mr. Evans, you will be a good boy and let me check you
over."  Her voice was softly modulated, but carried the ring of
command. Monique gave me one last glare and headed for my
kitchen. "She is worried about you, Mr. Evans. She was frantic
when she got through to me at my office. Let me make sure that
there is no lasting damage, and give you something to relieve
your discomfort."

Sure, gentle fingers touched, prodded and probed over and around
my abused buttocks. Periodically a sniff, or a "hmmm" would break
the silence as she methodically worked through her examination.
Monique came back in with a tray of tea and some sandwiches. I
was suddenly starved. "Monique, how many strokes did he take?"

"I am not sure. Obviously, too many. I'd guess maybe two dozen or
so."

I snorted. "Oh, so, Mr. Evans, how many did you take, if you do
not agree with your Lady's answer?  Did you keep track?"

"Doctor, I stopped counting at twenty five, because counting was
taking concentration I needed for other things. I may have taken
half again as many before I realized she was not going to let up
and that I could not take much more."

She nodded as she put honey into her tea. "Monique, he will be
all right. I will give him something to control the pain and to
relax the damaged muscle tissue."  She turned to me and this
time, there was steel in those gentle eyes. "You, sir, will take
my medications as I direct. No more of this stoicism. You are
injured and you will hamper your recovery if you allow the pain
to keep you from doing gentle movements."  

Monique nodded in agreement. "Oh, he will take them, all right.
If he gives me a hard time, I will bring in Roselie and we will
gang up on him."

"Monique, you have to do one of two things. Lose that paddle in
favor of something with less leverage and swing weight, or
rigidly control the number and force of the swats."  Dr. Danvers
gave a snort of disgust. "Really, Monique, this is unbelievable.
You know better than this. You told me what his goals are, and
that he is only a novice. Twelve hard strokes of that paddle of
yours is a test for many experienced, pain-loving submissives. I
would not be surprised if he decides you are not worth the
effort."

Monique nodded slowly and bowed her head. Dr. Danvers had still
not raised her voice, but she had nonetheless injected a full
measure of censure and disfavor into her words. 

Both women stared at each other for long moments before some
silent signal was given for them to relax again. They sat down
and small talk ensued. All in all, it was a rather odd feeling,
laying bare-ass naked in your living room, having afternoon tea
with two ladies. The idyll ended suddenly when I felt something
cold and wet on my bottom, followed by a sharp sting. Startled, I
craned my head to see the doctor holding an now empty hypodermic,
grinning down at me. "I could have give you this orally, but
being a bit of a sadist, I prefer needles."  Her grin was
disturbing.  I had no doubt of her words. "Besides, the
medication will get where it is needed more quickly this way, a
nice side benefit. Monique, make sure he takes two of these every
six hours for the next two days. He should be up and about by
Sunday. Call me at home if he is not."  She finished her tea and
then packed her bag. "Monique, you should expect to hear from
Sondra over this. Nathan, I hope the next time we meet is more
pleasant for us both. Perhaps you will have need of my other
specialties."  Monique nodded and hugged the doctor, thanking her
again for coming to see me. Then she left, but Monique remained.

"We came in separate cars." she answered my unvoiced question. "I
am not leaving here until we are sure you are able to move around
and take care of yourself."

"Who's Sondra?"  I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Mistress Sondra is the woman who trained me in Europe. I told
you she still keeps track of me. That was Jennifer's way of
letting me know that she would communicate this debacle of mine
to Mistress."

I was confused, now. I did not know what to make of this
revelation. "So?"

She shrugged. "So, I will be disciplined for my failure to take
proper care of you in my keeping. You are so damned strong, you
are such a determined personality, that I forget you do not know
what this is about yet, and that you are not in this for your own
pleasure."  Her voice became contemplative as she considered
that. "I have lost control with you, Nathan. I NEVER lose control
while playing. It is very strange."  She became quiet again, then
shook her head as if to clear it. "Anyway, Sondra visits me two,
three times a year. People like Jennifer keep track of me for
her. Part of every visit is an atonement. Not fun, but necessary.
It reminds me what it is like to be on the other side of the
paddle. If this is any indication, I need to be reminded."

I tried not to feel a flash of pleasure and satisfaction at the
thought of Monique paying in kind for this. I am human, and it
was there. It did not last, however. Whether I was or was not a
submissive, I had participated by my own choice, and did not
codeword early enough. I told her so, and offered to intercede
with her Mistress Sondra.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, Nathan. Jennifer was right,
you see. One reason for training is so that you learn what you
can take, so that you learn what the after effects of a scene
like last night are for you, as an individual. That way, you will
know when to say "when". What is absolutely unforgivable, is that
I could not answer the question about the number of strokes. I
don't know what you do to me, Nathan, but whatever it is, you are
the only one who ever has. I lose control with you in ways I did
not think that I could."

"I am not sure I like the distinction of that particular honor,
Monique, but maybe, it means that I can get to you in ways others
have not. Maybe, it means that we can find something special with
one another."

She kissed me, and then sat back. "I hope so, Nathan. I think we
will, too.  We already are. Hang in there, with me, Nathan. I
think you are still ahead of me in this, but I really am trying
to catch up."  I reached over and took her hand. I kissed it, and
then simply held it. She did not pull away, and we passed the
rest of the evening in companionable silence.

"What did Jennifer mean by her other specialties?  Is she a
doctor I am likely to see?"

Monique laughed, the first full bodied laugh I had heard this
day. "No, silly, she is an OB-GYN.. What she meant is her... D/S
specialties."  Her grin became wide with suppressed mirth.
"Nathan, in D/S, people use a variety of symbols. Collars to
indicate ownership, colors to indicate your sexual preferences,
markings or jewelry that may do nothing more than enhance a
person's sexuality or may have deeper, more private meetings.
Some of these symbols, if done improperly, can be hazardous or
even dangerous. Because she is a real doctor, and because she
appreciates the power of these symbols, Jennifer provides a
medically safe service to members of the D/S community. In fact,
she has a national reputation because of it."

"Well, for heavens sake, what does she do?"  

Monique looked away for a moment, then turned back to look me in
the eyes. "She brands people, Nathan, and she does specialty
piercing. She provides a sterile, safe facility for piercing of
the nipples, male and female genitalia and other body parts. One
of her "examining rooms" at her clinic is actually a mini
dungeon."

Dumbfounded, I gaped at her. "Brands?  as in.. Branding Irons and
BURNING flesh???"  She nodded solemnly. "And people do that to
one another?  To people they care about?"

"Nathan, people, female people, have babies for people they care
about. That is painful, but beyond the joy of the baby, it is a
symbol of love and commitment. Yes, these things are painful, but
the love you see in these ceremonies is wonderful to behold.
Please don't prejudge what you do not yet understand. No one is
ever branded or marked in Jennifer's care, without her absolutely
assuring herself that it is fully consensual. I have seen her
refuse to proceed for no other reason than that SHE was uncertain
of the couple's commitment."

I tried to assimilate this. I couldn't. It was just too alien,
too far outside my experience. Then, another thought crossed my
mind, and thought became word. "You don't think that I am going
to do that, do you?"  

She did not answer for the longest time. Finally, she took a deep
breath and turned huge clear eyes on me. "Nathan, one of my
fondest fantasies, my more adult version of a girlish dream, is
that my mate and I will share a mark that proclaims our mutual
commitment for the rest of our lives. Yes, I hope that we will
one day walk into her dungeon together, and walkout with brands
or permanent metal jewelry declaring our love. However, as I
said, Jennifer only does it when she is convinced all involved
are fully committed. We will only proceed after much discussion,
and only if we both want that type of symbol."  

I did not have an answer to that. She made is sound like a
wedding ring, only better because it could not be lost or thrown
away. All I thought about was time I had attended a branding at a
friend's ranch, how it smelled and how the cattle squealed. It
was not a comforting line of thought.

The medication eased the pain, and permitted me to rest. It also
knocked me cold. The weekend went quickly, amid amiable scolding
about taking my medication, bickering over what show to watch on
television and laughter. We grew closer that weekend. It may have
been the real start of the "us" I hoped to achieve. When I was
not asleep, Monique pulled out my old board games, and we dueled
for world domination with Risk, and sharpened our verbal swords
with Scrabble. 

By Sunday evening, I was able to sit and move about again.
Monique decided she wanted to go home to take care of the
absolutely necessary things before going to work the next day. I
did not want her to leave, and taking a great risk, told her so.
"I don't want to leave either, Nate, but if I stay, I will end up
in your bed tonight. I don't know if I am ready to face that. It
was only five days ago that I irresponsibly injured you doing
something that should only be for the mutual growth of us both. I
need a little distance from that, love. I need to be sure in my
heart that I am with you because that is where I want to be, and
not because I am trying to make restitution."

"I don't think that is why we'd be there, Monique-sweet."

She shook her head. "I don't think so, either, Nate, but until I
am sure of that, I am not going to dishonor what you feel, and
what I am beginning to feel by not being completely sure."  With
that, she kissed me again, and left.

After that, Wednesday sessions no longer included much in the way
of corporal play or discipline. Some spanking, maybe a cropping,
or even a paddling with Monique's new, "kinder, gentler" paddle,
but nothing severe or that stayed with me very long. 

The other side of that compromise, however, was that we agreed to
make provision for Monique to express her penchant of corporal
discipline. For that reason, we reserved one weekend every month
(and especially any three day weekends) for "special training". I
would arrive Friday night, and I would not leave until released.
That might be an hour later, or it might be Monday morning,
before work. Although the original purpose of the special
training weekend was to allow Monique to impose some fairly
severe corporal discipline, that much flexibility could not go
unexploited. As with the Wednesday disaster, after a strenuous
workout with the paddle or crop, I typically needed Saturday and
Sunday for the soreness to reach a tolerable level. I had to be
able to sit at my desk the next working day. Thus, the heavy
stuff happened early in the weekend to permit me time to recover.
>From Monique's perspective, that meant two lost days when I could
have been at her beck and call. 

She did use the first couple of special weekends for corporal,
but then, she started getting imaginative.