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From: tigger@No_Spam_alices.com
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Subject: ASF/ASS: Story - An Honor to Serve (Femdom, mild)
Date: Mon, 2 Jun 1997 22:27:40 -0400
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An Honor to Serve
by Tigger 
Copyright 1997 - All Rights Reserved


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

I have been forced to "encrypt" my return address by the autospammers.  
Please read the sig before attempting to respond to this post.


An Honor to Serve

I was again in Joyce's service, and she had scrupulously
prepared me for a very stringent corporal session.  I was
surprised my body was capable of even getting into the
position into which she had bound me.  Now, Joyce was
strutting about, talking, distracting, creating anticipation,
looking beautiful and imposing.

It's funny how things change, yet remain the same.  Just this
morning, as I made my final preparations for this visit, I had
something of a revelation.  Somehow, without my realizing it,
these "get-togethers" had become one of the few bright spots
in my life.  I don't know if that is because of the scenes or
because of how empty my life has become since. . . well, since
Kate died.

My wife, Katrina, was killed by a drunk driver while returning
home from the supermarket.  Such a senseless thing - if a
traffic light had changed one second sooner, she'd have been
clear of the intersection when the large pickup truck had
roared through.  The metallic hulk that had once been her
beloved Miata was only a couple of feet wide when I'd seen it
after identifying her body.

Joyce, one of Kate's friends, had appointed herself my
guardian angel and she was the one who had been there for me
throughout the horrible days that followed.  

I pulled as hard as I could, to no avail, at the stringent
bondage straps that held me tightly stretched over the
polished oak whipping block.  All that my futile squirming
accomplished was to shift my body around so that my bared butt
was even more prominently presented for whatever Joyce had
planned for me.

Deja vu.  It was so like what I had endured the first time I'd
met Joyce.

Yes, Joyce's and my first meeting, at the behest of my wife,
had also involved my being at this lady's not so very tender
mercies.  You see, my wife, Kate, was also the Lady Katrina,
dominant woman, and she had . . . given me to her friend,
Mistress Joyce.  Given me to be tried, to be tested and to
endure.  And in the doing of those things, I was to prove the
worth of my wife's training of me to her friend, the
professional domina.

It had been hell.  Understand, please, that until I met and
fell in love with Kate, the concept of this type of submission
was completely foreign to me.  I had been a warrior; an
officer in the Recon Marines.  I had fought in the Persian
Gulf and had led men in combat.  There was nothing remotely
"submissive" about me.

In fact, the existence and needs of the Lady Katrina had been 
major stumbling blocks in my courtship of Kate, but in the
end, my love triumphed over my fears and my false pride. 
"Husband" originally meant "care giver", and I had wanted to
serve as care giver for the entire woman.  Kate and Lady
Katrina.  Lover and dominant.

It had been anything but easy, however.  Lady Katrina's
specialty involved a lot of what she called "sensation play". 
I called it bloody painful, and I often needed several days to
recover fully from those encounters with her paddles, straps
and whips.

Joyce moved around from behind me to stand in front of me. 
She lifted her right leg to rest her booted foot on the base
of the block, directly beneath my head.  As she leaned forward
to put her weight onto that foot, the laced uppers of the
shiny ankle boot pressed up hard against my nose. Breathing
through my mouth, I recognized "those" boots.   I'd be
massaging that foot later, I mused.  Those six inch spikes
always killed her feet, but she loved the way they made her
legs look.  Just another slave to fashion, she had once told
me.

A gentle hand slithered over my sweat-slickened back, every
once in a while pausing to massage a knot here, or scratch an
itch there.  "It is time, Andrew."  her voice was soft,
caressing, loving - completely out of character for the
taunting bitch goddess of so much bad story-telling. The
petting hand moved to my head, stroking my wet hair back from
my eyes. "It is time for you to face the whip again, dear
friend.  Your safe word will stop me, of course, but I will
keep returning to this until you stop coming to me or until we
get past this mental limitation of yours."

The whip.  Lady Katrina's ultimate weapon, the tool she used
in the sessions I remember as my darkest hours in my wife's
keeping.  More than anything else, the whip most reminded me
of her and of those special moments with her.

After Kate died, I had walked away from "the scene".  After
all, that was something I had done for *Kate*, not for me.  It
had no meaning to me outside of that context, and besides,
just the thought of trying "it" again, reminded me of Kate. 
It reminded me of everything else that I had lost.  Like I
said, I was not a submissive - that was just something I did
for love of Kate, and Kate was gone.

I was wrong.  You cannot live with a woman, love a woman that
totally, learn that much about yourself from a woman, without
it changing you.  In my case, those changes were profound, and
whether they were intrinsic changes in me, or merely changes
in my perception and acceptance of myself, they were none the
less real.  I *needed* the challenge of submitting and I
*needed* the acceptance of a woman strong enough to take
possession of that submission.  A woman who was strong enough
to make my submission, and me, her own - at least for a short
moment in time, every once in a while.  When the dark need was
on me the greatest.

For that, I had sought out Joyce.  Not because she was a
professional dominant, but because she had been Kate's friend,
and because she knew more about the scene than I did.  I'd
hoped she could help me find what and who I needed.  She had
promised to introduce me around and to escort me (read that,
lead me by a leash) to some events.  

Still, nothing we tried clicked for me, until one fateful
night when Joyce herself was "showing me off" at a party, and
I found what was missing.  In front of a rapidly growing crowd
of party-goers, she had taken me to that place only Katrina
had found for me before.  That magical garden where nothing
"hurts" and all that matters is the next kiss of the strap.  I
don't know who was more surprised - Joyce or me.  Probably
Joyce because I was not rational enough at that moment to feel
surprise.

Certainly nothing in our past sessions at Kate's instigation
had indicated we could connect like that.  During those
encounters, the linkage of souls that used to shield me when
Lady Katrina took me to the edge was missing, so I had always
merely endured with Joyce.

I came back to Joyce a week or so later, to try to repeat that
party experience, and once again, it had gone well. We went
into that special place and it was good, as were all the times
after that one.  Or it had been, until that day she had first
shown me the whip she'd selected to use on me.

Without another thought, I had safeworded.  In fact, I
continued to do so throughout the next twelve months, every
time I so much as saw that whip.  Many difficult, demanding,
and yes, painful sessions came and went without even a caution
word, but just the merest glimpse of the whip hurt more than I
could stand.

Joyce had understood, and after each abortive attempt to
reintroduce me to the whip, she had cared for me and then
helped me past the memories.  Eventually, we'd end up back in
her dungeon where she would be particularly severe with me,
clearing my head of the memories at least for a few hours.

Now, the whip was back and with it, the urge to use the
safeword.  

My mouth opened. My lips and tongue moved.  The word formed,
but no sound emerged.

It was too easy, and it was unworthy of Kate's memory.  

Angrily, I snapped my mouth shut and shook my head against the
longing to stop Joyce's plans.  She was right.  I took a deep,
calming breath and closed my eyes.  "Yes, Mistress.  It is
past time to bury that ghost."

The hand on my head stilled for a moment before gripping my
hair and lifting my head.  Joyce crouched down and blue eyes
locked on my own hazel ones.  For long moments, she searched
my face, trying to read me. Then she nodded.  

"Very well, Andrew.  No anticipation, no games, then.  Lets
get this over and behind us as easily as possible given the
circumstances. I am going to give you a warm-up using the
paddle, and then, a dozen strokes of the dressage whip." 
Still holding my hair, she kissed me forcefully, ravaging my
mouth before pulling back.  "Be strong, little man.  Make us
proud of you."  She gave me another fierce kiss before
standing and striding out of my limited field of vision.

The first paddle blow landed with more noise than pain.  Joyce
was skilled and would slowly escalate the force, letting my
body's own endorphin levels build before she switched to the
heavily caned whip.  But even with the pain-killing effects of
those natural defenses, tears were streaming down my cheeks
when I heard the paddle clatter on to the table behind me.

The air behind me seemed to buzz like a swarm of maddened
bees.  Joyce was getting the "feel" of the much lighter
implement before taking aim at my tenderized cheeks with it. 
The cessation of that sound signaled that she was ready to
begin.  My gluteals tightened involuntarily as I waited for
the first line of fire to slice across my ass.

It never came.

A bell rang.  I remember thinking that a phone seemed out of
place here in the dungeon.  Joyce reacted as if she'd been
slapped.  "Omigod, only two people know that number and they
know not to call unless ..."  She left the sentence unfinished
as she ran to a wall panel and pulled out the phone.  "Yes.
.... Mom, calm down!.  .... What?  ... okay, okay.  Have you
called the police?. . . .MOM???"  A loud rattle sounded.  She
was clicking the phone latch hook.  "Disconnected." she said
aloud in fear and distress.  She hung up the phone. 

She came to me and unlocked my hands before handing me her
large ring of keys.  "Andrew, unlock yourself.  The keys are
all the identical for safety.  I just keep a ring of them for
show.  I've got to go, someone is trying to break into my
Mom's house and the phone just went dead."  She started from
the room.

"Joyce."  I yelled, "Put something else on.  I don't think the
police are going to be impressed by S&M fetish chic."  I undid
myself and found my pants, pulling them on as I ran up the
stairs from the dungeon.  I carried my shirt.  I reached the
door as Joyce did.  She was in jeans and a sweater, but still
wearing her heavy makeup.  "Joyce, we'll take my car.  You are
in no shape to drive."  We ran to the car.  I handed her my
hankie as I took the car keys from her badly shaking hands.
"Clean your face off. How do we get there?"  

Driving as fast as I dared, it took less than 10 minutes in
the light Sunday traffic to get to the little cottage house
where Joyce's Mother lived.  While en route, Joyce used my
cell phone to call the police.  Her mother had not gotten
through to them.  

Joyce's mother's home had the access ramps identifying the
place as a handicapped person's house.  The front door stood
open, the lock shattered.  I ran ahead and got through the
door ahead of Joyce.  If there was trouble, my military
training meant I was better equipped to handle it.

I saw a woman, an older, more fragile version of Joyce, on the
floor, clawing to get away as a gaunt man with long dirty hair
and a furious, spaced out look on his face stalked behind her,
cursing foully.  Her face was already starting to bruise.  

That is the last thing I remember.

"Andrew, Andrew, that's enough."  Two ringing slaps struck my
face.  "Damn it Andrew, don't kill him.  Calm down."  Joyce
was in my face.  I looked down and saw the man limp in my
hands, out cold, his nose broken.

I forced my hands to relax so he fell to the floor.  Then I
stood and stepped back away from him.  "Have the police
arrived?"  Joyce said she had called 911 again when I jumped
her Mother's intruder.  I walked over to where her mother lay
on the floor and knelt beside her.  I did a quick scan to see
if she had any obvious injuries, particularly where she could
not feel them due to whatever disability had put her in that
wheelchair.  "My name is Andrew.  I'm not going to hurt you,
okay?"  She nodded, tears streaming, her eyes huge.

"Mom, this is a very good man.  You don't have to be afraid
anymore."  Joyce added.

"Okay, Mom, I think we should leave you where you are until
the paramedics get here, in case they find something I did not
see.  Do you want some tea or a drink?" She shook her head. 
Joyce knelt beside her and held her mother, weeping with her.

The police and the paramedics arrived within seconds of each
other.  They treated Mom and then transported her and Joyce to
the Emergency Room for further tests.  Mom's assailant awoke
to claim assault, but the policeman told him to can it. 
Turned out that he was in violation of the terms of his
parole.  The officer told me they'd need a statement, but that
no charges would be brought against me.

After the police left, I drove to the hospital to see Joyce. 
I was feeling angry with myself.  I had lost it with that
slime and because of that failure, I would now have to face
Joyce's fear.  Fear of the danger I represented.

She was in the waiting room, crying softly, my hankie still
tightly clutched in her shaky hand.  I walked up to her and
suddenly had a hugful of sobbing woman. Fearing the worst, I
held on tight and asked softly "Hey, what's happened?  Is your
mother hurt?"

"No, thank God, just a little shaken up and a little shocky. 
They're going to keep her overnight for observation.  I'll
take her home tomorrow and stay with her for awhile.  A few
days, I guess.  I need a vacation anyway."  She crumpled and I
pulled her to me and let her cry.  "Damn the world, Andrew,
can't nice people find a little peace, a little happiness?"

"Aaahhh, Joyce, all you can hope for is a little love here and
there.  I think you have that.  I know I love you.  Maybe not
with the romantic fervency of a true suitor, but it's there
none the less.  I saw today that your mother has it.  Now,
stop crying, I see a nice young man coming toward us.  Lets
hear what he has to say before we do anything else."  I  could
feel the tension radiating from her, and gently pushed her
into a seat.

The young physician's news was good, and combined with the
scalp, neck and shoulder massage I treated her to, Joyce began
to relax.  "You know something, Bradshaw?" she murmured
softly.  "I never knew just how bossy you could be, given the
chance."  A wry smile lifted her lips and teasing humor
glinted in her eyes. "Don't let it go to your head, subbie."

I settled beside her on the couch and pulled her feet into my
lap.  "Wouldn't dream of it, Mistress.  Now, you lay down and
try to relax some more.  I would try to take you home, but I
figure you need to stay until the last word is out on your
Mom."  I slipped off the loafers she'd thrown on in our mad
dash out the door a couple of hours earlier. "I saw you
limping in these.  You'd have ordered me to do this for you,
anyway.  Just pretend you did."

"Smart ass."  she retorted sleepily, without a trace of
rancor.  "Should have known better to wear flats.  They're
hell on my Achilles heel.  Too many hours in my spikes, I
guess."

I grinned.  "Probably."  I agreed. "Remember what I said,
Joyce, about why I finally submitted to Kate.  The need to
take care of the whole woman.  Sometimes, even an elemental
force like you domme-types need a little tough love and a
strong shoulder to lean on.  Today, that was the most
important thing I could give you."

"Tough love and a strong shoulder." she purred as I worked out
a knot in her instep.  "Lovely thought.  And you, sir,"  her
lips kissed air in my direction, "are a lovely man."

"An honor to be of service, milady."  I responded softly.  The
only answer I got was a soft snore.  On reflection, I thought
it was the best answer I could receive. 

We left about an hour later, driving to Joyce's house in
silence.  After we settled in, I raised some issues.  "Joyce,
we need a story for the police tomorrow.  They'll want a
statement and I don't think you want to tell them what we were
doing.  It may not be illegal, per se, but it could be
uncomfortable for you.  I suggest we say I am your gentleman
friend or almost fiance."  She nodded.   I steeled myself to
do what I felt I had to do.  "After everything quiets down,
I'll leave.  You can't be comfortable around me now."

Joyce shocked, rounded on me in fury.  "And just what the hell
does that mean, Andrew Bradshaw?  Just this afternoon you say
you love  me and now you are leaving, Just when I need you and
it sounds like permanently?"

"Joyce, you can't feel safe with me.  I went berserk back
there.  I thought I had learned to shackle that beast, but I
don't even remember what happened from when I entered that
room until you called me back.  I won't put you at risk by
attending sessions when I have this capacity for mindless
violence."

Joyce went rigid, dismay and then fury lighting her wide open
eyes. Collecting herself, she strode up to me and struck me,
full in the face with the back of her hand using all of her
considerable strength.  "Not safe? *Not Safe?!?*  You damned
fool, are you going to hit me back?  Are you going to "punish"
me for daring to slap you like a little boy? Of course not and
do you know why you won't?  Is it because you're a wimp, a
submissive pantywaist?  Is it because you're afraid of me or
because you're holding yourself under strict, unbending
control?"

She paced away from me, then turned around and got right back
into my face.  "No, it's none of those reasons.  It's because
you are a gentle, generous, loving man who could not hurt
anyone unless that person was injuring another person
maliciously or thoughtlessly.  Kate knew that.  That's why she
could trust you enough to love you and to take a chance on
trying to have a normal relationship.  That's why she could
trust you enough to put you through the most strenuous
training and corrections, but know that she could have you in
her every day life without fearing reprisal. Why do you think
she could trust you enough to allow other dominants to train
you?"  

She grabbed my ears and gave me another of her "I am in
charge" kisses.  Pulling back, she looked deep into my eyes. 
"Andrew Bradshaw, I trust you with my life, with my mother's
life.  And if you stop coming here because of this, I'm coming
after you and you won't like it very much when I catch you."  

She was magnificent.  Elemental, powerful, strong; the epitome
of Woman protecting her own.  I was awed by her intensity and
by the fact that it was in my defense; that she believed in
me.  "Damn you, Andrew Bradshaw.  Do you know how furious I
get with myself when I strike someone in anger?  Even for you
to think that you would not be welcome in any aspect of my
life."  she shook her head in confused disbelief.   "My God,
man.  You ... Saved ... My ... Mother's ... Life!  Don't you
ever insult me like that, again.  Do you hear me, Mr.
Bradshaw?"

"I hear you, Mistress, and I will obey.  With most humble and
joyful gratitude."  She wasn't going to send me away.

She straightened her shoulders and looked at me darkly.  "The
trouble with you, Bradshaw, is that you don't trust yourself
enough and therefore, you expect other people to judge you by
your own rigidly uncompromising standards.  I know you better
than that.  Now, I'd like you to spend the night with me.  I
won't insist you make love to me, but, Andrew?"  her eyes went
soft and beseeching, "I really would like to be held. Please?" 
She looked so weary all of a sudden.

"I would love to spend the night here, and I would like to
make love with you which I consider to include holding,
cuddling, snuggling and all that good stuff, too.  Nothing
could please me more."  She still cared and trusted me to
enough to let me stay around.

We undressed for bed.  We laughed at each other.  I was still
in the leather body harness she had strapped me into and she
was still laced into a leather corset.  Getting out of those
garments of personal torture had not been important in our
rush to leave.

"I never expected you to come, Andrew." she whispered to me in
the dark as I held her after the beautiful loving we'd shared. 
"I thought you'd get dressed and leave, but I was never so
glad to see anyone as I was to see you going out the door with
me.  I was in a panic.  I've only felt that way a few times in
my life and I was going to pieces."

"It's okay, you know.  You dominant types can't always be the
strong one.  Sometimes, you need to let us willow types take
the brunt of the winds.  This may not be the time to tell you
this, all naked in your bed like this, but it was the times
when Kate needed my strength, as well as my love, that made
everything else worthwhile.  It reaffirmed my self image as a
care giver."

I paused for a moment, searching for the words to express what
I really felt.  "We guys have problems with that, you know. 
When Kate needed me to bare my ass to her to prove my love, I
could do that because I knew that I was strong enough for her
to lean on when she needed that.  It really is the same thing
in a way.  The love giver has to love in the way the love
recipient needs at the moment.  Whether that is a bottom to
stripe or a shoulder to cry on is irrelevant.  It's all love
and it's all special."  

I pulled her closer and pillowed her head on my shoulder. 
"Now, go to sleep.  I'll be here if you need me or if someone
calls from the hospital."  I rolled onto my back, carrying
Joyce with me so that she laid partially on me and I could
gently massage the tension out of her back and neck.  She fell
to sleep, again snoring softly.  I wondered one more time at
the strength of these magnificent women who loved so fiercely
and so hard.

I awoke the next morning and padded down to Joyce's kitchen to
make coffee.  When I came back with a tray, she was on the
phone, talking to the doctor.  "Mom is going to be all right,
she can come home later today."  I handed her a cup of coffee. 
"Andrew, you've been so wonderful about this, I really feel
bad to say this. I'm going to have to be with Mom for awhile
and I don't think you should be around.  I don't want her to
be reminded about ... yesterday.  Later, when she's a little
stronger, she'll want to thank you, but .."  I told her that I
understood.

"Do you want some help over at her place cleaning up?  I mean,
she couldn't get around here at your place, and I did not
finish cleaning before I left yesterday.  I just picked up the
worst of it.  After it's cleaned up, you can go to the
hospital and I'll go home.  How's that?"

"Let me get this straight, Bradshaw.  You, a male, are
offering to come with me and help me *clean house*?  What is
going on, here?  Our dungeon sessions are getting too much for
you and you're trying to get on my good side, right?"  She was
trying to hide behind the humor and I played along.  She
reached for her robe and then for her slippers.

"That reminds me."  I said leaving the room.  "Wait right
there."  She gave me a blank look as I came back with a gift
wrapped box.  "This is a thank you gift.  I wanted you to know
how grateful I am for the help and love you've shown me while
I've been trying to get my life back to some semblance of
order."

She opened the box and gave me a disbelieving look as she
extracted a very strange shoe.  It was a platform shoe with a
specially designed in-sole.  The shoe had the equivalent of a
two inch high heel, but sole was fully supported instead of
spiked.  The rest of the shoe was fuzzy all around and on the
toes were short, floppy ears, dark button eyes, a pink nose
and whiskers.  In short, they were warm, fuzzy, high heeled
bunny slippers.  Joyce's eyes filled, "Oh Andrew, they're
beautiful."

I smiled at her pleasure.  "I went to a podiatrist and got the
name of a cobbler who does special work for his patients.  I
must admit, after I gave him the doctor's prescription for the
support aspects of the shoe and the, shall we say, high
couture of the shoes, that he gave me a very funny look.  I
have his name, by the way, in case you want any others and he
has your file.  The doctor said he would examine you and
adjust the prescription and sizes after you've had a chance to
wear those.  His name's on the card, too."  She had the shoes
on and was looking at them from all angles in her full length
mirror, like a child on Christmas looking at her new gifts.

"Warm."  she crowed,  "My feet are warm."  Suddenly, I was
enveloped in a hug.  "Damn you, Bradshaw, how did you know? 
How did you know my size?"

"About the shoes, it was a guess.  You seemed so wistful the
first night. You remember?  We walked past a store window and
you mooned over the slippers.  About the size, well, I grabbed
a pair of obviously hand made, but under-worn flats from your
closet to use as a pattern."

"Thief"  she said happily.  "I'll remember that transgression
the next time you come here for a session.  Oh, Andrew,
they're beautiful.  Thank you."  In that minute, I wished we
were in love, in addition to loving each other.  Then her face
went stern.  "Just don't think I have forgotten we did not
finish dealing with your whip-anxiety, Mr. Bradshaw.  I am
going to stripe those boyish cheeks of yours the first chance
we get.  That is something we both need to get past,
especially if this thing between us is going to grow."

Ruefully, I grinned.  "Never thought for an instant that you
would forget, Mistress.  I am, of course, at your service, and
honored to be there, too."  That earned another kiss - right
before she dragged me out the door to head off to her mother's
house.

-- 
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