Contract Modifications
by Tigger copyright 2002
All Rights Reserved.

Permission is granted for Fictionmania, StorySite, Nifty, Bev's Balcony, and any other FREE site to archive and web publish this story so long as the site remains free. I do not consider so-called adult-check systems to be free, and thus, these sites do not have permission to host this story.

Part I

Prologue: Null and Void

Edward Davis stood in front of the three-pane floor-to-ceiling mirrors, examining his reflection in the minute detail as he had been taught. His now well-trained eyes could find nothing wrong with his appearance. More importantly, neither did he see anything that his keepers might find faulty in his appearance.

He laughed, humorlessly, at his use of the personal pronoun 'he' and the possessive adjective 'his' in his mental ruminations. In truth, nothing about the young, attractive professional-woman peering back at him from the mirror's other-worldly dimension was in any way masculine. It was only sheer determination and pure cussedness on Edward's part that he even tried to cling to the masculine tense. 

After - what had it been? Days? Weeks? He really had no idea how long he'd been here for the simple reason that he hadn't seen a clock, let alone the sun or the moon since the night he'd been captured. 

However, despite the length of his unwilling tenancy in this hell-hole, and despite the best efforts of his captors, he'd managed to maintain the rebellion that he was still male. 

And most of all, despite the many stories told by that damnable mirror.

The tall, almost-pretty blonde woman in the tailored blue business suit staring back at him would have been welcome in any boardroom, any executive office. She was even quite shapely, thanks to a rib-crushing corset and a pair of very realistic glued-on prosthetic breasts. 

Resignation furrowed the forehead above finely arched brows. After some of the personas imposed on him during his captivity, this one was almost pleasant. At least this pair of heels wouldn't be an open invitation to a broken ankle, nor would this manicure require registration with the local constabulary as potentially lethal weapons.

Which was fortunate, he thought, as he brought one of those girl-clawed hands up to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn. Edward recognized that his mind was beginning to play tricks on him, and he also knew why - he was just so bloody tired. Before being captured and brought to where ever 'here' was, his job had often forced him to work long hours with minimal sleep, so he knew sleep deprivation when it hit him. He had all the classic symptoms - slowed reaction times, eye fixation on any handy object - like that bloody mirror - and shortened attention span. Fatigue - thick and heavy - bore down on him, and bid fare to overwhelm him. Clearly, the naps he'd been allowed between sessions had been just as short as they felt.

He was tired and he was depressed.

It was, he mused, the very gentle manner of this outfitting that was at the heart of this bout of depression. For it brought home to him the saddest aspect of this whole mess - the death of a long-held dream. 

Ever since Edward had first discovered that girls were so wonderfully different than boys, along with the purpose behind those delightful differences, he'd always entertained fantasies about female domination - of strong, beautiful women worthy of his service and adoration.

The very idea of submitting himself - body and soul - to such a woman called to some darkly romantic part of him - like some fairy tale dream in which he was a knight and she was both the 'lady faire' and the dragon whose fiery breath he must endure to be judged worthy of her favor. Well, he thought, that bit of childish delusion had certainly died during his little sojourn in this pit. This experience had very effectively - very forcefully - transformed those never-realized, youthful dreams into his darkest nightmares.

"Your stay with us is drawing to an end, Edie," a musical voice said behind him, causing him to jerk about in surprise, nearly falling down in the process. "We hope your experience has been everything you dared dream it would be."

"What did you say?" Edward replied, so dumbfounded that he forgot to use the light feminine alto so harshly learned at the insistence of his overseers.

The speaker was the masked woman to whom all his other female overseers deferred. Except she wasn't masked this time.

Standing on the other side of the steel-barred cell door, she remained, as always, just beyond his reach. Her name was 'La Marquesa' - Edward had learned THAT the hard way, too. His first and only failure to use that honorific in the hearing of one of the overseers had led to a most painfully memorable session, conducted in a very real and very dark dungeon. The posterior portions of his anatomy still burned from that correction. 

Her fine brows knitted, almost in surprise. "Come, come now, Edie. Certainly, there isn't any further need for pretense between us," she chided, but still using the feminized version of his name. "Your contracted program of events has been completed in all details save the one you are about to embark upon - your graduation trip home dressed as you are. So, can we not dispense with the 'resisting submissive' roleplay? At least for these last few moments together? You are the first client we've entertained here who requested so comprehensive and demanding an experience. Not only that, but you never once used the agreed-upon mercy codeword. I would like your feedback on how things went for you. More to the point, I *need* your feedback so that I can improve upon our, well, our services to our future clientele."

Edward stared at the smiling woman, trying to make sense of her words. Finally, he shook his head. "I have no idea what you are talking about. What program? What game? What mercy? You and your. . ." only hard-learned self preservation stayed his tongue, "your band have no concept of the word. Not from what I've seen and felt in this dam. . .darn pit of yours."

The Marquesa's eyes went black, but surprisingly, she didn't lash out at him. Instead, she just sighed - somewhat sadly. "Really, Edie, there is no point in continuing the dramatics. Your contract is complete. In a few moments, you will again be drugged and when you wake up, you will find yourself at home, well, almost home, in any case. I believe we have accomplished everything you wanted out of this experience, but your personal insights will help us deal more effectively with any future clients who wish to play out such stringent scenarios. Surely that is not too much to ask after all the effort we've expended on your behalf."

"On my behalf?" he asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. "What are you TALKING about?!? Your words are making absolutely NO sense! It's like I went to sleep while performing in one movie and woke up in another, but no one gave me either script. What do you mean 'contract'? What contract? Paid for? I sure as shooting have paid for this - the HARD way - at the cost of my skin, dignity and spirit."

Clearly annoyed, she tossed a folder at him. "Oh, give it up, Edie," La Marquesa snapped. "Here's your contract, in case you've conveniently forgotten what services you requested, complete with your signature, and with each agreed-upon scene checked off and signed off as we did them. Surely you remember each one, eh?"

Slowly, wary of some new and devious trap, Edward reached down to pick up the folder. He flipped through the pages, quickly scanning their content. Sure enough, there was page after page, containing detailed descriptions of various scenarios, from French Maid to harem slave, and he remembered suffering through each one of them. Including the full-penetration dildo rapes like the one that had been completed just before he'd been ordered to don this current outfit. He flipped to the last page to look for a signature and found it. Slowly, he raised tear-filled eyes from the papers in his hand. "I don't know what new, vicious game you are playing with me, but I never signed this . . .this. . THING!" he said with quiet finality. "Heavens above, until just now, I never saw this document before."

La Marquesa simply stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged. "Very well. If that is the way you wish this to end, I suppose that is your right. The customer is, as they say, always right. Have a good life, Mr. Davis. We will not meet again." 

With that, she raised her hand, pointed the black remote control device directly at him and pressed one of the myriad buttons. The necklace at Edward's throat made a hissing sound, his nose caught the faintest scent of something almost sickly sweet just before the world went black.

~-~

Chapter 1: Parties of the First Part

The urge for a wee dram of Jameson's was nearly overwhelming, but Mary Margaret O'Hurley ruthlessly squelched it. She'd overcome that addiction, not without a good deal of pain, just as she had overcome every other weakness, real or perceived, since she'd escaped from a South Boston housing project nearly two decades ago. Weaknesses made a person vulnerable, and she had vowed she would never be vulnerable again in her life.

She shifted uncomfortably in the car seat. The afternoon sun was hot and the humidity had long since wilted anything remotely resembling body from her hair. Well, she thought philosophically, so much for $250.00 worth of Esteban's very precious time.

Mary was checking her watch for what must have been the thousandth time when the office building's revolving door spun. She looked up just in time to see *him* exit. He stopped to look about him, and then turned away to walk up the street, directly away from Mary's parking place. That was as expected. She had parked there so that he would turn away from her on departing that building, and thus, not see her watching for him.

How many times had she played this game of pursuit and capture, she wondered even as she watched her quarry make his way toward the nearby subway entrance? 'Too many times' was the immediate answer that came to mind. If today had been like any of those other times, she'd have let her subject get a block or so ahead of her, then she'd slip out of her car to follow, all the while knowing his habits, and most importantly, knowing his likely destination and direction. Then, somewhere between here and that destination, her 'team' would be waiting in a location carefully selected for security and safety, ready to spring their trap. 

However, today wasn't like any of those other times and she had other, less pleasant tasks awaiting her, more was the pity. And if her information was correct, she also had to be much more careful with this subject. 

She was just about to pull her car out into the traffic stream when that last caution proved true. Her quarry suddenly reversed direction and began walking back towards her position at a very rapid pace. Maybe he's forgotten something at the office, she thought, only to have that faint hope all too quickly dashed when he turned down a crowded cross street towards another subway station. 

*Just as reported,* she thought. *He IS using counter-surveillance tactics. Why? Because of his experiences with me? But it's been months since we freed him!* Mary had fervently wanted that particular comment by her investigator to be an exaggeration - wanted to believe that her usually very competent PI's assessment that the subject had 'made' him on at least three occasions had been erroneous.

For a few moments, she simply sat there in the car, considering the implications. He hadn't possessed nor exhibited such skills and tactics the first time she had pursued him. Clearly, he possessed, and more importantly, used them now. 

She restarted her car and pulled out into the rush hour traffic. She had learned all she could here. It didn't really matter what techniques he used to counter any trailers as she didn't intend to trail him any longer.

The desire for alcohol stalked her again, and once again, she squashed it ruthlessly. Apparently, mistakes were as bad as weaknesses.

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

Edward Davis cautiously opened his apartment door and reached inside to flick on the lights before actually entering. Once, a lifetime ago, he might have felt foolish taking such dramatic precautions before entering his own home and castle, but no longer. Two lost weeks in hell made many apparently eccentric behaviors seem sensible.

Relaxing slightly, he entered his flat and began checking his little 'tell-tales' as he walked through down the entry hall. These were little, almost-invisible traps that, if tripped, would warn him that an intruder had been in the apartment while he'd been at work. 

It often occurred to him - especially these days - that he could not continue to live like this. The pressure and stress were adversely affecting the quality of his work - not to mention destroying what could only laughingly be called his quality of life. 

Not for the first time, he asked himself if simply moving away to a new place, a new job and a new life might not be easier in the long run? Probably, but not certainly - which was the answer he craved. Besides, running away from his problems would eat at him just as badly as staying.  No way could he tolerate letting whoever had been responsible for his kidnaping 'win', whatever 'winning' meant.

He had to find out who had done this to him, so that he could then learn the answer to the more important question.

Why?

That question was still stumping him when his eyes went wide at a sight he had hoped never to find - a sprung trap. A gossamer thread that he had strung across his study's doorway just above floor level lay broken in two pieces. An icy frisson of dread scurried down his spine even as he reached inside his coat pocket to retrieve the small caliber, unregistered semi-automatic pistol he now habitually carried. Edward thumbed off the safety and gathered himself. For just a moment, he leaned against the wall adjacent to the door, his heart racing, his breathing ragged. Not again, he told himself, not ever again.

Then, a voice from his darkest nightmares called out to him from that lightless room. "Edward? It's me. You know I'm here because I intentionally broke your trip-cord. Come in here. We need to talk."

Reaching around the door, he flicked on the room light and spun into the doorway, his gun held in front of him at the ready.

There she was - calmly seated in his favorite armchair as if it were her throne. 

HIS favorite armchair!

If the sight of his gun aimed at her surprised her, no such emotion showed on her face. "I am here alone, Edward, just to talk. I am unarmed and you have nothing to fear from me. I swear it," she said in that soft, powerful voice that he would immediately recognize for the rest of his life.

A nearly overwhelming sensation of deja vu swept over him, and his mind slipped back, more than six months to when he'd last seen this woman . . . her reflection in the mirror next to a tall, blond, fashionably dressed businesswoman.

Chapter 2: Informal Discussions

"You've been looking for me," she accused sharply, breaking through the suddenly churning maelstrom of his mind. 

"What are you doing here, Marquesa?" he asked coldly.

"Same reasons as you, I suspect. Looking for answers," she replied. "You may as well put that gun away, Edward. I am alone and unarmed. When we are finished here, you will still be here and I will be gone. Nothing is going to happen to you unless you make a foolish mistake with that gun, so why don't you do us both a favor and just put . . it . . away!"

"R. .I . .I . .ght," Edward snorted derisively. "Like I have any reason to believe anything you say, particularly when I finally have some advantage with you."
"I have done many things with you and to you, but I have never lied to you."

Edward thought about that, and something in her demeanor reached him. "You're behind that guy who has been following me the past couple of weeks, aren't you?" he accused, even as he lowered the gun and clicked on the safety.

She shrugged. "As I just pointed out. *You* had someone looking for me. Word got back to me. That was a violation of our contracted agreement. I want to know why."

"You and I have no agreement to violate, contracted or otherwise," he snapped back at her, "I told you that six months ago."

She was ready to believe him on that score now, but this wasn't the time to admit that so she changed the subject. "You've had training since then. The man I hired to put you under surveillance is very skilled. I have used him in the past setting up my little programs and he's never been spotted while undercover before."

"Amazing what motivation being kidnaped, brutalized, stripped of dignity and manhood gives a fellow," Edward retorted snidely. "You tend to look for ways to ensure it never happens again."

"And yet, you kept the last ensemble," she said quietly. "Preserved and protected it, if the recent dry cleaning ticket pinned to the collar label is any indication. Mind telling me why?"

"You've gone through my things?" he sputtered.

"It's not the first time," she shrugged. "The first time I was here was before your little sabbatical with my ladies and me."

"You were here before? Why?"

"To verify that you were what the contract purported you to be - a male submissive. Contrary to what you so obviously believe, perhaps with justification I'm sorry to say, I insist on informed consent from all my. . . guests - to ALL the activities I conduct with them. In your case, I especially needed to ensure that you were truly the novice your application indicated, albeit a novice who wanted a particularly deep immersion experience. So I checked you out. Here in your apartment, and other places, using a variety of methods. In the course of those checks, my colleagues and I found what we thought was sufficient evidence.  There were fetish-related books and magazines, and there were files and Internet bookmarks of a similar nature on your computer - back then," she added quietly. "Now, none of those materials are here anymore. The only thing in this apartment that still connects you to the person in those earlier reports are the dress and accessories you wore when we brought you home. Why?"

"Why keep the dress or why destroy the rest of it?" he laughed bitterly. 

"Either or both answers will serve," she replied, her eyes steady on his.

"That damned dress was - *is* the only evidence I have of what had happened to me. I needed SOMEthing to hold on to, to preserve my sometimes fragile hold on my sanity."

"It isn't evidence, Edward," she corrected him, "At least, not in the legal sense. There is nothing about that dress or any of the other clothing items you've kept that can be connected to me or to my operation."

"I know that," he muttered angrily. "Hell, I knew couldn't prove anything, even assuming I could ever find you again, but there have been times in the past six months. . ." his voice broke and he turned away to regain control of wild-running emotions. He did, and turned back to face her, his eyes hot and his lashes wet.  "Times that I woke up shaking in the night, times that *I* needed some proof that it wasn't just some god-awful nightmare." He paused yet again, struggling to retain his self control. "Proof that I wasn't going insane."

"I can assure you that it all happened, whether it was a dream come true or a nightmare, Edward. Don't doubt your sanity on that score," she offered, surprising him with the caring he heard in her voice.

"Don't you understand? How could I NOT doubt it?!?  Hell, I couldn't even prove to anyone that I had gone missing during that hellish two weeks. I was supposed to be gone - supposed to be on vacation. Everyone thought I was camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains. And there is evidence to support that story, too. A man fitting my description drove up there in my car, checked in with the park rangers, disappeared into the woods for twelve days, then came back out and left."

"Just in time for you to 'return' from your vacation. I know. My investigator was able to develop those facts in his more recent inquiries. Unfortunately, that trail was too old for him to find out who actually impersonated you, or more importantly, who paid him to do so."

"I figured you did it, or rather, someone who worked for you did it - as a way of covering your tracks."

The voluptuously-figured woman's eyes closed, almost making him think she actually felt some pain over what she'd done to him.  Then she shook her head. When she opened them again, she seemed to pull her emotions back from her face, leaving only the coldly controlled visage he remembered with both fear and loathing from his time in her keeping. "What about the rest - your magazines and so forth?" she asked, returning to her original question.

"I seem to have lost my taste for that type of fantasy," he said flatly. "It was burned out of me about six months ago so I burned them, one by one - page by bloody page in that very fireplace."

"I thought something like that might be the case," she told him. "Consuella and Tamiqua both had bad feelings about your time with us."

"Conseu. . .Who?"

"Two of the women on my team," she answered, briskly. "Both of them spent a good deal of time working directly with you during your stay on my island," she replied. "Consuella is the black-haired Latina with the preference for electric-blue latex. Tamiqua is the tall, black girl with the Carribean accent.  You may recall her as Lady Shamarra." 

Edward nodded in recognition. They had both been utterly gorgeous - the stuff of fantasy made strong feminine flesh - and both had stalked his fear-darkened dreams ever since. 

"They each came to me several times during your second week with us," La Marquesa continued soberly, "expressing their belief that something was wrong. That no one, especially no one so inexperienced in scene-dynamics, could play the confused, outraged and abused prisoner that well. Tamiqua went so far as to refuse to participate in any more of your supposedly contracted scenes."

"Nice of her," he put in sarcastically.

"Since she badly needed the money she was to have been paid for her continued participation - to pay for her college tuition, by the way - I would say it was a rather impressive display of ethics on her part," La Marquesa snapped, furious for her young friend.

He didn't want to hear good things about ANY of those people, he really didn't. "So, what do you want?" he demanded wearily. "What will it take to get you out of here?"

"The truth - once and for all. Look me in the eye and tell me the absolute, unvarnished truth. Were you really an unwilling participant in those scenes?"

She watched him carefully, looking for the hints of body language that would verify his words, seeking some small sign that he was being truthful or evasive. For several long moments he considered the question, and finally decided to answer her. 

What Mary saw in his face appalled her. He was emotionally and mentally spent - the tension and stress of the past six months had finally beaten him and he had nothing left to fight with or for. 

"Completely unwilling," he said with absolute if quiet conviction. "I thought, right up until you came to me that last time - heck - even until I woke up still rigged out like a woman in my own office at the agency, that every bit of it from the threats of torture to the promises of a life of slavery was real. A nightmare, but real."

She could hear the truth in his words and the softness with which they'd been spoken did nothing to gentle the crushing blow they delivered to her most basic self image. La Marquesa closed her eyes to staunch the moist heat she felt begin to well up and let her head fall backwards against the chair. "Damn," she murmured, before lifting her head again and fixing her gaze on Edward Davis. "I believe you."

"Well, whoopie," the man opposite her snorted derisively. "I can't tell you how much your faith lightens my heart."

She rose, more than a little unsteadily, and reached to collect her purse. Instantly, the gun was back out. "Whoa!" he ordered as he aimed the weapon at her heart. "Where do you think you are going?"

She stared at him coldly. "I have things to do, now," La Marquesa told him. "And as you said, you cannot prove anything. The only thing you can do to me is use that gun, and while I cannot stop you, killing me will finish the job of destroying your life that you feel that I started six months ago."

For a few tense moments, Mary Margaret O'Hurley steeled herself for the shot, for the fiery insult of metal boring into flesh, but then the hand wavered and finally lowered. Edward looked at the gun and shook his head. "Forgot to take it off safe anyway," he muttered to himself before looking up at the woman again. "What things?"

"Someone used me to hurt you," she said, with quiet malice. "I kidnaped you, abused you, demeaned you, and yes, even raped you. Had you really wanted those experiences, had they truly been consensual, had you but known you could have stopped us at any time by just uttering a simple three-syllable word, none of what happened between us would have been in any way wrong, at least according to my personal code of ethics. However, I now believe. . .I now KNOW that you did not request any of that. I don't know how I'm going to live with what I did to you, but step one is to make sure that whoever did this to you, and by extension, whoever did it to me and my friends, never does anything like it again."

She again started to leave, but Edward moved to intercept her. "How are you going to do that?" he asked intensely.

Dark eyes flashed at him. "I have ways," she said in clipped, tight-lipped tones.

"I've been looking for the same person or persons. If you find out anything, let me know." La Marquesa did not respond to that, her eyes having gone momentarily vacant, searching. "Marquesa? Did you hear what I said?"

Irritation flashed across the woman's face. She gave him a dismissive shake of her head. "Look, I don't have time to take care of you while I am pursuing this. Just trust that I will see this matter dealt with and leave it at that." 

"I don't need to be taken care of," Ed rebutted. "I just want to know what you find out. I think that's only fair. Regardless of what insult you are feeling right now because of this mess, surely I have suffered far worse from whoever did this. I have the right to know who did it and why!" 

Mary gave him a hard stare that sent a frisson of tension running up his spine. Finally, she nodded. "I'll . . . think about it. 

"I need closure, Marquesa. Surely, you see the fairness of that."
"Mary," she corrected instantly, "My real name is Mary. Maybe someday, I will tell you all of it. Look, Edward, I'm not sure that is such a good idea. I understand your motivations, but you may not fully understand and accept mine. Look, let's sleep on it. We can meet tomorrow for lunch and discuss it then."

Edward nodded and walked her to the door of his apartment. He stood there staring for long minutes after she'd left, wondering if she would in fact be there when he arrived for their luncheon appointment.

Chapter 3: Just Business

Edward stifled a sigh and moved his right hand over to rest on his left wrist - so that he would not be tempted to look at his watch again. Time, and this meeting, were both dragging.

"Ed? We really could use your input here," a sharp, feminine voice said with the heavy emphasis of someone talking to a day-dreamer. "Your team and I have been talking about this perfume account proposal for two hours already, and we've yet to come up with a single viable campaign concept."

"Surely it isn't that bad, Helen," Ed replied, even as he realized that he couldn't recall even discussing the perfume account. *Better get your head back in the game, boy,* he chided himself as he looked around the table. 

Helen Martin was ostensibly his peer in the organization, in charge of administering the campaigns that his team created and designed. A former model, she had realized that, while she had made it to the top of the 'second tier' of that profession, she didn't have what it took to have the title 'super-model' tacked onto her name. So she had invested her earnings carefully, built up a tidy little fortune and gone to business school.  Upon graduation, she'd applied her degree and her work experience to the business side of the advertizing game. 

And she was, Ed admitted privately, damned good at what she did. Helen was the one who got the ads on TV and radio, and into the newspapers and magazines once Ed gave the concepts and story boards to her. It was a shame, he thought, that she'd gone and cut that glorious mane of long blond hair last year, but he guessed that the sassy new shoulder-length cut still suited her.  Besides, it was more in keeping with the image of the young, upwardly-mobile professional she worked so hard at cultivating these days. 

Hadn't Ed learned, the hard way, just how difficult it could be to keep really long hair well-groomed and presentable at all times? 

Forcing himself to lose that image, Ed looked around the table.  Also at the meeting were Ed's two key assistants, Ken Aljerson and Delores (Didi) Conners, along with Helen's principal deputy, Derrick Tolivar. Ed gave his team an encouraging smile, but saw that they were just as down on the outcome of the meeting as Helen. *Didn't pull your weight here, old son. Too busy being distracted by questions that have nothing to do with your job.*

"Oh, come now, Ed," Derrick put in. "I mean, the only idea I heard that got more than two minutes of discussion was what that we rip off the old Miller Light commercials? I mean, can't you see it? We get Brandi Chastain and her pal Mimi, or maybe Kari Webb and Annika Sorenstam and they can argue whether they like the perfume because it is Less Cloying or because it Smells Great?"

"That's not fair, Derrick," Ed defended. "That was only a joke, and since you two sprung this account on us just this morning at 8:30, I think we can be forgiven for not having a Clio Award winning concept at, what time is it now? 11:30? Two thirds of that time has been spent in this meeting, and if it hasn't been productive, then maybe we should try something else." 

"And you know that's the way this business is, Ed," Derrick replied, his tones all gentle reproof. "There's never enough time for the big ones, and this account has huge upscale potential, doesn't it, Helen?" At her nod, the deputy turned his oh-so-very agreeable stare to Ed. "I mean, this should be big, very big, like in terms of millions of dollars in advertising and for other spinoff products. You guys have to come up with a campaign for this because no other team can be spared from existing accounts. Look, we're sorry this is a little tight, time-wise, but you're just going to have to get it done."

"Derrick, we *know* the potential for this account. Why don't you focus on helping us solve the problem, not on restating the obvious?" Ed said tiredly. 

"Hey, you're the creative guy here, Ed. Don't look on it as a hassle. Look at it like it's another opportunity to show how great you are."

The grin that accompanied that last remark set Ed's teeth hard. "I think you've said enough, Derrick," Ed replied coldly. "We don't need fatuous motivational bull.. gumdrops. Last time I checked, I don't work for you and neither does my team. Helen, if you have a problem with that, then we, you and I, can go down to Veronica and discuss it. Otherwise, stop wasting my time." 

Derrick started to splutter in his own defense, "Now wait just a minute, there . . . " 

Helen put up a hand to her deputy. "Settle down, Derrick." 

"But, Helen, . ."

"No, Ed is right about who we all work for," Helen said in what she probably intended to be a soothing tone, but instead came out condescending. "However, Ed, Derrick is right, too, when he says that we don't have very much time to dither on this one," she added firmly. "Andrushka is the hottest teen pop-star since Britney, and she wants this perfume to be a big deal. She's going to push the button quickly and we will lose out on what I believe will be a very big deal if we can't come up with something damned good, damned quickly!"

"Fine," Edward answered her. "My people and I understand the time-sensitivity. Now, why don't you go do your job and let us do ours."

"Very well. I will tell Veronica that you are . . . working on it," Helen said as she collected her papers and left, a visibly fuming deputy trailing behind her.

"Whew," Didi sighed. "I'm sorry, Ed, but I just can't think with her hovering like that. She's just so. . . tense."

"And *he's* such a sneaky, supercilious son of a bitch," Ken sighed. "That woman may be the greatest deployment specialist in advertising, but she knows more ways to plug up a creative flow than any three other people I've EVER met."

"Don't sweat it, gang. Look, you two go get some lunch and try not to think about this for an hour or so. Meet me in my office at say, 1:30, and we'll take another look at this little challenge."

"Little challenge? We're talking millions a year in revenue, Ed," Ken gawked. "If we don't pull this off, we're toast."

"As in 'So what have you done for me lately', Ken? So what else is new? Go get something to eat and come back ready to work. I've got to meet someone for lunch."

"Guy or girl? Friend or friendlier?" Didi, the ultimate romantic asked.

"Girl, and I'm not sure. Let's just say an acquaintance. Ciao, folks."

Chapter 4: Working Lunch

Edward strove to look 'in-control' as he walked up to the hostess at Archie's Place. He'd gone so far as to take special care with his dress and grooming today - every selection agonized over as he tried to make the most masculine statement possible. The charcoal-grey pinstriped suit with white button-collared shirt and a striped tie (in England it would have been called 'regimental') were the male power-tools of his profession. He had once worn them without thought, and without worry. Once upon a time long ago in a world far, far away.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said to the attractive young woman guarding Archie's dining room, "I am Edward Davis and I am here to meet someone?" The directions had been left with his secretary earlier that morning with orders 'not to disturb Mr. Davis. He's expecting this, dear.'

The hostess smiled professionally. "Yes, Mr. Davis. The lady has already been seated. She arrived early. Will you please follow me?"

Yet another best laid plan laid to rest, he thought ruefully, for he'd made the effort to arrive early, hoping to gain some small advantage. The hostess led him to the back of the dining room, past the private rooms set aside for 'important business meetings', to a small table next to a window overlooking the park. Then she slipped away without any comments.

La Marquesa was dressed in the feminine equivalent of his own suit, he noted wryly. It would have been hard for the color and pattern of their two suits to be more closely matched. Other than the fact that she wore a skirt and he wore trousers, the only real differences were his tie - she wore a series of gold necklaces - and his lapel pin - she wore a large gold pin. The pin's design was eye-catchingly unique - a triangle pointed down with some type of intricate lettering, Greek perhaps, intertwined with the three sides of the triangle. She rose from her seat as he approached, offering her hand. "Mr. Davis," she said, a polite, professional smile almost reaching her sea-green eyes.

"Marquesa," he rejoined, "and please, I think I would be more comfortable if you called me Ed or Edward."

"And I, Edward, have already asked you to call me by my Christian name, Mary." The pleasantries dispensed with, they took their seats and made small talk until their waiter came for their luncheon orders. Neither ordered the special and were informed that it would be about twenty minutes before their entries were ready.

"That gives us time to speak freely, I think," Edward said after ensuring they were alone.

"I should hope so. We have nothing to gain by playing any further games at this point."

"I have some concerns, Marqu. . Mary, and I need some answers." She merely nodded, and indicated that he should continue. "First, let me say that I never signed that contract. Before you showed it to me that last time we were together, I had no idea what was going on except that it was damned scary and usually very painful."

Sighing, Mary nodded again. "I know that now, Edward. It is a large part of why I am here with you right now. My goal today is to assure that I will, somehow, find a way to make amends to you for that. . . debacle."

"But you have to understand - that is what I don't understand. You are a very careful woman. You've told me that you have access to investigators, that you had me and my home checked out before you took me that night, and yet, you believed I had signed that contract. You never saw me, let alone saw me sign that contract. How could you accept that I had made that kind of commitment?"

"An excellent question - and one which we've already proven I do not have an equally excellent answer. Oh, I still have some physical evidence that I could show you - not with me, but that I can bring to you, perhaps tonight after you get off work - but there were other reasons why I accepted that contract as real. First, there was the simple matter of the money that was involved."

"Money? What money?"

"Edward," she said, with gentle reproof, "You had a very expensive two weeks in my care. . . err. . keeping. You had the full attention, 24/7, of myself and five other women. You were never allowed more than six hours of rest any of those days, never more than two hours of that uninterrupted. At the same time, however, you always under the direct observation of at least one member of my team, and when you weren't sleeping, you were always attended by no fewer than two on-watch Mistresses. That is not inexpensive under any circumstances, and *I* am the best at what I do. I charge accordingly for my services."

"And you were paid? In full?"

"Of course, and up front, as well. Half when I started the deep background checks on you to ensure that you were a viable candidate, and the other half when we. . when whoever arranged the contract and I set the date for your capture. You have no idea how many men try to weasel out of payment after they've had their . . . fun," her brow arched high in challenge, "especially when the . . . arrangements are not cash-and-carry."

"I can just imagine."

"Edward?" she said warningly, not liking his tone of voice, "Don't impugn my skills or my ethics, even in jest. I give value for value, and those who come to me in full knowledge never leave unsatisfied with the experience. Your case is unique in many ways."

"No disrespect intended, ma'am."

"And don't call me 'ma'am'. I prefer Mary, please."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said grinning.

"Well done, Edward. If you can stay that relaxed, we might just accomplish something. So, to continue, the money was a big part of my readiness to accept the contract offer as genuine. Then, when I checked out your supposed references, they seemed genuine as well. You are, or were, a member of the local chapter of Black Rose."

"I was never a participating member," he corrected. "I just went to meetings. I was an embarrassed voyeur at the only play party I ever tried to attend. Closest I came to doing anything even remotely submissive was fetching a glass of wine for one of the Dominas."

"That is not what your references told me, or rather, the people who purported to be your references told me. They had quite a story built up, very consistent, too, the picture was of a committed novice ready to make the next big step. It fit with everything else. Then we checked out your home and there, too, what we found supported the picture we had of you.

"Why didn't you just ask me?"

"Because part of the deal was that you wanted to be captured - taken against your will, as it were."

"And that didn't set off any warning bells?"

Mary shrugged, no longer as comfortable responding to that question as she would have been but twenty four hours earlier. "It's a common enough fantasy, and one we did quite a business in providing."

"Seems damned dangerous to me. Suppose I'd been armed that night?"

"That has recently occurred to us," she said, her voice momentarily chilly. Then, she seemed to relent and continued as if he had not interrupted. "From now on, when we agree to a snatch-and-grab, the 'victim' will be required to go to a place specified by me, and make a signal specified by me before the game starts. It will cut down on the spontaneity and will also dull the sharp edge of dark anticipation for the client, but at the same time, it will limit the possibility of a crime such as this being perpetrated on another unsuspecting innocent."

"Seems like a more sensible way of doing your business, Mary," Edward said, the effort to keep from saying something more biting obvious in his face.

"Hindsight is always 20-20, Edward. For what little it is worth, I am most sincerely sorry that you were so basely used and abused by my hand and at my direction."

"Thank you." He went silent. "I just wish I knew WHY!!! I NEED to know WHY."

"Ed, whoever did this to you is, obviously, very malicious. And that malice has already been directed at you once. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to stay out of what comes next for your own safety." 

Momentarily speechless, Ed stared at the woman seated across the table from him. Finally, he shook his head. "That's not going to happen, Mary. It's my life that has been turned upside down. Cripes, I took those anti-terrorist and self defense courses to protect myself, but even now, I can't even walk into my own home without being on guard. There is no way that I am staying out of this." 

Exasperation lined Mary's brow. "Dammit, Edward, think with the head on your shoulders instead of the one in your pants! What would you be able to do? All right, so you've had some training, and from what I saw last night, you've benefitted from it, but that is not the same as being a professional investigator or. . . whatever. And I am perfectly capable of hiring such muscle as I might need so I don't need your manly self for protection in this endeavor." 

Edward decided to shift the topic. "What are YOU going to do to this person when you find him?" 

"Rap him soundly upon the knuckles, stand him in the corner for a time out and then make him promise not to be naughty again," she snapped. When Edward's only response to that was a single challengingly raised brow, she sighed. "I don't think you want to know that."

"Ah, but I do. That's the point, actually. For all that you thought what you did to me was consensual, and therefore legal by most definitions, we are very likely to do something non-consensual and illegal to this person. I think it is in your best interests to keep the circle of those who know what that something is as small as possible. That includes me by force of circumstance."

"Nonsense. You are too intrinsically honest to do what may need to be done."

"My honesty is exceeded by my need for justice. I don't think I will have any trouble rationalizing any non-lethal action against this person."

"So you say now," she muttered. "Tell me this, then. Are you willing to do what I say, follow my orders? We can't be working at cross purposes in this, Edward, or we will, in all likelihood, lose our quarry. He or she will go to ground and we'll never find out what happened."

A wry grin lit Edward's tense features. "I've certainly demonstrated that I *can* follow your orders." 

"Don't prevaricate!" Mary ordered sharply. "My question was on whether you were *willing* to do so."

"Yes," Edward replied calmly. "Insofar as my obedience supports finding and . . . doing something appropriate to my unknown adversary."

"You're already trying to qualify your answer. How far are you willing to go?"

"In the hunt? Or in doing something to him?"

"Does that make a difference?" Mary asked baldly, "And don't forget that this might be a 'her'." 

"I am still haunted by nightmares from what I went through because of this person. I will do what it takes to find whoever did this to me. . .to us. Once that is done, how far I'll be willing to go will depend."

"Depend? On what?"

"On the why," he answered simply.

"But under my orders? At least up until we discover the who and the why?"

"I already agreed to that."

Mary regarded Edward somberly for several moments, and then shrugged. "Then, I think we should consider what to do next. For starters, I will arrive at your apartment at 9:00. I will expect to be greeted by Edie."

"What?!? Edie? Are you nuts?"

"No, I am not."

"I am not going back there, Mary. You can forget that right now!"

"I see. So much for your agreement to follow my orders in this endeavor."

"That was a setup and you know it!"

"Very well. I'm sorry for the confusion. I will not, of course, insist that you become Edie again. I will, however, insist that you not interfere with my own plans." She reached beneath the table and brought up her purse. "Good-bye." 

"Damn you! You're trying to coerce me into that damnable game of yours again!"

A momentary sadness flitted across Mary's countenance that immediately disappeared behind a steely mask of control. "No, actually, I'm not. I don't think you are suited to what will be required. If you DO stay involved, however, it will be on my terms. You can leave at any time - but as long as you are working with me, it will be in support of my plans. So, make up your mind."

"You can't stop me from pursuing this, with or without you."

"No, short of kidnaping you again, I can't, but as I tried to make clear earlier, your interference will virtually assure that the person who did this to you will escape unscathed."

Just then, the waiter arrived with their meals. Edward allowed him to serve while he considered Mary's words. When they were again alone, he could only shake his head. "I can't not pursue it, Mary. Why are you acting this way?"

"Several reasons," she sighed even as she returned her purse to beneath the table and resettled herself. "Even when you were at your lowest at my island, I knew you to be one of God's gentle people, Edward. You will, without a doubt, feel horribly guilty when what must be done is done." she said, reaching over to put a soothing hand over his own. "It would be better for both of us if you just got out of my way. Secondly, if there is any danger involved in this, I want to know that you will do what you're told when you're told to do it."

"And you think THAT was a fair test of that?"

"You said you had agreed to follow my orders."

"In the context of our search. Edie is something you created to humiliate me, and just now, you were using that humiliation to get what you want, not achieve our mutual goal."

Mary sighed. This encounter was not going the way she'd hoped when she'd agreed to meet him here. As things stood now, she was going to have to deal with either an independently acting Ed or one who would not follow her orders without question. Neither was acceptable. It was time to take a different tact. "All right, Edward. I won't insist that Edie meet me tonight, but that only delays the inevitable. I will insist on it at some point. I have my reasons, and they are valid. If you are really willing to do what I say on this, then perhaps we can work together. If not, let's stop wasting each other's time." 

"Do you really have reasons why this is necessary to find our adversary? This is not just an excuse to humiliate me again, or a ploy to get me to back out? 

"Ed, if I haven't convinced you by now that I am very, very serious about . . . correcting this situation, then nothing I can say now will change that. Make up your mind whether you can find it in yourself to trust me - whether you need me - or not." 

Keeping her own gaze steady and unwavering as Ed regarded her silently took every bit of Mary's will, but she managed. Unfortunately, Ed didn't answer her, denying her the opportunity to turn his own words back on him. "Well?" she demanded, one finely shaped brow rising in challenge.

He shook himself. "I haven't decided how I feel about either issue," he admitted. "I'm going to have to think some more about that. I thought I was ready to trust you, but after that Edie demand, I'm no longer so sure."

Mary was struggling to find a reply to that when a new voice called from behind him "Edward? Is that you?".

"Ms. Johnson," he said as he rose and turned to face the direction of the call. Mary gave the woman a searching look, and for some reason, liked what she saw. She was of slightly less than average height for a woman, although her three inch power-heels helped. 

*Red hair and violet eyes,* Mary thought, *and she is concerned for Edward.*

"Mary," Edward offered, "This is my supervisor, Ms. Veronica Johnson. Ms. Johnson, this is an acquaintance of mine, ummm,"

Mary forced herself not to smile at Edward's embarrassment, but knew that she had never told him her full name. She rose and offered her hand to the shorter woman. "Mary O'Hurley, Ms. Johnson. Edward was going to slip and call me by my former married name," she added by way of explanation.

"A pleasure," was the patently insincere reply. Mary felt her chin rise in challenge as the piercingly vivid violent eyes gave her a thorough going-over. "From your tan, I would say you are from warmer climes."

"South," Mary replied as she took her seat.

"Will you be staying?"

Mary arched a single brow at the question. "For a while, in any case. Edward and I are considering doing a project together."

"A possible business customer, Ed?"

"Personal, Ms. Johnson," he replied.

"I see. Well, then I will leave you alone to enjoy your coffee. A pleasure meeting you, Ms. O'Hurley. Oh, nice broach, by the way. I have one very much like it."

A strange look came across Mary's features. "Really, Ms. Johnson? How unusual, and unexpected. And the pleasure was mutual."

Edward and Mary watched in momentary silence as Veronica strode away. "Interesting woman," Mary finally offered.

"She's been very good to me, professionally speaking."

"Has she indeed?" Mary asked mysteriously. *Well, she just put herself on the very short list of possible suspects with that parting shot of hers. And if I had to guess, I would say her interest in Mr. Davis was not merely professional. A VERY interesting woman.*

Part II

Chapter 5: Productive Meetings

Feeling more in control than he had in many a month, Edward returned to the office, and found his work going unusually well as a result. In the time before Ken and Didi were due to show up, he managed to clear his in-basket, to come up with at least three potentially good ideas for some under-development projects, and to solve a disgruntled client's problem with an ongoing campaign. He was feeling rather good about things when Ken and Didi stuck their heads in his door.

"Okay, let's think about this product," he started. "Who is the customer for this stuff?"

"Girls," Ken put in. "Young ones who want to be just like Andrushka." 

"Boys who buy gifts for those girls," Didi added.

"Okay, so we're dealing with what? Girls in the 12 to 22 age range and those few, semi-enlightened males who want to get on their good side?" Ed asked.
Ken considered that for a moment and then frowned. "Put that way, it doesn't sound like the multimillion dollar revenue source that Helen was nattering about, does it?"

"Not if we market the stuff as just another 'be like Mike' or in this case, 'the teenie-bopper of the minute' product," Ed agreed before turning to Didi. "Why do girls - women wear perfume in the first place?"

Snorting a laugh, Ken spoke first. "To smell pretty. Cover body odor, attract guys."

"Leave it to Algerson to overstate the obvious," Didi giggled. "But I'd agree, at least about the smelling pretty part."

"Why?" Ed asked.

"Why what? Why smell pretty?" Didi asked? "Because it is better than smelling bad."

"No, why only agree to the smelling part? I assume you were saying that attracting guys wasn't necessarily the reason to wear the perfume. Do you wear perfume, Didi?"

"Of course I do - sometimes."

"Why?"

The almost too-thin brunette considered that question for a few moments. "I guess, I wear it for me, first and foremost, for the way it makes me feel."

"And that is?"

"Womanly, I guess. Female and proud of it."

"I am woman, smell my scent?" Ken teased.

"Smart ass!" Didi snapped.

"Would you say that it is at least partially about your personal power as a woman? As an attractive woman?" Ed put in quickly, hoping to quell the growing explosion before it ended the meeting prematurely.

"Personal power as a woman," Didi said, obviously savoring the words and the idea. "That's a good start."

"Andrushka is a pretty powerful young woman - beautiful, talented, not to mention smart as hell. Can we use that instead of her more obvious appeal as a pop music star? And do it with enough subtlety that we can make the young ones want to use it to be mature and the mature ones want it to be sensual?

"That might mean messing with Andrushka's image," Ken warned. "She doesn't strike me as the most mature individual on the pop scene right now."

"True enough, but like Ed said, Ken, she's smart," Didi put in, a touch of excitement in her eyes. "She knows that the  pop-music-diva thing tends to be pretty short-lived. I'd bet you anything she's already looking for a way to transition into something more. . . widely appealing."

"Are we agreed that the obvious solution is a loser, both for us and for the product?" Ed asked and got nods of agreement from the pair across from him. "Okay, Ken? I want you to do the 'devil's advocate' thing. Do up a simple concept ad program based on her current image and show us if it does, in fact, limit the product appeal and thus leads a dead end. Class C estimates - plus a hundred/minus fifty percent - will be good enough, I think. Didi? I want you to run with "I am woman," concept. See if you can come up with a couple of presentation ideas and maybe a catch-phrase or two. Plan on using Andrushka in the ads, but make her darker, less glitzy - show her being a powerful, mature woman in a variety of situations."

"Can do," Didi enthused. "Her recording company may not like it, though."

"Granted, but they won't like their new perfume spiraling down the porcelain throne, either. Especially if it flops badly enough to take their current diva down with it. When can we get back together?"

Ken got to his feet, checking his watch. "It's almost three o'clock now. I can probably have the basic outline of my piece for you by five - details will take a couple of days."

Didi grinned. "What I have, I'll show you at five, too. We'll just have to see how the idea-cauldron bubbles."

Ed grinned at that. "Okay, scoot then. I'll let Veronica know where we think this is headed. If she has problems with that, I'll let you know as soon as I know. If you don't hear from me before five, go for it, gang."

The meeting broke up at that point, all three feeling much better than they had following the morning's conference. Ed was in the process of collecting his thoughts for his own boss when the secretary he shared with the other senior account manager stuck her head in his cubicle and told him that Ms. Johnson wanted to see him.

Picking up a notebook, he headed for Veronica Johnson's corner office. Her door was open, but he knocked on the doorjamb anyway. "Come in, Ed," she greeted him, "Close the door behind you and take a seat, please."

He took a chair opposite her desk and waited quietly while she set aside whatever she'd been working on. "Helen and Derrick were in here just after lunch. They are concerned about the Andrushka proposal."

Ed shrugged. He'd expected something like this would happen. The only thing that surprised him was that Helen and Derrick had waited until after lunch to go to the boss. "I think we have some good ideas now. Ken and Didi are working on them even as we speak. Since I only heard about the project this morning, I think we're in good shape. We won't be embarrassed, anyway."

"I see," Veronica said, but there was something almost hesitant in her tone. "Want to tell me about it?"

"If you insist, but I'd rather give my folks a while to work it over a bit first. Veronica, we've only had the project for six hours - give us some time to get past the mistakes we're bound to make, okay?"

"Well, no one handles a short notice project as well as you and your team, Ed, so I will leave you to it. That's not the only reason I wanted to see you, though."

"Oh?"

"There's no way to deal with this politely, but I'm not just your boss, I'm also your friend. Who is that woman you had lunch with today?" The question was direct; the look she gave him as she asked it even more so.

"A friend," he replied cautiously. 

"Oh, is she really? I rather thought she might be your Mistress."

"My. . .Mistress? You mean, my lover? Not that she is, Ms. Johnson, but I don't think that is really any of your business."

"You know very well, Ed, that is not the kind of Mistress I meant. Is she the woman to whom you submit? Because if she is, you need to get her on your side, dammit! Her job is to make you BETTER than you are without her, not cut you down!"

"I don't know how you can . . " he started to say, only to have her cut him off with an imperiously raised hand.

"How I can ask that question? First of all, because I care about you, both in the personal sense and in the professional sense. Ever since you came back from that damned vacation six months ago, you've been, I don't know, distracted somehow. The focus that set you apart from the other account executives has been only sporadic. Second, because she advertised herself, although I would have thought . . .well, never mind. Look, Ed, you've got to pull yourself out of this if you hope to move into my office when I move on."

"What do you mean?" he asked, scrambling for time to figure out what was going on.

The woman sighed. "Okay, look. I knew before you left on that trip that you had. . . sexually submissive tendencies, all right? No, there wasn't anything overt or obvious, and certainly nothing that affected your work, but you gave off signals that an. . .experienced observer would recognize. Then you went away on vacation and come back emotionally closed up where you had once been open. You watch people when you don't think they're watching you - almost as if you're trying to figure out if you can trust them. As a result, your concentration and focus have suffered. And then there are those new little mannerisms you couldn't quite control."

"Mannerisms?"

Veronica's sardonic look told him before her words precisely what she meant. "It was two weeks before you consistently remembered to walk heel-to-toe instead of mincing toe-to- heel. Even now, if someone catches you by surprise, you will slip up and offer your hand loose-wristed until you remember guys don't shake hands like that. Couple those observations with your sudden crew cut and your complete disinterest in anything resembling a social life, and I would say you had one very bad scene experience on your vacation."

"I. . .I see."

Veronica stood and came around to stand beside the stunned man. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder and could feel the shaking through his suit jacket. "Did she abuse you, Edward?"

"I. . .I can't talk about it, Veronica, not without her permission. Whatever happened wasn't her fault - not completely."

"Don't you DARE blame yourself," she growled, her eyes suddenly darkly furious. "You were a newbie - I KNOW you were a newbie - and you cannot blame yourself for what you didn't or don't know."

"It wasn't like that, not really, but I need to talk to her first. Obviously, you know more about this and about me than I thought you did. I need to get her okay before I can answer too many of your questions."

Veronica considered that for a moment before nodding. "All right, Ed, but understand this. I do not like what has happened to you and I absolutely HATE the changes I've seen in you. I will do whatever I can for you, but you have to start by trying to help yourself, and the first step there is to stop hiding whatever it is that you're trying to hide."

Ed rose from his seat and looked at his boss. "I'll get back to you," he said huskily, and then left quickly.

Veronica stood there for several moments, considering what to do next, then she strode back behind her desk, sat down and reached for the phone. She dialed the number from memory and leaned back in her executive chair.

"Barbara?" she asked when the call was answered. "Hi, this is Veronica Johnson. Look, I need some information - about a possible Sister. That's right. She gave her name as Mary O'Hurley. Oh, you know her? Great. She did? How interesting. Well, what can you tell me about her?"

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

Mary Margaret O'Hurley put down the phone, her eyes thoughtful. *Well, isn't that a kick,* she mused. The information she had just uncovered certainly put a new spin on some of the day's events, but what was she going to do about it? The situation was becoming as convoluted and outrageous as some of the fiction that was 'published' on the female dominant websites and newsgroups of the Internet - and almost as unbelievable. 

All the same, she now had more information that had a bearing on what had been done to Edward. Unfortunately, there were at least two different spins she could put on this new intelligence, although her instincts and her inclinations told her that only one of them fit what she herself had seen. Still, it wasn't just her life that would be affected by how she handled this. On one hand, this was definitely something she and Edward might be able to use to distinct advantage. On the other. . .

Mary poured herself a glass of mineral water and walked to the window overlooking the nearby river. She took a sip. In point of fact, there wasn't much more that could happen to Edward at this point, and there were distinct advantages to flushing the game early.

It was time to go on the offensive - one way or another, she thought. Setting her glass down, she strode back to the phone and quickly dialed information.

Chapter 6: "Getting to Know the Players" Get-together

Ed opened the apartment door, and was surprised to see "Marque. . I mean, Mary? I, uh, wasn't expecting to see you."

She smiled gently at him. "I know, but I feel there are new issues we needed to discuss."

"Well, okay, but. . "

"But?" Mary prompted.

"I haven't finished thinking," Ed said quietly, "About the issues we discussed at lunch."

"I see. Well, that was not the only thing I wanted to address with you. May I come in?" she finished pointedly.

Ed blushed at that, and stepped back to permit her entry. "Welcome to my home," he offered formally.

"Enter freely and of my own will, but this time with your blessing first, eh?" she said, smiling as she returned his handshake.

"Can I get you something to drink? Some wine, or perhaps something stronger?" Ed offered as he led her into his apartment's small living room.

"No, thank you, but I don't drink."

"Oh? Some coffee then? Or tea? It wouldn't take but a moment to get ready."

"Some tea would be lovely."

"Chinese-style or Indian?"

"Indian, please. Darjeeling if you have it."

"Of course. You can sit here or come in to the kitchen while I fix it."

"Edward," she purred automatically, "I love watching a man wait on me." And instantly regretted it when he stopped short and stared at her. "Sorry. Some times such responses come too trippingly to my tongue. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said a bit too sharply, and then looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, too. I understand. Still want the tea?"

"Please."

The preparations were competently and quickly seen to in the small, but efficiently laid out kitchen. In short order, Edward was carrying a tea service tray back to the living room. He was just setting the tray down on the coffee table when his doorbell rang. "Excuse me just a moment please."

Opening the door again, he was momentarily stunned to see that his new visitor was "Veronica?"

"Hello, Ed. May I come in, please?"

Shaking himself out of his surprised confusion, Edward stood aside to let her enter. 

"Ah, Veronica, or should I say, Mistress Verita," Mary called from the door, "You've arrived. Excellent."

"Mary," Veronica said by way of greeting. "Thank you for inviting me, but I haven't answered to Verita in years - not since my college days at Tulane."

"Which is when and where you became a Sister?"

"Yes."

"Well, you are just in time to share in this lovely tea Edward has prepared."
Hearing his name, Ed remembered to close the door and looked at the two women. "I don't understand. Veronica, I have not had a chance to discuss this with Mary yet."

"Don't worry, Edward," Mary said gently. "I called Veronica this afternoon and invited her to join us tonight."

"Oh. . . well, the tea is getting cold. Veronica, would you tea or coffee? Or perhaps something stronger? I have wine and brandy."

"Tea will be fine, Ed."

Moments later, all had steaming cups of fragrant brew. In the way of strangers trying to work out their differences, they made small talk for several minutes. It was Veronica who called the impromptu meeting to order.

"I know you're a professional domme, Mary, because Barbara gave me a rundown on you and your operation when I called her this afternoon. What I don't know is how you came to be involved with Ed."

"That, Veronica, is what Edward and I have been trying to figure out as well. Someone set us both up."

"Define that more completely for me, please," the petite redhead ordered.

"I kidnaped him, and then spirited him away to my island hideaway for two weeks of very intense scening."

Veronica started to protest but then caught something that stopped her. "You're serious," she finally said, almost in wonder.

"As a slap in the face," Mary replied evenly. "As Barbara no doubt told you, I provide a very exclusive service for people who want to play on the edge. I do, in fact, own a small island in the Carribean where I control everything, including access to and from the island. Once I have a client there, I effectively own that individual until I see fit to send him or her home. In Edward's case, some person or persons as yet unknown, tricked me into taking him and treating him to a series of very extreme scenarios, all of them heavily forced femme in nature."

"Well, that explains why he walked like he was in heels for several weeks after he returned from that blasted vacation," Veronica said, her tone as soft as her eyes were hard, "but you said that YOU were tricked - how?"

"I contract for these . . . holidays through local agents - most often other professional dominants carefully selected and screened throughout the country. Someone, and I don't know who, managed to convince my agent in this area that they were representing Edward. It was a brilliant plan, with sufficient truth and verifiable facts behind it that the tools I used to confirm the contract seemed to support the belief that Edward wanted what was in that contract."

"You never saw Edward face-to-face in the entire time this contract was negotiated?" Veronica demanded, disbelief evident in her very posture.

"As now seems incredibly stupid on my part, I *thought* I had found ways to provide clients with the fantasy of being captured, literally off the street, and forced into slavery. It is a very powerful image for many submissives, as you well know, Mistress Verita, and one that some are willing to pay a great deal of money to experience."

"But that makes you so. . .so vulnerable, to something exactly like this," Veronica pointed out. 

"I still don't see, Mary," Edward interjected, "how you could possibly think that I was in on this thing."

"I did have you questioned, dear," Mary pointed out. "Right after I got that first payment."

"You did? When?" Edward was dumbfounded, and it showed in his face. "I think I'd remember someone asking me if I was going to spend two weeks playing slave-girl on a tropical island."

Mary laughed and reached into her large purse. "I did tell you I had other evidence." She extracted a small tape player and set it beside the tea tray on the coffee table. "This 'interview' was conducted by one of my trusted friends. It was about two weeks before we took you, Edward, in a small bar near your office." Mary depressed the 'play' button, adjusted the volume control and then sat back in her seat to listen.

"I just got back from vacation," a woman's voice offered. "Had a lovely time. Sun, sea and shopping."

There was a masculine chuckle followed by Ed's voice. "I'm getting ready to go away on vacation in a couple of weeks, myself. First long one I've taken since college. I'm really excited about it."
"Oh, really? Looking forward to it, are we?"

"You bet. This is something I have always wanted to do. Glad I finally got up the guts to actually go out there and do it."

"Sounds exciting."

"It is - and maybe just a bit scary because I'll really be tested out there, you know? Truth to tell," and an almost embarrassed laugh came through clearly, "I expect there will be more than a few embarrassing moments, but I am determined to see it through, prove myself, you know?"

"Doesn't sound like much of a vacation to me."

"Well, it will be one of those once-in-a-lifetime fantasy experiences - something I will remember the rest of my life."

Mary reached over and clicked off the tape player. "My friend had the microphone hidden in her broach," she said. "I think, Veronica, you can see how that would serve to convince us that Edward knew what was in store for him?"

"Oh, GUMDROPS," Edward snapped. "It didn't mean anything of the kind."

"Didn't it? Well, I can see how it might be interpreted that way, Ed. What did you mean?" Veronica asked.

"I was going to the Blue Ridge, to a camp where there was one of those 'outward bound' type outfits. I'd always wanted to do one of those things, but I was worried that I wasn't in good enough shape for it. And I don't like heights at all so I was just a bit scared."

"And the expectation of being embarrassed?"

"They put mud pits under and around the obstacles they set for the campers. Screw up and you end up in a hog wallow. I kind of expected to do that quite often."

Veronica shook her head. "My god. Knowing the circumstances now, I would have agreed with Mary that you knew precisely what she had in store for you."

Mary pulled a folder from her bag and looked at Edward, her gaze intense. "I'm rather surprised at your reaction just now, Edward. 'Gumdrops?' What does that mean?"

Edward blushed bright red while Veronica began to laugh softly. "Our Ed doesn't swear or use bad language, Mary."

"I don't understand."

Swallowing, Ed tried to explain. "I had a rather . . .rough vocabulary in my youth, Mary. When I came to work for the advertising firm, I found out quickly that many folks," and Mary caught the hint of a bashful look at his redheaded boss, "don't like it when someone turns the air blue with curse words - especially around clients. So I trained myself to use other, less offensive terms to express myself."

"And gumdrops is one of those terms you use in lieu of a more common and vulgar expletive?" Edward nodded. "So, tell me, dear, do you ever use the word 'gummiworms?'"

The slender man looked at her in surprise. "Not ever, Mary. I can't stand the things. Won't even buy them for my nephew."

"I see. Odd thing, though, but I'm afraid that I wouldn't have known that based on my experiences with Edward on my island." 

"What do you mean by that?" Veronica asked.

"Oh, just that Edward exhibited that fine vocabulary he mentioned on more than one occasion, at least until my ladies and I taught him better."

At Veronica's raised brow, Edward blushed again. "Well, that paddle hurt, and I almost fell the first time you made me try to dance in those heels." He swallowed hard. "I was under a lot of pressure and scared, okay?"

"Very interesting, indeed," Mary repeated before she going momentarily silent. She seemed to reach some decision and turned to face Veronica. "Mistress Verita, as an ethical dominant, tell me something. What is the first thing you do when you get into a scene involving high levels of physical and/or emotional stress? When you know or think you may be pushing some serious buttons and limits for your submissive?"

Veronica became thoughtful and then shrugged. "You verify that the. . .," she stumbled a moment as she realized what she was about to reveal, but forged on in spite of what effect that revelation might have on her plans. "You verify that the client is mentally and emotionally ready for the scene. Somehow, you need to get them to communicate to you, without breaking roles or disrupting the anticipation, that he's ready and more importantly, willing to go where you want to lead him." 
"And how do you do that? I know, of course, this is one of the primary lessons taught to all new Sisters, but I want to convince Edward that I'm not making something up." 

"Typically, I would push my clients to the point they used their caution word. That shows that we both understand that there are limits, and that the client is thinking clearly enough to recognize the need and select the right control word. If some aspect of the scene is too difficult, he or she can, of course, use the stop word, and before anything undesirable happens."

Mary beamed at Veronica, like a teacher approving of a particularly bright and thoughtful student. "Tell me, Edward, do you remember those first fateful moments in my keeping? Right after you regained consciousness?"

He became thoughtful for a moment and the memories came flooding back to him.

Chapter 7: Interludes

Edward tried to pull his hands down from above his head - he had a hellish itch demanding to be scratched but found he couldn't. Something held him by the wrists - too tightly. He could barely twist them, let alone move them, but in the dimly lighted gloom, he couldn't see what that something was. 

Blinking rapidly, Edward tried to adjust to the dark when brilliantly disorienting light suddenly flared all about him and then the world began to slowly rotate. It took him a few moments for his eyes to clear enough to see that he really was rotating - he'd been lying on his back and whatever he had been resting on was moving him into a vertical position.

As he came upright, other externals became apparent to him. His feet were also restrained, much as his hands were, only to the floor. Moreover, something was forcing him up onto his toes, almost as if he were wearing some kind of shoe with very high heels. 

At last his vision cleared enough to discern what was restraining his hands and wrists. Some type of dowel, about two feet in length, was between his wrists keeping his hands apart. There was also a chain at the center of the dowel that disappeared into a hole in the ceiling far above his head. 

Sound was his first clue something new was happening - a creaking noise of metal on metal. *The chain,* his mind realized, *something was pulling up on that chain, taking a strain, pulling my arms further up.* Slowly, inexorably, Edward felt his shoulders and arms grow almost painfully taut as the chain kept pulling, kept forcing his weight up off his toes. Then he realized that something similar must have been attached to the spreader bar at his ankles because his toes were being held fast down there, too, but he couldn't see for sure. The pulling finally stopped when all the slack was gone from his body, leaving every muscle in his torso stretched to their limits.

Two women approached him. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing?" but they ignored him, and began to wrap what he would later recognize as a heavily boned corset about his stretched out torso. Without a word, the women connected the corset hooks in front of him, and then began to tighten the laces in the back of the corset.

Methodically, they started at the bottom and worked their way up to the top of the garment, and then, having finished that, began working their way back down, somehow finding slack with each pull, only to begin working back up yet again. With each repetition, the corset's span shrank still further, crushing Edward's waist and lower ribcage into a semblance of the classic hour-glassed female form.

"What. . .are . . you . . .trying to . . DO?" he begged, but went unanswered. They just kept working, their agile, skilled fingers In fairly short order, Edward could barely breathe, and what breath he had, he wasted begging them to stop, but still they continued. "Please, stop, you're hurting me!"

And still, they continued. One of the women brought a knee up to the small of Ed's back to increase the leverage she could exert and gave the laces a sharp tug. 

And broke the camel's back, or at least, Ed's control. "Ow, that hurts! Stop, please stop, for the love of Gawww . . . Gumdrops!" 

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

"What happened then?" Mary asked as she opened the folder to a specific page and passed it to Veronica.

"Now that you mention it, they stopped what tightening it - actually loosened it just a bit in fact."

Mary nodded and looked to Veronica. "Look at the paragraph marked 'Safety and Precautions'," she ordered.

Veronica scanned down and then her eyes went wide. "Pre- Agreed-Upon-Caution-Word," she read aloud, "gumdrops. Stop- word, gummiworms." She let the folder drop to her lap and stared at Edward. "Dear Lord, but you gave them the contracted yellow-light word, got the appropriate and ethical response from the dommes but. . .but. . .

"He never even knew it," Mary finished for Veronica. "And at the same time, convinced me that he was fully aware of the other aspects of the contract. That one incident was the one part this fiasco I couldn't figure out."

"Whoever did this knows me well enough to know I use that silly phrase as my 'expletive-deleted'. They expected that I would eventually use it during some particularly stressful situation."

"And it never crossed your mind that their response, the lessening of the stress, was because of something you said, Ed? It never even occurred to you that Mary might be playing according to accepted rules? Didn't you at least think about trying to find a stop code word?"

"If he did, no one reported that to me, Veronica," Mary put in, giving Edward a steady look. "A man saying odd words out of context, particularly during a very demanding scene experience, would DEFINITELY have caught my or my assistants' attention. I have very carefully trained them to listen and look for any anomalies during scenes. They know that if they are ever in doubt as to the continued consent of a submissive, they are to cease their current activities until clear communication can be reestablished. Ever since I had a man forget his codeword in the stress of a particularly intense scene."

"Ed?" Veronica asked again.

"I *did* think of it. But Mary was very . . . convincing about the slavery thing."

"So sweet of you to say so, dear," Mary teased in tones that sent his mind flashing back to the first time he had met La Marquesa. 

"Besides," Ed hurried on while suppressing a shiver, "Everything at Black Rose is based on consensual scenes, right? And all a safeword does is, um, withdraw consent, right? This was already a non-consensual situation, so what good would it do me to try to communicate that I wasn't, well, that I wasn't consenting to any of it? As far as I was concerned they already KNEW that! I understand now that Mary really didn't, but *I* did. I figured I'd just get punished for speaking without permission - especially if I broke training by saying things a lady shouldn't say. God knows I got punished enough for *that* by the time I thought of trying a safe-word." 

"I'm beginning to understand just how difficult that must have been for you, dear," Mary said very gently. "Maybe I am too good at my work. When I think of how I first confronted you . . . "

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

The two women who had first trussed him up in that damned corset had returned. Thanks to their none-too-gentle ministrations, he was again bound into rigid immobility. The corset had been tightened again, cutting him in half, his hanging body stretched out from pointed toes to straining wrists. 

Suddenly, blinding white light flared in the small cell and a different woman entered. Instantly, the relatively minor problems of discomfort evaporated from his mind in the face of the inexplicably greater menace that seemed to pervade her very essence. 

"My, my, aren't you the lovely one?" she purred, mimicking the rumble of a hungry predator before particularly toothsome prey. "You will make a fine addition to my stable, slave." 

As he hung in the cuffs, Edward didn't feel particularly lovely. His mouth tasted like old gym socks, his face was scratchy with beard stubble, and the gritty feeling in his eyes must have been accompanied by redness and irritation that would show on the outside. 

"Why are you doing this to me?" he croaked through his moisture-deprived throat. 

"For profit, of course," she replied off-handedly, her full attention apparently focused on her continued examination of Edward's tightly drawn form. "A slender body is an asset, but that can be obtained through proper diet and exercise - which you will receive, I assure you. Strawberry blond hair and green eyes, now that is an unusual combination, and highly prized. But this nose, ah, this nose." 

"Accident," he mumbled. "Bad surgeon." 

"My dear . . . slave," she purred again, one leather clad finger stroking his button nose despite his attempt to pull his head back. "The surgeon was marvelous. Not particularly experienced on men, of course, but he shaped you such a cute nose when he repaired your breathing problem." 

"You know about that?" Edward asked. 

"I know *everything* about you," she claimed. "There are any number of rich men - and women - who will pay handsomely for such a pretty boy as you. Or at least, one as pretty as you will be when I'm done with you." 

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

Edward's eyes refocused on the scene in his apartment, blushing yet again as he looked at Veronica and realized he'd been speaking his memories aloud in front of her. "She said I was . . that the way I looked made me profitable as a slave. I believed her," he finished with quiet sincerity.

Veronica turned to Mary with a light of appreciation in her eyes. "Oh, very well done, sister!" she congratulated but then stopped short when she saw the hurt look flash in Ed's eyes. "Of course," she went on less enthusiastically, "you did have a lot to work with. It's always easier to get into the head of a smart, imaginative person than a dullard."

"Edward does seem to have a flare for role-play," Mary put in, "although he had more motivation for perfecting his feminine personas than I intended or would have approved." 

"Just so," Veronica agreed, just a bit too quickly and then went on, anger coloring her tone. "Someone has to pay for what happened to him."

"I thought it might have been you, Veronica," Mary said quietly, "Which was why I asked you here tonight, so I could watch you react to what I had to say to Edward."

"Veronica would never. . " Edward jumped to his boss' defense.

"I agree," Mary replied, before turning back to face the other woman directly again. "You were too horrified by that last little revelation, even with your evident enjoyment of such imagery in the abstract. When you remembered precisely to whom those things had been done you became angry - extremely angry." Then, she turned back to Ed. "So, I would say, my dear, that you now have a real ally in your office. Sadly, I am very much afraid you are going to need such an ally if we pursue this search."

Nodding solemnly, Veronica completed the thought, "Because the most likely suspects are our co-workers."

"Gumdrops!" Ed said sadly.

"I'm afraid so," Mary repeated quietly. "I am going to have my investigator attempt to follow the money that paid my fee. Someone spent a great deal of it setting Edward up, and that much money always leaves a trail. It may be difficult to track this late in the game, but as I said, he is very good. I will also try to find out from my contacts how they got taken in by this scheme."

Chapter 8: Power Brokering

Mary and Veronica left Edward's apartment together. As they entered the elevator, Mary chuckled. "Care to share the joke?" Veronica challenged. 

She was still trying to figure out what this woman had meant by her parting comment to Ed. "We still have to decide that other question between us, Ed. The longer that goes unanswered, the greater the risk to our shared goals." Veronica decided she would have to find out what that had been about as soon as possible.

"Just thinking about a man who cares enough about a woman's feelings and sensibilities to make a habit of saying something as silly as 'gumdrops' to keep from offending her with his language. Pretty special man, I'd say."

"You don't know how special," Veronica sighed in agreement.

"Going to make him yours, Sister?"

"Once I figure out how to make him want to be caught."

"Dangerous thing, letting one of the good ones walk around without your brand on him. Some smart lady might snatch him out from under your nose."

Veronica gave Mary a steely look, but saw something like support in the taller woman's eyes and nodded. "But I had to wait, you see, until I left the company. He deserves the promotion to my current position, but for that to happen, there can't be any accusations of nepotism."

"I don't think he'd fight very hard."
"After tonight?" Veronica fought back a surge of temper. "When we just concluded that someone at work did this to him and, now that, thanks to you, he knows about my Mistress Verita history?"

"Had to happen sooner or later, and I think sooner is better for both our purposes just now. Besides, I did that on purpose."

"What?!?! Why you. . "

"Ah ah, gumdrops, remember? Look, Veronica, a lot of secrets are going to come to light in the next few weeks. Having him find out now about Mistress Verita from you, voluntarily, will, I think, serve you in good stead.  At the very least, it will be preferable to having him find out on his own and think you were hiding that from him."

"I was hiding it from him," Veronica muttered darkly.

"Well, you shouldn't have been, particularly not after what he's been through. You will need to discuss that, and you will need to discuss Mistress Verita's specialty with him. YOU need to discuss that with him. There is a possibility, I don't know how strong yet, that whoever set this up also knows about your past. He or she seems to know a great deal about me and I thought my own security was excellent. You would be very handy as the villain for this little farce if the real instigator needs a someone to hide behind."

"Why are you telling me this? I thought you had just concluded that I was the leading suspect."

"I was inclined to mark you off the list after I talked to Barbara and confirmed you were a Sister of the Delta of Venus. After meeting you, and seeing you with Edward? I know you didn't do it."

"How?"

Mary smiled gently. "You ARE a Sister. It's clear in the way you talk and the way you think about the craft. There is no way on God's green earth that you'd send your chosen mate to someone else to train. That's your right, your responsibility AND your privilege."

Veronica stared at the taller woman for several heartbeats and then burst into laughter. "You've got that right the first time. And you had no reason to come back here if you were lying, either. You were already in the clear."
"Exactly. So now, we need to find out who did this and why."

"What do we do when we find out?"

The elevator door whooshed open and they stepped out into the lobby. "I am not sure yet," Mary replied. "I have several ideas, but I need to do some research first. You want to share a cab?"

"No, thanks. I have my car outside. Can I offer you a ride?"

Chapter 9: Truth in Advertising

Veronica grimaced as she attempted, for what must have been the fifth time in the past twenty minutes, to read the simple one-page memorandum she held before her. When she failed yet again, she sighed and set the offending document aside. She looked at the small digital clock on her desk - 11:30 AM - and stifled a groan. Her entire morning had been like this. Her kindergarten-aged niece had better concentration than she had exhibited this morning.

That she knew and understood the root cause of her problem did nothing to help her solve it. And Mary O’Hurley’s call this morning had not helped.

"It is just as I thought, Verita," Mary had begun bluntly. "Edward is going to pose a significant problem for me in dealing with this mess. I tried to run him off yesterday at lunch, but there is a core of stubborn determination in him. . . reminds me of someone else I could name," and Veronica thought those tones were somehow almost admiring, "but he's nonetheless a problem right now, and he could become a bigger one if he goes off on his own. He's the focus of all this and whoever did this will know what he's doing. That will only make the answers harder to find."

"He is easy to underestimate because he is generally so easy-going and because he tends to work at making his co-workers and subordinates look better than he does. However, there is a great deal of terrier in him, too. He just grabs hold of a problem and doesn't let it go until he's fixed it or shredded it."

"Well, he isn't equipped to solve or shread this one. He doesn't have the experience, background or the skills, and like I said, he's too damned obvious."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Talk to him. Get him to agree to stay the hell out of this. I tried, but he doesn't completely trust me to handle this."

"Thanks to you, he probably doesn't trust me much right now, either."

"You have a history with him, dear, certainly a better one than I do. You need to use that to get his cooperation - to ASSURE his cooperation."

"Great, just great," Veronica sighed.

"Look, Veronica, so far what's happened in this mess has been pretty tame. Whoever did this set up a guy who had already shown subbie tendencies, who had already begun to explore actively the dominance and submission scene, and put him into a situation where the play would assuredly be safe and sane if at the same time, very non-consensual. What I'm saying is that it was pretty unlikely that he would have been hurt, at least not physically, by these machinations - up to THIS point in time."

"But you think that might change?"

"First, whoever did this took great pains to stay in the background, to stay hidden. Second, the plan was needlessly cruel, with humiliation elements that served no apparent purpose except his or her own sadistic self-gratification. I think that points to a coward - one who is extremely egocentric and arrogant - but who might become extremely dangerous if cornered or threatened with exposure." 

Veronica immediately made the connection and sighed. "So, we have to think about the possibility of violence? Real violence against Ed?" 

There was a moment's hesitation on the other end of the line. "I think he's already suffered real violence at my hands through the efforts of this . . . this creature, Verita," Mary replied icily, "So yes, I think FURTHER violence against Edward, or attempted against me, is a very real concern. I, personally, am prepared for that, and will hire suitably skilled and armed people to deal with that possibility. Ed isn't thinking in those terms. He's thinking about asking the person who did this why and not much beyond that, regardless of what he tried to convince me yesterday."

"And if he isn't going to trust Mistress Verita anymore than he trusts La Marquesa?"

"Deal with it, Sister," Mary had said firmly. "Like I said last night, if you tell him first, it will be better than if, or rather WHEN, he finds out on his own. Which I am sure that our hidden adversary intends as part of all this."

The electronic summons of the phone on her desk interrupted Veronica's memories. She picked it up and answered, "Yes?"

"Ed Davis would like to see you for a few moments, if you have the time?"

"Send him in, please," she ordered and then set down the phone. "Here goes nothing," she sighed before pasting her best businesswoman-executive-in-charge smile on her face.

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

She waved Ed into one of the comfortable chairs that faced her desk. "What's up?" she asked.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Andrushka account."

"How's that coming?"

"I think it will be pretty good. We're looking at a variation of the Secret concept - you know, 'strong enough for a man, but made for a woman' idea. We're thinking of something that shows the perfume as a product that a powerful, in-charge-of-her-life woman would use, not because it is expected or because of a man, but because it makes HER feel good, makes her feel both more womanly and more powerful as a woman."

Veronica thought about that for a moment, mulling that over in her mind, then said the obvious. "That doesn't exactly play up Andrushka's name appeal."

"We considered that, and Ken thinks we can tailor the approaches to the venue and to the group, but if we just play to that appeal, well, let me ask you this, would you buy a perfume that was guaranteed to make you smell like a sixteen year old blond nymphet who prances around a stage in purple leather jeans singing bad lyrics?"

"Not really," she chuckled appreciatively.

"But you might think about something that talked about your innate pleasure in your personal feminine strength. Look, it's a bit of a long shot, but we think that most of the approaches will be of the type you describe - Nike's 'I want to be like Mike' campaign - except aimed at 12 - 16 year old girls who want to be like Andrushka."

"When will you have something to show me?"

"We're still trying to come up with catch-phrases, but we'll have some basic story-boards late today. . . I'll get Didi an appointment to see you tomorrow morning."

"Sounds fine," Veronica said, and then paused, trying to find a way to open the topic she knew had to be aired between them, then she saw, Ed glance at his watch and stand up to leave.

"I won't take up any more of your time."

*He can't wait to get out of her,* she thought sadly. *Damn.* "Uh, Ed, are you free for lunch?"

"Lunch?" he asked, surprised.

"Uhmmm, yes, I think we need to talk. I could have my secretary get us some sandwiches or something, and we could discuss. . . last night here in the privacy of my office."

"That's not . . "

"Would you rather go somewhere neutral? Or to your place? I really think we need to talk, Ed. I don't like it that you seem to feel the need to put distance between us. We've been, well, friends for quite a while."

She forced herself not to fidget as he turned an unexpectedly cold and searching stare at her. Finally he replied, "I would like us still to be friends, Veronica, I really need friends, right now especially."

"Then let me tell you the truth, Ed, at least about me and about the Lady of Truth."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and finally nodded his agreement. "Lunch here sounds fine," he said.

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

They made small talk until Veronica's secretary arrived with takeout fruit salads and iced tea from a nearby delicatessen. The petite executive then ordered the younger woman to hold all calls, and to admit no visitors, with no exceptions, until the meeting with Mr. Davis was over.

"Lock the door, will you, Ed?" Veronica asked as she laid out the lunch on her conference table. *That way you'll be sure,* she told herself resignedly.

"You look tired, Ed," she said. "I suspect you didn't sleep very well after Mary and I left your place last night."

"Not very," he admitted as he reached for his fork. "I had a lot on my mind. There were a lot of questions running mad circles in my head."

"That's really why I wanted to talk to you now. I'm sure that key among those questions are ones that go like 'Who the hell is Mistress Verita?' and 'How does she know that damned Marquesa?' and 'Why doesn't Veronica tell her to stop calling her that name?' Would those be up there high on that list of 'mad questions' of yours, Ed?"

"Among other things, yes," Ed replied softly.

*At least he cares enough to be upset at the idea that I could have been involved in this . . .this abomination,* she thought. "So," she continued smoothly, "What have you decided in your sleepless night?"

"About you?" Ed asked, looking up from his plate.

"I have to admit that I'm interested."

Ed set his fork aside and took a sip of his soda, clearly thinking about his reply. Finally, he shrugged. "I don't know. I, well, I just don't know how to handle the fact that you're like La Marquesa, that you're a . . "

Veronica waited several moments for him to finish his statement before offering "A Sister?"

"I don't know what that means," Ed answered, his tone telling her he'd had a different term in mind.

"Good for you," she put in, "At least you're open minded enough to admit that you don't know what being a Sister entails, rather than make an ass of you and me by assuming that you do."

"I'm only admitting that I don't know that specifically," Ed came back at her, "What I do know, however, is a good deal more than I wanted to know."

She heard the bitter edge return to his voice, but did not acknowledge it, did not want to acknowledge it. Instead, she simply turned the tables back on him. "Do you? Do you really still think that Mary is the villain of this piece? Or that I am . . . capable of the same?"

Ed stared at her for several heartbeats and then looked away when Veronica's own gaze remained steady. "No," he sighed, "I guess not. I mean, I don't think that Mary is the villain. It's pretty clear to me that she was taken advantage of as well, and equally clear that she is honestly upset about that. But. . .even though I trust her motives - now, anyway - I'm not sure I trust her judgement, or that her goals and objectives in all this are compatible with my own."

"A fair enough assessment," Veronica replied. "But what about the rest of my question? About how you perceive me in all this."

Ed hesitated, his mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to frame a reply. "Well, that's not exactly the answer I was hoping for," Veronica said.

"I'm sorry, uh, but. . " Ed began, only to lapse into silence again. This time, the woman across from him only waited, her clear eyes patiently waiting for him to work through whatever was stopping his reply. "Look at it from my perspective. The first thing she demanded was that I be Edie again. Gumdrops, but she is so caught up in this "la Marquesa, Queen of the World" thing of hers that she only sees the power, the domination and the humiliation and I don't see how that helps!"

Veronica nodded. "All right, but that is about Mary and how you perceive her. I asked you about how you see me."

"But it does! You took advantage of that cursed party to make me do the same thing - dress as a woman so you could humiliate me. Whatever it means to be a Sister, at least some parts of it don't. . .help with finding out who did this to me or why."

"Damn," she whispered under her breath as a flush that might have been either anger or embarrassment suffused her redhead's porcelain complexion. "That stupid, damned Halloween Party."

"Well, it sure as he. . gumdrops wasn't the Christmas Party. The rumor was that you were the one who created the. . . theme for the Halloween Party." 

The annual office Halloween Party was traditionally the culminating event of the agency's annual management retreat. Although the affair really was a party and intended to be a good time for all, it was served a training function. Therefore, participation was not truly optional. Costumes were mandatory and had to be in keeping with the theme set at the beginning of the retreat.

"I didn't give it much credence at the time, but it was awfully soon after that supposed vacation of mine. Now all I can wonder is if that theme or my supposedly randomly selected costume 'inspiration' was coincidental or suspicious?"

Whatever emotion had colored Veronica's visage was just as quickly quelled as she turned a considering eye on Ed. "Ed," she said very softly, "Do you *really* think that's why I arranged for you to draw that particular party challenge? So that I could humiliate you?"

"So you DID arrange for me to draw that damned women's wear account."

For the first time, temper flashed in the executive's violet eyes, "Hell, Ed. Okay, you've been made a victim, but don't be a fool on top of that!" she flared at him. "Of COURSE I *arranged* for that account to be in the hat in the first place just so you could draw it. But I didn't do it to humiliate you. If I'd have wanted to humiliate you, I'd have seen to it that you got that slimy 'health food' account instead of my secretary, Peggy. Lord knows you would have been embarrassed if you had been the one to puke all over yourself but *I* wouldn't have been punished with lousy coffee for the past six months. C'mon, man, and think about it! Do you really believe that's the way I work?" 

Ed's cheeks flamed. He took a breath and shook his head. "No. Partly because it never made sense for you to do something like that, and well, partly because it would be a promotion-killer.  Mostly, however because you just wouldn't."

"Thank you," Veronica said with quiet dignity. 

"It's just," Ed pressed on, "that I can't figure out why you DID do it.""

Veronica stood up and came around to sit down beside Ed, taking his hand in hers. "You came back from La Marquesa's and you were. . . different," she told him sincerely. "You walked toe to heel instead of heel to toe, you shook hands with a loose wrist, even swung your hips when you walked. You didn't realize it, but others noticed. So I set up that party. Hell, it even had a reasonable connection to what we were working on at the agency."
Ed thought about that. What Veronica said was true. She had put the name of every in-progress developmental campaign in a hat for everyone to draw from. The idea was that every employee would have to dress in a way that demonstrated that campaign's theme and perspective. The account Ed had drawn from the hat had been for a chain-store's women's wear line. "You set me up," he repeated, almost to himself.

"I already admitted that, Ed! When you got the hat, the Penney account was the only one you could have drawn. Why do you think I made the rules so trades weren't allowed? I justified that arbitrary edict by telling the other managers that we wanted everyone to be able to understand and exemplify any of our accounts, but my real purpose was to help you."

Ed's head came up, his eyes wide in surprise. "Help me? Good grief, Veronica, you just said I was already making a spectacle of myself. How could that help me?

"Come on, Ed, don't you see? Drawing that women's wear account as your costume inspiration gave you a reason for, well, swishing about like you had been doing. I made certain folks assumed you were practicing for the party. . .trying to win that damned prize for best costume. It also gave me an excuse to tease you about your little feminine mannerisms so that you'd notice them, get them under control. Which you did very quickly after that, I hasten to add!"

"I had to," Ed replied, suddenly remembering. "Some of your teasing were. . . well, pretty pointed."

"I needed to get your attention," Veronica said with a shrug. "It worked, too."

The memories were flooding back now. It had been just as she described it. And more than that, too. "You never teased when anyone else might have heard it, did you?" but it was a statement more than a question as he now realized there had never been anyone else within earshot when Veronica had ragged on him.

"That would have defeated my purpose, now wouldn't it?" she asked, more approvingly now. "But then, you damned fool, THEN you nearly blew the whole deal by storming into my room at the retreat and threatening to refuse to attend the party. Cripes, I had to send you home and let my secretary's well-developed gossip instincts put the word out that you were too ill to come that night."

Ed could only nod at that. He had gone to Veronica that day to tell her he just couldn't attend. She'd tried to talk him out of that decision, but he'd been adamant and had gone so far as to offer his resignation rather than dress for that party. Finally, she had, in fact, sent him home from the resort where the retreat had been held, telling him to act ill if anyone from the company saw him before he'd left the premises.

"Things looking a bit different now?" she asked after letting him digest those memories for several moments, "In the light of twenty-twenty hindsight?"

"I. . .I just didn't know what else to think," he finally blurted out, "or what else to do."

*Might as well get the rest of it out on the table,* she thought. 

"There's one more truth you might as well chew on, Ed. I knew for over a year before that damned party that you were thinking about getting involved in the scene, that you were inclined to be sexually submissive in your romantic relationships. And I don't think it will come as any surprise to you now that I like that in a man, but in all that time, did I ever do anything - say anything - to put you in a difficult position as a result of that knowledge?"

Veronica pinned Ed with a stern look until finally, he gave a slow shake of his head. "Right, I didn't! On the other hand, did I ever give serious thought to trying to get together with you? Playing with you? Having a relationship with you? The answers to all those questions are definitely YES. Why? Because you are a sensitive, attractive and interesting man who appeals to me on a variety of levels, not just that one, but I never acted on those thoughts because it wouldn't have been fair to you."

"You. . . you wanted to be with me? Like that?" he asked, incredulous.

"Guess I hid it pretty well, eh?" she replied with a self deprecating grin. "Look, no one knows better than I the down-sides of being kinky. There are things about my life I can never share with my family, especially my brothers. That's hard. I wouldn't wish that on you and I certainly would never take that decision away from you by doing something overt about the way I feel. Not to mention the fact that as your direct supervisor, my coming on to you might have made you feel you were in an untenable position if you didn't want to play with me."

Ed stared at her, trying to make all this new data fit into some kind of order, and failed. "I need time to think."

Veronica sighed, disappointed but not surprised. "I understand. Take the rest of the day off, Ed. Tomorrow's Saturday and I don't want you working the weekend, either. Take the time you need to sort this out for yourself," she ordered as she handed him a card. "That has my home and cell phone numbers on it. You already know my office number. If you need me, if you have any questions at all, don't hesitate to call me."

A almost dazed look on his expressive face, Ed slowly rose from his seat. "Okay. I have to go."

Veronica walked over to the door and put her hand on the lock. "I know, Ed. Look, please call me tonight, just to let me know you are home and okay?"

He nodded. Veronica leaned over and kissed his cheek and then unlocked and opened the office door. "Take care of yourself, Ed." He disappeared into the hallway outside her office and she shut her office door again without saying a word to her obviously curious secretary. She was dialing Mary's number moments later.

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.

Part IV

Chapter 13: Monday, Monday. . .

"I didn't see you here this weekend," Helen said from the entrance to Ed's cubicle. "Does that mean that the Andrushka campaign concept is ready for my marketing team to review?"

There was more than a hint of disapproval in the tall blonde's syrupy tones. That, coupled with the fact that Ed had not yet had time to unpack his briefcase, had his back up when he turned to face the woman. "I really don't know, Helen," he replied, all easy affability, "Didi was going to take the first-concept stuff to Veronica on Friday.  Since I spoke with Veronica on Saturday and that subject did not come up, I will assume that our mutual boss in not unhappy with the product thus far."

Helen resisted reacting to Ed's thrust.  "We don't have much time on this one, Ed.  We need to be working concurrently on this, and my people do have a better handle on what will and won't sell in the market place."

"Really?" Ed privately wondered how he'd ever made the mistake of thinking this woman was at all attractive.  Oh, she was physically beautiful, and she knew all the tricks of her former trade about how to enhance her genetic gifts, but somehow, he did not find the person - Helen - attractive.  "Look, Helen, when we have enough of a story-board for a briefing, you'll get it. Right now, all your pushing will do is obstruct the creative process. We have a good idea, but it needs time to grow a bit first."

"Time is what we don't have!" she did snap this time.

"And whose fault is that? I checked the Business Register - this request for proposal has been out on the street for quite some time.  I also checked with the other teams who do or could do this type of work and you never even approached them. My team and I will do what we can with the time we have, and what we can do will be better without your nagging than it will be with you there questioning every brush and key stroke."

"We were waiting for you to finish the Maidenform project, and you went over schedule on that, again," Helen shot back.

"Actually, Helen, we didn't. By my recollection, we came in two days ahead of the schedule we committed to on that job," Ed retorted, wondering just what the hell was motivating this confrontation, "and under budget, as well."

"Be that as it may, WE were counting on you finishing up faster!" Then she rushed on before he could answer her implied charge. "Regardless of the reason, we're behind the 8-ball on this new project so my team and I HAVE to be involved with every step of this project starting right now. I don't want to go to Veronica with this, Ed, but. . ." she let the threat hang in the air.

"Do what you have to do, Helen, because I will.  And what I have to do is protect the people who are doing the real work on this effort.  You can't market what they don't turn out.  Now, if you'll excuse me? I have other work to do."

He heard her outraged gasp followed by the staccato tapping of receding high heels.  "God," he growled as he started digging into his briefcase, "but there are parts of this job I purely hate," he mumbled as he reached for his coffee cup.

"Then why do you do it?" a now-familiar female voice asked.  "Although I must say you seem to do it well enough - better than I thought you could from my experience with you.  Well fought!"

"Marq. . .I mean, Mary?" Ed's voice nearly cracked.  "What are you doing here?"

Smiling, Mary strolled into his cubicle.  She was dressed in a dark green power suit and carried a leather briefcase.  "Didn't your secretary tell you? I'm your nine o'clock appointment.  I'm just a little early."

~-~

Ed closed the conference room door and then held Mary's chair for her to be seated.  As he took his own place, she could see just how hard his mind was working at how he would ask the question clearly foremost in his mind.  She decided to take mercy on him.  "I told your secretary that I was here representing a firm in need of a new and fresh advertising angle, and that you had been highly recommended."

"Oh, ummm, I see."

She grinned.  "I don't think so.  Actually, Veronica will shortly join us with some files I need for my investigator."

"What kind of files? Why?"

"Edward, we know that whoever did this to you and to me knows you very well. Verita tells me that you don't have much of a social or personal life, so that puts business contacts and colleagues at the top of our list of suspects.  Business records, personnel files, pay, accounting and tax records, pre-employment background checks - all of it information that we could obtain elsewhere, but which is more easily and quickly gotten here.  We do have a bit of time urgency here."

"You're not the first one to tell me that today," Ed muttered, and then cast a suspicious eye at Mary. "Couldn't Veronica get in trouble for giving you that stuff?"

"If she or I were caught, then I suspect she could, but we're not going to be caught."

"Pride and falls," he noted, worried.  

"Don't fuss," she scolded gently.  "No one will see anything untoward, and I will be taken to be just as I appear.  You will, of course, make a report for the record about my company - I told them I represent a very exclusive spa, by the way.  You will tell them that, because my clientele is so. . .select and small, that your company really isn't suited to this type of account.  Veronica tells me that would be the truth, were I, in fact, representing such a firm."

A wry smile crossed Ed's mouth.  "Not that I would be likely to do a very good job for you in any case."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's hard for me to write good copy about products or services when I have. . . a lot of ambivalence about them."

Mary's laugh was rich and full.  "Oh, what a perfectly delightful way of putting it, although I might say 'ambivalence' is a bit kind."

Ed relaxed a bit at that, and sat back.  "May I offer you some refreshment while we wait? Some coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be nice."  Mary watched as he called for the receptionist and asked her to arrange some tea.  Then he carefully spread out paper and pencils from his portfolio. "Going to ignore me and do some of that work you mentioned to your colleague?"

"If I wasn't scribbling furiously when she arrived, she'd know something was wrong.  It's a nice small company and we've mostly been together for a while now.  They tend to know my little foibles."

"You enjoy working here?"

"Sure."

"What about those, ah, how did you put it?  Oh, yes. What about those parts of the job you purely hate?  And you never answered my question about why you do it?"

Ed was about to answer when the tea arrived.  She let him get away with serving the tea - noting again that he did it well.  Something he'd already known? Or something she and her ladies had taught Edie?  When he'd finished the little ceremony, she took her cup and saucer and leaned back.  "Now, answer my questions, please," she ordered.  The tone was mild, but the look in her eyes was anything but.

Ed put down his own cup. "I made a mistake taking the team leader job," he admitted to himself as much to Mary. 

"Why did you take it?"

He shrugged, a bit defensively, Mary thought. "Got greedy. Wanted more, I don't know, more everything, but didn't know that I didn't want what came with it."

"Not cut out to be a manager, eh?"

"I do okay at it, but the work was a lot more fun when I did the creative bit, when I did what Didi and Ken do now."

"Surely you still do that - you're a very imaginative person. Otherwise, you'd never have fallen in with the scenarios at my island so well."

A sardonic smile answered that last comment. "Oh, I do get to play a little - we are a team after all and we'll take any good idea, even if it comes from the boss.  I just don't get to do the drawing, the story-boarding, the ad-writing anymore.  While my kids are doing that stuff, I'm worrying about budgets and schedules and getting new accounts."

"And dealing with pushy women like that blonde?"

"That, too.  Helen's okay," he assured Mary, but his body language said something else entirely to the quietly observant woman.  "She's the balance in all this - the clear-headed, schedule-driven manager in the midst of all these creative free spirits. Without that balance, we'd never get anything done on time. It's just that sometimes. . "

Mary let that hang in the air before prompting, "Sometimes?"

Ed fidgeted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with the intensity and line of Mary's questions.  "Sometimes she tries to make like ideas are something you turn out with a cookie-cutter."

"I see." 

They sat quietly for a few minutes, each enjoying the hot tea, until the woman broke the silence. "Verita tells me you're still determined to be involved directly in the investigation."

"I have to be involved," he said quietly.  "I have questions that I have to ask and that I have to have answered."

His determination shouldn't surprise her, Mary mused. Nothing else could have sustained him during his time on her island. She was marshalling her arguments for another try when the door to the conference room opened.  "Hello, Mary," Veronica said from the doorway.  "Ready to go over that paperwork?"

"It's all there?"

"I think you'll have enough to see what can be done," Veronica replied carefully, aware they could be overheard. "Now that you've met Ed, I will give you a quick and dirty on our standard contracts. If you'll come to my office? Talk to you later, Ed."

~-~

The woman who now paced about Veronica's private office had very little in common with the highly controlled personality Ed had met in the conference room.  "Dammit, Sister, he won't LISTEN! Like all members of that species, he has two heads and he's thinking with the wrong damned one!"

Veronica smiled at the display of fiery temper.  It was even comforting because it meant that Ed mattered to the woman. "One would think, Mary, that you were the redhead just now, instead of me."

The comment reached Mary, and she made a visible effort to compose herself.  "I'm afraid I have more than my share of the O'Hurley Irish temper, but I don't often let it show.  I apologize."

"Unnecessarily, Sister.  I take it that Ed is still determined to be involved."

Frustration flashed in Mary's eyes again, her hands fisting. "Yes, and he's a problem!  He's the joker in this deck.  He could queer this whole deal so we never find the bastard who did this to him. . to ME!"

"Calm down!" Veronica's order was mildly given, but steely nonetheless. "You're not doing the investigation much good in this condition either. Tell me what you're planning."

Mary's spine went ramrod straight at the command, and for a moment, Veronica thought she might storm out, but she didn't.  Instead, she took another deep breath, then sauntered over to the chair she'd been first offered and sat down.  Crossing her lovely legs, she began.  "There are at least two areas for investigation. The work connection - someone knows Ed and knows him well. Has to be work-related. . . unless he really does have a social life?"

Veronica shook her head.  "He doesn't," she replied.  "Until he was taken to your place, he worked inhuman hours here - sometimes over 80 hours a week."

"Then, those papers will be the start we need for that.  The other line involves my contacts here in town, and that's a problem."
"Why?"

"Same problem Edward had at that munch. My investigators are strangers and the Black Rose won't open up to them any more than they did to Edward.  That's why I need you.  The investigators can't get in at all and I shouldn't because that may tip off anyone who's involved."

"Has to be Black Rose?"

"It's a starting point," Mary conceded, standing up to resume pacing. She spun back to face Veronica.  "Look, all my contacts are members, and they're active.  That's how I made initial contact with them.  They've all been carefully screened before I took them into my confidence, but still. . ."

"There's obviously a great deal of money involved and money skews things.  Okay, I'll go inside for you and see what I can find out.  I'll need the names of the women you use."

"How do you know they're all women?" 

"Aren't they?  You are, after all, a Sister."

"They aren't all Sisters," Mary retorted, and then realized she's answered Veronica's first question, at least indirectly.  "All right, but that still leaves the question of what to do about Edward. We can't have an uncontrolled element like that confusing an already dangerous situation."

"Ed is smart, Mary," the petite redhead said reflectively. "If we can show him that he might hazard the investigation, I think he'd back out.  Besides, it occurs to me that having a sub who is in on my role in all this would be to our advantage. I could slip away from time-to-time without having a panicky slave yelling for help at a particularly awkward moment in my, ah, investigations."

"Only if we can rely on him in such a situation, Verita.  He must play by our rules if that is to work in our favor. The only one who can control him is you, and given your well-known play preferences, that means he has to willingly become Edie. More than that, he has to be able to stay in role as Edie under such circumstances that may well bring back. . .bad memories."

"Then, we give him a fair test or two, in situations that won't endanger the investigation.  If he handles it, fine.  If he can't, I think I can convince him to stay out of the way.  But the tests have to be fair."

Mary frowned at that, and came back to her chair once again. "What do you have in mind?"

Veronica smiled, a touch of mischief dancing in her violet eyes.  "I just got an email request from a friend at the Black Rose.  I told her I'd get back to her about it.  Here's the deal."

~-~

Fortunately, the Andrushka account plan work was there to help divert Ed's attention the rest of that day, or he would have done little else but consider Mary's words. Only one small problem though, of the 'every silver lining has a cloud' variety - that project was going TOO smoothly.  The concept ads were practically writing themselves and Ken and Didi's story-boards were among the best Ed had ever seen.

So he hadn't been quite as diverted as he would have liked, and spent a good deal of time 'considering what she said - carefully'.

He was deeply engrossed in just such a state of contemplation when Veronica entered his cubicle around five p.m. that night.  She knew without asking what was on his mind, and that suited her purposes.  Without a word she took one of the empty chairs and waited for her friend to acknowledge her presence.  

The second hand on the analog clock above Ed's door had begun it's third revolution when he finally realized he was no longer alone.  "Veronica?"

"Hi, Ed," she said, smiling softly.  "What are you thinking about so deeply?"

"What do you think?" he retorted.

"Why don't I think it's about perfume campaigns? Mary's visit?" Ed nodded.  "And . . . Edie?"

This time the nod was jerky, and the pencil he'd been holding snapped in his hand.  "The pair of you have convinced me that she's the only way I can be involved without disrupting the investigation or spooking the game.  It's just that there's a lot of baggage there.  I want to believe that I can handle it. . .handle being . .. her especially at . . "

"A Black Rose event?"  
"Yeah. But I can't be sure, and messing up isn't an option."

"Fair enough. Feel like dipping your toe into the pool? See if it's too cold before you have to take a running dive in?"

"Huh? How would I do that?"

"I have an idea about that. A friend of mine in Black Rose sent me an email today."

Chapter 14: Interludes

Ed smiled from his seat near the foot of the conference room table.  He could have stood, or moved to the lectern at the head of the table, but that wasn't his way. Instead, he simply had his say, as he always did.  "Our opening assumption is that we want more than just the obvious customer base for this product.  Our challenge, therefore, is to take a model who is in transition from 'girl' to 'woman', and provide an image - or images - of her that will appeal to all ages. We think this will do the job. Now, I'll let those who have created the vision explain them."

He gestured to Ken and Didi to take over. With that, Ed relaxed back into his chair and watched happily as his team pitched their ideas to Helen, Derrick and Veronica. He had a reputation for preferring to let them run with the ball and garner to themselves the praise their efforts clearly deserved. It was a habit that annoyed the other team leaders, mostly because the really good worker-bees wanted to work with Ed for that very reason. A quick glance around the table showed Helen looking puzzled while her assistant had an odd smirk on his face.  He wondered why. At least Veronica was smiling.

"So, we quickly decided that we needed something that would stand out from the approaches we think most of the other firms would develop," Ken said, almost tripping over words in his excitement.  "And in researching Andrushka, we discovered these pictures of her Mother." he floated several 8x10 blowups of obvious news photos around the wood-veneered conference table.  The woman in those grainy exhibits was an older version of the daughter - a bit rounder in places with a face that was not so smooth as it might once have been, but still attractive.  "We think we can work that into the campaign and do something really cool."  Ed smiled at that.  Ken always bubbled when he was passionate about something. "Didi?"

The rail-thin blonde stood up and lifted the covers off the easel that had been positioned at the head of the table. A 4x5-foot, hand-drawn story-board rested on the frame, two sets of side-by-side drawings filled the top four feet of the storyboard. A large piece of blank paper taped to the bottom hid the 'punchline'.

"We think we can make this work with either video or print media. As Ed pointed out, the key to a successful rollout is to make Andrushka Perfume appeal to all age groups by showing the product across those age groups," Didi began.

Moving to the easel, Didi pulled a collapsible metal pointer from her shirt pocket and aimed it at the story board. "As you can see, we're using a split screen or split page design for the ads - the left side showing Andrushka, the right side showing her Mom.  In this first scene, we show Andrushka being a girl - having fun with her pals on the mall.  Or she could be going to the beach or some similar scene, depending on the second-tier theme, or on the degree to which we want to emphasize athleticism in the total advertisement. With me, so far?"

There was a general murmur of agreement, so the blond artist pressed on.  "All right, then, in the right panel, we show her Mom being a mature, yet attractive, woman exercising power; in this case, chairing a meeting.  Again, depending on the second tier theme, she might be directing men a work site.  In other words, we see her as being a woman in charge - in command. For the second tier, we shift them.  Keeping the same motif, we see Mom dancing with a handsome man.  Again, if we want to emphasize athleticism and energy, she could be riding a horse in a dash through the surf, with a man riding his own horse in laughing pursuit.  The alternate image would be Andrushka in formal wear, being helped from a car by a subtly older looking, and deferential male.  The punch line is . . ."

Ken stood up to sweep away the paper hiding the captions.

"'The Joy of Youth' for the top left scene, and 'The Power of Woman' for the top right scene.  Underneath the bottom scenes, or in the voice over on the vids, you get 'Share the joy; Weild the power - Andrushka Perfumes."

Didi seemed to run down at that point, and cast a worried look to Edward, who grinned and gave her a surreptitious thumbs-up.

"Ed?" Veronica asked.

"Obviously, I like it, Veronica. We wouldn't be here now if I didn't."

"Helen?"

The tall blonde flipped through her notebook for a moment and then looked up. "I think it's . . . creative, but I see some problems with it," she began, and then hesitated audibly.  

"That's why we're here, Helen, to look for possible problems and issues with the proposed campaign," the director pointed out. "If you have reservations, let's have them."

"Well, while it does play on Andrushka's image, it also puts her in situations that her handlers may not like.  Andrushka's image is the 'naughty sixteen year old', the too-sexy-for- her-own-good forbidden fruit every adolescent male wants but doesn't quite dare pluck.  This is 'Jane Bond'. .. Superwoman.  I find that hard to accept - both the transition for Andrushka herself, and the image as a whole.  Who will identify with that?"

"Ed?" Veronica redirected.

"We think that a great many young women, those who in their hearts want it all - power and beauty, will identify with images that combine a fun-loving free spirit with strong, independent person." Edward claimed.  "In other words, the demographic we're after."  

Helen shot a quick look at Veronica, trying to sense the director's mood. Then, Derrick picked up the photo of Andrushka's mother and held it out for the others to see. "Our client may no longer be sixteen," he pointed out reasonably, "but she's not a, ah, 'mature' woman either.  Do we want to associate our client with rapid ageing?"

"We want to associate our client with *all* women," declared Didi. "God, Derrick, I hope I look that good when I'm that age. I wish I looked that good NOW. Besides, Mom isn't Andrushka, and I'm sure people will recognize that.  Our final image, as we've laid out, is Andrushka herself as the ideal woman - beautiful, mature, glamorous, and emotionally fulfilled.  Time is no longer her enemy."

"Say," Ed interrupted, making a quick note, "that's another good tag line."  

"I thought you already had your ideas," Helen challenged. "Are you still changing things around? I HAVE to be able to get the marketing projections done."  

"Nothing says we can't make something good even better," Ed replied lightly. "Or use it later on this campaign or on some other one." 

"We don't have time for this," snapped Helen.  

"Then we have what we have, Helen," Edward replied. "It's the best thing we came up with and I think it's pretty damned good." 

"You're sure you can get her Mother into this? And that she looks that good?"  Derrick jumped in, interrupting before Helen could reply.

Veronica shrugged.  "If we can, we will. Might be worth it to them to send her to a few weeks at a spa to get buffed up, but there are any number of suitable models out there who are similar facially and physically to Andrushka and who could fill in - they just wouldn't be Mom. There are definite pluses to that connection in the campaign, but she's not critical to the concept so far as I can see.  However, Helen, so far you haven't mentioned what you think of the concept or the theme."

Helen hesitated and then looked to the now silent Derrick, who shrugged.  "Oh, I'll admit that it is . . . interesting," she said carefully.  "I just wish we had some time to float the idea with her people, do some preliminary surveys. We're taking a huge gamble with some issues that could be really hot buttons with Andrushka's people and the public.  It could end up costing us a good deal of money to flesh this out only to have it shot down without a fair hearing."

Veronica considered that, but shook her head.  "What did you call it, Ed? The 'I want to be like Mike' ripoff?  I think that's the only other concept out there right now, and I don't think it's a winner.  Unfortunately, we don't have time to do any research or idea floats because we're so far behind now."

Helen interrupted with "If they'd finished that bra campaign sooner. . "

"That's immaterial," Veronica cut the woman off. "Because they finished that ahead of their promised due date. It was our decision to hold this project for them, and now, we have to go with the best that we have. I think that's this concept. Anyone have a better idea?"

No one did.  "All right, get your team to work, Ed. Presentations to Andrushka's people are scheduled for next week.  I'll firm up the day and time and get back to you. You'll have at least five days, no more than seven.  If you need help, come to me and I'll divert other teams to help.  This is good work, people. I especially like the tagline."

Ed smiled, but nodded toward his two team members.

~-~

"Damn them!" Helen fumed as she and Derrick entered her office.  "And damn Veronica, too."

"It's good, isn't it?" Derrick asked quietly.

"I don't think it will do much for the forty-five and up crowd, but I think it's dynamite for any female from fourteen to forty.  How in hell did they come up with something like that in less than five days!?"

"You knew going into this that Ed was the one you have to beat out when Veronica gets booted up to V.P.," Derrick pointed out.  "That's why we came up with slamming them with this account and deadline."

"And whose idea was THAT brilliant notion?" Helen spat at her assistant."

"Mine," he agreed morosely. "It seemed perfect at the time."

"Well, we need something else now, or you won't have that lovely little office outside of Veronica's as Director's Executive Assistant when she gets 'kicked upstairs', will you?"

"Any idea when that's going to happen?  How much time we'll have to work out our next strategy?"

"I think it's going to be soon," she replied, running slender fingers through her cap of blond curls.  "Too soon.  My informant tells me that the retirement package is just about a done deal, and the fellow isn't about to let the Board change their mind once it's signed."

"Damn."

Chapter 15: Janus-Faced Trial of Submission

The knock on her hotel door startled Mary from what had to be her fifth or sixth reading of the records provided by Veronica.  She was a bit annoyed with herself for that, for she was relatively certain that what she needed to know would not be so obvious that an employment record would drop it in her lap.

Rising, she glided across the Persian carpeted floor and checked the security camera - it was her investigator.  

He greeted her with his usual, "Ms. O'Hurley," when she admitted him, and again as usual, politely refused her offer of refreshment.

"These are the records of those who work most closely with subject Davis," she said, pushing the foot-tall stack of manilla-foldered paper across the coffee table.

The investigator glanced at the pile.  "Good, because we need something.  Nothing else has turned up so far."

"Nothing?"

"Not that connects with Davis," he replied, his emotionless speaking voice again reminding Mary of Joe Friday from the classic TV series, 'Dragnet'.  "He really doesn't seem to have anything remotely resembling a social life.  His neighbors say he's a quiet fellow, nice enough once you get to know him, and willing to lend a hand when needed.  Little girl there told about how 'Mr. Davis had saved Kitty from being stuck forever in that tree,' and an elderly lady said that he always makes sure she had fresh milk and groceries in the bad weather."

"How did you find these things out?"

"One of my operatives got it - hinted that she was doing a piece on him for a professional journal where he was in running for ad-creative talent of the year.  Told them that it was a surprise and that it would be shame to ruin it."

"Suppose someone checks?"

"Someone, or rather, two someones have - we had the cover story covered with another operative acting as 'the home office'.  Anyway, he almost never goes out at night - and never dresses up like a man going on a date when he does.  The elderly lady is wondering if she should introduce him to her granddaughter."

"Just what Edward needs right now, I'm sure.  How long to check out all those personnel files?"

He counted the folders and did a quick estimate in his head.  "I've got three free operatives - probably five days, maybe less if most of them have been in the local area for a while - figure five days."

"If something looks odd. . ."

"I'll call you, Ms. O'Hurley.  Immediately."  The investigator scooped up the folders and rose to his feet.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get my people on this.  Anyone you think looks particularly worthy of note?"

"I asked his boss, and no.  There's a female who's always been something of a bitch, and her assistant who's something of a toad-eating climber, but my contact thinks that is her personal dislike of them talking."

He shrugged his acceptance of that.  "That happens in a business situation and in the advertising game, people work in closer quarters than in other businesses so folks might get edgy."  But, he decided, he'd check it out just the same.  Smoke and fire, and in his experience, neither were usually coincidental.  "I'll call you per our usual schedule."

"Oh, that reminds me - could you call an hour later on Tuesdays and Fridays?  I, ah, have a standing appointment I need to keep."

"As you wish.  Good night, Ms. O'Hurley."

"Thanks.  Good night to you, too," and then said under her breath, "Sergeant Friday."

~-~

Ed waited on the sidewalk while Veronica got her rolling suitcase out of the car.  It was heavy and nearly filled the small car's trunk, making it difficult to grip and lift free of the confined space. He helped her get it up onto the sidewalk from the street level.  "Thanks," she said, as they started to stroll up to the now-familiar hotel entrance.

"You sure you want to do this?" she asked again?

"I said I would, and I agree with your logic. I need to face this. . . and these people.  If I can't, than I have to back out of your and Mary's way.  I don't want to have to back out."

She let him hold the door for her and strode into the lobby.  They boarded an elevator and were alone as it started up.  "All right, then - like I said, this will be more than a munch, but still less than a play party.  Just do as you're told by me and everything will be fine."

"I can't help being, well, a little anxious."

"I know," Veronica said gently.  "You know what to expect because I've told you what I intend to do in there. I'm not out to surprise you, all right?" Ed nodded, but looked just a little pale all the same. "Just go with the flow," she ordered as the polished gold elevator doors swooshed open to admit them to the large meeting area Black Rose had reserved for the night's activities.  They stepped off and Veronica leaned over to press a soft kiss to his cheek.  "Now scoot and do as I ordered.  I have to get ready."

~-~

He stepped carefully among the gathered spectators, heading for one of the few empty folding chairs clustered about the makeshift stage/dias in one corner of the large meeting room.  A placard on an easel declared that the upcoming presentation would be "Cross-dressing for Public/Cross Dressing for Private - a Demonstration by Mistress Ronnie."

Feeling very alone, Ed glanced around at his fellow attendees.  Dress was a complete mish-mash from grubby jeans to full dominant leather regalia.  One fellow was turned out in full black evening formal, complete with a red silk cummerbund. The woman to his right was rigged out in 1950's cotton housewear a la Donna Reed, while the woman to his left was costumed as Vampirella - except neither was a woman he suddenly realized.  Both were men.  They weren't the only cross-dressed men, either, although they were the most passable.  The others were submissives accompanying one of the women and were dressed up in humiliating caricature.

He caught himself comparing Edie to the two more passable CD's when Veronica strode up onto the dias.  Ed's eyebrows rose and his mouth dropped - this was a Veronica he'd never seen before.  Her auburn hair was teased into mane to make a lion weep, and her face was dramatic - vividly attention-grabbing. Her eyes seemed bigger, more deeply violet and her lips were fuller - more tempting.  Her tight little body was poured into a violet latex catsuit that seemed to match her eyes as did the dangerously tall stiletto-heeled pumps that completed her ensemble.

"Close your mouth," a voice to his right hissed. "She's not for the likes of you."

Before he could answer that, Veronica began to speak. "Greetings, and thank you for coming to my little demonstration.  I'm filling in for Mistress Freya tonight as she has had an illness in her family and couldn't make it.  Now, we've got a lot to cover tonight, so let's get started. We're going to talk first about how to get your quivering little subbie through passing in public, and then. . . " her voice dropped into a sultry low register that all but made Ed's hair stand on end, "We'll talk about other stuff."

A cheer greeted her, and she laughed. "Okay, so, what makes a guy in girl's clothing stand out as a guy?  I mean, if we're going to get our guy-subs safely to the ladies room, we need to understand what mistakes will get them made, right?  Any suggestions?" she asked, opening the discussion to the floor.

"Bad hair. . .wig," offered a woman dressed in black.

"Facial hair! Bad or otherwise." another quipped.

"Overdone makeup."

"That's a good one," Veronica applauded.  "We might extend that to inappropriate makeup? No matter how well applied, 'take me to bed, stud,' make up for a casual luncheon date at noon kinda stands out."

"Build and fit of clothes," a leather clad domina called out.

"Yeah, like size HHH boobs," another offered, even as her hands went down to cup those very same appendages on the male sub kneeling at her feet.

"Ain't got no back," a black, Rubenesque Mistress laughed, standing to pat her own prominent and well-rounded bottom.

"Those are all great ideas, but what are we saying here?"  There was a silence.  "What trips the guy-sub up is that he stands out in some what.  Something about what he wears, or how he wears it says 'wrong' to our collective brain.  Why is that?"

"Cause they don't know how?" Donna Reed asked, obviously not including himself in that category.

"Maybe, but some are pretty skilled - the 'take me to bed, stud' makeup job as a case in point, so that's not all of it." Again, there was silence.  "C'mon, people.  Anyone here ever been in the army?" Two or three hands and several nods answered her.  "Okay, when you were trained to infiltrate the enemy position, did you wear international orange fatigues?  No, of course not, you wore camouflage. And if your guy-sub is going to pass muster in public, en femme, we need to start thinking in terms of camouflage."

"What do you mean?" the owner of Miss Triple-H asked.

"Cross dressing is a celebration of the one gender by the other gender - in this case, the feminine by the masculine.  Our guys, however, being guys, tend to, ah, shall we say, fixate on somewhat narrow interpretations of feminine?  Like boobs, or heels, or make-up, and being guys, they overdo it.  For you genetic women out there - when was the last time you put on your stalking make-up for an afternoon trip to the mall, or slipped into an oh-so-comfortable pair of six-inch spikes to go knock around with the girls down at the country club?  So when someone does, they get second, third and fourth looks.  Most CD's just aren't going to be good enough to take that kind of scrutiny. Right?"

There was a mumble of agreement among the throng. "Great, so, Edie, would you please join me up front?"

Swallowing hard, Ed rose and tried to walk confidently up to the dias.  Once there, he accepted Veronica's proffered hand in his right hand, gathered his skirt in the other, and stepped up on to the stage.

A murmur of surprise went through the gathering as all eyes were fixed on him. Nervously, he put his hands together in front of him and had to fight to keep looking at the audience instead of his feet.

"She's a guy?" a faceless voice finally demanded.

The disbelief in that question calmed Ed, and he felt himself relax, even under the intense scrutiny.  "Indeed, she is," Veronica replied.  "Did anyone notice, or think that this person might, in fact, not be a woman?  Be honest now," she chided.  "All right, then she passed the 'no second look' test, so let's give her that look now."

Veronica stepped to one side and ordered Ed to do a slow turn for the crowd.  "First thing, notice the whole picture - what do you see?"

"Lord, but she looks like my daughter in her radical feminist, 'it's a crime to look attractive' phase."

"Good description, and pretty much my goal.  The granny glasses help there a good deal.  'Men don't make passes at girls who wear glasses' may be a stereotype, but one with elements of truth. The oversized sweater and the nearly ankle length cotton skirt don't key you to look again, but they don't look THAT out of place either.  Put a little Goth makeup on her and she'd fit right in at a play party.  The floppy, Indian-style deerskin boots are fairly gender neutral," and here, Veronica's voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, "I was going to put her in a pair of clunky-heeled Doc Martens, but poor Edie doesn't have much experience in heels and that might have given her away."

"Gonna teach her that soon, aren't you?" the owner of the basketball-bosomed sissy-slave called out.

"Perhaps," Veonica answered with a smile.  

"Looks almost like she's got SOME figure," the black domina called out.  "At least I thought she did when she did that pirouette."

"So she does, but not enough to look unnatural.  Lift your skirt, dear, up to your waist and turn your back to the audience," Veronica ordered.  "An all-in-one," she explained when the white paneled undergarment came into view, "with just enough padding to blur her otherwise nicely masculine butt.  It also includes an pair of, oh, A-minus falsies on top, again just to blur the shape."

"Those ears pierced?"

"Nope, just a bit of makeup adhesive - like you'd use for a beauty spot.  Along with that, a quality wig made to look, well, a bit frumpy," she added pointing to the somewhat unkempt pageboy in a bland brown hue, "And only bare minimum of cosmetics - in this case some foundation for the skin tone, and just a touch of lip color to look natural with that color."

"Cripes," the leather-clad woman observed, "I look more interesting in my knocking around the grubby house clothes."

"Exactly," Veronica observed, "You can lower your skirt, now, Edie," she teased before continuing, "And that's just the point.  Notice where I had her sit, too."

"Huh? Why, she sat beside us," Triple-H said, looking up at his Mistress.

"Right - a little brown wren among all you, shall we say, more exotic birds?  Who's going to draw the most attention, her or you?"

Another wave of comments and mutterings answered her as she walked over to stand next to Edie, putting a companionable arm about wool-clothed shoulders.

"Okay, so she can pass at the grocery store.  What's the fun in that?" Another sissy-accompanied dominant female demanded.

"Depends on the kind of fun you're after.  Edie, what did I ask you to do between our arrival and this session?"

Ed had known this was coming, but still had to choke out his response.  "Umm. . ahem.. . visit. . umm, the restroom, umm, Ma'am."

"Which restroom, Edie?"

"The, um, Ladies' Room, Ma'am."

"Were you alone in there?"

"God, no! I had to wait for a stall!"

"Oh SHIT," a green-wigged woman wearing red satin and sequins yelped. "She. . HE's the one who rabbited out of the restroom when I started changing into my party-clothes. 

Veronica laughed and gave Ed a little congratulatory hug with the arm still around his shoulders before turning back to the group.  "I'd say that was fun, and also, standing as I am, in loco Mistress-is, having him fool the lot of you was pretty cool.  Look folks, it's honest time, all right? I don't play with guys I don't like.  It's something I do for the fun of it, and people I don't like aren't fun.  Anxiety, nerves, maybe a bit of fear on the part of my subbie? That gets me off.  Hurting him, like, for real? Which is what would happen to him most places if he got caught wearing a skirt in the ladies' room?  That's not fun, and it would be damned poor domming, too."

"Oh, pooh, you're telling secrets," one of the dominants said teasingly.

"Well, there are other times when. . .," Veronica said, her voice suddenly sultry, "other rules apply."

"Such as?" several voices called out.

"Why, private play. . . and play parties," and then she winked at Ed, "Demonstrations."

A cheer rose, and two attendants rolled up a privacy screen and lifted it onto the dias.  "Now, I'm going to make up Edie into the femme fatale all good little guy sissy-subs dream of being.  Now, since this IS a demo, we don't want to offend anyone. . ."

"Oh, offend us, ofFEND us!"

"Now, now, can't do that," Veronica chided playfully, "NOT without consent, after all.  So, what we'll do is that Edie and I will go slip her into something . . . LESS comfortable, behind this screen.  Those of you who will be offended, can sit where you are.  Those who won't?" Ed felt his stomach come alive with B-52-sized butterflies in response to the sensual anticipation in his boss' voice, "can move their chairs to the other side of the screen."

So saying, she hooked a pinkie finger under Edie's long, chain necklace and led her cross-dressed 'volunteer' behind the ornately decorated changing blind.

~-~

For what had to be the fourth or fifth time, Ed returned to stare at the reflection in the mirror.  He was alone now, as the demonstration was over and the follow-on social hour was also waning.

Of course, EVERYone had moved their chair, and had thus 'enjoyed' every moment of Ed's transformation from 'frump-fem' to 'femme fatale'.

Everyone, that is, except Ed himself.  He'd been absolutely mortified because that had meant stripping down to the skin - much to the verbally expressed amusement of the assembled membership - and being rebuilt into what he now saw in the mirror before him.  But, he had given his word. Which was only one of three reasons he was still here, wearing this incredible costume. Several unreachable knots and a pair of tiny padlocks were the other reasons.

"Oh, I just love your look!" a voice gushed from behind. 

Ed turned to find himself face-to-bosom with Triple-H herself. "It's not what I expected when I agreed to this."

"Oh? Do tell, please."
"I kinda expected to be transformed into Fifi, French Maid."

"But this is just so much more. . .more!"

Ed wondered idly just how long it had taken this one's Mistress to perfect the Valley Girl-isms, then turned back to the mirror.

Without conscious thought, his hands went to cup his own newly-massive breastworks which, thanks to a breathlessly tight corset, a pair of huge falsies, and the thick white fur coating the bodice, almost, if not quite, rivaled his companion's unreal 'endowments'.  "Sheesh."

"Fun, aren't they?" Triple-H observed, mimicking Ed's movement with his own improbable bosom.

"You say so, pal."

"Come on - get with the program, sugar!" Triple-H chided, pointing at the mirror, "That's not what SHE sounds like!"

Ed sighed, knowing that he. . . she was right. The nondescript wig, now thoroughly moussed and combed, had been transformed into a nearly-black cap of tightly coiled curls framing his face.  Distinctly outlined circles of rouge and spidery false eyelashes combined with lipstick-thickened angel-bow lips and huge shadowed eyes created an almost doll-like face. 

"Boo-boop-ee-doo," Betty Boop trilled in a squeaky falsetto.

"That's just SO marvy, sweetcheeks!" Ed's companion actually gushed in approval. "Now, if we can just get you to dance a bit when you sing? Then, you'll REALLY have something to show off at the next play party."

That image was so positively ludicrous that it made even Ed giggle.  "You're kidding, right? Dancing? With these boobs?  Forget what they do to my center of gravity and my sense of balance. I can't see my feet, and in these skyscrapers I'm afraid I'll break an ankle if I so much as try to change direction.  And you want me to dance?"

The tall sub reached down and smartly snapped one of the tight stocking garters 'Betty's' micro-mini left uncovered.  "Sure! You'll learn - with a Mistress like that one? She's HOT! How could you not?"

"She's not my. . "

A smugly knowing look came across the heavily made up face.  "If not, she will be," Triple-H said confidently, "She wants you, and it's pretty clear you're gone over her."

Ed was spared having to respond by Veronica's "Ready to change back into Ed and call it a night, Boopsie-darling?"

"Ed?" he asked, spinning about so fast he would have fallen if not for both Veronica and the tall cross-dresser stepping in to catch him.  When he again had his feet under him, he continued, "I thought I'd have to leave here done up as Frumpy-Edie? I didn't bring any guy clothes."

"I did," Veronica told him.  "They're in my suitcase.  I just didn't tell you.  Come on back to the privacy screen. I'll help you out of that corset and unlock the shoes."

"Bless you!" Betty's tiny voice cooed, even as Ed carefully minced off to follow the violet-clad domina. "See ya, Trip."

Chapter 16: The Thicken Plots

Veronica skillfully piloted her sporty little two-seater to the curb that fronted on Ed's apartment complex. "Sure you won't come up for a drink?" he asked.

She smiled - a gentle smile totally unlike the mischievous and sometimes predatory ones that had graced Mistress Ronnie's face - and shook her head.  "No, thanks.  It's late and tomorrow's a work day for us both.  Besides," she added knowingly, "you have more than enough to think about for one evening."

"Guess I do at that."

"Now, remember to use the moisturizer to cleanse your face - at least twice, I think.  I'm pretty sure I got most of the makeup off you, but I'm tired and may have missed something that could embarrass the hell out of you at work tomorrow. And if you decide you're going to play Edie for this little investigation, you should start using it every night before bed."

"Okay," he replied automatically.

Veronica leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek.  "Now, scoot.  I'm a very tired lady, and I get crabby if I don't get my beauty sleep."

Ed slipped out of the car, watched as she locked the door behind him, and then headed inside.  He didn't notice that she waited until he was safely inside before she put the car in gear and drove away.

~-~

Mary hurried across the hotel room to answer the phone.  She'd loaned Verita some 'Ed-sized' items for this evening's event, and was hoping for a report on how Edie had reacted.  In truth, she didn't know whether she would have preferred Ed to balk (and thus get out of Mary's way) or succeed (for Verita's sake).

Snatching up the phone, she said, "Yes?"

"Ms. O'Hurley?" the gravelly voice of 'Joe Friday' replied.

"Yes, Jack, it is.  You have something for me?"

"Don't know for sure - it may be nothing, but then again, we haven't fully checked it out.  One of the subject's colleagues, a Mr. Derrick Tolivar, took a vacation at just about the same time as Mr. Davis was planning to take his holiday.  Tolivar left the day before Davis, and returned the Friday before you, ah. . ."

"I released Edward back in his office late on a Saturday night," she finished for her investigator.

"Right, well, Tolivar returned to work the Friday immediately before that Saturday, ma'am."

"And your point is?"

"Initial online checks cannot determine where he went or what he did, Ms. O'Hurley.  No plane, bus or train reservations and no arrangements with any national hotel chains, and no major charges against any of his credit cards."

"Maybe he stayed home," Mary pointed out.

"We're looking into that, but we'll need to wait until Monday to do any checking around his neighborhood. That may not turn up anything either, given that we're talking months in ago."

"Be careful here, Jack.  Don't spook the game before we're ready to do something about this."

"Understood, Ma'am.  We'll be discreet."

"Is that all you have?"

"Yes, Ma'am.  I'll call you when we know more."

He hung up without saying another word, much to Mary's amusement.  "Done with me, are you? Lord, but wouldn't I love to have you bareass-naked in my dungeon. THEN we'd see if you could be quite so controlled with all my ladies using feathers all over that hard body of yours!"

That pleasant image was interrupted, again by the phone.  She picked it up.  "Darling!" she said, smiling more brightly. "It's wonderful to hear your voice. And yes, before you ask, I went to another meeting - tonight, in fact, so don't nag. Try to remember that I'm the Domme, please?"

~-~

Veronica had been right, Ed mused as he considered the reflection shown by his mirror.  The moisturizer had unearthed bits of makeup from his skin - like the faint shadow of green pigment that bubbled to the surface above his right eye.

Odd, he thought, how different he looked now, from either feminine image of the past few hours.  He reached up to run a finger over a brow, and smiled.  He'd been worried when Veronica had come at him with those tweezers, for he'd remembered the result the last time a woman had done that.  The pretty Latina at La Marquesa's place had all but denuded him of any brow-hair.  It had still be a bit sparse when he'd got back to work.  Only Veronica's efforts, for all they'd looked perfect as Betty Boop, looked just fine on Edward Davis now - a little neater, perhaps, but in no way effeminate.

She'd done something, he realized, with the cosmetics and stage makeup, because those self-same brows HAD looked finer and more feminine on Betty.

Ed smoothed on the night-time application of the moisturizer, then rose to finish getting ready for bed. What did those carefully plucked and shaped eyebrows tell him, he wondered? That Veronica was very good at what she did in the scene? Surely, but that wasn't really a surprise.  Veronica would be good at anything she attempted. Had she known how. . . anxious he'd been when she'd picked up those tweezers?  The answer to that question was immediately obvious - of course she must have known.  She was a person used to reading the body language and facial expressions of people around her.  It was a skill she had honed well as an advertizing junior executive as she must have done when she'd paid her college bills and supported her family as a professional dominatrix.

Thinking back on that scary moment of truth, Ed realized now that she had hesitated, just a moment, between tightening the tool on that first hair, and plucking it out.  She'd been waiting, he now understood, to give him the chance to stop her.  He hadn't, so she'd proceeded.

Would she have stopped? While he'd never 'know' for certain for the simple reason that he hadn't cringed, hadn't fought, hadn't ASKED her to stop - hadn't wanted her to stop - he nonetheless felt he knew the answer.

Veronica was completely trustworthy and she would never, ever hurt him.

She'd have stopped.  

He was glad - and just a bit proud - that stopping hadn't been necessary.

~-~

Veronica's phone gave a soft electronic chime, indicating an internal call.  She picked it up and heard the front receptionist.  "Ms. Johnson?  There's a Ms. O'Hurley to see you.  She said you were expecting her."

She wasn't, but then again, she had been expecting a call. Obviously, Mary wanted a face-to-face.  "I'll come meet her, Betsy."

Moments later, the two women were in Veronica's office.  "My little cover as a potential client is proving quite useful," Mary said as she took the seat Veronica offered.  "Perhaps I really should give consideration to engaging you to advertize my little . . . resort."

"Oh, that would work," the petite redhead replied, grinning. "Why don't you take that idea to our competitors, Sister. I like my job too much to accommodate you."

"Wimp," Mary accused, but without heat. "How did the date go last night?"

"Date?"

"You want him, Verita. If last night wasn't quite a date, it was a first contact." She raised a hand to ward off the other woman's protest.  "I KNOW you are colleagues and have known each other for quite a while, but that relationship is with Veronica Johnson, Advertizing Executive and girl-next-door-cute pixie.  Last night, he met Mistress Verita."

Veronica sighed.  "Well enough, I think.  He almost wet his panties when I did his eyebrows, but he trusted me and gutted it out."

"The girl who does the initial transformations for me at the island, Consuella? She is very fond of penciled brows," Mary said by way of explanation of Ed's reaction. "Is he still in the game? More importantly, will he play his role?"

"He's definitely still in the game, and as for the second, I think so. He trusted me. Don't know if he realizes that, but that's what he did - even as frightened as he was.  We'll find out more tomorrow night.  I have two tickets to the Friday night opera.  My girlfriend, Edie, and I will attend."

"A public outing?"

"Yes, but more than just that. I'm going to be rougher on him - give him a taste of covert public play.  Nothing really demanding, but enough that he'll have a better idea what he's in for if we do attend a real play party as Domina and sissy-slave.  Lord, but I DO wish he wasn't such a novice."

"If he wasn't, whoever did this wouldn't have been able to pull off this nasty little trick on all of us.  You'll need some formal wear in his size?"

"I was going to dress him as best I could, but if you have something suitable?"

"I'll call and see.  Public play, you say?  Might be a good idea to have some help, don't you think?"

"What have you got in mind?"

Mary thought for a moment, and shook her head.  "Let me check on some things first.  I'll get back to you."

"You never said why you came."

"Oh! That's right.  Look, I have some information I need to share with you and Edward.  I thought perhaps we could get together at his place, tonight?  It might be best if we weren't seen together in public too often - especially all three of us in one place."

"Sure, let me call him."  Veronica picked up the phone and dialed.  She spoke quickly and evidently got the expected response.  Then, she said, "Oh, you will? Marvelous. I still have fond memories from our last Christmas Party.  Okay, seven it is.  We'll be there."

She returned the phone to it's cradle and grinned at her guest.  "You're in for a treat.  Ed's invited us both to dinner.  He's cooking."

"That good, eh?" Mary asked, rising to leave.

Veronica's grin was gleeful.  "Don't wear a corset, Sister."

As they left the office, Veronica called out to a passing worker, "Derrick? Have you got those marketing projections done yet?"

The dark-haired young man held a sheaf of papers above his head and grinned.  "Almost - Helen needs to okay them and then they're coming to a desk near you!"

"Thanks.  Tell her I need them soonest."

"Gotcha, Ms. J."

Her eyes hard, Mary stared at the young man's departing back. "Who was that, Sister?" she asked softly.

"Why, Derrick Tolivar.  He's assistant to Helen Martin, our marketing manager's assistant.  Why do you ask?"

"A. . . an .. . interesting young man," she murmured, "Worth a second look."

Puzzled, Veronica turned her head towards the departing male. "You really think so?"

Part V

Chapter 17: Service with a Smile

The phone rang, and Mary pounced on it. "Ms. O'Hurley," she said into the receiver.

"You paged me, Ma'am," the calm voice of her lead investigator said.

"Ah, excellent. Yes, I have something for you.  It may not be at all significant, but then again. . ."

"All information has significance, ma'am.  You pay me to tell you how much."

"Yes, I suppose I do," she replied grinning.  She wondered if his ears were pointed under that hat, or if he bled green blood when he cut himself shaving.  "All right, then, here goes."

~-~

Mary arrived at Ed's apartment just before the appointed hour, and was greeted first by a smiling Veronica, and then, by a bouquet of the most marvelous aromas.  Someone was making something wonderful in this place, her nose told her.

"Greetings, Sister," Veronica said as she accepted Mary's light raincoat.  "Come on.  Let's go watch the kitchen slave at work."

Grinning, Mary followed.  "Watching slaves work is one of the things I do best."

They found Ed at the sink, carefully pitting fresh cherries by hand, while a large pot bubbled cheerfully on the back of the stove.  She could see several baguettes baking in the upper oven while an electric ice cream machine whirred nearby.  There was a kind of creative chaos in the room that marched well with what she knew of the man who worked away happily in the center of it all.

"Well, if it all tastes as wonderful as everything smells, I will almost forgive not being greeted by Ma'amselle Edie, French Maid Extraordinaire," she said flippantly, and then instantly regretted it.  The looks both Ed and Veronica gave her were daunting, and somewhat disappointing.

"I didn't think it necessary," Veronica said softly.  "And this is Ed's home, so I would not ask it of him here."

Before Mary could frame a reply to that, Ed did.  "If you ever do think it necessary, Veronica, tell me," he said just as softly.  "Regardless of where we are or are not.  I'll trust you to know when it is or isn't necessary."

There was a silence of several heartbeats at that.  Finally, Veronica managed, "Well, that's quite a concession."

Ed shrugged, looking a little surprised himself, but said nothing.  

"So," Mary said, stepping into the sudden awkwardness, "What are you feeding me tonight?"
That seemed to snap things back, and a little twinkle came into Ed's eyes.  With a great show of pomp, he flung a clean, but ratty dishtowel over his arm, twisted a non-existent mustache with his free hand, and then bowed to the two ladies. "Mes Dames," he said pompously, "Le specialty de la maison.  Our salad tonight is made of fresh spinach en vinaigrette.  The main course is Chateau Briande de Beouf, and for desert, Cherries Jubilee over homemade ice cream."  And then Ed's face fell when he saw the look on Mary's.  "What's the matter?  You're not vegetarian.  I saw you eat meat when we had lunch."

"Do you use brandy or wine in your Sauce Bearnaise, Edward?" she asked in a flat voice.

"Why, no. I don't like it that way. I prefer a variation I found that uses apple juice instead," he answered seriously.

She considered not telling, but she refused to hide that part of herself any longer.  "I'm in recovery, Ed," she said simply.  "And I'm on an antabuse regimen. I can't have any alcohol or I will get violently ill.  Even the residual alcohol that is still there after cooking is enough for a reaction."

"Well, my Bearnaise will cause you no problem, and we will have a simple cherry compote with our ice cream.  We will be COOH-free tonight. I think I have a nice bottle of sparkling white grape juice, too. I'll get it out and put it on ice to chill.  Be right back."

Ed hustled out of the kitchen, leaving a somewhat bemused Mary staring at his retreating form.  She seemed to shake herself "That's not the reaction I usually get following that little revelation - particularly from someone who's had a hard time in my keeping."

"Are you still in recovery?"

"I haven't had a drink in two years, seven months, three weeks and five days," Mary said calmly, and then smiled somewhat wanly. "I know that because I went to a meeting last night, and always double check before I attend one."

"AA?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds like you're doing everything you can, and doing it very well."

"I'm surprised he didn't make a comment about whether I'd fallen off the wagon when I took him," she said, almost as if talking to herself.

It was the returning Ed who answered that. "I thought many things about La Marquesa, Mary, but the only thing I ever thought you might be drunk on was power."  He set down the green glass bottle and came over to take her hands in his own.  "I have friends who have had to fight that particular beast, so I know how hard it is, and unfortunately, I also know the signs of recidivism." Then his voice became quirky again.  "It does, however, explain this control-freak thing you seem to have going!"

"I'll have you know, Edward, that I am working very hard at being Type B! Control freak, indeed."

"So you say, Mary.  Wonder what your colleagues would say about your degree of success at being laid back."

"They'd say, Ed," Veronica chimed in, sweetly, "whatever La Marquesa TOLD them to say."

"Damned straight," Mary finished before all three broke into a fit of the giggles.

"Okay, Miss Type B," Ed said when he finally managed to get his laughing almost under control.  "YOU set the table. . unless you've forgotten how with all those subs jumping to your beck and call."

"Forgotten how?" Mary sniffed.  "HAH! Show me where you keep the dishes and flatware, male, and I'll show you how it's done.  After all, you cannot TEACH what you do not KNOW!"

~-~

Desert and after dinner coffee were served in Ed's living room.  "Next time you're my guest, Edward, I'm putting you in the kitchen.  My cook could learn a few things from you.  I'm going to need my corset for the next few days.  That was delicious."

"Thank you. So, what's up?"

"I've turned over the records Verita gave me to my investigator.  I expect we'll know what there is to know in a few days."

"That's positive," Veronica put in.

"Yes, it is. I also have the things you requested in my car.  Do you want them up here or are you and Edward going to meet at your place?"

"Things? What things?"

Veronica became very still, and then turned to face Edward. "One last test, Ed.  Edie will be attending the opera tomorrow night - with Mistress Verita as her escort."

"You mean, as in MISTRESS Verita?" Ed asked, the emphasis indicating both his understanding and his anxiety.

"Precisely," Veronica said firmly.  "Consider it your final exam."  Then, in gentler tones, she continued, "You'll have to face this type of thing, Ed, and it would be better alone, with me. Somewhere no one who might be a target of our investigation might see you, and recognize you as Edie. You'll have a safe word and a caution word.  Say the safe word and all games will immediately stop and we will leave.  Say the caution word and I will slow things down and let you get yourself back on a more even plane before continuing."

"What's the catch?"

"Ed, I won't go easy on you - I CAN'T go easy on you - but neither will I be unduly harsh or unfair," Veronica said firmly. "It will be, in my view, a fair test of what you can and cannot handle.  If you need the safeword tomorrow night, then I don't think you can handle what you will surely face at a Black Rose open play party.  And caution wording won't stop me - you're going to finish whatever I ask of you in order to pass the test."

"So it's do this or keep my word and back out, leaving the field clear for the pair of you to handle it without me?"

"That's the way it has to be, Ed."

"And although you can be a distinct asset to us, you must first be able to deal with being a sub on public display," Mary put in.

"Huh?" Ed gaped at the brunette domme. "Where did THAT come from and when did your 'he's going to be a problem' position change?"

"We have a situation upcoming where having a reliable submissive who is already aware of the situation would be advantageous, Edward. I know who passed along the forged application.  She's Black Rose, and she's hosting a play party at her dungeon next week."

"So?" 

"So," Veronica took over, "Mary can't attend - she's known to this woman as La Marquesa.  If that woman is part of the conspiracy, Mary is the last person we want going there.  On the other hand, I wouldn't necessarily be perceived as a threat.  I could go there, and if I had a bit of a diversion, I might be able to search her office.  I've been there before - on Black Rose business - so I know where she keeps her records."

"I, or rather, Edie, would be the diversion?"

"Owners can put their slaves up on display for other members to play with, within limits.  Part of the game is to stand aside while this is happening, letting the official Dungeon Masters quietly enforce the sub's limits."

"How do you know I'd draw that kind of attention?" Ed obviously did not like the idea.

"Edward," Mary put in, "A sissy sub, particularly a very passable and attractive sissy sub, ALWAYS draws attention at such parties.  And if you could manage an outraged, girlish shriek or two, so much the better."

"You're kidding, right?" he asked, looking from woman to woman.

"I," Mary said proudly, "Never kid."

"I do," Veronica piped in, causing a bubble of hope to form in Ed's clenching gut, "But not this time.  Actually, it's a nearly perfect plan, too, because the Domme who's hosting this party LOVES sissy-play."

"Great," Ed said, his tone belying his words.  "So . . . do I go down and get Edie's things and change here tomorrow, or do I meet you at your place after work?"

A gleam flashed in Veronica's eyes.  "Oh, I think my place.  That way, Edie will be surprised by her outfit.  Bring your shaving kit with you, and shave your chest, arms, underarms, and legs tonight before bed.  Oh, and don't forget your moisturizer - I want you baby-bottom smooth and soft."

"Want some help, Edward?" Mary purred.  "I just LOVE shaving men . . .all ooover their bodies."

Both women howled at the fiery blush that suffused Ed's face.

Chapter 18: Little Revelations

It was amazing, and very disconcerting, Ed thought, just how self-aware the simple act of removing body hair made a guy.  It didn't matter that no one else had the slightest inkling about what he was hiding, they were looking at him so closely there was a chance someone MIGHT get a clue. 

Unfortunately, the stratagem he'd selected to cover-up his shaven state - a long-sleeved shirt and a three piece suit - had backfired. Dressing up was out of character for the normally laid back and casual team leader - something he only did when absolutely necessary - and his colleagues had keyed in on THAT.  

The questions had started with Ken and Didi - who'd thought he'd forgotten to tell them about a client presentation again - to Derrick, who'd managed to get in a dig about Sears Roebuck suits.  The end result was that Ed was getting more attention - unwelcome attention - about his appearance than if he'd simply shown up dressed as usual. "Should have just worn a pullover sweater," he muttered.

"Remember what I told you about anomolies, Ed," Veronica said from the entrance to his sparsely furnished cubicle.  "People notice when things are different or out of place. You ALWAYS look out of place in a suit."

"I figured that out within half an hour of getting here," he sighed, setting aside the document he had not been reading. "But by then, it was too late.  Changing would have only made it worse."

"A valuable lesson to take with you tonight," she said, settling into a chair. 

"What's up?" Ed asked, cautiously.  She didn't usually come to his cubicle, preferring to call him into her office, instead. 

"I just got off the phone with Andrushka's people.  They're not happy."

"Sorry, boss," Ed said, immediately contrite for his thoughts about why Verita might have come looking for him.  Tonight was too much on his mind, he guessed.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Ed," she grinned.  "They're unhappy because Andrushka is thrilled by our concept.  They're coming in for a presentation and meeting Tuesday."

"TUESDAY?!?" Ed's voice cracked.  "As in. . TUESDAY? Like, what, four days from now?!"

"Actually, they'll be here at ten, so it's more like three days plus a few hours."  Then, Veronica became serious. "I'm sorry about the short notice, Ed.  I think it's pretty clear her handlers are trying to squash us by giving us too little time to get ready, but they've underestimated you and your team, I think."

"Sure, build me up here, why don't you, boss?  Okay, I'll tell Ken and Didi to expect to work the weekend and not sleep much for the next few days. . . . ummm, have you told Helen yet?"

"Nope.  You're the first."

"Could you hold off cluing her in till Monday?  If you tell her, she'll be here the whole bloody weekend."

"Okay, Ed.  Plan on a pre-brief - say over lunch on Monday. That gives you time to fix anything that needs fixing before Tuesday."

"Okay.  We'll do our best, Veronica."

"I already knew that, Ed," she assured him. Then she broke into a wide grin.  "It IS a very nice suit, by the way."

"Enough, already, okay? I've already taken all of that I need from Mr. GQ himself - Derrick."

"He comes by that snobbery naturally, dear. Moneyed family, don't you know?" she said, mimicking a Boston Brahman accent.  Then she saw the look on Ed's face, and stopped.  "What?"

Ed looked around and shook his head.  Rising, he beckoned her to follow him.  Moments later, they were behind closed doors in Veronica's private office.  "Okay, what's wrong?" she demanded.

"Money," he said carefully.  "Mary said that whoever did this to me needed money, right?  To be able to afford her services?"

"Yes. . ." Veronica thought about what she knew about Derrick. She knew he worked here, not because he needed the money, but because the scions of his family were required by their parents to 'prove themselves in the real world' before they were given authority and a place on the Board of Directors of the family business. She'd always thought it spoke well of the young man that he'd taken up the challenge rather than simply live a life of leisure on his admittedly huge trust fund. "But what could be his motive?"

"How in heavens name would I know, Veronica?" Ed demanded, beginning to pace the windowed-office. "He doesn't like me very much."

"That would make what was done to you personal, Ed," Veronica observed. "and I just can't see anyone disliking you so much to do something so cruel, not to mention expensive, for the sake of spite."

"He's hitched himself to Helen's star," Ed answered. "Your promotion is about the worst kept secret in the company.  If Helen moves into your office, Derrick rides her coat-tails."

Veronica nodded at that, her eyes pensive. "And you're Helen's primary in-house competition, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," he said firmly.  "I hate being a team leader - I bloody well don't want to be the team leaders' leader."

"But you'd be so good at it," Veronica argued.

"If it isn't fun, why do it?"

"Well, you just said you hate being a team leader - why do that?"

For several long moments, Ed stared pointedly at his petite, auburn-tressed boss, then made his decision. "You."

"ME?!?" Veronica was utterly flabbergasted.

Shrugging, Ed stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks, and turned away from her.  "Yes, you.  I, uh, like being around you. . . working with you. Oh, gumdrops," he growled, spinning back around and slapping both hands down on her desk, making her jump in surprise. "I like YOU, darnit! I stayed because of YOU, okay?"

For the first time in her life, Veronica understood being 'at a loss for words', and yet, she had to speak - had to say, ask . . . "You . . you really like me?" she asked, and was immediately embarrassed at how adolescent that sounded. "Ummm, like that?" 

"Exactly 'like that'," was the frustrated reply.  "Blast it, Veronica! I was going to ask you out after I got back from vacation.  I knew you couldn't say yes while you were my boss, but I was planning on going out on my own anyway - free lance.  Figured then I could ask you for a date."

"A. . . a date," Veronica repeated, unable to stop playing the parrot.

"And then . . .then, La Marquesa happened, and well, I lost something . . . confidence, maybe, but I couldn't leave then.  Part of that was because I wasn't sure about going it alone just then, but most of it was wanting to be around you."

"Even after that damnable Halloween party?"

He nodded. "Even after that, although I will admit that gave me pause. By the time I got mostly over that, the word was you were up for that Vice Presidency, and . . ."

The hard-charging executive in Veronica wanted to prod him, wanted to make him finish, but the woman in her wanted - needed - him to make his own admission.

"This is going to sound so lame," he muttered, an embarrassed blush coloring his face.  Still, Veronica managed to hold her own tongue.  "Well, I-thought-you-might-need-me!" he blurted, and then tried to explain.  "I mean, I'm pretty good at what I do, and if there was anything you needed, I mean . ."

A single red-tipped finger touched Ed's lips to silence him.  Eyes crossing, he looked down the finger towards Veronica's face, and saw her smiling.  "Shhhh," she ordered softly, her confidence now back in full measure.  "You're more than 'pretty good', Ed, and I did need you.  Your Andrushka concept proves just how much."

"That was Ken and Didi," he averred quickly.

"I'm sure," she replied in a tone that belied her words.  "I'm glad, Ed.  Glad that you stayed. Glad that you stayed for me.  Glad that you like me.  Because I wanted you here, because I needed you here, but most of all, because I like you, too."

Ed felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders, and a goofy smile curl at his lips.  "Like that?" he asked hopefully.

"We'll have to see, won't we?  I think it very likely."  Suddenly, the tiny redhead found herself airborne and spinning dizzily about the office.  "Put me down, you idiot!" she ordered.  He did, but kept grinning at her.  "We still have issues to deal with first."
"Okay. . ."

"Like the bastard who did this to you, and delayed this revelation by six months, and . . . " now it was Veronica who hesitated.  "And Verita."

Ed nodded.  "She's a big part of you." It had not been a question.  "Guess I have to be man enough to wear skirts for you, then."

"I'm serious, dammit!" she fumed back, suddenly hurt by his off-handed comment.

"So am I."

Shocked for the second time in less than ten minutes, Veronica's violet eyes snapped up to Ed's, and saw determination in those glittering blue orbs.

"I, ah, can be a real bitch," she warned, her voice nearly cracking. "Sometimes."

"Then, sometimes, I can handle it.  At least, I think I can. And bitch or not, I suspect that, from what you told me about the Sisters, you won't hurt me - not really."

"You're fragile, still, Ed, and in areas that. . . pleasure me," she said carefully. "I don't know how much room for compromise we have there."

"Then we'll find out," he said, suddenly more cheerful than he'd been in months. "Starting tonight, eh?  What time do you want me at your apartment?" before adding, "I think Edie is gonna feel like struttin' her stuff tonight."

Chapter 19: Der Femmi-maus

"Strut your stuff, indeed," Edie muttered under her breath as she made her way back up the aisle.  It was intermission, and Veronica had ordered her to precede the petite domme to the refreshment area.

Alone.

"Oh, and be sure to stop at the ladies lounge on the way, dear.  I'm afraid your nose is getting just a little shiny."

"Aren't you, uh, coming, too?" Edie had asked, heart suddenly pounding at the base of her throat.

"Maybe later, dear.  You need it now. Just run along, cutie. Go strut your stuff!"

That little catch-phrase had become Verita's preferred order, ever since Edward had poured out his heart to Veronica.  And now, Edie was going to have to face the women's john - alone, and THEN, face the wolf-pack of the refreshment lobby - also alone.  Swallowing hard, Edie clung tightly to her beaded clutch purse, and tried to look 'not out of place' among the well-dressed wave of humanity flowing out of the music hall.

All the while trying to keep from bumping someone in front of her, thus giving said 'victim' an all too prominent clue as to Edie's real gender.  

To divert her attention from her perilous situation, she replayed her evening to that point in her mind. Lord, but Veronica had teased her mercilessly from the moment Edward had shown up at her door.  The multi-strapped harness she'd produced to "keep THAT under control" only made things. . . harder for the cross-dressed man.  The little caress the sly redhead had rendered just before intermission - quite by accident, of COURSE - had nearly crossed Edie's eyes.  The concept of being 'so hard it hurt' had never quite made sense to Edward before. 

Until now, that is.

The ladies' convenience was, with the exception of a couple of stalls, mostly - blessedly - empty when she arrived.  "Thank goodness," she whispered under her breath as she slipped into the first one she found open.  On the positive side, having to deal with a long, formal skirt, a girdle, panties, a harness AND a gaff, Edie had no trouble remembering to sit to deal with her business.  On the negative side, doing her business took a great deal of concentration - peeing through all that blood Veronica's little games had drained out of the skull into. . . locations below Edie's waist was NOT easy.

"Close your eyes and think of England," the feminized male ordered her feminized alter ego.

It almost worked, and finally, after nearly four minutes of straining effort, Nature's Call was answered. Straightening things up, she was about to emerge from her stall when the unmistakable sound of high-heels on marble tile brought her up short. Her breath caught, in spite of herself. Edie held very, very still as the 'click, click, click' receded down the row of stalls.  

Fighting the urge to bolt, Edie walked purposefully up to the nearest vanity mirror and went about 'repairing' her face. "Be darned if I'm going to get chewed out for not fixing my nose," she fumed, "Not that it looks at all shiny to me." Still, she dutifully patted powder on the alleged spot, and then redid her lipstick - just to be sure. Then, stepping back from the ornate mirror, Edie give herself the 'final check'.

What she saw in those mirrored depths still surprised her.

The floor-length sheath - Veronica had assured her charge that the rich burgundy toned silk was just PERFECT for Edie - covered everything from just above the . . . mechanically enhanced bosom to the toe-crushing pumps that just peeked out beneath the hem, and hugged lovingly her corset-shaped figure. "Isn't that just perfect," Edie asked herself, in mock disgust, "Maroon-ed in the ladies room - in more ways than one - and both ways at the direction of the same woman."

With a critical eye, Edie checked her honey-blond hair. The expensive wig had been set in an elegant chignon, and crowned a face made almost beautiful by Veronica's cosmetic witchcraft. Still perfect, she was glad to note, for she had no bloody idea how she'd fix so much as a slightly errant curl without messing up the whole even worse.  Then, Edie lifted a gloved hand to touch the dangling earrings, and to rest momentarily on the choker necklace that graced her throat.

Taken altogether, the picture in that mirror was, well, amazing.  Edie had never looked this . . .well, good when La Marquesa had been doing the transforming.  Veronica WAS extremely skilled at this.

Moving back to the vanity, Edie began collecting her cosmetics. Just as she returned the last item to the small clutch purse, a stall opened and a brunette, gowned in eye-startling blue, emerged.

All Edie's senses went immediately on alert, aware once again that she was an interloper in this fortress of feminine, but it was something more than that. There was. . .SOMEthing about the woman - something about her alarmed the cross-dressed man.

She didn't even look in Edie's direction, but in the end, it was only by extreme effort of will, and thanks to the too-small and too-narrow, three inch heels, that Edie managed to control the flight instinct.

~-~

Outside in the lobby, Edie's pulse was still racing from her 'almost-encounter'. Wishing fervently for the proverbial 'potted-palm' to hide behind, she kept to the periphery of the crowd milling about the refreshment tables. As covertly as possible, Edie scanned the mass of humanity, hoping to see a flash of red hair, or the sparkle of jewel-toned violet silk, but Veronica was no where to be found.  

"You had to fall for a little one, Davis," was all she could think.

And then, it happened again.  Out of the corner of her eye, something. . . familiar.  Edie turned slightly, said something forgettable to an older woman, all the while angling for a better view of whatever or whoever was putting her nerves on red alert.

Then it became clear - or rather - SHE became clear.  Some imp of mischief Edward would never have admitted, came out to play.  Edie slipped into the crowd and made her way across the lobby so that she could approach her quarry from behind.

The woman was magnificent.  In her ice-pick heels, she was nearly six and half feet of ebony beauty in a copper-toned gown of African design. Grinning, Edie reached up to tap a chiseled shoulder.  "Hi, there, gorgeous! Long-time-no-see," she chirruped in her best 'dumb-blonde' voice and was delighted to see the Nubian Queen jump, "I don't think we were formally introduced before, although I remember YOU very well."  She offered her hand to the wide-eyed and startled woman.  "I'm Edie, by the way, and I believe you are Tamiqua? Or is it Shamarra, tonight?"

"Damn, honey, you scared the spit out of me," the woman accused in a breathless voice.

"Payback for . . . similar experiences," Edie laughed.  "Are you here for operatic pleasure or are you keeping an eye on me?"

Obviously shaken, Tamiqua's eyes started scanning.  "I don't know what you mean."

Oh, yes you do, Edie thought, and then realized something else. "And that was Consuella in the bathroom, wasn't it?"

"Who?" Tamiqua said, her voice almost cracking.

"That's so sweet," Edie gushed.  "That means Mary's in on this, too. The four of you looking after me, even when you try to make me feel all alone and abandoned."  The cross-dressed femme went up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to the other woman's cheek.

"I. . . I don't know what you're talking about," she retorted, "I don't know you. . .I . . "

"Don't worry, Tammi," a familiar voice said.  

Edie spun and saw Veronica slip from her hiding place.  "Gumdrops!" Edie growled.  "That's a bloody potted palm!"

"So it is," Veronica chuckled, as she strutted up and put an arm around Edie's back.  "And your point is, sweetie?"

"Just that I've been looking all over the lobby for one of those things - ever since I came out of the ladies' room.  Seeing. . . or rather almost seeing Consuella kind of spooked me."

"I'm surprised you stayed," Veronica replied, carefully watching Edie's face for any sign of trouble. Finding none, she decided to take the plunge. "Seeing as how I insisted that you keep enough money in your purse for cab fare."

"You know?" Edie said in wonder.  "That never even occurred to me. All I wanted was to find you. 

"Why?"

"Because, I guess, I knew you'd take care of me. I never even thought of leaving."

This time it was Veronica who kissed Edie on the cheek.  "I'm so proud of you, Edie," she said softly.  "Now, come on, we'll be late for the second act.  Have a good night, ladies," she said to Mary's two assistants.  "And thanks for the watch-dogging.

"Will we see Tammi and Consuella again?" Edie asked.

"Do you want to?"

"Sure," was the quick answer.  "Mary told me that they tried to stand up for me before - on the island that is.  I want to thank them for that."

"Then we will be sure to see them some time soon.  Now, hurry. I don't want to miss the opening aria."

"You really like this stuff?  Opera, I mean."

"Love it.  Why?"

Sighing, Edie followed the diminutive domme down the aisle. "Nothing.  Ummm, do safewords work for opera?"

Grinning hugely, Veronica shook her head.  "Nope. The opera house is a safeword-free torture chamber.  For you, anyway.  Now shut up and smile, slave."

"Yes, Mistress."  

Edie thought about two more acts of sopranos whipping her eardrums, and then thought about two more acts of Veronica playing her games. It would be worth it, the womanly creature concluded happily.  "Although. . .maybe I should hold my purse strategically in my lap. Just to keep up. . . appearances, don't you know?"

~-~ 

Edward savored his first full lung-full of air in nearly five hours. "It's like exercising," he sighed. "It feels SO good when you stop."

"Aw, and here I thought we were having fun," Veronica teased, hand-swatting his still-pantied bottom for effect.

"Oh, I did," he was quick to assure her, "but it's still good to be able to breathe again."

The petite redhead slipped the corset from his torso and set it aside.  "Well, I will leave you to finish dressing," she said. 

"But. . but, you haven't unlocked the harness-thing yet," he protested.

"So I haven't," she replied, suddenly sober again.  "If you insist, I will unlock it."

"If I insist?"

She shrugged. "I'd prefer you wear it for awhile longer. . .for me."

"For. . .for you? But, what about. . "

"About what, Ed? It's designed for long-term wear, doesn't impede any eliminatory natural functions - just erections.  At worst, it's only an annoyance.  At best, you'll be constantly aware of it, and why you're wearing it . . and for whom."

"For you," he repeated softly.

"I did warn you that I could be a real bitch at times, dear. It excites me to think of you, locked in that appliance, subject to my whim and will. So, do you give me the gift of your enforced celibacy, or do you ask me to unlock it?"

"It's chained on me, Veronica.  Suppose I need to get it off?"

"True enough.  If I can give you a way out - emergencies only - will you wear it? For me?"

"Yes."  The answer was simply and directly given, and the smile that answered him was all a man could hope for from a woman.

"Be right back. Oh, and could you keep the panties on, too? I hate boxer shorts."

"Yes, ma'am," Ed couldn't quite stifle the laugh that followed Veronica out of the room.

She was gone for quite a while, and he was fully dressed by the time she returned.  When she came in, she held up what appeared to be a necklace - a gold chain with a oval locket about one and a half inches long by an inch across - for his inspection. Then she turned it so that he could see that the locket was of the type girls open to show pictures of boyfriends, or locks of hair.

"The key is inside," she said, showing him the catch release on the back of the locket. "However, I've sealed it in old fashioned red sealing wax. It will open easily enough, but you'll have to break the wax-seal to get to the key.  If you do that, I'll know because I used a press seal to mark the wax."

"If I open it, I wouldn't hide that from you," Ed replied, somewhat offended.  "I said I would wear the darned thing for you and I will - unless there is a bloody good reason to take it off!"

The short-statured domme had the grace to look abashed.  "Sorry, Ed," she apologized.  "Sometimes these power games can become a little too ingrained. Would you like me to clear away the wax and simply give you the key?"

The simple honesty of her offer moved him, and he shook his head.  "Nah," he tried to sound off handed. "I'll take the locket as it is - wax and all."

"Then kneel, Sir Edward," she intoned formally.  When he did, she ceremonially placed the necklace over his head - much like a military commander awarding a medal - and then kissed both his cheeks.  "Time to go home, dear.  I won't tell you to have a good weekend because I know you are planning on working on the Andrushka presentation."

"They didn't give us much time, Veronica. Telling us Friday that they're coming the next Tuesday?"

"You'll do fine.  Just like you did tonight."

~-~

Ed tried to get comfortable in his bed, but it was impossible.  Every time he moved, that damn harness . . .annoyed him.  He should have remembered he was a tummy-sleeper, dammit, but what the hell - when Veronica had smiled at him, the only thing that mattered in the whole world was earning another.

And that, he told himself, was exactly WHY she'd wanted him to wear the cursed thing.  It reminded him of her, and the power he'd given her to wield over him.  Given her . . .yes, he had done that, hadn't he?  As the song went, though, 'isn't that the way they always said it should be?' His free will to give in to her will?

She'd shown herself worthy of that trust, too, getting Mary's two girls to watch over him even when she tried to convince him she'd cut him loose to face the crowds alone. And the way those two had been dressed - really stunning women in eye-catching gowns - they'd have made one bodacious diversion if he'd gotten made by one of the patrons, or if he'd lost it somehow at a critical time or place.  A good enough diversion that Veronica would have easily been able to have spirited him away before anyone had realized what was going down.

Damn, she was wonderful.

~-~

Veronica gave up trying to sleep, and rolled onto her back to savor the images swirling madly through her mind.  Ed had been just so. . . so CUTE tonight, and so game. She remembered how he'd all but come out his seat when she'd copped that feel right before the first intermission.  She wished she could have been the one to watch him in the ladies' lounge, but that wouldn't have worked.  He'd done well in there, according to Consuella, and his makeup had been more than acceptable when he'd slipped back out.

He'd made Tamiqua - a fact that both surprised and pleased Veronica.  It meant that Ed kept his eyes open and his wits alert, even when his sensibilities were taking a battering from the public play to which she'd been subjecting him.  That boded well for the play party coming up.  He'd need all his wits there if they had any hope of covertly pulling off that little scheme.

Oh, lord, and the look on his face when she hadn't unlocked the harness. Just the memory sent an erotic shiver through her belly. God, and then he'd TRUSTED her. . . after all he'd been through - including what she'd unwittingly put him through with that damned Halloween costume party debacle - he'd still trusted her.

It was just so . . . so beautiful.

Chapter 20: Bad Moon Rising 

Ed was still tired when he got out of bed Monday morning, but it was a good sort of tired. He and his two teammates had put in nearly thirty hours on the presentation over the weekend, but in the end, it had been worth the effort. He was well pleased with the final product of their labors.

In the bathroom, he remembered to sit in order to perform both morning eliminations - something he hadn't remembered on Saturday until the damned appliance of Veronica's had recalled itself to him rather forcefully  - just at the point of aim each time.  

Actually, that was a real benefit of the weekend spent working with Ken, in particular. Ed was now very conscious of his inability to use a urinal.  In the nearly deserted offices, he'd managed to avoid being in the restroom the same time as Ken, and thus had also avoided calling unwanted attention to his current total dependency on stalls and commodes. His pre-planned excuse, if caught and questioned, was to claim a touch of some stomach virus, but that wouldn't work for long.  Maybe he would take to using the wheelchair accessible bathroom in the short-term. What he'd do if Veronica wanted him to wear this thing regularly was something he'd have to consider over time.

An hour later he was at his desk, running through the presentation one last time with Ken and Didi. "We're ready," he said finally.
"Agreed," Ken replied.

"I wish we had more time," Didi hedged, "but it's as good as we can make it without more time."

Ed nodded and picked up the phone.  He waited until he heard the voice on the other end of the phone.  "Ms. Johnson."

"Ed here," he replied.  "We're as ready as we can be under the circumstances. It's time to murder-board the proposed campaign and client presentation.  We still on to brown-bag it with you over lunch in the main conference room?"

"I'll have my secretary order sandwiches and get Helen in here," Veronica answered. "Any significant changes in approach?"

"Not really.  We've smoothed out the wording and catch phrases a bit - made up some better storyboards and plugged it into the presentation software.  Added some animation. I'll do the voice-overs live so that we aren't tied to the pitch in the event our guests want to ask questions."

In her office, Veronica smiled.  So many ad-types hated that, wanting the customers to sit there and listen to their carefully crafted, 'perfect' pitches without interrupting 'their flow'.  Not Ed - he just went with the customer's flow, and in doing so, never alienated a potential client.  She idly wondered how many accounts he'd brought in because the client or the client's representative was pissed at some other agency's presenter.  "Great.  So, Ed. . ." Veronica let her voice drop down into a low, husky purr, "How are . . . things hanging? . . . . Otherwise, that is."

The darkly sensual overtones of that question had Ed's face going slack with shock. His brain instantly emptied of blood, dumping the bulk of that oxygen-rich fluid directly into his lap, only to be stymied by the grip of unyielding bands. . . down there.  He swallowed, and tried to smile for Ken and Didi's sake.  "They're fine. . umm. . .I'm, ah fine. Everything is. . .just fine," he managed to blather out.

"I'm so pleased," Veronica cooed, wishing she could see his face at that very moment. "And are you wearing your locket?"

"Next to my heart, ma'am," he managed with some measure of lightness.  "See you at lunch."

"If not sooner," was Veronica's reply before the line disconnected.
Ed set the receiver down very carefully, and then looked up to see Ken and Didi grinning at him wickedly.  "She, ah, is going to provide lunch," he told them because he couldn't make his brain function well enough to say anything else.

"Great," Ken told him.

"Yeah, really great," Didi concurred, and then both dissolved into laughter.

"What is so bloody funny?" Ed demanded.

It took Didi a couple of moments to compose herself sufficiently to answer.

"You are, you big clunk! We've known how you feel about her for ages, okay? You've been more than half in love with Veronica since the first time you met her, and from the sound of that little interchange, it appears that she's decided to let you catch her. I think it's great!"

"I think so, too, guy. Congratulations.  That is one helluva woman. I'd sure as hell let her catch me if she had a mind to try."

"I am sure you are exaggerating," Ed tried to temporize without any success.

"Sure we are," Didi said, tongue planted in one cheek.

"Definitely. Blowing things completely out of proportion," Ken agreed, just as facetiously. "My only reservation is that when she gets booted upstairs, you'll leave, too.  Losing two good bosses at the same time is a bitch."

"Enough!" Ed yelped, still reeling from the revelation that his secret feelings for Veronica hadn't been so secret after all. "Go set up the conference room for the presentation."

They left, but not without a bit more teasing.  He watched them head for the conference room, and then began searching his desk for a rewritable CD. When things got really crazy, it was the little things - like standard office procedures - that gave a guy his balance back.

"And lord knows I need to get mine back right now.

~-~

". . . and subject to your questions, ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the formal phase of our presentation," Ed finished.

The conference room was again filled with the same key players - his team, Veronica, Helen and Derrick.  The table was littered with hard copies of his slides, half-empty paper cups, and other detritus of a 'working lunch'.  Only Ed's meal still lay untouched on his plate, since he'd been giving the briefing.  "Can't very well talk with my mouth full, can I?" he'd asked when Veronica had told him to eat.  That had been a bit of a half-truth.  The real story was that he always  got just a bit nauseous doing these things, and the last thing he needed was recycled pastrami all over his presentation notes.

"Helen?" Veronica asked, implicitly requesting the marketeer to take a position.

The slender blonde made a show of scanning through her notebook before looking up.  "There might still be time to get a professional's voice-over tied to the presentation," she began.  "I know this had to be fast-tracked, but I'm owed some favors.  I think I could get someone in here this afternoon - tomorrow morning at the latest."

Ed started to speak but was cut off by Veronica. "I don't think that's necessary, Helen.  And besides, we don't have time to fine tune something like that with someone unfamiliar with the project.  Ed knows the pitch and can adjust it, if necessary, on the fly."

"But, that's not the way clients expect these things done," Derrick put in, warningly, " and the last thing we want is to appear amateurish.  Maybe we could put off the meeting - say, a couple of days? Just long enough to smooth this all out?"

"The clients were most specific, Derrick," Veronica replied.  "And I'm not sure this presentation needs smoothing, in any case."

"It's an awful lot of our eggs in one basket, Veronica," the young executive assistant said.  "If we'd been able to be part of the process instead of getting told - after the fact - that it's a done-deal, we could have helped develop a fall back position, hedged our bets with alternatives. In other words, we could have had a sales position."

"I take it you do not consider this concept salable, Derrick?" Veronica's tones were mild.

Derrick suddenly realized he was on dangerous ground. "I think this could be sold, given time to give it the proper spin, but . . ."

"But?"

"But as we said last week, this isn't necessarily going to appeal to her people."

"Then, we'll have to live with that.  This will, I'm sure, stand out from the pap other, lesser companies will come up with that only tries to ride Andrushka's current image." Then, Veronica looked back to the head of the table. "I say we go with it exactly as it is. Leave it on the machine in here, do it just the same way tomorrow, Ed, and I'm sure we'll have a new client within the month. Didi? Ken? Great job.  Thanks. See you all tomorrow."

~-~

"Damn them!" Helen fumed after the others had left the conference room. "DAMN her!"

"Hey, ease up, boss.  That decision of hers is going to work FOR us.  We warned them, right? Even after they kept us out of the planning. Now, when Andrushka's handlers squash this like a bug for trying to make their Lolita grow up, we'll be the ones who were right."

"Are you in-SANE?!" Helen accused, "Or just fucking stupid?!" That campaign is brilliant, and no matter how much Andrushka's hangers-on want to keep the status quo, they're going to have to see that, too.  Hell, it might even open up new career possibilities for her, if the little bitch shows she has any acting ability while making these ads."

"You think. . . I mean, . . . but that means Davis comes out of this smelling like a rose."

"Like the next managing director of this office, you mean, Derrick."

"But, how!? For god's sake, Helen, he and his team didn't have time to do anything decent.  We made sure of that."

"Well, evidently they did come up with something MORE than decent. Not only that, Veronica is aware how time-constrained this project was, so he looks like even more of a hero-slant-miracle worker for bringing it off in almost no time."

"But. . but. . ."
"And don't think I'm going to forget who came up with the brilliant idea to withhold the project until the last minute. I think I will remember - very clearly - particularly tomorrow after the presentation, when all those money brokers are sitting there stunned by the ideas Davis and his team present."

"But, Helen . . Ms. Martin. . "

"Get out of here, Derrick," Helen ordered coldly as she stood up to leave the conference room. "Go home, and think about where you're going to work in two weeks.  I need to think. I need to find some way to recover from this setback."

~-~

The office was deserted and dark as the night outside. Deserted, that is, but for the black-clad figure moving confidently through the shadowed halls.  The intruder stopped in front of the one door marked 'Keep Out',  pulled a small penlight from a jacket pocket, and slipped inside. The digital clock on the wall read 2:38 AM in large, red-glowing numbers that provided the only other light in the room. 

~-~

Ed all but ran into the conference room to find a grim Ken staring at the presentation computer in total frustration.  "Is it as bad as you said on the phone?" he asked.

"Worse," Ken told him.  "The servers got fried last night, man. Some kind of fault with the UPS/surge suppressors. The machines are less than useless. Not only that, but somehow, the power surge got onto the network and damaged several of the user machines, too.  Including this one. Hard-drive is corrupted."

"Well, good-golly-gumdrops. That's just great. What about the tape backups? Isn't that why the techies told us not to turn our machines off when we go home at night? So they could back up our computers for us every night?"

"All that worked, too," Ken told him grimly.  "And if we had a working network server, we could use the tapes to recover, because what ever happened occurred after the backups were run, but without a working server. . . ," he left the conclusion unsaid.

"The presentation?"

"Gone, Ed, at least from this machine.  Yours, too, I'm afraid - I checked your ocmputer as soon as I realized this one was dead," he added grimly.  "It's in the same condition as this one was in when I got here this morning."

"Your and Didi's machine?"

"They're okay, but neither of us had a copy of the full pitch - just the stuff we each created.  Then we put it all up on the network for when we all got together to integrate the thing."

"I just heard from Helen," Veronica said striding into the conference room. "Her computer's down, too, and she's got Derrick trying to fix the servers. How bad is it here?"

"We're out of commission here," Ken told her. "And no way those servers are coming back up anytime soon, either." 

"We could rig a laptop, couldn't we?" she asked. "For the customer presentation?"

"No backups," Ken said, shaking his head. "Everything was either on the network, or on machines that are out of commission and can't be recovered until the network is back up."

"Surely, you MUST have a copy of the presentation? Somewhere?"

"No," Ken sighed, "we don't. It's not like this was an out-of-office presentation, Veronica. We figured that three copies on three machines was pretty secure."

"WAITAMINUTE! We DO have a copy!" Ed crowed, remembering.  "Get your laptop, Veronica!  I'll be right back."

Veronica had already returned, and was handing her laptop to Ken when Ed raced back into the conference room, triumphantly holding up the CD-R he'd used to back up the presentation.  It was normal procedure when a team was going to a client's office with a presentation to take along a CD with the presentation, in case the laptop failed for some reason. Then, they could still make their pitch using another machine - even at the last minute.  Ed had burned this CD more out of habit than anything else, but it would save their collective butts today.  "Guess there's times when being anal is a good thing," Ken grinned when he realized what Ed was giving him.

"You don't know the half of it, Ken," Veronica said, at the same time giving Ed a pat and squeeze on his butt.  "Being anal can be very, VERY good. Sometimes."

Ed felt liquid fire suffuse his cheeks, and had to swallow very hard before he dared speak. "How long to get set up, Ken?" he asked as quickly as he could, hoping to divert his colleague from Veronica's little innuendo to the task at hand. "I'd like to do another dry run before our guests arrive - just to make sure that copy of the presentation is okay, and that all the other conference room support equipment still works."

"Fifteen minutes, Boss.  By the time Didi makes her usual 'sorry I'm late' appearance, we should be good to go here."

"Okay, I, ah, need to shave and change into my suit."

Veronica's hand found Ed's butt again, this time stroking the hard metallic bands that held the harness still in place. "Use my washroom, Ed. It's more . . . spacious than a regular stall."

Ed's eyes snapped over to Ken, but saw that his team member was too deeply involved in his computer wizardry to realize what Veronica had said.  "Umm, sure, uh, thanks."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, Ed. Totally my pleasure."

Part VI

Chapter 21: Interchanges

Humming happily, Mary reviewed the papers Consuella had brought up from the island.  Sally had done very well - these detailed plans for a regular client's upcoming visit to La Marquesa's dungeons were excellent. Imaginative and sensual, dramatic and demanding - yet at the same time, safe. The girl had the makings of a superb Domme, despite her stated preferences for the other side of the whip.  

Mary had long ago recognized that talent, that potential, but had done nothing about it. That was unusual on Mary's part, for she had, in the past, at least exposed most of the other supposedly 'purely submissive' women who'd worked for or with her to the dominant role.  Was her failure to train Sally as a domina REALLY in deference to Sally's oft-stated personal desires, or had she, Mary, decided not to do anything that might alter the loving dynamic they shared together?  

Why hadn't she pushed that button with Sally? Certainly, their relationship was easy now - well, maybe easiER - because Sally was always in 'sub-mode' and therefore didn't have to worry about shedding dominant attitudes when she left a client and entered Mary's space.

But, the question was, easier for whom? For Sally? Or For Mary?  Was she helping her beloved, or stunting her development? And if she was hindering her lover's personal growth, what did that say about Mary Margaret O'Hurley's brand of dominance?  

Nothing Mary liked at all. 

She was a Sister! 

A member in the Delta of Venus! 

She believed that Dominance existed, first and foremost, to free the submissive from limits that weren't real; from barriers to growth that existed only in the mind, not in fact. 

Had she become just such a barrier? Would Sally be happier, more fulfilled, if she became Mistress Sally? They didn't know because they'd never tried, but her girl certainly had a thorough understanding of the technical and psychological aspects of good dominance - the proof of that was in these plans.

"Note to self," she said firmly into her little dictation recorder, "Sally starts working into the Mistress rotation starting with the next client. Justify by telling her we're short-handed.  Make it an order if necessary. Start her off with the sleep-time guard watches, but start her.  Observe reaction and decide how much further to take this."

There, it was done - the decision was made.  She just hoped she wouldn't regret it, wouldn't lose her Sally, but if her little bird didn't come back when Mary set her free, she wasn't really Mary's to begin with, was she?

The phone rang, breaking Mary's thoughts.  Gratefully, she put the plans and recorder aside and picked up the phone. "Yes?" she said into the receiver.

"Ms O'Hurley? Have you a few moments, ma'am?"

"Joe.. I mean, Jack, hello.  Yes, of course I do. What do you have for me?"

"We've got something pretty hot, Ma'am, from the investigations in Derrick Tolivar's neighborhood.

~-~

"I'm sorry, Ms. O'Hurley," the executive secretary said, "but Ms. Johnson is in a client meeting right now. I'm really not certain when she'll be available but she told me that she was not to be disturbed under any circumstances." 

"I see," Mary replied, trying to keep temper out of her voice. "Then, please ask her to call as soon as possible.  She has my cell phone number.  This is very important."

"Yes, ma'am.  Might I have the cell phone number so she doesn't have to search for it and can call you the moment she gets this message?"

Mary gave her the number and hung up.  There wasn't anything more she could do except wait.

God, but she positively loathed waiting.

~-~ 

". . . and subject to your questions, ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the formal phase of our presentation," Ed finished.

Once again, it was the same key players - his team, Veronica, Helen and Derrick - but this time augmented by Andrushka and ten members of her management team. It was fortunate, he thought, that they hadn't gone with a canned voice-over because the suits from Andrushka's marketing company been on the offensive since before all the 'hellos' and 'glad to meet yous' had even been said.

Until Andrushka, wearing an attractive, yet conservatively cut business suit, and looking every inch the young executive will-soon-be, had shut them up midway through the presentation. 

Well, Ed thought, at least they'd gotten all the way through the pitch, which was the first battle. Now, the next few minutes would tell the tale as to whether this advertising concept was just TOO different to stand a chance.

~-~

"She LOVED it!" Veronica squealed, launching herself into Ed's arms once they were alone in her office.

"Her team didn't," Ed put in, thoroughly enjoying his armful of redhead.

Veronica squirmed out of his arms and began to pace the room, energy radiating from her in pulsing waves.  "Doesn't matter.  She did, and she's going to win. She's in charge there, even if they don't want to admit it. Trust me on this, Ed. Takes one to know one."

"A Sister-to-be?" he asked smiling.

"If she receives proper training," Veronica replied, moving over to her desk and beginning to sort through the pink call-slips stacked there.  Her secretary had already left for her lunch-time walk in the park when they'd returned from escorting Andrushka and her party back to the lobby.  

Her hands stopped when she recognized the name on the third slip.  "Something's up," she told Ed, even as she began punching a number into her phone.

~-~

"That's really, well, incredible, Mary," Ed said into the speaker phone.

"I think we have to believe it, Ed, because it fits the facts.  The next door neighbor remembers because Derrick asked her to water his plants for him.  The kid remembers because Derrick came back driving something other than his 'really cool ride'."

"Derrick drives one of those Beamer two-seater convertibles, doesn't he, Ed?" Veronica asked.

"It's a BMW?" Ed replied, sarcastically. "It's a convertible, and I don't think there's room in it for more than two seats. I only know mine's a Volvo because I have to write the check for the lease payment every month when I do my bills."

"A Volvo? Yellow, Ed?" Mary's voice piped in. "Four-door?"

"Yes, it is."

"That's what Derrick Tolivar was driving the day he returned.  We don't know the tag number because the kid wouldn't have recognized it, and we didn't want to ask anyway because that might have caused talk that would get back to our young friend, but not many companies rent Volvos."

"How would he be able to get in? I have electronic door locks and alarms."

"His family business has an electronics division, and he minored in computer science at college. I don't think a simple keyless entry system would be too hard to crack if he could get his hands on one of your remotes, Ed. At least, my investigator thinks that."

"How often have I warned you not to leave your keys on your desk, Ed?" Veronica asked, suddenly cross.  "Well, that certainly adds to an already rather hectic day," she added.

"Oh?" Mary asked.

Veronica quickly filled the other woman in on the day's accomplishments and challenges.  The other end of the phone went silent for several moments before Mary put in.  "You know, Verita, if we're right about Tolivar, your little computer glitch . . "

"LITTLE?" Ed squawked.  "We almost lost any chance of landing a multi-multi-million dollar account over that 'glitch'."

"Exactly," Mary replied. "Someone has already tried to sabotage you once by using me, and now, just when you have the opportunity for a huge personal and professional success, critical equipment fails."

"Critical equipment that is, ordinarily, highly reliable," Veronica continued, "and that Derrick would know how to damage.  I am not liking this, Mary."

"Unfortunately, it's all circumstantial, and we can't really take it to the police, anyway.  Not without exposing Ed's and your reputations to potentially great harm."

"But how would Derrick know about Black Rose?" Ed asked. "About you, Mary?"

"An excellent question.  He plays, you know."

"What?" Mary and Ed both asked.

"When I visited you, Verita, and we met the young man?  I saw his wrists - he'd been recently handcuffed, and none-to-gently.  There were the characteristic bruises resulting from too lengthy a session with too-tight bracelets.  Do you know if he's a member of the Black Rose, Verita?"

"Not under his real name," the auburn-haired executive answered, instantly.  "I'd know, just as I knew when Edward started connecting with the group. And I still would have recognized him from his application photo if he tried to join under an alias."

"I've got my investigator watching him more closely, but if you could do some checking, dear?"

"Tonight," Veronica said firmly.  "I'll check our membership records tonight."

"I'll go, too," Ed put in. "Two of us can get done quicker."

Veronica looked like she was about to object, but smiled, rather wickedly, instead. "If you insist, dear."

~-~

And he'd thought grown-up women's clothing was humiliating, Ed mused as he riffled through yet another stack of membership files. Betty Boop was better than this.

A glance toward the mirrored wall clearly showed that nothing had changed since the last time he'd checked. Looking back at him from the world on the other side of the glass was a living, breathing, nearly six foot tall incarnation of the classic ragdoll - right down to a be-freckled face framed by the standard carrot-orange yarn pigtails. Idly, he wondered who would make, or better yet, spend real money for adult sized doll clothes and shoes.  Lord above, but the bow Veronica had tied above his butt to hold that silly pinafore thing in place could double as a radar antenna.  If he'd been able to do so, he would complain about this get up - loudly, but Veronica had anticipated that. An inflatable gag, shaped like  baby's pacifier, sometimes called a 'dummy' for very good reason, now filled his mouth to bursting.  It was a good thing he didn't have a head cold.

One thing he didn't need this time was blusher!

Sighing as best he could around the rubbery bulk, Ed picked up the last folder in this stack - another woman.  Obviously not his man.

Or was she. . .he? Certainly, Edie had been welcomed.  Would Derrick make a passable female? With Veronica's skillful intercession, Ed had, hadn't he? And if anything, Derrick's youthful skin and slender frame would seem to make him a better candidate for passably cross-dressing. Wouldn't it?  Mary said he was playing.  What if he was dressing, and gained covert entry to the Black Rose by impersonating a female?  Maybe even a Domina, so he could hide the physical indicator of his gender?

Rising, 'Dolly' shambled over to where Veronica was pouring over her own stack of files.  He'd allowed himself to forget about the hobbles on his ankles. Impatiently, he waited for her to acknowledge his presence.  When she looked up, he pointed to his mouth and said "uh uh uh!"

"Aw. . .," Veronica cooed, obviously thoroughly enjoying the game, "Dolly-poopsie wants her dummy out?".

Ed nodded his head with childlike vigor, and pointed to the folder he held.  "Ah ah," she chided, waving her index finger back and forth in admonishment, "Dolly has to stay dummied 'cause she was a bad girl - called Mommy by her grownup name."

He just couldn't help it - he actually stamped his foot in frustration, and nearly fell when the raised foot pulled the hobble tight on his grounded foot and unbalanced him.  He pointed to the folder again, practically poking his finger through it this time.  "Uh, uh, UH!!"

This time, Veronica took the folder and looked at it.  "This is a woman, Dolly," she said in a less 'adult-to-baby' tone.

Ed nodded again.  "It's not Derrick.  Is this someone you know?"

Ed shook his head.  Resigned that Veronica wasn't going to ungag him unless he gave the agreed upon mercy signal, he began to play charades with her. He'd only use the mercy signal if this didn't work. 

In a move that must have looked ludicrous in his exaggeratedly 'little-girl' garb, Ed put his hands on his hips and wiggled them saucily.  

"Cute, Dolly," Veronica told him.  "Just like a grown up bad girl. So?"

Nodding to show she'd gotten that clue right, Ed made a show of looking right and left, and then brought his index finger to his gag-distorted lips in the universal signal for quiet.

"You don't want me to talk?" Ed shook his head and repeated the gestures more graphically.  "A secret? Something you don't want me to tell someone else?"

Ed nodded again, and once more repeated the looks and the call for secrecy.  With that, and still acting furtively, he lifted the front of Dolly's skirt and pointed to his own harnessed manhood before pulling the skirt back down in feigned, overdone embarrassment.

"The secret is that you're really a boy?" Veronica asked.

Ed pointed to himself and shook his head, but then picked the picture in the folder and nodded.  "You think she might be a boy?" and then the violet eyes went wide. "You think that DERRICK might have tried to join Black Rose disguised as a woman?"  Ed nodded so hard his braids slapped him in the face.

Veronica thought about that, and then shook her head. "I don't think so, Ed," she said seriously, "First, because if any guy did that, I'd know, okay? My taste for cross-dressed playmates is well known by my friends in the group, and someone would have told me about a new sissy on the playground.  Secondly, we require blood tests from all our full members. We don't allow sex, that is, actual intercourse, at our parties, but sometimes accidents happen and blood gets spilled, so we have to know that our members are not carrying HIV or hepatitis or some other blood-borne disease. One piece of data that comes back on those test results is gender.  If the blood sample analysis said 'boy', but the application form said 'girl', that discrepancy would be immediately flagged for further investigation, okay?"

Deflated, Ed nodded and picked up the file, only to be caught by the wrist.  Veronica went up on tiptoe and kissed his freckled cheek.  "Good thinking, dear.  I never thought of that."

Grinning as much as an overstuffed mouth would permit, Ed swept his hands down over his dress and pointed to his head.  Veronica laughed and kissed him again. "Yeah, I guess it would be on your mind. Good girl, Dolly."

~-~

"I keep telling you it was a good cover for us in case another member showed up while we were going through the files," Veronica said testily, as she maneuvered her car through the night-empty streets.

"I didn't say a thing," Ed replied, with quiet dignity.

"You're thinking loud enough you don't NEED to say anything!" the petite woman snapped, "And every time I look at you you're rubbing your jaw."

"It was perfect cover, just as you say," he replied obsequiously, "but my jaw is a little sore. I'm not used to keeping my mouth that wide open so long."

"If it was bothering you, then why the hell didn't you safe-signal!?!" Veronica growled.  "I'd have taken it out.  That's why we have code words and signals, dammit!"

"That. . . that's allowed? I mean, it wasn't like I was bleeding or anything. . ."

Without warning, Veronica pulled the car off the road to a jerking stop and rested her head on the steering wheel. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" she breathed.

"Uh, I'm sorry, Veronica. Gumdrops! Whatever I did. . .I mean. ."

"No," she sighed, looking up at him.  "It's not you.  I just keep forgetting how little you really know about how these games are played - about how I play these games.  Ed, here is Rule ONE, okay?  A safe word or code is NEVER wrong if it means what it is supposed to mean - that whatever is happening has become TOO MUCH.  It doesn't have to be too painful or too embarrassing.  In this case, it can mean that you've worn the gag for too long and your jaw is starting to ache."

"I thought that safewording was, well, a sign of weakness."

"I consider a properly given safeword to be a sign of strength," she said quietly.  "I need you to be strong for me, Ed, because I like to play hard.  I need you to be strong enough to go as far as you can, and strong enough to tell me when it is going beyond that.  Otherwise, it can't be good for either of us, and Ed?"

"Yes?"

"When we do play - for real - where it's just for the two of us and not part of this damned mess at work?  I want it to be VERY good - for both of us."

Ed stared at her for several moments, and then nodded.  "So do I. Okay, I will do my best to be strong both ways."

She leaned over for a hug and a kiss.  "Good.  Come on. I need to call Mary and tell her what we found."

"We found nothing."

"No, we found that Derrick isn't a member of Black Rose.  That's something.  What it means, we don't know, but it is still another piece that has to be fit into the puzzle."

Chapter 22: Breakthroughs 

The following workday, it was almost ten in the morning before Ed managed a free moment.  He found Veronica's secretary gone - coffee break, probably - and peaked inside the open office door.  The petite redhead was apparently lost in thought, gazing fixedly out her window.

"Hi," he said softly, but she started nonetheless.

"Hi, yourself.  Been avoiding me. . . after last night?" she asked, her face suddenly anxious.

"Hardly," he replied. "Had an email from Andrushka's people to answer - a bunch of questions and comments from yesterday's meeting."

"Anything big?" This was the advertising professional asking. 

"All easily handled - no show stoppers, but full credit to them for trying to find one.  They hate the concept, but they're stymied because she loves it."

"She wants to grow up, and they're afraid their meal ticket will go away when she finally does." She went quiet for a moment, and then got up, moving over to stand face-to-face with him.  "Are you. .. umm, .. WE okay with last night?  Really?"

That she was still uncertain about the outcome of her little game momentarily surprised Ed.  Then, it warmed him - obviously his feelings about their play were important to her, and she was afraid she'd overstepped. The quirky sense of humor that often got him in trouble with the stuffed shirts poked it's nose up. "Well, maybe next time?" 

"Next time?" she said, hope in her tones.  "What about next time?"

"Well, maybe we could just go with a thong and a bowtie - let me do my Chippendale impression for you. I'm still combing orange yarn out of my hair."

The look on her face was priceless. "Yarn?" she finally managed before dissolving into a very un-domme-ly fit of giggles. "Yarn!" she hooted and then poked him playfully in the belly.  When he huffed at the blow, she jumped up to hug him. "Chippendale, huh? Got the abs for it, big fella?"

His arms automatically came around her, drawing her close.  "Guess not," he admitted.  "Oh well, guess I can play Raggedy Annie again sometime for you."

"For me," she sighed, her body melting against him.

"Veronica, Ed, we need to . . . oh, shit. . umm. . . excuse us. . "

Ed and Veronica jumped apart, both blushing like teenagers caught necking in the auditorium by the principal.  An equally embarrassed Ken and Didi stared wide-eyed at them from the door.  Veronica recovered first.  "Okay," she said evenly.  "What's up? Sounded important."

Ken and Didi shared a look and a shrug, and then stepped inside.  They were careful to shut the office door behind them.  "Couldn't you have waited until she got promoted and left," Ken glared at Ed.  "Now, she'll have to recuse herself when it comes time to appoint her replacement so the person making the decision may not appreciate you as much as he should."

"What are you talking about?" Ed asked confused.

"Well, Ken and me were kinda hoping we wouldn't be working for Empress Helen when Veronica leaves," Didi said, "and you were our best hope.  I mean, it's been plain as day that you're head over heels for Veronica, Ed, but why NOW? And HERE?"

Ed glanced over at Veronica who gave him a 'it's your decision look' in return.  "I wasn't going to take the job anyway, guys. You know how little I like the business side of all this. I only took the team leader job because of the money, and the only things that made it worthwhile was working with you two and working for Veronica.  You guys are in line for bigger and better things, and so's she. I'm thinking of going out on my own - doing some freelance consulting stuff after Veronica gets promoted."

"So you can still pursue the lovely lady, eh?" Didi teased. "Well, when did THIS happen, you two? Let's have the facts, and, ah, don't worry about being TOO detailed."

"Oh, gumdrops! Well, it's . . . something that started getting serious recently. . ." Ed fumbled, "Like, oh, since my . . my vacation."  

Ken saw Veronica's eyes go wide and then harden momentarily - a clear indication that something about that vacation comment angered the little redhead. And Ed never stammered - except when he was trying to hide something.  Ed was a great guy, and almost too honest for his own good - he couldn't lie for shit.  "Okay, that's it," he said carefully. "Why am I getting the idea that vacation wasn't quite what I thought it was?"  

No one said another word for several moments.  The two newcomers took their cue from Veronica, whose eyes were fixed on Ed.  Finally, he sighed, "Veronica? I know what we said - about it having to be someone from work? But not these two."

"You're sure, Ed?"

"Yes," was all he said before turning back to his teammates. "Have a seat, okay? This will take a bit of time to explain."

~-~

"Ed - kidnaped? By mistake?" Didi's voice was an almost soundless squeak.  

"It was a mistake," Ed said evenly. "A sort of adventure game that, had I been the person they were expecting, might have been very exciting.  They - that is, the people running that camp - expected it would be exciting and so they didn't recognize my fear and terror for what it was.  They thought I was just a really good actor."

The story had been true in most of the facts.  If La Marquesa's Dominance Spa had described as a true adventure prison camp escape scenario, then that still conveyed Ed's feelings during the experience accurately enough.

"And when you came back, you were edgy, nervous - I remember thinking your attention span was almost nil," Ken thought aloud.

"We think the plan was to make him look bad professionally, or maybe even make him run away," Veronica told them.

"And you think that Derrick was behind it?"

"We have some evidence that points to him," she said carefully.

"Well, the servers going down the way they did, the night before the big presentation? That certainly might have been him. He's got the technical smarts to pull off something like that, and to do it covertly, too. . . and I admit he's got a motive. . . but still," Ken thought about it for a few more moments before shaking his head emphatically. "I just can't buy him as the evil genius type."

"Why not, Ken?" Veronica asked.
"Look, guys, I've worked with Derrick for two years now, okay? And bottom line? He's not the sharpest pin in the cushion, okay? Sure as hell, he's not sharp enough to work something this out. Not by himself, anyway." 

Ed and Veronica both looked like they were about to contradict him, but then Didi held up her hand for quiet. "He knows his electronics, but you've both worked with the guy, right? He couldn't plan a decent lunch menu, let alone a multi-leveled trap scheme like you described." 

Ed and Veronica stared at Ken, then Didi and finally, then at each other.  "Damn," Veronica breathed, "we never thought of that!  An accomplice?!"

"Oh, great.  Now I can REALLY be paranoid," Ed growled. "Two for the price of one.  The question is, who?"

"Oh come on, Ed," Didi snorted. "Who else could it be but Helen? She's been trying to drag you down ever since the rumors of the Veronica moving into that open V.P. slot first started last year."

"But how did she know about. . ." Ed started to ask and then shut up at a sharp look from Veronica.

~-~

"Yes, Veronica," Mary said into her cell phone, "I know that this scenario also fits the facts, but it is more complicated, which indicates against it. Occam's Razor, right?  And besides, didn't you tell me she isn't a member of the Black Rose, and we know she's not a Sister.  How could she know about me and my little holiday resort?"

"I don't have answers for that yet.  Maybe tomorrow when I try to go through Calliope's records during the play party, I'll find something, but I think Ken and Didi's evaluation of this being far beyond Derrick Tolivar's capabilities is right on. I don't know why I didn't see that myself, but it's true, nonetheless.  He's okay in the short term, or in the execution of a preexisting plan, but he's just not a long range or strategic thinker. It's why he's still only an assistant."

"Oh, very well, Verita.  I will contact my investigator and have him pull together everything he has on this Helen Martin person.  I hope we're not grasping at straws.  I do have a business of my own to run, you know."
 
Chapter 23: Party Time!
For what had to be at LEAST the tenth time since entering Veronica's car, Ed settled himself deeper into the car's seat. . . and felt his bottom slide against the leather.

"Silk's like that, sweetie," an amused Veronica said from the driver's side.

"Busted," he sighed.

"It's not the seat that's discomfiting you, Ed," she told him gently. "It's the butt, or rather, what's ON the butt that's on that seat."

'The butt', he reflected, was swathed in silk, calf-length pantlets - bright red silk, at that - and every twitch of 'the butt' reminded him of that fact.  It was part of his 'stalking mare' guise for this evening's play party.  His job was to draw as much attention as possible in order to permit Veronica to slip away unnoticed.  Given what went with the pantlets, drawing attention would NOT be a problem.

He looked like Jessica Rabbit outfitted for a fetish magazine photo-shoot.  Long, softly curling red hair flowed about his face, half-hiding one vividly colored eye, while a triangular beauty patch on the opposite cheek drew attention to the other. His mouth was. . . well, if Veronica had made his lips any larger he'd have needed a red ball for his nose and white greasepaint for his face instead of the rouge that raised and sharpened his cheekbones.

A combination bolero-jacket and merry-widow corset (over a bosom of incredibly life-like false breasts) gave every indication of real cleavage. A garter belt, in matching black and red leather, held up classically trashy fishnet stockings - and his feet were already complaining about the red spiked-heels that were squeezing his toes.

"It's not too late to turn around," Veronica reminded him gently. "That outfit is only the beginning, love. I've tried to impress upon you just how difficult this experience is likely to be for you - and while I'm in Calliope's office, the only protection you'll have is that scarf and your safeword.  You're new, you're cross-dressed and cute, and you're obviously nervous as hell.  That combination is going to draw the members like a honey draws flies."

"Then, that's all to the good, isn't it?" Ed replied, trying to infuse his voice with far more confidence than he actually felt at that moment.  Truth to tell - which he wasn't about to - he was scared spitless.  He hadn't been rigged out this. . . blatantly since La Marquesa's, and that had not been at all fun. Still, Veronica needed him, needed him like this, and that, as the saying went, was that.

She pulled into a parking place outside the large Victorian styled house, shut off the engine, and looked at him. "Ed, once we're inside, every eye will be on you, even before I stake you out for open play.  If we leave early, or. . ." she stopped, considering her next words and decided they had to be said.  "Look, love, if you safeword in there, and I'm not nearby, that is going to call more attention to us than we want. People will start looking for me because I have a reputation for taking care of my playmates. They'll start looking, and worse, they'll start asking more of those questions we won't want to answer."

He nodded, having already considered those questions, thanks to some prodding from a surprisingly anxious Mary. He dropped his voice to it's lowest register, "Ma'am? Sometimes, a man's gotta do. .," he paused, and then continued in the voice she'd taught him to use when rigged out as Edie, "What a woman's gotta do. Let's go get this done, Mistress."

Veronica looked at the feminine creature she'd created the past few hours and smiled gently.  "Indeed we shall.  Just make sure that you remember what I told you about protocol, slavegirl. Now, start shakin' that sassy little ass, okay? C'mon, you sexy thang, strut your stuff."

~-~

"Veronica, how lovely of you to come," Lady Calliope gushed when she opened the door to admit them.  She was taller than average, and unapologetically voluptuous - a fact she advertised in the skin-tight leather and latex catsuit the covered everything and hid nothing.  She was also, Ed decided, older than his mother - a fact that almost threw him.  "And who is this sweetly dressed sissy?

"Lady Calliope," Veronica said formally, "May I present my slave, Edie, to you."

Ed, now Edie, curtsied, albeit without a skirt, earning a smile from matronly domina.  "Nicely done, dear," Lady Calliope approved warmly. "A pleasure to meet you."

"And an honor to meet you, Lady," Edie replied.

"Oh, and why might that be?" Calliope surprised Edie by asking.

Veronica had not coached her on how to handle such an interchange, and she was, again, momentarily at a loss.  In for a penny, in for a pound, the sexily turned out submissive thought. "I know that my Mistress respects you a very great deal, Lady, both as a person and as a dominant woman.  Meeting someone my Mistress respects is always both a pleasure and an honor."

Calliope smiled at that.  "A sweet-speaking tongue on this one, Veronica. If it does as well at . . .other tasks, she might well be worth the keeping. Have you. . . tested that yet?"

Veronica laughed.  "Look at her scarf, Cal."

The black-clad dominant did look at the scarf about Edie's throat and her eyes went wide.  "My goodness," she exclaimed, "But, didn't you tell me you were putting her on the dias?"

"With the scarf on," Veronica replied firmly.  "And trusting that anyone at one of your parties will respect ALL its meanings."

"Indeed they will, my dear," Calliope said, firmly. "Still, it will make the evening interesting, won't it? Now, you must excuse me as I have some things to set up.  Enjoy the buffet.  Playtime in an hour or so." 

"You made an impression, sweetie," Veronica mused, patting Edie on the fanny.  "Calliope will certainly be there to watch you."

"What did you mean about the scarf, Mistress?" Edie asked.  "It sounded important."

"Later," Veronica replied, beginning to lead Edie toward the buffet. "I'll explain it later. Now, be a good little sissy-sub and prepare a plate for me.  You can practice hand-feeding me on your knees as a warm-up - and to draw more interest in your sexxy self.  By now, Calliope's told at least half the guests about you and my plans for you, and they, in their turn, will tell the other half.  Perfect."

~-~

Mistress Verita's last act, after securing Edie's head, feet and arms into the standing display pillory, was to retie the white-silk neck scarf around her sissy-sub's eyes as a makeshift blindfold.  "Try to enjoy yourself, sweetie," she said softly into Edie's ear, "They really are good folks, for all they like to play a little rough by times. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Her reticence to follow the established protocol of disappearing following presentation was not lost on Calliope. Seeing the usually confident Veronica biting her lip and all but wringing her hands, she smiled.  "You're worried," she observed as she slipped in behind the petite redhead. "And he's about as rigidly terrified as any sub I've ever seen.  The white silk is true, then?"

"In a very important way, Cal," Veronica admitted. "Before coming to me, his only prior experiences were total disasters - so terrible, in fact, that he has only the barest idea what this thing of ours should be like. That's why he's so frightened up there. No matter what I say, in the back of his mind, he expects this to be just as bad as it was for him those first times."

Calliope's head snapped up at that. "Then should he even be up there?"

"I wish he wasn't," she admitted, more truthfully than the older domina knew. "But, he's determined to prove himself to me - refuses to deny me something he knows I like because of what he perceives as a weakness on his part."

"A dragon fighter, eh?" Calliope mused.  "Isn't that marvelous. I like him even more than I did before."

"Yeah, and I thought that one of your parties would be the safest public place for him to confront those dragons."

Touched, Calliope patted her friend's shoulder.  "Run along, Lady-Fair.  I'll watch over your knight-in-shining-satin during his spirit-quest," she promised, and then asked, "Oh, Sister? What's his safeword?"

"Verita," Veronica said evenly.

"Oh, my," Calliope breathed, awed. "That way, is it?"

"Yes.  I want his safeword to remind anyone who takes him that far just who owns him. Be back in a half hour.  Watch out for that bitch in the green latex, will you, Cal? I don't like the way she's drooling."

Calliope grinned at that, thinking that 'the bitch' wasn't the only one who was 'green' at that moment. It was a term that  accurately described both the slave and the Mistress - if for very different reasons.

~-~
Edie couldn't decide whether the blindfold was a blessing or a curse.  She'd counted at least thirty different revelers in attendance before Lady Calliope had called for the start of the 'presentations'. The scarlet-bottomed sissy-sub didn't know how many other submissives were being 'presented', but from the sound of milling people near her dias, those other subs were probably feeling pretty darned lonely just then.

A new pair of hands suddenly hauled down her pantelets, baring her from the waist down.  "Oh, look!" a feminine voice crowed, as something hard and pointed - fingernails? - glided down his buttocks, "Goose pimples! How cute!"

Edie wanted to fold into herself and dissolve, but the stocks holding her head and hands gave her no slack.

"Nice CBT-harness," a masculine voice laughed.  "Slut-puppy, see what you can do to make that hard."

"Yes, Master," a giggly-girl voice cooed.

No, Edie's mind yelled, they can't mean to. . .

Something slick and soft tickled the inside of Edie's thighs. The unrelenting grip of the foot-stocks made her attempts to close them futile.  The feathery caresses moved, teasing at any scrap of skin Veronica's harness left exposed.  A whisper of air, somehow both warm and cool, increased the sweet torment, and Edie's restrained masculinity attempted to reassert itself.

"Mmmmmmm," she groaned, when the leather rings grew suddenly tight.

"Yum," the giggler said. "Can that come out and play, Master? It looks. . . well, kinda tasty, Sir."

"I don't see why . . " the voice broke off suddenly but then spoke again. ". . . it should, slut-puppy. Let's see how. . . hard you can make things for the sissy, instead."

"Such a sweet, sexy little ass," another voice said suddenly as hands began stroking Edie's buttocks.  The voice was rough, husky, and could have been male or female.  "Anyone got any lube?"

Edie's body went rigid at that.  She was caught.  Veronica had warned her that timing was critical.  If the safeword were given and no one could find Veronica quickly, it would raise questions. . and yet - this was the 'big terror' - the fear that still came to him in nightmares of Ed's time with La Marquesa. 

"Ooonnn second thought," the voice husked, "I think this bottom needs some color, first. Get me a paddle, anybody."

"Here," the husky voice of Lady Calliope said, "Try this one."

The thought of being 'merely paddled', relaxed Edie - so much so that she took the first stroke on unprepared, thoroughly relaxed buns.

"Oh, GUMdrops," she squealed - loudly! 

And found herself cheered for it.

~-~

Getting into Calliope's office had been even easier than Veronica had anticipated.  The availability of fresh sissy flesh to torment had proven, as planned, totally irresistible to the throng of players, dominant and submissive alike. The other two presentation stations had gone unused, and still, the rest of the house had remained deserted.

"Thank goodness she keeps good records," Veronica mumbled as she quickly found the time frame before Ed's kidnaping. Calliope had indeed referred an Edward Davis to La Marquesa as a prospect - nearly two months before the abduction. The fee had been electronically transferred into Calliope's business account from a bank in the Cayman Islands one month later, which, in turn, had been subsequently transferred into Mary's accounts, minus Cal's commission.  Veronica quickly copied down the information from the transfer documents onto a small spiral notepad, replaced the records in their file cabinet, and slipped back out of the office.

It was too bad, she reflected, just a bit sadly. This scheme wouldn't have worked if such matters could be safely negotiated in a more straightforward and open, perhaps even face-to-face, manner.  Unfortunately, the loss of personal anonymity by the players involved could cost them greatly were their kinky tastes to become known in their vanilla communities.

Why, just tonight, there were two city councilmen, a high police official, a kindergarten teacher, and a television talk show hostess in attendance at Cal's party.

Not to mention advertising executive designate Veronica Johnson, she reminded herself.  Still, after this mess was cleared up, they'd have to talk to Calliope, and find a better, or perhaps more correctly, a safer way.  This couldn't be allowed to happen to another innocent.  After all, Calliope was the Grand Domme of the Delta of Venus, and she'd be horrified when she finally learned what had befallen an innocent submissive with her unwitting assistance.

~-~

Veronica checked the mantel clock and saw she'd been gone the entire half hour she'd promised Calliope, although it had not felt that long.  Well, the positive side of that meant tradition was satisfied and she could go reclaim. . . or was it, rescue Edie.

She walked into the Victorian mansion's ballroom and saw that a line had formed - players eagerly awaiting their turn to do. . .what?

-–ssSPLATttt!--

The unmistakable sound of leather paddle slapping human buttock answered that question, and was followed immediately by a shrill, indignant squeal. Fear sprouting in her guts, Veronica hurried in to get a better look at what was going on, and instantly relaxed.  Calliope was standing beside Edie, a proprietary hand resting atop her sub's corsetted back, supervising the game.  Edie would have a warm bottom, but not a bruised one.  

Another swat was lustily delivered, and again, Edie squealed, doing her best to squirm and stamp her stock-bound feet - much to the delight of the gathered players. Veronica looked for signs of distress on her sub - lips gritted against the discomfort, muscles unduly rigid, tear tracks from beneath the silken blindfold - and found no such signs. *Why, the little minx is actually SMILING!* she realized suddenly. *Edie is playing to the crowd and ENJOYING it! And Calliope is supervising and petting her when she does well. Oh, my.*

A very pleased smile on her face, Veronica sauntered through the milling group and up to the dias where her Edie was restrained.  "I see you're being well entertained, sweetie," she said loudly, announcing her presence to everyone, but most importantly, to Edie.  "When everyone else has had their turn, I think I shall take mine, and. . . see to the . . .final touch-ups on this lovely canvas?"

Calliope laughed as she felt the muscles beneath her hand go rigid again, but not in fear this time.  Ah yes, it was indeed, 'that way', the older woman thought happily.
"I think," she said, grandly, "That everyone has already had at least one turn, Veronica. . . even me.  A wonderfully responsive bottom, dear.  And it colors SO beautifully."

"Well, then, let's finish this work of art properly, eh?"

~-~

Edie, once again Ed, sat on the soft-cushioned chair, sipping the herbal tea Veronica had prepared upon their return to her apartment.  He still wore the makeup, pantelets and stockings, although the ice-pick heels and the corset were long gone.

"Did you call Mary?"

"Yes, while you were in the bathroom," Veronica replied.  "She'll see if her investigator can make anything of the data I got from Calliope's office. One good thing, though - I'm positive Cal is not part of this.  Her looking out for you tonight reaffirmed my belief in her as a caring domme who'd never willingly participate in a. . . a travesty this foul."

Nodding, Ed shifted in his seat, easing the slight burn in his glutes. "I, ah, think she stopped some folks who might have tried some harder things.  Twice that I recall, someone seemed to change their plans - almost in mid-sentence."

"Likely she did," Veronica agreed.  "Are you okay with what went down tonight?"

"I'm okay now, but, at first? It was pretty scary," he admitted. "The blindfold made it scarier. . .more intense, somehow.  Made me feel more vulnerable - which is strange because I couldn't have protected myself if I had been able to see.  I almost lost it when someone asked for lube."

"Calliope told me about that - she was worried you might have had a bad reaction to that play.  It was that bitch in green," Veronica snarled. "She knew what the white scarf meant and was trying to get away with pretending otherwise.  I am going to have to impress a few hard truths to her next time we meet."

"Lady Calliope seemed to affix special significance to that scarf - more than you indicated when you put it on me."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Ed mused. "You said it meant 'newbie-to-be-treated-gently', but the way she asked if it really meant what it was supposed to mean.  Somehow, she made it sound, well, really important."

Veronica tried to avoid his telling look, but it was hopeless.  Ed might be submissive, but he was also stubborn.  Not all that unusual a character combination, really, but combined with his talent for observation, an unfortunate one at this moment in time.  Still, she wouldn't lie to him.  "It is damned important - to me, anyway. The white scarf can mean many things - one of which is the meaning I told you earlier - but between two Sisters, the white scarf has a very special meaning.  It means 'virginal and claimed'. Kind of like a bridal veil."

Ed looked up sharply, his eyes wide. "I'm not a virgin," he refuted, "Not in the normal context, and after my trip to Mary's island, not in the D/s sense, either."

"As far as I'm concerned, Ed, you have little or no experience with dominance and submission because there was no real caring in what you went through.  My definition of D/s includes love, or at least, real affection.  So, I named you virgin for tonight. . .and I claimed you as mine."

Ed saw her chin go up in challenge, as if waiting for him to deny her.  Instead, he smiled.  "Well, I guess I don't mind the first bit, as long as you're sure about the second."

"Oh," she assured him, her voice suddenly husky with emotion, "I'm sure - I'm VERY sure.  Now, finish your tea, darling.  I've decided you're spending the night here with me, and it's time for bed."

"Oh? You've decided?"

"Yes," she said, a pleased, feminine smile on her lips. "I have. Any problems with that, Davis?"

His smile matched hers. "None at all.  Do I get to demonstrate the other uses of my 'sweet tongue'?"

"An excellent plan. Among other things, so hurry up!"

"Yes, Mistress."

Part VII

Chapter 24: Promises and Premises

"At this point, Ms. O'Hurley, we've established - or at least accepted as a working hypothesis - that motive will be limited to Edward Davis' business associates.  That's a short list, but so far we have been unable to discover anything that makes someone stand out."

"What about the promotion to Ms. Johnson's directorship? Doesn't that constitute motive?"

The investigator shrugged at that. "It's clear that Derrick Tolivar and Helen Martin are the most probable suspects for whom that would be a significant motive. At least, among those within his firm.  However, it's also possible that there are those in other companies who might wish him ill."  

"Frankly, knowing Ed, I doubt many of his customers are unhappy, but I suppose competing companies- as possible adversaries - might want to make him . . . less effective."
  
"Yes, ma'am.  In any event, we have also looked into means and opportunity as the other classic elements of what amounts to a crime.  Unfortunately, in this particular case, opportunity will not be helpful as a line of investigation."

"Why not?  There aren't many who know how to contact me."  

"Yes, ma'am.  However, that is really more an issue of means. Opportunity deals with time and space, and effectively any suspect would have had time to initiate the . . . transaction during the period leading up to your . . . contract.  However, as you say, not many people have the means to engage your services."  

"I thought you said Derrick had enough money to pay my fees."  

"Yes, ma'am.  That is one measure of necessary means in this specific, and as we've already determined, both Tolivar and the Martin woman have access to the required funds. However, so do many of Davis' competitors.  We are pursuing that line of investigation - looking to see if anyone has made any appropriately sized financial transactions in the relevant time frame.  However, 'means' also covers access to critical information; specifically, to information about you and your. . . services."
  
Mary frowned at that, and then nodded. "Oh, yes, I see.  So what have you found out?"

"Ms. O'Hurley, you have very effective security.  My first approach was to see if I could arrange an equivalent . . . transaction . . . covertly. That would allow me to identify possible methods of contacting you." 

"You did?" The utter . . . calm of his statement had her all but goggling at him.

"Yes, ma'am.  However, I was unable to gain any line on your operation at all.  I did make contact with other, similar operations - mostly located in Europe - but nothing that pointed in any way to you - and I began the exercise knowing I was looking for you - knowing what you do and where you do it."

"And found nothing?" Mary couldn't suppress a small niggle of pleased relief and pride at that admission.

Jack nodded. "Based on that, I believe that no other private investigator would be able to do so either, assuming they started without some special access into what you call, 'the scene'."

"I'm glad to hear it," she admitted.

"Indeed. However, that also means whoever instigated this must have, ah, 'special' access, or at least, special information.  Ordinarily, having determined that such access is a requirement would help our investigation."  

"Because it would narrow down the list of suspects?"

"Yes, ma'am.  However, in this case, we were unable to find anyone who knew of you, so we were unable to check for common acquaintances with Davis' business associates."

"But none of them KNOW me!" Mary's felt her frustration growing, but knew her fury would be lost on Sergeant Friday.

"Someone knows" he said stolidly, "and whoever that person is, that's our man. . . or woman. Knowing about your business is the connection - the linkage we have to find."

"All right, then," Mary sighed, "let's go through your deep background checks on the various members of our little drama with an eye towards finding out who might know about me."

Nodding, the investigator reached into his attache and removed a stack of dossiers. "First subject, Derrick Tolivar.  This is currently the most complete, as we fast-tracked him based on the suspicion that he directly participated in the kidnaping coverup scheme."

~-~

"C'mon, Ed, wake-up! It's time to go to the gym!" Veronica sang as she dealt the camel-shaped thing beneath the covers of her bed a resounding slap. The thing made a growling noise, and made to burrow under the pillow at the head of the bed.  Laughing, the redhead grabbed the blankets and pulled them away, leaving Ed's head beneath the pillow and butt in the air.  Being a domme, she couldn't resist the offering and laid another whack - this one not blunted by the thick comforter.

"Yeooowww!" he bellowed, rolling onto his back.

"Time to hit the gym, Davis!" she reiterated. "Low impact step aerobics today. You'll love it. Won't you?"

Looking at the glowing alarm clock, Ed was aghast to see that it was, "Five bloody o'clock in the MORNING?!?!? And you think I'm going to the gym where some 92 lb fiend in a lycra tutu tries to kill me?"

"Darling?" she said, mildly. "You get a choice.  Ed goes, or Edie goes."

"You're kidding!"

"I never kid, and your choice is?"

Ed got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. "Never knew you were a sadist," he muttered under his breath.

"Keep it up, and we won't stop by your apartment for exercise clothing suited to your masculine dignity," she called to him from the bedroom.

"If I die doing this, I'd rather not have to explain why I'm wearing women's workout clothes," he grumbled good naturedly. "It would upset my doctor.  Edie will have to wait until Ed is in better shape, and more coordinated, I think."

"Fair enough, sweetcheeks.  Now more movin' and less jawin'.  You REALLY don't want to make me late for the warmup!"

"Yes, Mistress."

~-~

"You did well, sweetie," Veronica assured him as they continued cooling down following the exercise class. 

"Yeah. .." Ed gruffed, "Sure. . . I . . .did. God, . . .I wanted. . .to die. . . in there."

The petite redhead put an arm around his waist and laid her head against him.  "You tried, Ed, and did your best.  That means a lot to me."

"There's not . . .much . . .I wouldn't try for you, Veronica."

"Don't over load yourself like that when you're talking to a domina, guy," she cautioned sweetly. "You never know when I might just take you at your word."

Ed stopped short and turned to look her directly in the eye. "I meant it."

"Ed, that. . .that sounds suspiciously like you're making a commitment there, fella. You need to consider what that could entail - committing to me - to Verita."

"I have considered that, and it's what I want. . need. . to do - because it's you, and because it's me.  If you were a sub, I'd try to be dom for you - because I want you - because I want to be WITH you."

"Well, I'm not sub, cutie," she grinned up at him.

"Lucky us."

They looked at each other for several long moments before Veronica smiled. "C'mon - I'll make you some breakfast and then we can go move your clothes to my place.  And after that? We can go shopping for . . . what did you call them? Oh, yeah. . . for tutus."

Ed laughed at that, and then realized she was serious. "Umm, sure, . . .Mistress."

"Good boy."

~-~

Veronica looked into her condo's small den and saw Ed sitting inside, quietly staring out the window, his hands steepled thoughtfully beneath his chin. He'd been very quiet since they'd gotten back from their second trip to his apartment.  Being in love with a man could really be a bitch, she thought. It was enough to make a normally confident woman doubt and question herself to death.

And yet, it was all so. . so new. . and so big . . and, yes, so damned scary.  Scary, because the man she loved was still fragile from his experiences with Mary.
Well, she wasn't sure what planet her man was from, but she was damned well from Venus, and there was only one thing for a real woman to do in a situation like this.  Taking a deep breath, she strode into the room, right up to Ed and settled herself into his lap.  "We need to talk," she said, her eyes steady on his suddenly wide-open ones.

"ummm. . .sure, okay. . .uh, what about?"

Veronica cuddled into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and told him, "I think that's up to you, Ed. We might start with what's been bothering you since breakfast.

He was silent for several moments, and she was content to allow that. She'd made the opening - now it was up to him to trust her sufficiently to take it. She felt him sigh, deep in his chest.  "I've been thinking about . . .about last night.  Last night at the party," he hurried to add. "After the party, well - here with you . .that was . . .so wonderful that words fail me."

"I'm glad," she told him, "it was that way for me, too.  As to the party? That was hard for you."

She felt him nod. "It was. . . and it wasn't." Then Ed chuckled. "That's really clear, isn't it?"

"It's a start," she assured him.

"I expected it to be a lot worse, and I was ready for it to be worse. I might have safe-worded if they'd started . . . lubing me," the words came out on a ragged breath, then he recovered himself, and continued. "That has some pretty awful memories associated with it for me - from, uhm, Marquesa's place, but I would have tried to handle it.  Only now? Thinking back on how things actually went down?" Veronica nodded, but said nothing. "Like I said last night, I'm pretty sure that was your friend Calliope who redirected . . . things away from that."

"Probably," Veronica said. "She understood you were important to me, and that you were. . . inexperienced."

"She also provided the paddle they used on me.  Again, from . . .prior experience, I know they used a pretty gentle implement."

"You were putting on quite a show - kicking and squealing like a little gir. . ." Veronica stopped herself in mid-tease.

"You can say it - kicking and squealing like a little girl. Glad you noticed," he said with a smug little grin that both surprised and pleased the petite domme. "The first whack caught me completely by surprise, even though I knew what was coming.  I did, in fact, squeal - and rather loudly, too, I might add. The crowd, as they say in sporting events, went wild - laughing, cheering, ragging on the 'silly-sissy-sub'.  It occurred to me that, if I continued to, ah, hold their interest, shall we say? - that would give you a better chance at finishing your search."

"Spoken like a true advertising genius," she said. "I was and am very proud of you - for the way you handled . . . all that stuff last night."

He laughed, and hugged her tightly.  "I'm rather proud of myself, ma'am.  And talking about it, just now? That helped, too - a lot.  Thanks."

"You're very much like a woman in that way, you know," she told him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You tend to talk things out - to verbalize things - rather than go immediately on the attack when there are problems. It's one of the reasons you're so good at your job.  That is a trait often associated more with women than with men."

"Are you saying that means I'm predisposed to being dressed like a woman?" he demanded.

"No, silly," she said quickly, only to feel the telltale rumble of laughter in his chest. "Oh, you," she grumbled.

They sat there, in comfortable silence, Veronica resting on Ed, each holding onto the other.

~-~

"Did you call Mary?" Ed asked later.

"Yes, I did.  She had already passed the information on to her investigator, but obviously, he hasn't had time to do much with it."

"Okay. Guess I'm too impatient, but I will definitely be glad to have this behind me."

"Have you decided what you're going to do when we finally do know who is behind what happened to you?"

"I already told you that - ask them why."

"That's it?"

Ed shrugged. "What else can I do? It's really too late for the cops to be involved - the physical evidence is gone, or, at best, compromised. Besides, even if there were more than circumstantial evidence, taking legal action against whoever did this to me might endanger Mary.  I won't do that."

"You're going to let them get away with it?" Veronica's violet eyes were flashing in her indignation.

"Well," Ed mused, "Suppose you and Mary are correct? If this does have something to do with the job promotion to YOUR job?  I think I can trust you to find a way to extract retribution from the evil-doer or doers."

"You're awfully cavalier about this," she grumbled.  "I'd want the bastards to pay - long and hard."

"I'm not cavalier," he told her, "I'm satisfied. _I'm_ the real winner." At her snort, Ed laughed. "Look, I didn't want the job to begin with, and wouldn't have taken it if I'd been offered it.  Not only that, but I came out of this whole thing far better off than I ever dreamed possible."

"Oh?"

"You caught me."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

"Don't get too cocky, guy," she warned with a mock swat to his cheek.  "So, what am I supposed to do now that my top candidate for my old job just took himself out of the running?"

"Lady, have I got a deal for you."

~-~

The phone rang that evening while Veronica was showering, so Ed went to answer the phone.  "Veronica Johnson's," he said into the phone.

"Edward? Is that you?"

"Mary? Yes, it's me.  What's up?"
"I need to speak with Verita, dear.  I need to reconfirm the numbers on those bank transfers."

"She's showering - can she call you back?"

"Yes, but I am not at the hotel.  Let me give you the number."

"Okay. . let me find something to write on," he murmured, riffling through the contents of Veronica's antique writing desk.  He found a pen and a blank piece of stationary. "Okay, go."

Ed set the note down by the phone, and was about to go tell Veronica when the paper that had been below what he'd used caught his attention.  It was, he realized, an engraved invitation with a gold-inlayed seal imprinted at the top. He read the top line.

The Sisters of the Delta of Venus
Wish to Invite
Mistress Verita and slave
To:

Ed sat down at the desk, and stared at the thick piece of parchment.  He was still there when a be-turbaned Veronica, all flushed and warm from her shower, entered the room.

~-~

"There's insufficient hard evidence for this to stand up in a felony case, Ms. O'Hurley, but every scrap of circumstantial evidence points to Tolivar being the one who went camping in place of Mr. Davis."

"Insufficient?" Mary demanded.  "You've got witnesses, Derrick driving Ed's car - what more do you need?"

"The witnesses only think they remember - a good attorney will slice that apart on cross examination.  We don't have the tag number of the yellow Volvo so we cannot prove that it was, in fact, Mr. Davis' car Tolivar was seen driving."

"We know he did it, but we cannot prove it."

"That is the size of it, Ma'am. It might be enough for a civil case - conspiracy to deprive Mr. Davis of his civil rights or some such thing. The evidentiary criteria and the level of surety required for proof in a civil suit are a good deal lower than in criminal cases.  He might win a significant monetary award.  Unfortunately, he'd need your testimony to substantiate his claims, which would put you in danger of admitting, while under oath, to kidnaping him."

"Ed's already told me that he does not intend to pursue legal action."

"Then, Ms. O'Hurley, what is the point of continuing the investigation?"

"Several reasons, Jack.  The most significant is that I need to know how this was done so that I can prevent its recurrence in the future.  I also want to know WHO did it so that I can, ummm. . . counsel this individual NOT to try it again." At the investigator's warning look, Mary laughed, humorlessly. "Oh, nothing harmful, Jack. Just, ah, shall we say, firmly stated."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Now, anything on those account numbers?"

"Nothing yet.  Those will be difficult - the Cayman banks are nearly as tight as the Swiss, and so far, we have found nothing to tie those numbers to a person or a business.  We'll keep looking, but who ever did this was careful there.  The money trail will not be easy to follow back from that bank."

"Keep trying," Mary ordered.  "Anything new from the deep background investigations?"

"Nothing that immediately stands out.  One of my investigators is still out in the field working Ms. Martin. She should be finishing that up in the next day or so.  However, nothing has turned up yet that seems unduly suspicious.

"DAMN!"

Chapter 25: Points of Discussion

They were lounging together on a large, leather sofa in Veronica's living room.  Ed was seated at one end of the plush couch, while Veronica was laid out upon it, her towel-turbaned head resting on Ed's lap.  She was studying a report with rapt attention.

"They make it sound like a big deal," Ed speculated.

"Mm hmmm," Veronica replied, her eyes never leaving the document in her hands.

"I mean, custom engraving, gold inlay, and on real parchment? That stuff's costly, and you don't use it to invite the neighbors for a wienie-roast in the backyard, right?"

"Sure. . .yeah. . right," she muttered, and then yelped when Ed plucked the paper out of her hands.  "Hey!"

"You're ignoring me on this, and that only makes me think it is even more important than I originally thought," he warned her.

"Why won't you let it DROP!?!?"

"If you tell me it's not important and mean it, I will," he offered magnanimously.

"It's not important," she parroted, "Now give me back my report."

"You're fibbing," he said, more solemnly. "I don't know quite how I can tell, but I can. Is it because of me?"

"Yes . . I mean, no. . I mean. . hell." She stood up and began to pace. 

"Would you have gone? If not for me?"

That stopped her in mid-step. He watched her mouth open and shut, as she tried to formulate a response - then she sighed and sat down again, but not on the sofa with him.  "Yes, I would have attended. It is special - kind of a fun party for Sisters and . . . and their friends."

"Their friends," Ed's tone was non-committal - his eyes were anything but.

"Yes, friends," she flared back, only to instantly cool.  "Submissive friends - one to each Sister.  It's a formal dining-in type of thing - a dinner party - with each member bringing a submissive to act as part of the serving staff."

"You usually attend?" He asked, again.

"Yes - this one will be the first I haven't attended since I earned my place among the Sisters."

"I don't understand why you can't still go."

"Ed, I would have to bring a submissive with me, and I don't WANT any submissive other than you."

"Good," he replied, suddenly feeling rather smug. "How do we RSVP?"

"Ed, I know these parties and what happens at them. You don't, and I. . ., well, I don't think you were ready for . . . for what goes down at those parties."

"That bad?"

"No, not 'that bad' - not for the people who normally attend.  Intense is a better term - far more intense than anything you've yet experienced with me. That would pose a problem - for us - because I have a reputation for that type of play. Heavens, but every domme there would expect to be entertained by testing the subbie who has met Verita's high standards."

"Testing?"

"It's a common D/s euphemism for discipline, Ed - punishment. The party is, by design, one at which every sub serves, and moreover EXPECTS to serve every domme there, okay?  Several Sisters don't attend this function for that very reason - either because they don't want to share their sub, or because they know their sub might not be able to handle the public nature and intensity of these . . .tests.

"You mean, some one else could. . someone besides you might actually. . ." There was something close to fear in Ed's eyes  at that realization.

For one, shameful minute, Veronica considered using that fear, for it would suit her purposes very well, but she didn't - couldn't do it. The first rule of good dominance and submission was whole-hearted trust and honesty between dominant and submissive. She shook her head emphatically. "No, Ed, no one else will touch you without my expressed permission, which I would NEVER grant. However, if any Sister should decide that you need to be disciplined for some shortcoming, real or invented - and I can assure you at least one will find one, if only to see how you handle it - then I will be expected to administer the discipline.  Publicly.  And I can't be seen to let you off lightly. "  

Relief washed across Ed's features, even as he returned to his previous question. "But you DO want to go, don't you?"   

"That's immaterial, Ed. I know I like the games that will be played at that party. We haven't yet had the time together for us to find out if you do."

"I handled the stuff that went down at Lady Calliope's party."

"Do you really think that relatively gentle experience has prepared you for come what may, Ed?" she asked, quietly, only to continue before he could form an answer. "You're smarter than that, love. Look, as you yourself pointed out, you handled what you got there, in large part because Cal protected you, so that really doesn't count, okay? What little else we know about you in such situations comes from one demonstration, again under highly controlled rules and conditions, and from your time on Mary's island - which went very poorly through no fault of yours or hers. Ed, I love you for wanting to give me this, but we don't need to go - there'll be other times for us, and we need to explore your limits more fully ourselves before we do attend such an event."

"If it gets too tough, I could safeword, couldn't I?  Or is this party one of those 'no-safeword-allowed' things I've read about on the Internet?"

Veronica shook her head, but then continued, "No function sponsored by the Delta of Venus is EVER no-safeword. However, so long as the sentence imposed on you is within the guidelines of the party, I'll have to execute it as directed.  You can, as I said, safeword, but the Sisters all know the rules, written and unwritten, before accepting the invitations.  Each Sister attending agrees that she and her escorting submissive will abide by those rules, and that includes the list of infractions and penalties.  Ed, understand me, please, these women and their partners are serious players and they come to the dining-in expecting to play hard."

"What are you saying, Veronica?"

"At this party, so long as the disciplines are within the guidelines? Safe-wording will result in you being removed from the party - immediately - so that your. . . reticence won't inhibit the other players."

"Why don't I think that is all there is to it?"

"Because you're too damned smart sometimes," Veronica muttered, before looking up to meet Ed's eyes. "I'd be asked to leave, too, Ed, and I wouldn't be invited back for two years.  Since they don't consider any of the punishments sufficiently extreme to warrant a safeword, the presumption is that, if a safeword is given, the submissive was not ready for such a venue, and that reflects badly on the judgement of the submissive's owner.  And in your case, that just might be true, were I to let you get in over your head at such a gathering."

"I see."  

Warning alarms sounded loudly in Veronica's head at the stubborn light she saw flickering in Ed's eyes.  She'd seen it too often in the past when the man would not give up on a project.  That he was usually right when he decided not to give up was, at this moment, immaterial.  She brought out what she hoped, in light of his past experiences on Mary's island, was her big gun.  "That's not all, Ed. I'm very well known for bringing sweet, simpering sissies in full French Maid regalia. The subs I typically invited to escort me in the past were ones who loved being the center of attention, even if it did get pretty, well, heated sometimes."

"Then I guess I need to learn to be a French Maid.  The dinner is this weekend, and you will have a lot to teach me by then."

"Ed! I said NO!"

~-~

"Mary, I don't know what to do!" Veronica complained into the phone, "Ed's determined to escort me to the dining-in. He's even prancing around in those four-inch heels you gave me whenever we're home - just so he'll be more proficient in them by the party."

"So? Sounds like an excellent notion on his part."

"Mary, he's still not over what you. . what. . .I mean. . ."

"What I did to him on my island," Mary finished for her. "You can say it, Verita. I won't break."

"I'm sorry, Mary. It's just. . "

"I know, Verita - don't worry about it.  For what it is worth, I'm rather convinced that Edward won't break, either."

"It's just so soon, so new to him - suppose he. . can't handle it?"

"You're talking about a gathering of Sisters, Verita.  They won't let things escalate beyond what he can handle - especially when they see that he is the Chosen One in your life.  They'll tease the hell out of him, but it will be in good fun. You know how bonded submissives are treated at their first function."

"We're not formally bonded."

"In all but law you are, and that will be immediately obvious to any Sister worthy of her broach.  I think that if Ed wants to do this for you, you should let him.  It will help both of you."

"Both of us?"

"Verita, you're handling him like spun glass wrapped in cotton-wool.  You need to see him as the strong man he truly is - one who is in love with you, but who is, at the same time strong enough to let you lead, which he recognizes is your nature and your way.  He needs to see that he can be Edie for you AND your friends, and come out of the experience none the worse for the experience.  He does, indeed, NEED to get past what *I* did to him, and this should be a good, positive step."

~-~

Veronica sat in the dusk-dark room, pondering her problems and her options. It was all well and good for Mary to recommend attending.  If Ed passed this test, she could go home to her bloody island feeling that he'd recovered completely from whatever trauma he'd suffered in her keeping.  

But what if he couldn't handle it?  What would THAT do to their chance at happiness together?

"Dammit, why is he even considering this?" she muttered.  In a last ditch attempt to dissuade him, she'd even shown him the list of infractions and minimum/maximum punishments for the party - which was an infraction in and of itself, she recalled - only to have his chin go up in that obstinately determined way of his.  

She could, of course, simply refuse to attend. It was an option - he wouldn't go without her - COULDN'T go without her - and as she'd told him, she didn't want to attend with anyone other than him. 

Snatching up the phone, she punched in a number from memory, and counted the rings.  She sighed in relief when it was answered midway through the fifth ring.  "Hi," she said into the receiver, "It's me.  I really need to talk to someone. . .to you.  Can you make time for me?" she listened and managed a weak smile at the answer. "How about now? Really? God, thanks. I'll be there in ten minutes."

~-~

The woman who greeted Veronica at the door could have been anybody's grandmother. Dressed in a floor-length cotton shirt-dress over bare feet, wearing no makeup and with her silver-shot hair up in an 'I-love-Lucy' red-kerchief turban, she projected a palpable aura of home and comfort that Veronica had not experienced since the untimely death of her own Mother.

She could have been anybody's grandmother, but she was the Grand-Domme of the Delta of Venus, Lady Calliope.  A faint scent of roses suffused the hug that the two of them shared after Calliope had ushered the younger woman inside the Painted-Lady Victorian mansion.  

"Now, child, why don't you tell me what's bothering you."

"Oh, god, Cal," Veronica heard herself say before she could stop herself, "It's such a fucking mess."

~-~

The telling took the better part of an hour - during which Calliope said little while listening intently.  Had Veronica been less upset - less single-minded - she'd have seen the wince of pain cross the older woman's face when Veronica had detailed the reasons behind her clandestine search of Calliope's records, or the stunned disbelief followed by silent fury at learning how Mary had been duped into abusing Ed.  However, Calliope had long ago learned the value of letting someone else do the talking, and Veronica obviously needed to talk.

Finally, Veronica ran down.  "So, that's all of it.  He's determined to attend the dining-in, and I just don't know, Cal. Heavens, with his history, it could turn into an utter disaster."

"There's always that potential, dear."

"There's a great DEAL of potential, Cal! We haven't had time to explore his limits, yet," she complained to her mentor.  "I mean, we've been in scenes together only four times. That's hardly enough time for us to learn what we need to know about each other."

"There's more to it than that, Veronica," Calliope said firmly. "While that . . . relative dearth of shared experience does concern me, at least with a submissive who is considering attending the dining-in, I don't think that's THE problem." At Veronica's confused look, Calliope smiled indulgently and took the smaller woman's hand in her own. "What's really bothering you, child?"

Veronica burst from her seat, unable to sit still a moment longer, and began pacing about the charmingly Old World sitting parlor. Calliope watched the tiny redhead storm about like a fire seeking something to burn.  So much power in so small a package, she mused, so much intensity.

Veronica finally ran down, but couldn't bring herself to face the older woman, instead choosing to stand before the velvet-draped windows, staring out into the darkness.  "I'm afraid," she said softly.

"Finish it, dear," Calliope finally spoke. "Afraid of. . .what?"

The petite redhead took a deep breath and sighed. "I could lose him."

A smile lit the face of the older domme, and she moved over to stand behind her protege. Running a maternal hand through the bright-red curls, she spoke in equally soothing tones.  "Excellent, and therein lies your conflict, dear. Before your Edward came along, dominating men was something you did for profit, for fun - and sometimes, when you were particularly fortunate, for both reasons.  While you cared for and about your clients and playmates, that's all they were to you.  For monetary reasons, you were very careful not to push your clients harder than they thought they wanted, while you always vetted your private playmates very carefully before you even considered one of them as your escort to the annual dining-in.  You knew what they could handle because you had already done all that and likely more with them before hand. More importantly, you were certain that your chosen escorts would enjoy the pageantry and intensity of the play they were sure to experience at that party.  But your Edward is different."

"His time under Mary. . ." Veronica began.

"Is an issue, but not, I think, the one that has you in such a dither, love." The older domme turned Veronica to face her.  "Verita, you love him - love with, as we used to say in my younger days, the capital "L".  You want him in all the ways a woman wants her man - and in all the ways a woman of OUR particular bent wants her man - but at the same time, you're afraid to press him very far or very quickly.  You're working too hard at protecting him, and from what? From whom?"

Calliope stopped, and fixed her gaze on Veronica.  When the redhead didn't answer, the older woman sighed. "From yourself," she said softly, "That's who you're afraid will hurt and frighten him. You're trying to protect him from yourself."

Finally, Veronica nodded, her shoulders slumping. "It would really mess me up to scare him off, or have him feel about me the way he felt about Mary," she admitted.

"I know, but truly, my dear, is that REALLY something you need to worry about? You'll know why he's there at the dining-in, and Mary didn't when know those critical facts he was in her keeping. Besides, he held up pretty well the other night - even enjoyed himself or I'm no judge of a sub's screams."

"He, ah, figured that was one way to keep people's attention on him so they wouldn't notice . .I wasn't there . . while I was,. . .ummm, . . . well, you know," Veronica mumbled, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Indeed," was Calliope's dry reply. "Well, I won't say I'm not. . . hurt that you could think I'd had anything to do with a . . . travesty. . .such as you described.. . "

"I don't," Veronica hurriedly put in, "Didn't. . . It's just that, well, I couldn't take the chance. Not . . . not with. ."

"Not with your Chosen One's safety. THAT I do understand, which is why I'm only a little hurt.  And I'll admit, if it were my man in Ed's position, I'd have done things much the same as you did, so consider yourself forgiven. Now, back to the issue of the dining-in."

"I've thought about simply refusing to go," Veronica admitted.

"That is an option, but not, in my view, a very good one. Each of you have things you need to prove, dear, and this party might be just the opportunity for you both to accomplish that.

"Prove?" Veronica paused, remembering her recent conversation with Mary. "Well, obviously Ed's trying to prove that he has what it takes to. . . well, to take what I want to dish out."

"More than that, Verita - he's trying to prove that he is worthy of being your mate - worthy of having YOU as his Lady.  Remember, he is a knight on a spirit-quest."

"Okay, I can see that, but what do I have to prove?"

"That you don't have to be afraid, of course."

"But . . . but what if he. . hell, he's my sub, it'll be WHEN not IF - when he gets a heavy sentence for some infraction?  What then?"

"I think everything will turn out just fine," the Grand-Domme of the Sisters of the Delta of Venus said with quiet certainty. "And the sentence won't necessarily be THAT heavy - especially since you both have a friend in high places."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you do.  Who, at the dining-in, has final approval on all public sentences, Verita? Ah, yes, I see you do remember, now. Your very own Fairy God Dommy.  I promise that I won't let anything too harsh happen to your mate, child. Remember, if you please, that we are Sisters, and while we truly are evil-minded, sadistic and dominant bitches, we are first and foremost LOVING evil-minded, sadistic and dominant bitches."

Chapter 26: Face-Offs/Face-Ons

The phone rang, summoning a bathrobe-swathed Mary from her room service breakfast. "Hello," she said into the receiver.

"Mary? Ed Davis here."

"Good morning, Edward. It's a bit early for a purely social call, so you must have something on your mind. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could help me with a little project, Mary.  Here's what I would like to do. . ."

~-~

At 10:45 AM, Derrick looked up at the wall clock for what must have been the tenth time since the FedEX courier had arrived less than ten minutes earlier.  Then he looked down at his desk, and regarded the detritus of what had been a sealed envelope . . . and the single sheet business letter it had contained.

Why hadn't they called? He could have. . . prepared for this.  Hell, he thought, he could have called in sick.  "Surprise, surprise, Derrick-my-boy. You have just won first AND second prizes in the agency 'aw-shit' contest."

He checked the clock again - 10:46 AM this time - and decided that lunch-time wasn't coming nearly fast enough.  He had more than enough time to handle this before he could disappear from the office. Sighing, he gathered up the letter.  

So what if he got killed doing it?

~-~

Helen Martin was trying to decide who among Andrushka's entourage she could call. She had to find out what was going on there - so she could set the right spin on things.  Even if that foolish child DID force them to accept Davis' concept, there might still be some way to turn that to her advantage - so long as she knew it was coming in time to take appropriate action.

The problem was that she'd never thought that the customer might even consider the agency's proposal - not when she'd ensured the creative team would have insufficient time to cook up something glitzy - so she hadn't exerted herself to make . . . friends in Andrushka's camp.

She'd almost decided to call the girl herself when a soft knock on her door startled her from her ruminations. "Yes, what is it?" she snapped, her already frayed senses railing at this interruption.

Derrick Tolivar stuck his head inside the barely-opened door, looking as if someone had just kicked him in the groin.  "Helen? I just got a FedEx you need to see. Now," he told her, his voice heavy.

~-~

"IT's HERE?" a secretary walking by Ms. Martin's office heard her shriek.  "But. . .but HOW? WHY? For God's sake, Tolivar, WHY?!?"

For just the merest of moments, the secretary thought about seeing what was wrong, but immediately discarded the notion. After all, like most of the agency's secretaries, she couldn't stand the oh-so-perfect Ms. Martin who had well-earned her reputation as an utter bitch. As to that little creep, *MISTER* Tolivar - well, Ms Martin could chew on that skinny lying bastard's ass all she wanted. 
And wouldn't this make for LOVELY lunchtime gossip to share with the other girls?  Better not to know what was really going on, she concluded.  Not knowing made it so much more fun, if not nearly so accurate, to speculate.

~-~

It was, Veronica decided, as she entered her office that morning, a task she had put off too long.  Probably because she knew going in what the right answer would be, and didn't much like that option.  Sighing, she unlocked the secure drawer of her filing cabinet and pulled out the stack of personnel folders she'd stored there several weeks earlier.  She riffled through them, set two aside, and then began to read the first of the remaining ones.

That was how Helen found her when she walked up to the open door - face down, pouring over a document, and mumbling to herself as she made a pencil notation on a sheet of legal-sized yellow line paper.

"Got a minute?" Helen called from the entry.

Veronica looked up, stared at the woman for several moments, and then set the document back into the folder, using the pencil to mark her place.  "What's up, Helen?" she asked.

"We've gotten a commitment letter from Andrushka's people.  They want the concept our team put together, and, they want that team," Helen reported, strolling across to Veronica's desk and handing her the letter.  She sat down in one of the chairs and crossed her long legs.  "Which might be a problem, since we both know a shakeup is in the works."

There was just a hint of slyness in her statement, and Veronica wondered if anyone but another woman would have caught it.  "Oh?" she replied, wondering where Helen wanted to take this conversation.

"Come now, Veronica, everyone knows you're getting the VP slot up at corporate," the blonde said in her best 'just us girls' tone of voice. "So, at least the titular head of the team Andrushka's people met with will be out of the direct picture, won't you?"

"Assuming that I AM up for that slot, we both know, and I must assume that Andrushka's people know also, that it isn't the director who makes the advertising campaign.  They'll be working with the design team and with your office. The involvement of the director's office will be minimal."
"Well, that's true, so far as it goes, Veronica, but suppose the leader of the design team isn't there - the guy they saw give the pitch? The guy who sold them on the concept? Suppose he's not directly involved anymore. We could lose the whole project, don't you think?"

"You're talking about Ed, right?" the redhead asked, reaching over to pickup the smallest of the three stacks of folders on her desk.

"Well, of course I am.  Look, it's also not a secret that he and I are the leading candidates for the directorship when you leave. As you just pointed out, the director's involvement in the, shall we say, the artistic end of the campaign is minimal, and also as you said, the client knows that, too."

"I see.  So you think it would be in the company's best interests to simply . . . leave Ed where he is?"

"Makes the best business sense, Veronica," Helen said, as earnestly as she could manage. This little conclave was going just perfectly.  Now, it was time to set the deal.  "Wouldn't look very good on your record if the first big contract that came in house after you became VP left in a huff because they were unhappy with the new creative management team. Would it?"

Veronica rose from her seat, still carrying the folders, and went over to close her office door.  "And of course, if, in the best interests of the company, Ed is no longer under consideration for the directorship, then, why that leaves only you as leading candidate for the promotion, right?"

"That would seem to be most logical, wouldn't you say? I mean, I know that still changes the team directly dealing with the client because I would no longer be in charge of marketing, but Derrick would have handled most of the grunt work on the marketing end of the campaign anyway."

"Of course, he would have done," Veronica agreed.

"And I would," Helen continued quickly, "naturally keep my fingers in there until I'm sure he's fully up to speed. It wouldn't do my reputation any good to have the campaign flop after taking charge, either."

"You've got it all worked out, haven't you?" Veronica asked, moving over to stand with her back to her desk, her eyes locked on Helen.

"Ed is very good at what he does, Veronica, but I think we both know he's hardly top management material."

Veronica held up one folder for Helen's inspection. 'Edward (No Middle Name)Davis' was neatly printed on the tab. "I guess I have to agree with that assessment, Helen," the petite redhead said, surprising the much taller blonde. "Would it surprise you to know that he agrees with us? Yes, indeed. In fact, he has taken his name out of the hat which is why his folder is in this particular pile."  Veronica's eyes narrowed, and only with effort, did she manage to restrain the urge to lash out harder. "And would you like to know," she asked softly, "the name on the OTHER folder in the 'out of the running' pile, Helen?"

"I. . .I'm sure that's . . . really none of my business, Veronica."

"Oh, but it is your business because that file is YOURS!"

"Mine? But, I'm your best supervisor! My record. ."

"Oh, yes, your record," Veronica replied, reflectively. "Helen, do you really think I've MISSED the games you've been playing for the past six months?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Violet fire flashed in Veronica's eyes. "You SHOULD beg the pardon of the people who work for and with you, Helen. Do you think it is a coincidence that you've needed to replace your secretary five times in the last eighteen months? It's because you use people instead of leading them. The job of a manager isn't to make herself look good at the expense of others - the job of a manager is to remove obstacles to her people's success, so that THEIR success makes her look good.  You haven't learned that lesson, and it shows in the way people do and do not interact with you.  They distrust you because you've earned their distrust."

"That's not true!" the blonde flared back, anger coloring her face.

"Really? I don't think so. Your last little trick - the one obviously intended to make Ed look bad? Holding the Andrushka account until the last possible minute. Helen, that wasn't even subtle, and the only reason I didn't call you on it was that I didn't believe we could compete for that contract - wrong demographics and not really our metier.  But Ed surprised the hell out of BOTH of us, didn't he? It was probably the short time frame that forced him to focus on the first good idea they came up with, but I don't think that excuses your little games."

Helen shot from her chair, "I must object to this. . .this scurrilous and offensive. ."

"Scurrilous and offensive? When you put YOUR ambitions above the company's interests?"

"You cannot prove anything because there's nothing to prove!" Helen retorted hotly.

"Oh, but I've carefully documented your performance, Helen."

"All you've documented so far is that I've had higher than expected turnover in secretaries!"

"For the better part of the last nine months, there have been. . .shall we say, little incidents - nothing major, of course. Nothing that might have cost us an existing client or account, but enough to put your competition in just a bit of a bad light.  Lost invoices, late reports, a mixed up or missed appointment. Never to you, though."

"Because I'm good and I'm thorough, and the other supervisors are neither as good nor as thorough," the blonde replied, reasonably.

"Bull - it's because your colleagues are honest, fair, and for the most part, male. In the first place, you've got female guile over them, and, in the second, you have been using every sneaky, devious trick in the book to screw them over without them knowing quite what happened."

Helen started to reply to that, saw the surety in Veronica's eyes, and nodded. "Well, if it's going to be dog-eat-dog, Veronica, it's always best to bet on the bitch, isn't it?  You and I can help each other.  As director, I guarantee our performance will reflect well on you as VP."

"I already told you, Helen, your name is in the discard pile, and not because I object to your little games, although I do. No, you're out of the running because there is NO way this agency would EVER prosper under your leadership, and do you know why? For the simple reason that no one here will want to work for you. The good ones will leave, and the ones left behind won't be up to the drill. So, you are no longer under consideration."

"That wouldn't be smart," Helen said, her posture becoming subtly threatening, "I know that Ed is living with you, and I know about his little. . . fetishes.  You don't want me as an enemy, Veronica."

"God, and I thought you were just ambitious and mean.  I didn't realize you were stupid, too."

"How dare you. . "

Veronica locked her hands together on the top of her desk, and for just a moment, visualized grabbing the thick gold chain that hung about Helen's neck and using it like a bellrope to ring her chimes. "Now, you listen to me.  I have enough on you to send you packing - it's all documented.  All I have to do is make it all a matter of your personal record, say, on your next personal performance evaluation?  You don't think there's anything there? Fine, try me, and when I'm done, you won't be able to get a job marketing anything, anywhere."

"It would. . .would ruin him.  You wouldn't dare risk it."

The furious redhead took a tighter grip on her temper, and was pleased to see the taller blonde try to sit further back. "Helen? Ed has no worries in that arena - ever again. He's going to be a kept man from now on," she purred, "MY kept man, and if you hurt him? Even THINK about hurting him? You'll pay." 

Carefully, Veronica stood and straightened her suit, and went to stand in front of her desk, still careful to keep her distance from the bigger woman.  "Now, here's the deal, Helen.  You can stay where you are - in your current position - if you choose. However, let me warn you that so long as I have any say in this company, you'll never get a promotion until you EARN it by being a team player.  And before you decide? Let me tell you that I am ninety percent certain that Dolores Connors will be sitting in my chair next month."

"Didi?" Veronica watched as all color drained from Helen's face. "That.. that little refugee from Good Will who thinks torn jeans and a shapeless sweater are a fashion statements?"

"Yes.  She reminds me more than a little of myself at that age - although I looked better in the jeans - and Ken will likely be selected to fill Ed's slot.  I think we'll be able to convince Andrushka that the new team can pull off the campaign, particularly if Ed offers to consult on a freelance basis should they need him."

"Work for that. . . that nobody? I won't do it!"
"Naturally, that's your choice, Helen," Veronica replied, "but if you stay here, you will, indeed, work for her. Oh, and one more thing? Even if I choose not to document your recent misbehavior in my final evaluation of you? Didi will know about those games you've been playing, because she's been here to see you in action, and because I will tell her. Not only that, but I also will keep my documentation.  Just in case"

"Consider this my notice, then," Helen snapped, surging to her feet. "Lets just SEE if you can run this place without me!"

"Would you accept two months severance pay with full benefits in lieu of notice?"

"Two months?"

"It's worth it to the company and to this agency to be rid of you if you cannot find it within yourself to work as part of the team."

Stunned at how badly this entire episode had gone, Helen could only stare at the stony-faced executive.  Then she realized that she'd lost - completely.  "I'll. . . . I'll take it."

"I'll call personnel and tell them," Veronica told her.  "Clear your desk.  Stop by personnel when you're done.  The paperwork will be waiting for you - along with your check. Now get out of my office. I have work to do."

Shaken, Helen left the office - her movements stiff, her complexion colorless. She'd lost . . . everything.

~-~

Hours later, still operating in a daze, Helen finished packing her things.  She looked up at the clock, surprised that it was after five o'clock.  That meant there would be no one to help her move these boxes.  Not even Derrick - the little snot had disappeared right after she'd filled him in on her disastrous meeting with that bitch, Johnson.

Well, she didn't want to make more than one trip to her car, so she'd go 'borrow' one of the rolling carts the secretaries used to move packages and mail about the office.

And she wouldn't bother to return it from the garage when she was done, either.  As vengeance went, it wasn't much, but it was all she could come up with.

Or rather - it was all she could come up with at this particular moment in time. Time, however, was something she now had in abundance, thanks to Veronica Johnson. She'd find a way to settle with her. 

~-~

Veronica was just finishing up the letter containing her recommendations on the subject of promotions, when her direct line phone rang. Annoyed, she considered leaving it unanswered, but then realized it might be Ed.

"Veronica Johnson," she said.

"Verita? It's Mary. I'm glad I caught you before you left for the day."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"My investigator just called. He's finished the background investigations, and is on his way back.  We're meeting tomorrow night and I wondered if you'd like to be there - with or without Edward, which is why I waanted to catch you at work. So you could decide whether or not to include him."

Veronica sighed. "Wouldn't matter anyway, Mary. I have a prior engagement for tomorrow night."

"Oh? You've decided to attend, after all?"

~-~

Helen found a cart and was about to roll it back to her cubicle when she heard a phone ring, followed by Veronica's voice answering the call.  Curiosity had her slipping quietly up to the open door and listening in on the half of the conversation she could hear.

"Yes, I've surrendered. We will attend the Annual Dining-In tomorrow night at the Hyatt.  What's that? Oh, that won't be a problem - turns out one of the Sisters owns her own catering company so we'll have complete privacy. . . . yes, I am, and I am still not sure how I got maneuvered this way. I thought I was the Domme, dammit!"

~-~

Mary chuckled at that.  "Remind me to tell you a few stories about how my lovely Sally runs my life for me. It's still a relationship, my friend, and just because they are submissive doesn't mean our little pets will allow us to have things all our own way.  Especially if they think we're denying ourselves something or not taking proper care of ourselves."

"I see. Well, I'm going. You could come, too, you know."

"Sally's tied up - figuratively, at least, at home getting ready for my next client.  Consuella and Tammi had to go back home to help Sally with the final preparations. Which is another reason I can't go, I'm afraid. I need to meet with Jack as soon as he gets back so that I can return home - at least for a while. I have commitments down there, too."

"I might have wished for the support, Mary."

"Still worried about Edward? I don't think you need to be. He really is quite presentable now as Edie - and Tammi observed that she thought he was having a good time at the opera, for all he was in a muck-sweat of terror when you cut him loose on his own. Anyway, when can I call you to fill you in?  I'd like to do it as early as possible. There is a morning flight to Miami I would like to catch day after tomorrow."

~-~

Helen's mind was working feverishly, trying to find an angle wherein this new snippet of information might work to her advantage. 

Suppose something happened to Veronica, or better yet, suppose something happened that called her judgement and her professionalism into question? Might that not change everything?  

Of course it would - the Board of Directors were a bunch of conservative prigs! Why, she could get her job back. . . might even be able to convince those same higher-ups that she had been treated unfairly - prejudicially.  If she threatened them with a lawsuit, they might be willing give her Veronica's job as part of the out-of-court settlement.

"Well," Veronica's voice continued, "The grand ballroom doors open at seven for the cocktail hour, with dinner starting at eight. I'm not planning to stay very late, so we should be home by one am. . .two at the latest.  Sure, call then - I'm sure we'll be up.  Okay. . bye."

As Veronica set the phone down, Helen slipped away to hide in her own cubicle.  She'd leave after Veronica did, and would use the waiting time well.  There were plans to be made.

Part VIII

Chapter 27: Final Touches

It was after seven when Veronica finally arrived home from the office, whereupon the scent of something wonderful cooking in her kitchen made her smile for the first time since her little contretemps with Helen that morning.  One thing was certain, she'd have to watch her enthusiasm for Ed's cooking or like Mary had teased, she'd soon really need those corsets for more than just a fetish fashion statement.

She looked into the kitchen, where she found a pot gently simmering, but no Ed hovering over it. Veronica was about to call out for him when the sound of a television or radio playing stopped her.  Following her ear, she was soon at the door of her bedroom . . 

Where she was stopped cold by what she found there.

The sound was indeed her television set, obviously playing a video taped 'how-to' lesson . . .

On cosmetology. . .

To a rapt audience of one Edward Davis who, seated at Veronica's own vanity, was successfully replicating the instructor's every move on his own face.

Had she thought about such a scene, she told herself, she would have expected his very best efforts to mirror those of a teenaged girl - all vivid color and no subtlety whatsoever - just like every other male she'd force-femmed in her time as a domme.

Ed's presentation, however, was anything but immature, and she realized she should have anticipated that.  Edward Davis was, first and foremost, an artist. Brushes were brushes, and pigments were pigments - and if this new canvas on which he was experimenting happened to be a little bumpy here and there, well, he had more than talented enough to cope with that little challenge. 

Obviously. He . . . she looked sleek, sassy, and sexy - extremely, well, pretty.  Lord, Veronica thought, amazed, but he's going to be so much fun to play with once he gets his feet under him.  The things she'd be able to do to and with him made her almost shiver in anticipation.

For a moment, she thought about announcing herself, but held off in favor of observing just a little longer. He'd purchased cosmetics somewhere, she noted, because none of those shades were on her personal palette - these colors more suited to a blonde than her own fiery locks and cream-colored complexion.  Then, she saw the wig, resting on a stand - golden blond in a tight French braid, tied off with a large black velvet bow that would ride just at the base of the skull and would show either side of the face.

Her gaze went back to Ed, who was now applying lip-liner, and lost it totally - her laugh full and rich. "Oh, god, Ed, the look on your face!"

Ed nearly ate the brush when he jumped, spinning around to see her standing in the door. "VERONICA!" he yelped.

"And you were expecting?" she managed to get out.

He stared at her for a moment before beginning to chuckle. "I, ah, wanted to surprise you."

Veronica stepped into the bedroom and pulled his face to hers for a very thorough kiss.  The sensation of tasting lipstick on someone else's lips was . . . mmmmmm, interesting - VERY interesting.  Odd that she didn't know that, she mused, but then, her previous submissives hadn't often been kissed - at least not while they were scening and the sub was en femme.  She decided she rather liked it - and was going to do it often from now on. At least she would with this sub-en-femme.  "Oh, I was surprised," she assured him facetiously, "I most assuredly was!"

"The, ah, lady at the cosmetics kiosk at Macy's told me that this video would be just what my ummm,. . . daughter needed to learn the basics."

"Well, that's at least more imaginative than saying it was for your wife or girlfriend which is what my clients used to say when I'd send them out to buy panties or some such." She reached out and picked up a bright, yellow-colored book and read the title aloud, "'Make-up for Dummies'?"

"Figured it would be written so a dummy could understand it," he mumbled.

Laughing, she hopped into his lap and hugged him, "You lovable idiot. Now, want to tell me what this is all about?"

Surprise showed on his face. "Why, it's for the party," he told her. "I mean, I know that I've, um, worn this stuff before, with you and. . Marq, I mean Mary, but you put it on for me - all I could manage on my were the just little touch ups. The last time I was made to put it on all by myself? For Mary? I didn't do very well, and was punished for that."

"Ed, you should know better than that - even as a newbie. That was a classic, almost cliched setup for intentional failure. Heavens, Ed, you weren't supposed to do it well. . that was whole point of the exercise. You were SUPPOSED to fail so she'd have a semi-legitimate reason to punish you. It was just part of the game, darling."

"Game!? It sure as gumdrops didn't FEEL like a game! Games are supposed to be fun!"

Seeing the dragons lying in wait, Veronica chose her words carefully. "Ed, you know that Mary was . . . or more correctly, you know that Mary THOUGHT she was playing with you. As far as she knew, you were a fully consenting sub - one who was both ready and willing to submit to her. In her view of the world, you were someone who wanted to surrender your personal power to her; someone who then wanted her to exercise that power - mentally, emotionally, physically - over you.  That you were not as she understood you to be wasn't her fault - not really. 

"I. . . know that. . . now," Ed replied, his tone not quite certain.

"I hope so, Ed, because in her world - in MY world - that is a very important distinction. And just as importantly? If you had been who and what she thought you were? You would have known that it was a game, and you would have accepted and enjoyed that game."

"Well, I wanted to be good at the cosmetics so . . well. ." he didn't finish, but Veronica saw in his eyes what he wanted to say. 

"So you won't be punished for poor performance at the party?" He nodded, eliciting a sigh from her. "Ed, if you go to the party, as a sub, you ARE going to be tested that way at some point in the evening - all the subs will be - at least once, and in most cases, several times. That's part of the deal. . . Part of the. . well. ."

Now she was hesitating, "Part of the . . what, Veronica?" he demanded softly.

"Part of the fun, Ed." She hugged him again before continuing. "At the most basic - most IMPORTANT level, this is supposed to be somehow enjoyable - for BOTH parties. Otherwise, it becomes abusive and that just plain sucks, as you have every reason to know. So, riddle me this.  Are you expecting to have ANY fun at the dining-in, Ed? Really?"

He didn't answer immediately, which pleased her.  A knee-jerk 'of course I am' or worse, 'No, but I'm going anyway' would have had no more validity than one of her clients promising to do 'anything for you, Mistress', when what they really meant was anything so long as they got off on that 'anything'. An intelligent woman understood the power of silence, and so, she used it, refusing to say anything until he did.

"I think," Ed finally began, "what I feel is sort of like how I guess parents with kids feel about Christmas. It's not really for or about the parents, but there's an anticipation there - good anticipation, but it's about how the kids will feel and how they'll react when the presents are opened.  In this case, well, like I feel good about giving to you, even though I'm still, well, scared isn't quite the right word, but. . . Look, I know it sounds hokey as hell. ."

She put a single finger against his lips and leaned over to kiss his cheek.  "No it doesn't sound hokey, love, it's sweet. Okay, I'm convinced - you're going to go  to the party as my maid.  There's just one problem, though."

"What's that?"

"You look far too . . . . well, far too good for your role at the party, lover. Your makeup is just too. . . too . . ." Frustrated, Veronica waved a hand about in the air as if trying to snatch just the right word from the ether, "Well, just too classy."

"Huh?"

"We need more and brighter color, less subtlety and shading. Think for a minute, Edie, you're going as a French Maid, not as a French gentlewoman of impeccable breeding and grace. Heavens, girl, but you need to be more. . .more . . "

Ed managed a weak smile as she continued to struggle for the right word that would both express her desire, and yet, not put him off the idea. Understanding, he gently caught her gesticulating hand in his own, and then said softly, "Slutty?" 

"EXACTLY! The other Sisters don't expect the subs to be too classy - that's part of the game - and they sure as HECK don't expect sissy-subs to show up looking prettier than the Dommes.  Subbies are supposed to feel 'inadequate', or at least, pretend that they feel that way. Here, let me show you what I mean," Veronica purred, as she reached for a tube of blood-red lipstick. "And then you can practice your waitressing skills by serving me that dinner you've got simmering on the stove." She rose from his lap and gave his face a close examination, using his chin to turn his head this way, then that. She giggled at what she saw. "You need to use a more lavish hand with that blusher, and, my lord, Ed, just how many colors DID you blend to get that effect with that eyeshadow? Much, MUCH too subtle for a sissy, but we can fix it."

~-~

It was strange how these things go, Veronica mused over her after-dinner wine.  She'd come home, after a particularly unpleasant day - thanks in large part to Helen - and now, she felt mellow, and happy and . . . and loved.

Her impulsive little scene had gone well - in fact, better than well.  Ed had looked so cute in his makeup, wig and heels, even if using one of her old housecoats as a maid's dress had left something to be desired for looks.  Still, the split front had made . . . certain tease-able parts of his anatomy easily accessible as she pigged out on homemade chicken and veggie soup, and heaven help her, on hot, home-baked French bread served by her own almost-French maid.  

Better still, she'd discovered that Ed had a heretofore undiscovered taste for over-the-knee spankings.  Not that he was ready to admit it - still too shy to accept being aroused that way - but an erection is a hard thing to hide.  Especially when the man with the erection is laying across a knowledgeable woman's lap for bit of bare-bottom attitude adjustment with a heavy, old-fashioned wooden spoon. A rather impressive display of basic male arousal, Veronica mused, utterly satiated herself. Almost as impressive as her new lover's natural oral talents.

For a day that had started out badly and then gotten only  worse, the ending had been pretty good.  Idly, she reached down to tousle Ed's hair as he sat on the floor, massaging out the knots earned by twelve hours in heels from her feet.

"You've been really quiet," he noted. "What's on your mind?"

She stretched like a cat, and then patted the couch cushion beside her. When he'd joined her, she stretched out, laying her head on his lap, mischievously pleased to find him still. . . on edge. Things were looking up, she thought before answering him. "Had a confrontation with Helen today."

"Oh? What did she want?"

He stroked her hair, a movement that brought his hands to her attention. "The promotion to my job," she admitted and then sidestepped by saying, "You'll need a manicure and polish job if you're still intent on the party tomorrow. Nice long girl-claws in bright, bright red, I think."

"Manicure," he replied, reaching over to make a notation on a small notebook, "Check. Now, what did Helen say that put those worry lines back on your face just now?"

Subs were supposed to take cues when the Domme gave them, she thought resignedly.  "She made the point that the company and I would be better off if you stayed in charge of your team, at least until the Andrushka account is firmed up. Bad for me if the first big account we landed on my watch goes south, don't you know."

"If that's an issue for them, I can stay on for a few more months - even a year," Ed shrugged.  "No biggie - certainly not if it helps you."

"It's big to me, cutie," she retorted. "You're mine, and I don't like long distance relationships.  When I move, you move, buster."

"Yes, Mistress," Ed replied, in his most falsely obsequious tones.  "Seriously, though, you know I'll help in any way I can."

"Just what I told Helen," she answered airily.

"Now, why," Ed asked the ceiling, "do I feel there is more to it than that?"

It was a measure of their growing closeness, Veronica thought, that he could already read her so well. Yet another difference between Ed and every other man with whom she'd shared herself. Sighing, she gave in and told him the rest. "She threatened to expose your 'fetishes' publicly - right after I told her she was no longer in the running for promotion.  When I called her bluff, one thing led to another and she ended up giving her notice. I accepted immediately, and then offered her a very generous package to leave today. She took the offer."

"Ouch." Ed thought about that for a moment longer. "Had to be done, I guess, but you know? That exposure threat? It's not really all that much of a threat. I don't want your old job, and I'm not going to be with the company much longer anyway."

"You're sure?"

"Gonna kick me out after you've had your way with me?"

"NO! Besides, having my way with you is going to take more than a lifetime."

"Then I'm sure."

They lapsed into a warm, soft silence of togetherness.  "You're determined to go, aren't you?" she asked much later. "To the dining-in, I mean."

"Yes."

"You'll need a costume, and I don't have time tomorrow to hit the thrift shops and costume shops for you." It was the last bolt in her quiver. "That means you'll have to go by yourself - try everything on, too."

And it missed. "Already taken care of," he assured her. "Should be here by ten am tomorrow."

"You know your sizes in women's clothing well enough to order something online?" she asked, her tone mildly sarcastic.

"No, I really don't," he admitted, equably, "But Mary does because she's already dressed me as a French Maid.  I called her and she's having the outfit I wore on her island FedEx'ed up here for me."

"MARY? You're planning on wearing something from. . .from your experience. . .down there?!?"

"Well, you didn't give me much time, hiding that invitation like that," he accused, his tongue firmly planted in his cheek.  "So, anyway, like I said, the costume is all taken care of - especially now that I've got the . . umm, nuances of make-up down."

"Oh, that's fine then," she replied, though her inflection indicated that it was anything but fine.

"I'll be fine. WE'LL be fine. Trust us, dearheart. I do."

~-~
"Mary," Veronica said into the phone, "Ed tells me you're sending him a costume for tonight's festivities."

"Why, yes. He called and asked if I still had anything that would suit and would fit him. Of course, I do - French Maid was one of the scenarios we had laid on for him.  Is there a problem?"

Veronica thought about that, and sighed. "I guess not.  I was going to use the old 'go out and buy your own outfit' line with him as a last ditch effort to get him to change his mind."

"It wouldn't, you know," Mary put in gently, "Change his mind, that is.  He's in love, and he's determined.  More importantly, it's what he wants with you."

"You're sure of that?" Veronica's tone was uncertain.

"His time with me . . . cost him," the older domme said thoughtfully. "Fear overrode everything else back then.  A person can want the reward, but fear the required trial too much to make the attempt. Thanks to you, Verita, Ed's found the courage to challenge his fears again.  In this case, the reward is that much more important to him, and that, Sister-dear, says a great deal about his feelings for you.  Now, all you have to do is build on that trust, that connection, to bring him all the way back."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Oh, it's not simple at all, but you have three things going for you that score - trust, love and both your natural inclinations. You're a Sister, Veronica. That means you're one of the best.  I think your man is, as well."

Veronica went silent for a moment. Perhaps it was simpler than she had thought, and began to relax.  "Thanks, Sister," she breathed.

"De Nada, Sister. Now, you just go and have fun tonight, and make sure Edie has some fun as well."

"Oh, I will. . .now. And as for Edie? I think I know just how to do that now, too." Veronica dropped her voice into a husky, 'just-between-us-girls' range. "So, Mary, tell me about the dress.  Ed gets all red in the face and tongue-tied whenever I quiz him about it."

Mary laughed at that. "Does he? How delightful for you, I'm sure. Well, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. In fact, I'm sure you'll enjoy it - very much. Ciao, darling. I have to go.  I'll call you after my conference with Jack."

Chapter 28: Surprises Good and Bad

"Are you ready for me to help you with that corset?" Veronica called as she walked in on Ed.  Then she stopped, surprised. "Why aren't you undressed?" she demanded. "It takes a lot more effort to get dressed up and spiffy as a girl. What's the problem?"

Ed looked up at her, confusion plain in his dark brown eyes. "The . . .the costume. ..  it's not, well, not what I expected."

"Well, it will have to do, missy," Mistress Verita snapped. "Because it is all we have on hand for you - unless you've seen the light and don't want to go tonight."

"No. .. No," he responded, still somewhat off-balanced. "It. . . it'll be fine."

"All right, then - strip, shave and bathe - I'll be back in fifteen minutes to lace you up.  See that you're ready! I've got a lot to do to get ready, too!"

~-~

"Ms. O'Hurley? Jack Webb here. I'm calling from my car.  I should be there in an hour or so, if that is acceptable."

"Of course, Jack.  Just come up to my suite when you arrive. Would you like something to eat while we talk?"

"That would be very welcome, Ma'am.  See you in an hour, then."

~-~

Once she'd known where Veronica was going, and why, finding out the remaining particulars had proven a simple matter, Helen smirked.  And with all that information to hand, crashing this little shindig would be just as simple because the security was designed to keep people out once the party began.

With her little overnight bag rolling behind her, Helen strode to the elevator confidently, her electronic room key in her hand.  That was one very nice thing about conference center hotels, she thought, as the lift-doors whooshed shut.  The right camouflage - in this case a dark blue pinstriped power-suit, killer heels and a travel case - and people just assumed you belonged there.

She took the elevator up to her room's floor - a room selected because it was just one level below where the dining-in would be held - and exited. She had time to get unpacked and finish her preparations for the evening's entertainments, and perhaps a little reconnoitering, too. Yes, that would be perfect. She'd take the elevator up to the floor where the dining-in would be held, and if anyone was already on scene, she'd just pretend she'd picked the wrong floor - and she'd still get an eye on how things were laid out up there.

~-~

Ed idly wondered how long the human brain could function without adequate oxygen, and figured he just might find out tonight.  Still just a touch irate at his lack of punctuality earlier, Veronica had been more than a little ruthless lacing up the corset, but that was just as well.  Any looser in the waist and he'd never have managed to close the fastenings on the dress Mary had shipped to him. 

"Are you ready for me to finish your hair and make . . Oh, my goodness." Veronica's eyes were wide as she took in the picture Ed presented. Still open-mouthed, she made a circling motion in the air with her index finger.

Obediently, Ed performed a slow pirouette, careful to place each spike-heeled foot down solidly before shifting his weight.  The dress was long-sleeved, tight and short-skirted, and made of glistening black satin.  If Ed stood perfectly erect, and minced along in very small steps, the skirt would keep his black silk stocking-tops covered - barely, but any attempt to stride or worse, to sit down, and her sissy would be flashing garters. More of the believably lifelike prosthetic breasts gave more than a hint of cleavage through the heart-shaped cutout in the bodice. A frilly white lace collar graced Ed's throat, complete with a pink and white cameo. Matching lace lap apron and cap completed his ensemble.

"Goodness, Ed," she whispered, "You're STILL almost TOO pretty. Heavens, if I don't tell anyone, no one will know you're male. Wait a minute - you said this isn't what you were expecting?"

"Uh, no, it isn't. It's not what I wore at. . . at Mary's."

"Oh? What were you expecting?"

"That costume was made of, well, I think it was leather and rubber. The top was really tight and very stretchy . . . and it, uhm, . . . " Circles of color flamed through the foundation coating his cheeks, "well, it inflated."

"Inflated?" Veronica hooted.  "You mean, up here?" Her hands went up to cup Ed's gently rounded bosom.

"Oh, gumdrops," he said, blushing. "It was like walking around with beach balls on my chest.  The skirt was different too - longer - almost to my knees."

"My, I'm surprised. So modest?"

That earned a relaxing laugh from Ed. "Not hardly.  It was leather, and it had three belts - one at my waist, one just below my bottom and the other at my knees. Once Marquesa tightened them, I couldn't move my knees more than three inches in any direction."

"A hobble skirt?"

"It, ah, also didn't have any back - my bare butt was hanging out for all and sundry."

"Sounds yummy!" Veronica teased.  "Well, are you wearing undies with that skirt?  You still had those ugly male things on when I put you in the corset."

"Uh, yes, I did. . am. . ah. . ."

"Show me, Edie!" the Mistress commanded.

"Uh, show you?"

"Yes, turn around, bend over and flip your skirts up for me. NOW!"

Ed, now Edie, complied - much to Veronica's pleasure and amusement.  "A thong," she sighed happily.  "A lovely, lacy, very-girly thong.  And it leaves your cheeks," a quick swat smacked each, "So. . . impudently available.  Delightful.  Okay, enough fun.  Let me finish your face, and then, sissy-maid, you can help me get dressed."

I'm so glad the lug was so stubborn about tonight, Veronica thought as she tied the makeup cape about Edie's neck. Tonight could be a good deal of fun.
~-~

Mary poured coffee for the two of them while her investigator laid out his files on the small table. "So, there's nothing suspicious about the Martin woman at all?" she asked.  Mary had been sure that Helen was mixed up in this, particularly since Veronica had told her about the games the woman had been playing against Ed at the office.

Jack was silent for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, not really suspicious in this context - more peculiar, I guess."

"Peculiar? How so?"

"Well, it surprised me that someone who had done girlie shots was able to make it as a serious model."

"What are you talking about?"

The investigator opened a file and handed several photos to Mary.  They were pictures of a mostly nude woman in bondage - of the type available in adult bookstores in the mid-to-late 80's.  In the last shot, the face was fully visible. "My god, Helen Martin - fetish model and slave-girl," she breathed admiringly.  The woman had a helluva body - and she was . . . so flexible.

"She was barely 18 when those were taken - typical story," Jack continued, breaking into Mary's appreciation of the pictures. "Young girl comes to the big city with big dreams but didn't get her 'big break'.  Taking her clothes off probably paid the bills."

"She did get her break, though," Mary pointed out, riffling through the explicit pictures again.  The bitch looked tasty in that hogtie - all that lovely long blond hair, too. "Eventually, anyway."

"She never made it to super-model status, but the woman who owned the agency she signed on with never seemed to mind her past. She became one of their top properties, and made a good deal of money in the process." The investigator consulted his notes.  "That was the Hereford Agency."

"Hereford?" Mary repeated, her eyes thoughtful. "Hereford, Hereford. . .now why does that name sound familiar?"

"I couldn't really say, Ma'am. In any event, the owner, a Ms. Amelia Hereford. . "

"WHAT?!:" Mary gasped, her eyes suddenly wide in disbelief. "Do you say 'Amelia Hereford'?"

"Yes, Ma'am. That's the name of the woman."

"Brunette? About, oh, fifty - fifty five years old, now? Tall - with a little mole at the right side of her mouth?"

"Sounds like her, Ms. O'Hurley.  Here's a picture of her. She's deceased now, by the way. Auto accident about five years ago. Right before Helen Martin retired as a model and came here to work."

"Oh. . my. . .god." Mary whispered, and then dove for the telephone.

No one answered her call.

~-~

No one had seen her when she'd slipped onto the floor where the dining-in would be held. Well-hidden in one of the many closets such places have in hard-to-find locations, she felt reasonably safe from discovery.  

Unpacking her costume, she thought it was too bad that she couldn't disguise herself as one of the dommes, and thus have all those cute slaves waiting on her.  Unfortunately, the Sisterhood was a very closely knit group. If four or more of them were gathered together in one place, each of them would be personally known by at least one of the other three.  

It had been Amelia - sweet, loving, CLUELESS Amelia who had been one of the Sisters, and who had introduced her new slave girl favorite to the Delta of Venus. Just as it had been Amelia who had resurrected Helen Martin's modeling career for her.  Still, for all her supposed scene and business smarts, Amelia had been dead easy to manipulate, and yes, to control. It had been the greatest stroke of good fortune to have caught the older woman on the rebound following the death of her beloved husband-slave.  As a result, Helen's time with her 'Mistress' had been a textbook case of topping from the bottom, although Amelia had never realized it.

Too bad she'd gotten her stupid self killed in that car crash before Helen could convince her to elevate her favorite slave and model to be her business as well as her scene partner.  That had cost Helen five years, and there had been nothing she could do about it. Well, she could do something about THIS little challenge.
She looked again at her costume. While a new, unfamiliar Sister at the table would definitely raise dangerous questions, one more French Maid wouldn't even be noticed.  As far as these bitches were concerned, the more slaves the merrier, which suited Helen's plans perfectly. So much easier to slip away unnoticed.

Afterwards.

~-~

They drew attention as they strode purposefully toward the bank of elevators, even in their long, somewhat oversized cloaks.  Two women in very high heels, one very petite, the other very tall, walking proudly side-by-side through a hotel lobby will catch the eye of every male and most females.

Veronica was inordinately proud of the way Edie was carrying herself, because for all Ed's determination, the poor thing had to be scared silly. They rode up the elevator in silence. Once on their floor, Veronica directed her submissive to a small alcove off the main room where they shed their cloaks.

"God, you are so beautiful," Ed sighed, upon seeing Veronica in her royal purple leather and latex catsuit.  It was simple, and showed the perfection of the petite body it covered so lovingly.

"And that's the last such comment I expect to hear in THAT voice tonight, Edie," Mistress Verita snapped, albeit with something less than her best dommely snarl.  "But then, that's why I brought you in here. To make sure you get into character before I turn you over to the head-slave."

"Yes, Mistress," Edie replied, her eyes demurely downcast.

"First, you have to be gagged - that's a requirement.  For you, I've decided to use a ring gag. I'm concerned about you breathing freely and not being experienced enough with gags to recognize danger signs. Plus, it will let you get a bit of water if you need it.  The other thing we need to take care of is your signaling device. Because you're gagged, you need to have a code signal because you won't be able to speak a safeword.  Give me your right wrist."

Edie did as ordered and Veronica buckled on a bracelet device. A stick-like protrusion extended from the bracelet over the back of Edie's hand, nearly to the base-knuckle of her middle finger. "All right, the way this works," the petite dominant began, "is that if you cock your hand back hard, like a policeman making a 'stop' signal, the bar on the back of your hand closes a switch and the bracelet makes a loud beeping sound.  If that happens, everything will stop, and you will be asked if you really meant to safe-signal.  At that point, if you nod your head 'yes', you will be escorted back into this alcove, ungagged, given your cloak and put on the elevator.  I will remain behind just long enough to answer any questions the Sisters might have, but I will then be on the next elevator to take you home. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress.  I understand. I won't let you down."

"Don't let yourself down, Edie," she countered sternly.  "If you really need to stop things, then I ORDER you to do just that.  I can handle any repercussions. I want your promise - your personal word of honor - on that score, or we leave right now."

"You're sure about that, Veronica?" Ed's voice asked.

"I'm positive, Ed."

"Then, you have my word of honor, Mistress," Edie's voice replied.

"Very well, open your mouth - wide," Veronica ordered, pulling out a device that looked like a dog collar with a fairly large plastic-coated ring in its center. "This ring is only an inch in diameter so it shouldn't be too uncomfortable - there are wider ones - used for . . . oral training of sissies - big enough to get rather thick cylindrical objects through comfortably - comfortable for the cylinders, that is," she said teasingly, "but that's not our purpose - at least, not tonight."

Chapter 29: Party Time

Edie knelt beside Veronica, and felt oddly at peace. She was holding the plate from which she hand-fed tidbits of fruit and cheese to the lovely redhead. So far, things had gone rather well - although the first time she'd gotten goosed by one of the Sisters had elicited a loud, very girlish squeal from the prettily outfitted sissy-sub.  Which, quite naturally, had drawn the immediate attention of the entire assembly of dominant women down on Edie's head . . . errr. . .bottom.

She'd been patted, pinched, tickled, fondled, and yes, goosed by just about every domme there, as well as by some of the more forward slaves.  After the first time, she'd tried to resist giving quite so verbal a response, until she'd figured out that, as it had been with the group at Calliope's play-party, vigorous reaction was what the group most enjoyed.

Ever the artist, Edie had then put her heart and soul into giving her 'public' precisely what they wanted, reacting to each attention in its turn. Purring to the petters, giggling at the ticklers, moaning for the fondlers, and squealing and dancing away from the goosers.  She had never thought she could be quite so. . .so flagrant about such things - in public no less.  Well, she thought, she had been, hadn't she? And after a couple of worried glances to Mistress Verita had been met with happy grins of approval at her antics, everything else had been all right - better than all right. Edie had relaxed and even begun to enjoy being on display. 

Veronica stroked her serving wench's blond hair as she finished chewing the last grape.  "Off to the kitchen with that, pet," she ordered softly.  "Fun time is about to begin, so you might want to visit the little girls' convenience to answer Nature's call and fix your face while you have the chance."

Nodding, Edie rose to her feet, made her best curtsy, and nearly jumped out of her dress when the domme behind her nearly speared her squatting bottom with a very well aimed, thumb-first goose-thrust.  Spinning about so her back was away from the table, she again curtsied to Veronica, then to the other woman, and then scurried for the safety of the catering area.

~-~

Behind a barely cracked-open door, Helen watched the proceedings.  She would make her move when the after-dinner drinks were served.  For what must have been the hundredth time since she had secreted herself in the little store room, she felt for the sealed vial in the pocket of her little apron.

She had selected the drug for several reasons. It was quick acting and highly hallucinogenic, assuring that her victim's reactions would be noticed by her companions. At the same time, it was relatively nonlethal, although there was a body of research indicating that a single dose might inflict a lifetime of recurring 'bad trips' on her victim. Couldn't happen to a more deserving woman, was all Helen thought about that possibility. Best of all, it was on the agency's executive contract's proscribed drugs list. That would, assuming that a visit to a nearby hospital emergency room resulted from tonight's little adventure, cost that bitch her promotion and her job. As revenge plans went, this was just about perfect.

The sudden clustering of the slaves about the table caught Helen's attention.  They were clearing away the last course. Excellent - after dinner/pre-playtime drinks were about to be served.  Almost show-time, she mused, even as she reached for her gag.

This was probably the worst part of the whole plan.  Helen HATED gags - having her mouth uncomfortably stuffed, while at the same time being denied the power of her voice.  Gags had been one of the first things she'd 'negotiated' away in her 'relationship' with dear old Amelia, but it couldn't be helped this time.  An ungagged slave would be immediately detained for discipline at the dining-in. Which would, in turn, lead to the discovery that no Mistress in there owned her. Well, this little ballgag was about as non-intrusive as such things went.

With a shake of her head to get her golden mane out of the way, Helen popped the red ball into her mouth, and then buckled the straps behind her neck.  After refluffing her hair, and one last check of her appearance in the mirror, she carefully made a quick check to ensure the coast was clear, before slipping out of the closet.

Veronica Johnson's ass was about to be all hers. Little Ms. Executive was going to pay - and pay BIG - for trying to screw over Helen Martin.

~-~

Despite Ed's earlier protestations to the contrary, Edie was not nearly so sanguine about her upcoming role in the evening's 'fun part' - especially now that it was imminent.  She emptied her suddenly very-nervous bladder, and then, as directed, fixed her face - although painting lips made into a permanent 'O' was a bit of a challenge.

That done, she swallowed as best she could with the gag holding her mouth open, and left the restroom.

And nearly tripped over a gorgeous blonde.

"Arry!," she exclaimed automatically - the 's' sound impossible just then.

~-~

"It's gone well, so far," Calliope said, in a quick aside to Veronica. "Your sissy-sweetie seems to be taking everything nicely in stride. I'd say she's even enjoying the attention."

"I'm happily surprised, but I'll still be glad when we get past the next hour or so, assuming things continue to go as well."

"Still worried about the testing?"

"Yes," Veronica admitted. "But she's so determined."

"First tests should be carefully chosen - challenging, but within the abilities of the one tested. Any idea what would be easiest on her?"

The question surprised Veronica, and yet, knowing the heart of the woman beside her as she did, it shouldn't have. "You know? I think it surprised her as much as it did me, but the sexy thing likes being spanked."

"Oh, does she really?" Calliope's eyes unfocused for a moment, and then she smiled again. "Yes, I saw that, too, at my party when you presented her.  She likes it . . .that much, dear?"

"I've seen baseball bats that weren't as hard as she was when I had her over my knee yesterday."

"Bare-bottomed? Tonight, I mean."

"Oh, I think we could let her keep her thong on," the redheaded dominatrix offered with a wide, sexy grin. "Less likely to have a hangup. . err. . hang-down."

"Done! First chance we get to . . . correct her, then."

Veronica leaned over to kiss the older woman on the cheek. "Thanks, Cal - from both of us."

"Invite me to the wedding, child."

"Mother of the bride? Or would you rather give Edie away?"

~-~

She'd nearly dropped her precious vial when that slut of a maid had all but run her over.  Furious, Helen picked herself up from the floor and glared over the hovering figure, who was all but wringing her hands over her victim.  

What Helen saw intrigued her - another real girl dressed as a French Maid. A very CUTE girl, she mused, and definitely a cut above those pathetic males out there pretending to be women.  Maybe, after she dealt with Johnson, she'd see if she could get a line on this one - see where things led.  After that useless wimp, Derrick, a sweet little pussy to play with might be nice.

Brushing herself off, she flashed the girl as much of a smile as that stupid gag permitted, and winked saucily.  Then she sauntered off toward her date with destiny.

And failed to see the shocked look on the face of the other girl.

~-~

THAT WAS HELEN, Edie's mind screamed.  Even if the mouth was distorted by that gag, the rest of her presentation - the hair, the eyes, the way she held her head, even the slinky way she walked - all gave away her identity as clearly as if she had spoken her name aloud.

Helen was a slave to one of the Sisters? Somehow, that just didn't work for Edie.  She only knew two Sisters well - Mary and Veronica, and another sort of well - Lady Calliope - but it seemed to her that women of that caliber wouldn't stand for the kind of nasty behavior and outright bitchiness that were Helen's stock and trade. Not in a favored sub, and favored subs were the only ones in attendance here tonight.

And besides, the suspect they'd been seeking - hadn't that been someone from work who had a connection to the Sisters? Wouldn't Veronica be familiar with the primary slaves of her Sisters?  Surely, she'd know if Helen were filling that role for one of that very select group of women, wouldn't she?

Of course she would - Veronica was a noticing kind of woman. Which meant . . . which meant that Helen had crashed the party!  

But why?

Then Edie remembered Helen's last encounter with Veronica, and didn't like what that portended at all.  She hustled out after the blonde, moving as quickly as she could manage, restricted as she was by the tight mini-skirt and the too-tall stiletto heels.  She had to get to Veronica and warn her somehow.

~-~

Helen slithered along the table of amicably chatting dominas, smilingly tolerating the indignities inflicted on her person by those insufferable biddies. Then, she was there - standing behind Veronica, who was deeply involved in conversation with some chubby old slut.  Well, that made her next play that much easier to pull off.  Palming the vial in her hand, the tall blonde gave a quick look up and down the table, and seeing no one looking in her direction, quickly poured the contents into the redhead's liqueur glass.

Her mission accomplished, Helen began her escape.  She had that planned, too.  If she moved quickly enough, she could get downstairs to her room, change out of this ridiculous costume and into her power suit, and be down in the lobby in time to see the EMTs haul a hallucinating Veronica Johnson - still delightfully garbed in her kinky scene clothes - off to the hospital.  And if she were very lucky, some enterprising soul might even have a camera down there - just to capture the moment for posterity.

And for the Agency's Board of Directors.

~-~

What had she just poured into Veronica's DRINK?!?! Edie's mind screamed, even as she raced across the room. Terror grabbed at her guts when Edie saw her lover reach for the tainted glass.

She almost made it - would have made it - had it not been for the stretched out leg of a nearby Sister.  Whether it had been intentional or not didn't matter.  What did matter was that Edie tripped over that leg, and started falling.  Somehow, she retained sufficient control of her body to avoid falling onto anyone directly, and still managed to nudge Veronica sufficiently to knock the liqueur glass from her hand.

"WHAT?!?!?" Mistress Verita yelped, turning to see her lover sprawled inelegantly upon the floor at her feet.

"Your inept slut tripped, Verita," the catlike brunette, who had actually been the one to trip Edie, told the redhead.  "I'd say that makes her first on the docket for tonight, don't you?"

Veronica did not immediately answer, instead choosing to watch as her sub carefully regained her feet. The petite domina did a quick visual check for injury, and finding none, waited to see if her love would safe code.  All she got was a little nod and the glint of a cautious smile in her eyes.  Satisfied, Veronica turned to the brunette, and gave an affirmative nod of her head. "Yes, I would say you've the right of that, Becka.  Lady Calliope? I submit my slave Edie to you for sentencing on the charge of culpable clumsiness and lack of feminine grace."

"Very well, Mistress Verita.  I sentence slave Edie to ten minutes of public corporal punishment with the implement or implements of your choice, so long as her naughty bottom is suitably colored at the end of that time.  Let the sentence be carried out immediately."

~-~

Edie's first action, after reassuring Veronica, was the scan the room for any sign of Helen, but found none.  That left her in something of a quandary. Helen's action might have been some type of attack on Veronica, but there was now no way to prove that.  Worse, the only way to tell Veronica was to get the gag out and the only way to do that was to safe signal.

Which might well backfire.  Besides, Helen could be gone by now.  Better to tell Veronica later - let her enjoy the evening and get through this together.

". . . . let the sentence be carried out immediately."

Sentence? Edie's eyes went wide when she realized she hadn't been listening.  WHAT sentence?!?

~-~

Veronica watched as several willing slaves restrained Edie in the same type of standing pillory as she had been the night of Calliope's house party.  Once the foot stocks were locked, she stepped up onto the dias beside Edie, and faced the assembled Women of the Delta of Venus.  "My Sisters, it is my very great pleasure to present to you my Chosen One."

A murmur of excitement flitted about the assembly room at that announcement, for although Verita was a regular at these events, she had always brought a different slave to each dining-in.  This one must be special, indeed. Every domina sat forward in her chair, wanting to catch every nuance of this ceremony of presentation.

With a flourish, the petite redhead, flipped up Edie's skirts to bare her bottom.  That also bared her front, since the garment was too tight to drape in front when the back was up.

"Oh my GOODNESS, Mistress," a feminine voice squealed, "She's a boy!"

"Shut up" a second voice hissed. "I didn't take your gag off so you could talk, wench. Get that tongue busy where it belongs!"

Grinning at that outburst, Veronica stepped around and gently squeezed the physical evidence of that truth.  "Actually, she's a man, dearie, and not a boy," the green-clad domme reported huskily, "and she's all mine, any way I want her - aren't you, darling?"

Edie managed to nod, although it was difficult with her head in the neck-stocks.

"Isn't she sweet?" Veronica asked.

"Hey, less talkin' and more swattin'," the brunette, Becka, called out.

"Oh, if you insist," Veronica cooed.  "But I do so enjoy the . . .buildup and anticipation myself." She reached around to grab one rounded buttock.  "Don't you agree, sexy-sissy?"

Another strained nod answered her, making Veronica's smile even wider. "I think, I'll start with my hand, then move to paddle, a few touches with the crop, and then finish with the flogger."  She went up on her tiptoes and kissed the gagged lips.  "Relax, lover," she whispered against Edie's lips. "I'm gonna make you LOVE it."

~-~

By the time Veronica finished with the crop, Edie wasn't sure she quite loved this, but it wasn't a headlong ride into the valley of death, either.  And the appendage barely hidden by the front of her thong hadn't been put off in the least.  If anything, she was even harder than when Veronica had groped her, despite the lines of fiery heat licking at her bottom where that crop had bitten.

The first swat of the flogger caught her by surprise - heat flared in her butt, but not burning heat - just an almost pleasant warmth suffusing every square inch.  The second swat was even better.

By the tenth swat, Edie found herself trying to lean back, against the unyielding grip of the pillory, and into the oncoming flogger.

By the twentieth swat, her hips were dancing wildly under the flogger's lashing fingers - not in pain - not in any attempt to escape its kiss - but rather, in pure lust and need.

The twenty-sixth swat did it - Edie felt her nervous system short-circuit as every muscle in her body went rigid and inflexible.  This was followed by four more rapid-fire slashes of the flogger that drove the restrained sissy over the edge. 

"OH Y OOODDDDD!!!!" she screamed through the word-distorting ring locked in her mouth, as her lower body clenched and spasmed - two, three, four times.

Then she went limp.

And the room, which had been utterly silent for the past several moments, broke into applause and cheers.

~-~

"Oh look," Becka called when the approval died down, "Sissy has wet her panties."  The brunette pointed to a large, dark wet spot that now stained the formerly pristine white satin triangle.  "Cumming without permission, and under correction, too." She clucked her tongue.  "Naughty, naughty, naughty. Isn't the punishment for that cleaning the garment, as a very minimum?"

Calliope and Veronica both glared at Becka, but the words had been said, and in front of the assembly, including the slaves. Standing, Calliope spoke. "The slave Edie, having, without explicit permission, and while under sentenced correction, spilled her seed, is sentenced to clean the soiled garment with her mouth for the remainder of the evening."

Veronica slipped the panties down her sissy's legs, freed her feet from the stocks, and finished removing the undergarment. She balled them up into a tiny wad, as she rose up to face Edie.

Holding them up in front of Edie's face, she slowly moved the wad toward the open ring gag, so that her lover would have ample warning what was coming - so that HE could safe code if this was something Edward couldn't bring himself to face.

~-~

They were going to put that semen-soaked thing in HIS mouth, Ed's mind roared.  For just an instant, his wrist, still locked in the head-stocks of the pillory, twitched.
But only for an instant.

You knew this was on the list of punishments when you agreed to come here - Edie told both sides of her personality - when you INSISTED on coming here.  It's not like you didn't know.

With a deep breath, Edie gave a quick nod, and tried to open her mouth wider. She simply wouldn't suck on them.  How bad could it be, right? If she didn't suck on them, all she'd have to taste was wet satin - mostly. 

Knowing that the anticipation would only make it worse for her sub, Veronica did the deed quickly, stuffing the slick satin in through the ring. She was careful to leave a bit hanging out so that it would be easy to grab and pull free, if that were to become necessary.

The still-dry portions of the cloth sucked all the moisture from Edie's mouth. Involuntary, reflex action soon had her swallowing to encourage salivation, and so, she began sucking on the wadded cloth in spite of her intentions to the contrary. Something that tasted salty, and that smelled like sex, assailed Edie's senses, and she began to gag.

~-~

Veronica saw the tremors begin, and recognized them for what they were.  She immediately reached for the tail of fabric that hung from her lover's mouth.

~-~

Edie saw Veronica's hand reaching for the gag, and knew she intended to disobey the sentence handed down by the Grand Domme - for her.

With what freedom of movement the pillory permitted, she dodged her head to one side so that the petite domme's snatch at the panty gag missed. At the same time, she pushed the now sodden wad of cloth up against the roof of her mouth and breathed deeply through her nose and around the panties.  The in-rush of air had the effect of clearing her nasal passages of the scent of the semen, leaving only the salty essence on her tongue.

The gagging stopped.  With another deep breath, she focused on Veronica, and shook her head.  She could handle this, she told herself and her lover, it didn't taste all that bad - really - it didn't.  She winked at Veronica, and saw relief glow in the lovely domina's face.
~-~

Veronica reached up to kiss Edie's cheek.  "Next time your semen is in someone's mouth, lover, it will be MY mouth, and I'll take it because I want it - just as I'll take you because I want YOU.  I'm very, very proud of you, darling."

With that, she turned on heel and strutted down the steps and to her seat.  "Free my slave," she ordered. "I have. . .need of her. . . other talents."  She smiled as the three husky slaves who had originally restrained Edie leapt at her order.  Then she turned to Calliope.  "Grand Domme? Now that MY slave has been corrected, perhaps we could see to another . . . problem?"

"Of course, Mistress Verita.  What is it?"

"Who, Grand Domme. The problem is a WHO, not a WHAT. Goddess Becka's man-slave has had the temerity and ill manners to wave his . . .male parts over my person and my dinner on no fewer than five occasions this evening. Very disrespectful, don't you think?"

"Oh, very," Calliope agreed, her eyes twinkling. "You should train him better if you are going to let him . . . hang free, Becka.  I'm afraid that requires serious correction. I sentence your slave to the be the demonstration dummy for Comptessa Gunilla's CBT exhibit.  Unless, of course, you object?"

~-~

Becka groaned inwardly as she watched her Chosen One go pale at that pronouncement. He hated cock and ball torture, and of course, as his loving Mistress, she KNEW he hated CBT. For that very reason, she rarely imposed it on him when unless she was truly intent on pushing his limits or on punishing him for some real infraction or failure. 

Unfortunately, she'd gotten carried away with her little game of cat and mouse with Verita's new Chosen One, and had gotten the tables turned on her - and her darling subbie - rather neatly.  She had no choice but to accede to the sentence, and offer her hubbie-subbie's boy-parts up to Gunilla's not-so-tender mercies. 

Actually, she did have a choice, but that would mean accepting what was effectively a two-year exile from Sister functions. She'd watch things carefully, and if her darling started losing it - and she would know - or was trying to go beyond his limits for her, she'd step in and stop it, regardless of the cost.

Besides, she always enjoyed watching Gunilla work her sensual magic by driving a male nuts by teasing his nuts.  Who knew? Maybe Gunilla would teach her something her sweetie liked in that line, and wouldn't that be fun? She gave her submissive a comforting pat on the thigh, before smiling brightly at Lady Calliope. "Of course I don't object, Grand Domme. My silly boy obviously needs to learn better manners."  

Her slave boy whimpered when the slaves tasked with applying the restraints moved toward him, but Becka hushed him with a quick flick of her quirt.  She'd clearly overstepped herself playing with Veronica's subbie, and now Calliope was reminding her of a few social niceties the way that worked best with an erring domina - through her favorite slave. Well, she'd just have to make sure she took especially good care of her lover-slave after the party.

Part IX

Chapter 30: After the Storm 

The very instant that the formalities of the dining-in were completed, Veronica had Edie on her feet, heading for the alcove. "Technically," she said under her breath, "So long as we're in the venue, you need to remain gagged, so I'm not going to remove the ring-gag until we're in the cloak room.  Not after all you've gone through tonight to follow the rules perfectly."

"O-A," was Edie's panty-muffled response, the middle 'K' impossible with the ring still preventing her mouth closing to form the harder sound.

As they exited the main dining area, they were met by a female slave, acting as 'hat-check girl'. She was holding Veronica's cloak in her hands.  "Mistress, your cell phone has gone off four times in the fifteen minutes since my Lady ordered me here.  I thought it might be important."

"Thank you," Veronica replied, taking the coat and pulling out her phone.  She read the display of missed calls, and recognized Mary's cell phone number. "Help my Edie out of her gag, will you please?" she asked, even as she commanded the phone to redial the missed number.

Edie was opening and shutting her mouth, trying to work the kinks out of jaw muscles unused to being held open quite so long, when she heard Veronica bellow, "HELEN?!?!?"

"What about Helen, Mistress? Did you see her here, too?"

The look of stunned disbelief on the petite domme's face answered that question.  "Helen was HERE?!?!"

Veronica's demand was echoed by a surprisingly clear, if over-amplified, "Helen Martin was THERE?!?!? at the DINING-IN?!?" from the cell phone.

"Well. . .umm, yes . . .she was."

"We'll be at your hotel in fifteen minutes, Mary!" Veronica said into her handset, and then snapped off the unit. "Get my slave's cloak, please," she ordered the now-hovering slavegirl. "And be bloody quick about it!"

~-~

"Amelia Hereford was the owner of the agency where Helen worked during her modeling days. Prior to that, Helen evidently had trouble making ends meet in the big city, and was forced to try making a little extra money on the side posing for bondage and fetish photo-shoots.  Amelia was a Sister," Mary directed this clarification to still femininely turned out Ed. "I know that's slim evidence, but it is the first inkling we've had of a connection between Ed and the Sisterhood." 

"It's not as slim as you might think, Sister," Veronica said darkly.  "Tell her, Ed, what you told me." 

"Helen was at the dining-in. She was dressed in a French Maid costume. I almost tripped over her coming out of the Sissy's Restroom." 

"You're certain of that? That it was really Helen?" Mary probed. 

"I've nothing that we could use to prove it legally, because I only saw her clearly once, but yes, I'm positive the woman I saw there was her," Ed said firmly. "I've worked with Helen Martin for almost three years. I know her body language and her facial expressions. Heavens, but I've seen her wink at Derrick with just that look in her eye hundreds of times.  It was her." 

"Who brought her?" Mary demanded. 

"We don't know, Mary," the other woman told her, "We think she may have crashed the party on her own because Ed didn't remember seeing her until. . " 

"Until she poured something into Veronica's drink," Ed finished.  "Then, before I could do anything, she just disappeared." 

"Right after you all but ruined her professional future in the advertising business," Mary murmured.  "Any idea what was in the glass?" 

"Edie knocked it out of my hands, shattering the glass and spilling its contents."

"You could have collected it with a rag. I have. . .connections, Verita, who could have done some discreet chemical analyses."

"She couldn't tell me why because she was gagged, and was afraid to safe-code so she could warn me." 

"And by the time I was upright again," Ed added, "Helen was already long gone." 

"Besides, the analyses would only have confirmed whether or not she meant to do me ill.  Are we really in any doubt about that?"

"You're right, of course," Mary agreed, pulling out her cell phone and then punching in a number. "Jack? Mary, here.  Put Helen Martin under 24 hour surveillance - I just heard some new information, and there's no doubt in my mind that she's behind this mess.  Yes, I'm sure.  No, nothing we could prove in a court of law, but definitive nonetheless. Fine - just so long as I can lay hands on that bitch immediately when I'm ready to deal with her. Right. Thanks." 

She closed the unit's clamshell with an audible snap, and looked up at the other two people in the room.  "When WE are ready to deal with her, Sister," Veronica said, her voice gone icy cold. 

"Make that 'WE' including 'ME', ladies," Ed interjected. "You're both too pissed just now for that kind of a confrontation." 

"And you're NOT?!?" Veronica snapped. 

"Oh, I'm angry, but you two are just plain mad - there's a difference. I want her ass - you want her guts." 

"You were not the only one harmed by her, Edward," Mary said quietly.  "I was used and abused - professionally, personally, spiritually.  I will deal with her." 

"And what about what she tried to do to me, tonight?" Veronica demanded.

Edie's still vividly made-up visage went dark red, even through several layers of cosmetic artistry.  She nodded at that. "I understand, but let's find out if we can do it in a way that will hurt her the most.  I mean, why did she do it in the first place?" 

Veronica stared at him, and then began to nod.  "To take you out of the running for the promotion.  So she could get ahead." Then she turned to the brunette.  "She wants power, Mary.  Not the kind we talk about freely exchanging, but the kind she can wield to suit herself.  So, maybe there's a way we can deny her any future path to that goal?" 

"It's not enough!" Mary snapped. 

"Maybe not," Ed agreed, "But it might be a start.  Look, you two, it's late, and I'm still a bit . . off balance from the evening and the hour.  Maybe we could think on this overnight and come up with something better when we're refreshed?" 

"Well. . . " Mary was not convinced she wanted to wait.

"I'll make my Mom's special French Toast recipe - and I've got some lovely Valencia oranges to make into fresh squeezed OJ," Ed wheedled.

Mary weakened, but couldn't quite give in all the way. "I want my breakfast served by Edie," she said firmly.

"Done," Edie replied pertly.  "Breakfast will be served at 9:30."

~-~

He hadn't said a bloody WORD to her since they'd left Mary's hotel room, Veronica fumed as she accelerated onto the interstate highway.  Not a single blasted word since he'd thanked her for agreeing that a cooling off period until breakfast was the best course of action at that point.

And whose fault was that, she wondered, more morosely?  She knew he had planned on tolerating almost anything once they'd gotten to the party - anything to avoid safe-coding and causing her to be exiled. Which, in a very basic sense, made what had happened to him on that dias her fault. Certainly Becka had stuck her unwanted nose into the mix, but if she hadn't, some other Sister probably would have done much the same thing.  That was the way such things went. 

She quietly cursed herself as she drove - even as she admitted what she had to do next. Something she should have done before this - WOULD have done before this - had she not been so upset and distracted by the recent revelations about Helen Martin.

She just HATED being in the wrong.

~-~ 

"I'm sorry." 

The quietly spoken words almost didn't register through the miasma of madly dancing thoughts and images racing about Ed's tired brain. 

"Huh?" he responded, looking up at the stonily controlled profile of Veronica. 

"I said I am sorry," she said again, a little more loudly and a lot more sharply. 

"For what?" he asked. 

Veronica stole a quick glance at Ed, and was surprised to see honest confusion.  "Why. . . for that scene - the spanking, the. . . ah, the second gagging. After last night, I was fairly certain I could . . . .ummm, get you off that way.  I shouldn't have sprung that on you the first time during public play, but, well, I got carried away.  I was showing off to my Sisters - making a guy - my guy - climax like that - you know, only by flogging? That's a pretty big deal in our circle - shows a lot of skill and a deep empathy for your submissive.  That's respected in the Sisterhood. Anyway, I was way too into the power you were surrendering to me - way too into YOU - and, well, I completely forgot about the penalty for unauthorized orgasm during punishment.  I'm sorry you got more than either of us bargained for because of my power-tripping." 

"Oh. Well, I knew it was on the list when I agreed." 

"But you didn't think it was very likely such a thing could happen to you, did you?" 
"Well, to be honest, I, uh, was surprised. I didn't expect to, umm,. . reach orgasm quite that way . . . or at the party, for that matter." 

"Orgasm is supposed to be part of play - at some point, anyway." 

Ed nodded. "I guess, but that's the first time I ever . . . did." 

That surprised the petite redhead. "You never came - in all the time you were with Mary on the island? For all the scene was simulating non-consensual activities, you were still a client. All kinds of warning bells would have gone off in MY head if your supposed contract had precluded sexual climax of any kind." 

Ed snorted. "Oh, I didn't say that - Only that I never experienced anything like what you did with me. Mary made sure I achieved orgasm, but only when she meant me to cum. . . and that always involved. . . direct stimulation." 

Veronica heard the hesitancy in his voice, as well as other underlying emotions. "Why do I think that doesn't mean just masturbation?" 

"She. . . always finally forced me . . .to orgasm when she or one of her . . . helpers . . . raped me. . . with a dildo." 

"I see," Veronica replied softly, her gloves effectively hiding clenched fingers suddenly white on the steering wheel. "You mean she was showing you how . . . feminine you were. That in spite of yourself, you could be made to climax like a women." 

Ed sighed heavily.  "That was . . . part of it, but not the worst of it.  The worst parts were the promises they always made - right when I was. . . cumming. God . . I mean, gumdrops, but those were. . . were. . ." 

"What promises, Ed?  I want to help - NEED to help - but to do that, I also need to know it all." 

"They'd promise that. . .that the next time, they'd bring in another of their slaves so I could experience the . . the real thing!" 

"Oh. I see." 

"It was in that DAMNED contract," he growled.  "I saw it there, when Mary showed it to me." 

"Did they actually do that?" 

He shook his head, and then remembered she was watching the road as she drove.  "No." he answered wearily. 

"Thank God for small favors." 

They lapsed into another bout of silence, the drone of car-tires on pavement almost soothing in the background.  Veronica spoke first. "Are you. . . afraid of homosexuals. . . of homosexual lovemaking? Because of your time with Mary, and the . . threats?" 

Ed didn't immediately answer. It really was marvelous, Veronica thought, to have a man who thought first and then reacted - especially when a knee-jerk, highly negative reaction would have been entirely understandable, given what he believed at the time. 

"I don't think it's a homosexual thing. Several of the guys down in production are gay, and they're just guys to me, you know? Friends, even."

"So what is the problem, Ed?"

"It always hurt," he finally said, "when they. . . raped me anally. Even though they used lubricant, and even though I know now that they were. . . are skilled - and that they probably meant to be gentle - it STILL hurt. Every-single-time, and it hurt a very great deal." 

"Could be any number of reasons for that, Ed," Veronica told him gently.  "You were really frightened - which they didn't anticipate because what they thought they were providing you was this grand, sensual adventure. Since you were frightened. . "

"Try terrified," Ed grumbled.

"All right - terrified. In any event, you never really relaxed sufficiently for your muscles to accept the penetration without pain, which, in turn, made you even less relaxed.  Then again, if they'd been told you were an experienced and enthusiastic player, they would not have prepared you as thoroughly as they might have; would not have known to deal with you as gently as they should have done with a virgin.  And as you said, you did eventually orgasm each time, correct?" 
"Yes." 

"That only confirmed for them that you were . . . playing at being unwilling. That bullshit of 'if rape is inevitable, lay back and enjoy it' is just that - bullshit. They would have believed your orgasm proved your ultimate enjoyment of the game. However, that does beg the following question, dear. Do we put anal sex on our 'hard-limit-against-and-don't-ever- revisit-the-question-list'?" 

There was another of those seemingly interminable silences.  "You like that kind of play, don't you? I've. . . seen the strap-ons in your toy-box." 

Honesty, again, she thought, and sighed. "I do, but I'm also selfish. That part of you would be mine and mine alone." 

"I see.  The answer to your question, Veronica, is that I don't know.  For now, I think it is a hard limit, but . . " 

"But?" 

"I don't insist that we never revisit that question again." 

Tears of love and pride prickled at Veronica's eyes, and she reached over to squeeze Ed's nearest, nylon-sheathed thigh. "Sounds. . .sounds like a deal.  Thank you, love." 

~-~ 

The Westminster-chime of Veronica's clock was signaling 2 AM when she opened the door to her apartment.  "By the way, cute-thing," she said as she doffed her cloak and hung it in the foyer closet.  "Since you've agreed to serve another Domme breakfast en femme tomorrow - I mean this morning - maybe you'd indulge YOUR Mistress just a bit tonight?" 

Ed felt a tired grin curl his lips. "I'd love to, Mistress-mine."

"Great. I feel the need for a little girlish cuddling and bundling tonight. And I have the CUTEST little babydoll nightie that will look just SO sweet on my darling sissy-girl."

"Well," Edie said, trying manfully for a Valley-girl tone, "I'll have to SEE the thing first. I DO have standards, y'know."

And was nearly knocked off her high-heeled feet when Veronica jumped her with a wildly enthusiastic hug.

Chapter 31: Contract Penalties 

"But, Veronica. . ."

"I don't CARE what you promised, Edward, you are NOT wearing a satin costume that must have cost HUNDREDS of dollars to fix breakfast!"

"But it's her costume," Ed wheedled.

"All the more reason not to get egg yolk and powdered sugar on it, right?"

"But, I don't have a THING to wear!"

That did it - Veronica couldn't help it - she burst into a fit of giggles, much to Ed's disgusted hauteur. "Do you. .. ," she managed to gasp out between giggle-fits, "Have . . .any idea . . . just how . . . girly that sounded?"

Nose high in the air, and tongue firmly in cheek, Edie retorted, "If it weren't true at least some of the time, it wouldn't become a cliche."

"God, you have got that outraged debutante act down PERFECTLY," Veronica howled, just before she wrapped him into a hug.  Then she stopped, her eyes becoming sly.  "However, you don't have to worry, Edie-darlin'. I, your Mistress, have the perfect solution."

"You do?" Now, there was wary uncertainty in Ed's eyes.

"Mary said 'Edie', but that's ALL she said, right?" the redheaded domina asked, smugly

Ed tried to remember, and then nodded, slowly.

"Perfect."

~-~

"There's the door," Veronica observed. "I'd say your guest has arrived, Edie."

"The pan's just hot enough, Mistress. Could you let her in?" Edie replied, and then cast a pleading look at the petite domina, "Please?!?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it.  This is, after all, your party. Go answer the door, Edie."

"But, Mistress. . ." it was a whine.  Edie knew it, and hated it, but couldn't help it.

"Answer . . . the . . . . door, Edie." There was steel in each distinctly enunciated word.

"Yes, Mistress," was the very unhappy reply.

~-~

Mary's smile of greeting froze on her face for almost five full seconds before her mouth fell open in nearly comical disbelief.

And then she exploded in laughter.  "Oh. . .my. . . God!  You look like Donna Reed's ugly painting in the attic! My GOD!"

Edie wanted to melt into the floor, more embarrassed by Mary's reaction then she'd been any of the times Veronica had dressed her and taken out into public.

Only this time, Mistress Veronica had very carefully dressed her sissy to the NEGATIVE nines - if that well.  The house coat was floor-length, made of pink terricloth, and was ratty as hell. Fuzzy, white bunny-slippers peaked out from beneath the frayed hem.  Calling Edie's current state of couture 'frumpy' was being either very kind or very blind.

But that wasn't the least of Veronica's efforts - oh no! What ensemble is complete without proper hair dressing and . . .cosmetics?

Which were precisely what drew the attention of the now-giggling brunette. "My god, Edie, your face is GREEN!"

And it was.  "An avocado facial mask, Ms. Mary," Edie replied, trying to maintain as much dignity as she could manage under the circumstances.   

"Lovely shade of lipstick, too," Mary added, even as she went up on tiptoe and leaned over - VERY carefully, to kiss the vividly vermillion mouth.  "And, goodness me, your hair, dear. Didn't have time to brush your set out this morning?"

Edie swallowed audibly, her composure near cracking. "We. . . overslept, Ms. Mary."

Edie's coiffure quite crowned her presentation. Veronica had found a positively hideous, mustard-colored wig, and had then done it up in huge curlers.  The devious woman hadn't been all that careful about how she rolled the hair, either, so it had a shabby, haphazard appearance that would have been too 'over-the-top', even for a 1950's episode of 'I Love Lucy'. A classic, old fashioned hairnet - albeit somewhat holey - completed Edie's hair-dressing.  

At best, Edie looked positively clownish - and knew it.  The only advantage to the costume, from Edie's perspective, was that the green muck hid the embarrassed blush burning her cheeks.

~-~

The breakfast, of which Edie was not permitted to partake, since as Veronica put it to her, "You are not dressed for company, Edie.  Not a thing to wear, you said?", had somehow been even worse.  The two dominas had had a wonderful time talking about the humiliated submissive as though Edie had not been there.

"Good Heavens, Verita, in all my years of feminizing men, I've NEVER seen one so. . . so thoroughly cowed by his sissified state . . . she's . . . she's perfect!"

Veronica nodded regally.  "I'm quite pleased with the whole ensemble.  For two reasons, actually," she said as the silent Edie poured more coffee for the two dominas.

"Oh? Other than that perfectly delicious reaction from the poor dear?"

"I was. . . annoyed that Ed offered to be Edie for you."

"Feeling possessive, are you?"

"Indeed. I am pleased that this was so effective in. . . bringing home that annoyance to her. I think my darling will be a bit more deferential to my prerogatives relative to Edie in the future."

"Oh, I'm sure she will be," Mary laughed.

"And, I must admit that I'm VERY happy that she's so very UNhappy being unattractive.  A very positive step in her recovery."

Mary considered that, and looked at the green-faced submissive.  "Is that true, dear?" she asked, more gently. "Do you feel better about being Edie now - knowing that your Mistress truly does care about you, and enjoys the feminine side of your personality?"

Edie's answer was immediate. "Oh, yes, Ms. Mary," she gushed, with the first real smile the brunette had seen since her arrival.

Mary was out of her seat and on the terriclothed figure before Edie could react.  "MS. MARY," she yelped, trying to step back. "You'll get green gunk all over you!"

"I don't CARE!" she replied, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. 

~-~

The breakfast clean up had gone quickly, as both dommes had insisted on lending a hand - drying and putting away, at least. Naturally, Edie-the-sub was the one sentenced to brave the horrors of 'dishpan hands'.  Then, the two women had turned their attention to 'helping Edie remove her cleansing mask'. Now that had been an experience akin to driving in downtown New York City during rush hour with two very demanding backseat drivers - overwhelming, highly stressful, and likely to drive a fellow to seek solace in a church or in a bottle.

Maybe both.

After that little task had been completed to Mary's and Veronica's extremely exacting standards, they had adjourned the living room for the discussions that had been the real purpose of the meeting. Ed still wore the ratty pink robe and the white bunny slippers, but having doffed the curlered wig and the face-mask, he felt human again. He happily snuggled up against Veronica on the love seat, opposite Mary who had taken the easy chair.

"We need to convince her to back off," Veronica was saying.

"That's NOT enough, Verita! Not for what she did to Edward, nor for what she tricked me into doing to Edward! She needs to suffer for that. We have to make her PAY!"

"That falls to her level, Sister. I say we find a way to ensure she knows she's on borrowed time, and tell her to get the hell out of Dodge."

"And just HOW do you propose to do that? She already knows about the Sisterhood, and our place in the Delta.  She's bound to think she can use that knowledge against us."

"I think, Veronica," Ed said quietly, "that, having slept on this question last night, I agree with Mary's position."

"What?" both women gawked at the normally gentle man.

His face subtly hardened, as did his tone of voice. "She nearly cost me. . . a very great deal with her nasty tricks.  If not for Mary caring enough to find out what I was up to, and without Veronica. . . taking care of me, I might have hidden from a very basic and essential part of my nature for the rest of my life."

"That may be true, Ed," Veronica said, putting her arm about his shoulder and leaning into him. "But what can we do to her?  What would balance that loss?"

"Nothing would ever balance what she did - not really," Ed admitted, "But . . . but. . ." He stopped to regain the control that nearly slipped. Shaking himself, he continued, "She needs to understand what she did to me - what she TRIED to make Mary do to me. At least, give her a taste of what that was like."

"What are you saying? Kidnap her and spirit her away to Mary's island for a few days of . . . enforced rehabilitation?"

"Why not?" Ed demanded.

"Because that really would be kidnaping, Ed," Veronica said patiently, "And we can't put Mary at risk that way.  She really WOULD be in danger of jail time were we to attempt something like that."

"I find that I am rather in favor of that idea," Mary said, smiling darkly. "And I DO have the connections to pull it off - I've done it several times, not even counting the time with Edward."

"You're crazy. . both of you!" Veronica retorted. "Just how would you spirit her away without anyone noticing?"

"They did it with me," Ed reminded her.

"And she doesn't have any close friends or family," Mary added, "Nor a job now, thanks to you, Verita. Who'd miss her for a few days or a week, eh?"
"It would only take one person to notice, Mary. She just can't disappear."

That silenced them all. No one spoke or moved for several moments as they each considered the problem.  Then, suddenly, Ed jumped to his feet and began to pace.  Mary's eyes went wide with surprise, and was about to say something when Veronica signaled her to remain silent.

Then he stopped. "It might work. . ."

"What, Ed," Veronica asked, familiar with his quixotic turn of mind.

"The key is to do to her what she did to me."

"We know that," Mary put in, impatiently. "Isn't that what I just said?!"

"No, I mean, yes, but it's more than that."

"How so?"

"She got away with it because I was already going to disappear for a couple of weeks, and everyone knew it.  She just made sure anyone looking for me saw me doing what everyone expected me to be doing.  Suppose, we got Helen to go. . . say, to some island for a . . .vacation - at least that would be the cover story."

"And just how would you get her to do that?" Veronica asked, intrigued in spite of her reservations.

"How about if I threaten to sue her unless she agrees to meet with me to. . . discuss other options?" Ed asked. "Someplace where neither of us would be in any danger - say, one of those independent island resorts in the Carribean?" 

"Sounds like a nice idea, Ed, but isn't the idea that she'd agree to something like just a bit too long a stretch?" Mary asked. "Jack has already told me that he has enough circumstantial evidence to believe she's behind this, but nothing that would stand up in a felony case."

"As I understand it," Ed continued, "the standard for the rules of evidence in civil cases is somewhat less rigorous than in criminal cases.  We might be able to convince her we'd have a case."

"I think that's true about civil cases, and I believe our Ms. Martin has sued a couple of folks during her working days - when she was a model if my memory serves me. If she does agree to the meeting, what then?" Veronica asked.  "Mary's people grab her en route?  I mean, assuming she knows about Mary's program, she might know the location of her island. We'd never get her to agree to go there."

"No. . ." Mary murmured.  "We do it just as she did with Edward - as I did with Edward.  We take her some place else - perhaps en route to some neutral venue - and transport her to my island as unconscious cargo. I have a girl - you remember Fraulein Hilda, Edward?"

"Oh gumdrops, do I!?!?" Ed looked pained. "Blonde . . Big. . not fat, but . . BIG. . and, ummm. . must play a great game of tennis."

"Good with a paddle, was she?" Veronica asked, suddenly amused.

"She prefers to call it shuttle-cock," Mary replied, grinning.  "The point is, that she is also VERY good at stage makeup - a real artist, in fact.  I think she'd be superb were we to cast her in a role similar to the one Mr. Tolivar played in Ed's adventure.  Why, she could even drive down to Key West as if Ms. Martin were, in fact, going to my little, ah, health spa?"

"While, in the meantime, the devious bitch is already locked away in your filthiest dungeon," Veronica put in, suddenly getting into the spirit of the plan.  "But, how do we get her to believe you're serious, Ed? I mean, wouldn't that mean convincing her you are ready to come out of the closet, so to speak? Maybe that I am, too? She may not believe we'd be willing to accept that kind of public scrutiny," the petite redhead noted.

Ed shrugged. "We'll just have to make a believer out of her, then. Look, for me, it's a matter of convincing her that I truly am sufficiently angry not to care all that much about the National Enquirer and its ilk. In point of actual fact, other than worrying how that kind of notoriety might affect my future with Veronica, I really DON'T care.  Only Helen doesn't need to know that, does she?" 

Caught up in Ed's vision, the two woman simply nodded, watching as he continued to think aloud. "You know? With a little help from Mary's investigator - making the evidence seem just a bit stronger than it really is? Oh, yeah," he breathed, looking up to grin wolfishly at his audience, "I think we can make her believe that I don't care about the possible publicity - and that I will, sure as God made gumdrops, sue her if she doesn't agree to meet with me for. . . ummmm. . . private negotiations."

"It might work," Veronica murmured, thoughtfully. "You know? She might accept the. . . invitation just for the opportunity to get you alone. We already know she's tried something with whatever she slipped into my drink."

"Exactly!" Ed agreed. "She might plan my untimely demise, or something, but she won't get the chance to do anything of that nature. Right, Mary?"

"Right, Edward," Mary agreed. 

"We'd need a lawyer to make it stick," Veronica mused, "Someone really imposing."

"One of the Sisters?" Mary asked. "Any of the local Sisters an attorney?"

"We really can't use a real attorney," Ed put in.  "They're officers of the court - there might be ethical problems for them to know I was effectively kidnaped and not do anything to my kidnapper. Heavens - there's real legal problems if she tumbles to the plan to kidnap Helen. That would make your Sister an accessory, wouldn't it?"

"Probably," Mary agreed, unhappily.

"Then who? We need someone she doesn't know by sight to pull it off, and she knows Mary and me." Veronica stated, and then saw the smug smile on Ed's face.  "You?"

"THIS time," Edie's voice replied, airily, "I just happen to have the PERFECT outfit . . ."

Chapter 32: Edie Day - Last Minute Preparations

Edie was again less than attractive, but this time she didn't mind nearly so much.  She stood in front of Veronica's three-pane, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, examining his reflection in minute detail as she had been taught. Her experienced eye could find nothing wrong with her appearance. More importantly, she couldn't find anything that might inadvertently clue-in Helen Martin as to the real identity of her soon-to-be uninvited visitor.

Edie laughed gaily at her now-natural use of the feminine personal pronoun 'she' and of the descriptive 'her' in her mental ruminations. She wasn't really 'pretty', but nothing about the young, hawk-faced professional woman peering back from the mirror's other-worldly dimension was in any way masculine, so the pronouns and descriptive terms were right. Not demeaning, not dehumanizing - not even de-masculating - they were simply right. 

The tall, black-haired woman in the tailored blue business suit who stared back at Edie would have been welcome in any boardroom, any executive office, any courtroom. She wasn't really curvaceous - more the opposite, in fact, possessing more the slender, athletic build of the female distance runner. What minimal figure she did possess were thanks to a rib-crushing corset and a pair of very realistic, if very small, glued-on prosthetic breasts.

But that was the plan, for it was her transformed face they wanted to catch and then hold Helen's attention. Her formerly 'cute, little, nose' was now round and prominent - what the makeup witch had called 'Roman shaped' - almost identical, in fact, to Ed Davis' original 'pre-surgery' nose. That single change, when combined with eye-color-changing gray contact lenses, completely transformed her appearance. 

Edie tried, very hard, to see some hint of Edward-the-man, or Edie-the-French Maid in that reflection - both of whom Helen had at least met and seen - and could find neither.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and strode purposefully to the living room.

~-~

Four people rose when Edie marched into Veronica's living room - Mary, Veronica, the investigator, Mr. Webb, and the Amazonian Fraulein Hilda. That imposing blonde had arrived at Veronica's doorstep within five hours of Mary's call to her island.  She'd stormed in, obviously still furious after having been told the entire story about Edie's unwilling stay, and very remorseful over her part in that debacle.

Ed had been stunned - not just by the fact that she was so upset over what she had unwittingly done to him without his consent, but about the way she expressed herself and her outrage.  

Ed's less-than-fond memories of 'Fraulein Hilda' had been of Ilsa-SheWolf of the SS, or maybe more accurately, Ilsa's REALLY nasty big sister. She'd even spoken with what had sounded to Edie like an extremely heavy, very gutteral, Germanic accent.  

But, when 'Hilda' had first seen Ed, she'd all but thrown herself at him, begging forgiveness in a sweet-toned, Southern Belle accent right out of 'Gone with the Wind'.  But the blockbuster hadn't come until Ed, still holding her, and allowing her to cry on his shoulder, had softly assured her that, "Of course, I forgive you, Fraulein." 

Then, the oh-so-very-imposing, not to mention frightening 'Fraulein Hilda' had giggled through her tears - actually GIGGLED. "Oh, honey, y'all can call my by my given name - Peggy Sue."

A pronouncement that had stopped Ed in mid-pat.  "Peggy. . . Sue?" he finally managed.

"What can I say?" she'd drawled, recovering herself and beginning to smile.  "My momma just loved Buddy and the Bopper," which she pronounced 'Boppah', "so she named my little brother Buddy, my kid sister Holly, and I got named for her favorite song."

Somehow, the image still didn't quite work for Edie, but . . .

"You look fanTASTic, Edie-honey," Peggy Sue gushed.

"Yes," Mary said, more reservedly, as she gave Edie a thorough examination. "Perhaps her brows should be a bit thicker - more prominent? More like that artist, Frida?" Mary clucked her tongue, thoughtfully, and then shook her head.  "Maybe not. I think she'll do. Verita?"

"I agree. The brows are fine, although I think we do need two more accessories." With that, she handed Edie a pair of black-rimmed, not particularly attractive eyeglasses - the kind that says 'functionality' and 'utility', but definitely NOT 'femininity'.  Edie slipped them on and was glad to find that the lenses were only plain glass. "And this."

'This' was an exquisitely jeweled broach - an golden equilateral triangle with a stylized platinum letter 'V' inside the figure. With great care, Veronica attached it to the left lapel of Edie's suit jacket.  "It. . . it's lovely, Mistress."

"Consider it a loan, Edie, as I want it back, but I must say, I like seeing it on you.  Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."
"Just remember, you're a female shark and she's lunch.  ENJOY playing with your food, and don't take too big a bite at any one time.  We want her to bleed some first."

Edie drew back her lips into a wicked grin, and snapped her teeth together audibly. "Ready to feed, Mr. Webb?"

"When you are, Ms. Delacourt," he replied, using her cover name.  "I will carry the briefcase with the dossier inside.  I think it should serve the purpose requested by Ms. O'Hurley."

Hugs were given and returned, and then, the pair was gone, leaving the three women quietly staring at the door for several moments.  "You know," Mary said, finally breaking the silence. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard of a male wearing the Delta of Venus. It's for certain the first time I've ever seen a male wearing our emblem."

"I thought it would work to our advantage," Veronica replied. "That bitch knows about the Sisters - the broach should lend credence to Edie's cover as a Sister herself. I just hope it works."

"I have great faith in Jack," Mary reassured, "And of late? I've learned to respect your Edward's ability and determination, as well. Helen Martin is just a bitch - and to be sure, a dangerous one if left. . . unattended - but she's about to be muzzled and put on a very short leash." An self satisfied smirk lit up Mary's face. "And finding out, in the end, that it was Edward who did this to her? That will devastate her, and destroy her self confidence. After today? She ceases to be a threat.  I promise you that."

"Thanks, Sister."

~-~

Once he'd parked the car in the underground garage of Helen's high-rise condominium complex, Webb turned to face Edie. "How do you want to play this, Ms. Delacourt?"

'Ms. Delacourt' fiddled with the ornate broach at her lapel  before responding. In truth, she'd been thinking about that particular question ever since the plan had begun to take shape. As she saw it, there were two ways to play it. One, she could let this quietly imposing man present the case.  That had the advantage of keeping attention off her, and Webb certainly looked dangerous.  One the other hand, she could take the lead, and present their 'case'.  That meant she'd be the one on whom Helen focused, and there was that chance, small though all three dommes thought it was, that Helen might 
'read' Edie. 

She sighed. "I want to do it myself, Mr. Webb." That sounded like a child trying to write her name for the first time or ride her first bicycle without Daddy holding the two-wheeler upright, but so be it.  "I want to be the one who sets her up, so that when she falls, it will be a lot longer fall and a lot harder landing."

"Agreed," was all he said, even as he deactivated the car's electronic doorlocks - but there was a hint - just a hint - of something approaching a smile on his face as he said that.  

Reaching a decision, Edie slipped the broach from her lapel and into one of the suit jacket's pockets. "Let's go get it done, then," she said firmly. Then she spun on her bottom to put both high-heeled feet demurely on the paved floor of the garage, and rose to face her personal test.

~-~

What Helen had planned to be yesterday's celebratory breakfast still lay - now cold and stale - on her dining table, while crumpled newsprint littered the surrounding floor space. Frustration was rapidly giving way to rage as she scanned the latest papers for any word, any news about a local business woman receiving emergency treatment for hallucinogenic drugs.  She'd decided that the advertising agency, using their financial relationship with the newsies, might have been able to keep things under wraps the first day - the day after that infernal party - but surely everything should have broken by now. Some enterprising young journalist would have to have seen the professional benefit of breaking the story about a prominent figure - a prominent FEMALE figure - tripping on illegal drugs.

But there wasn't a single WORD about Johnson in this morning's papers either, Helen raged, and the word HAD to be made public!  Otherwise, her plan to discredit the little bitch wouldn't work, which meant that her slim hopes for staying on at the agency, and perhaps even filling Johnson's position were still less than zero.

She was trying to decide what to do next when her doorbell rang.  "Who can that be?" she asked herself, checking the wall clock. "Nine-thirty on a Sunday morning?"

Helen walked over to her door and checked the spyhole. There was a black-haired woman with standing there - someone was behind her but he was too tall to be seen. "God, what a beak on her," the blonde mused.  She considered not answering, so she could brood some more on her problem, but her curiosity won out.  She unlocked and open the door.  "Yes?" she said, her voice as neutral as she could manage.

"Ms. Helen Martin?" the woman asked.

"Yes, I'm Helen Martin," the blonde replied, looking up at the tall, powerfully built man accompanying the brunette.

The woman offered a card. "My name is Davinia Delacourt, Ms. Martin, of the firm Delacourt and Buchanan. My colleague and I represent Mr. Edward Davis.  May we please come in?"

Alarm bells went off in Helen's head, and she reassessed the pair as she scanned the elegantly gilt business card. 'Attorneys at Law," it read.  "To what purpose?" she responded, cautiously.

"Ms. Martin, we are here to offer you an opportunity to avoid being called to court as the primary defendant in a civil law suit brought by Mr. Davis."

"A lawsuit?" Helen nearly goggled, but managed to maintain her pose of control. "What is this? Some kind of stupid joke?"

"Whatever 'this' is, Ms. Martin," the Delacourt woman said, her voice suddenly cold, "it is most definitely not a joke. Stupid? You may choose to think it so, but it is not a joke.  Now, you can let us in, and we will discuss this in a civilized manner, or we will serve papers on you within the next week.  Your choice."

For a moment, Helen considered calling the woman's bluff.  Then, caution overcame that urge, and she decided that knowledge was power. She needed to know what this was all about, and the only way to learn that was to let the woman and her hulking retainer in.  She could handle this, she told herself. Hell, any lawyer stupid enough to ally herself with Davis couldn't be all THAT dangerous.

~-~

"So, if you agree to meet with Mr. Davis at the island resort I just mentioned, he is willing to forego taking you to court."

"Assuming what you said was true, which I deny," Helen said, coolly, "the moment I walked out of that meeting, what's to prevent a half dozen cops from taking me into custody?"

She was tough, Davinia aka Edie aka Edward thought as she finished summarizing their 'evidence' for Helen. The blonde had hardly blinked wrong during Davina's little monologue. "You can research the facts for yourself, Ms. Martin, but the island in question is not a U.S. possession, and moreover, does not have what one might call a. . . friendly or reciprocal relationship with our law enforcement agencies. That is what makes the island so popular with certain elements of the illegal drug trade who need a stopping off point for their smuggling trips into Florida. You'll be quite safe there, and anything you might say or admit while there would be very difficult for us to have placed in evidence against you here in the States. However, having said all that, Mr. Davis will, before the meeting, sign a document absolving you of any culpability in regards to the matter of his. . .holiday."

"I could walk out the moment I had the document in my hands," the blonde scoffed, "leaving dumb Eddie empty-handed to go with his empty head."

A momentary flash of anger she could not quite control flared in the brunette's heart.  She took a moment to control it before continuing, her words quietly forceful. "So you could, but my client feels that just your insistence on it answers the questions he needs cleared up in his mind. Besides," the dark gray eyes went cold, "You might want to gloat."

"I'd laugh if I weren't so pissed off," Helen growled. "That's just preposterous.  You have nothing - nothing but circumstances and poor attempts to link unrelated happenings. Kidnaping Ed Davis," her snort was derisive.  "As if I would waste that much time, effort and money on that. . . that nonentity."

"Really? We don't think our case is weak, Ms. Martin - anything but - and please recall, that we don't have to prove our position beyond a reasonable doubt - not in a civil case.  We know our evidence isn't good enough for a felony case. If it were, trust me, you'd be talking to the police and a public prosecutor right now. However, what we do have is MORE than good enough for a civil case.  Mr. Webb, the dossier, please?"

The silent man removed a sealed manilla envelope from the attache he'd carried, and handed it to Davinia.  She looked at it thoughtfully, and then tossed it negligently onto the coffee table that separated her from Helen Martin.  "That's our case, Ms. Martin." The words were spoken with cold malice in each syllable.  "We think it is so good, that we're showing it to you, up front, so that you can show it to your own attorney, if you wish, just to get a second opinion." The woman rose to her feet.  "If you wish to discuss Mr. Davis' terms for keeping this little escapade of yours out of court, and of course, at the same time out of the public record, you'll follow the directions inside the envelope. If you have any questions, of course, you have my card."

~-~

Helen stared at the thick envelope and then looked up at the lawyer.  "Why?"

"Why what, Ms. Martin?" 

"Why are you doing this? You're a woman - why are you representing a man against a woman?"

An expression of what could have been either hate or disgust contorted the brunette's already sharp features. Helen saw her start to respond, and then stop herself. She watched as Delacourt slipped a hand into her side pocket and withdrew something that Helen couldn't quite see.  The large-nosed brunette stared at the object in her hand for another moment before turning dark, angry eyes at Helen. "Because you misused him horribly, and just as horribly, you misused my Sister, Mary O'Hurley," was the soft, almost frighteningly intense answer. Delacourt brought her hand to her lapel and pinned on the Delta of Venus.

Helen's mind tried to reject the evidence of her eyes when the woman's hand fell away and she could finally make out what 'it' was.  "Oh my god," she breathed, her eyes wide with disbelief. ."

"Indeed, Ms. Martin," the lawyer replied, looking down her nose at the stuttering blonde. "Amelia deserved far better in her last years than a conniving witch like you.  You used and abused her, just as you did Mr. Davis, and we plan to see that you pay for ALL your crimes against the Sisterhood and their Chosen.  Good day, Ms. Martin." Davinia Delacourt spun on one heeled foot and headed from the room, her large, silent associate on her heels.

~-~

"Did you plant it?" Davinia asked as the elevator took them down to the garage level.

"In the foyer.  We'll know the instant she next leaves so that my operative can go in and finish the job."

"And if she uses her cell phone?"

"That will be handled, too. I know her phone numbers and we have a bugged unit ready to activate. Just a matter of picking her purse twice to swap them."

"Lord, but I hope this works."

~-~

Helen was rereading the report left by the bitch-lawyer for the third time. Fury bubbled up inside her as she followed the time line of what she had believed to be a perfect scheme written down in black and white.

They had it all, she realized, every part of her perfect plan - Derrick's impersonation of Davis, the account she'd used to pay O'Hurley's exorbitant fee and her connection to the Delta of Venus through Amelia Hereford. They even had a copy of the photo-set from that damned bondage shoot that had brought her to Amelia's attention all those years ago. Every detail was there and every detail was correct.

The package was too complete for them NOT to have the goods on her.  They KNEW, but was that really enough? After all, she only had that wolf-ugly lawyer's word for the surety of her losing the lawsuit.  And that was the key question here, wasn't it? Only another lawyer - one armed with full disclosure of the real facts - could answer that question for her, and she couldn't risk 'full disclosure', could she?  Depending on the lawyer, that might not be in her best interests. He might be as unscrupulous as she was, and decide to take advantage of her, or he could have real ethics, which might be worse.

If there evidence were that good, why not just sue her? The award for damages, not to mention pain and suffering, would be huge!

Her mind chewed on that for a minute, and the answer was obvious - Davis didn't want his time at O'Hurley's little summer camp for slaveboys to become grist for the tabloids.  He'd be crucified in the scandal sheets if what had happened came out.  So, why did he want her to meet with him on so isolated an island vacation retreat?  To entrap her? Get some type of admission of guilt from her and then turn her over to the cops? That wasn't admissible, was it? She didn't think so, but she'd have to check with a lawyer to be certain, and again, that didn't seem like all that good an idea.

What was in it for Davis?  More importantly, what was in it for her?  She needed more information, she decided, starting with the particulars about this island vacation resort.  

The decision made, she grabbed her purse, tossed in her cell phone, and headed out the door of her condo.

She was in too much a hurry to do more than snarl at the idiot who nearly tripped over her as she strode from her building's lobby - in too much of a hurry to see the tiny, self-satisfied smile the curled the man's lips as Helen rushed uptown toward the public library.

Part X

Chapter 33: Hostile Takeover

The cell phone - the SPECIAL cell phone provided by Mr. Webb - rang, playing the theme from the movie, "The Sting", several times before Ed picked it up.  His hands, he noted, idly, were shaking.  He closed his eyes to center himself, and then consciously put himself into character before pushing the activation button.

"Davinia Delacourt," she answered, crisply.

"Helen Martin, Ms. Delacourt," was the clear reply.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Martin," 'Davinia' managed.

"Are you in contact with your. . . client, Ms. Delacourt?"

"Yes, of course."

"Tell him I'll be there, on that damned island, three days from now."

"In three days?"

"I'm driving my car to Key West.  The resort has a boat that runs between there and the island on a daily basis."

"Very well, Ms. Martin.  I'll see that Mr. Davis is apprised of your intentions."

"Just tell him to get his ass down there," was the angrily snapped reply. "I want this over and done with."
"Of. . ."  Ed stared at the suddenly buzzing phone before finishing, "course. . . "  The woman hadn't even waited for a reply.

"Well?" Veronica asked from the door to her home office. She'd appeared there when she'd heard the distinctive tones of 'Ms. Delacourt's' phone.

"It's on," Ed replied, and then chuckled. "Well, that was hard."

"What? Setting her up? Going soft on us, Ed?"

"Good gumdrops, no!" he retorted. "What was tough was remembering to speak in 'Davinia's' voice while wearing jeans, boondockers and my flannel work shirt."

"Your couture does leave a bit to desired for the lady-shark lawyer. I suppose we could have arranged for you to, ah, stay in character until now?" Veronica smiled back, strolling into the room and taking a seat next to Ed. 

"Umm, thank you, Mistress, but, I'm happy as I am just now."

She kissed his cheek.  "So am I, dear, but you certainly did have the voice and attitude down - both now and when you were with her from what I could tell from Jack's recording. That's rather unusual, you know."

"How so?"

"You do the authoritative, hard-as-nails bitch almost as well as you do the mincing, simpering femmy-maid. In my experience, most subs, particularly sissy subs, tend to go way overboard when put into a situation requiring a. . . shall we say, more 'dommely' air."

Ed shrugged. "They're both just roles to me.  I played the one to suit me and my goals; I play the other to please you, which, in turn, suits me and my goals."

"So, that's all your submission is, then? A role? A way to please me?" It was clear that she didn't like that notion very much. "I suppose I'm sufficiently selfish to accept that, but it worries me that it's not something. . . well, more intrinsic? Something more vital to you, as well."

Considering that, Ed shook his head.  "There's a difference between submitting to you, and playing a role for you - at least in my mind.  I submit to you because I want to submit to you, maybe even NEED to submit to you - as part of my love for you.  I don't particularly need to do that as a feminized sissy slave, but if that pleases you, that pleases me."

"I guess I'm used to subs who wanted to play sissy games for their own pleasure, and found me to be a useful means of obtaining that sinfully pleasurable end for themselves," Veronica mused, thoughtfully.  "And in you, I have a submissive who really is putting me first, and sees my sissy games as a useful means to give me pleasure."

"That's about the extent of it.  In the end, it's about loving you, and by extension, being loved by you."

Veronica felt the wet heat of tears behind her eyelids, and happily snuggled up to Ed, resting her head on his shoulder.  "That's so lovely," she sighed.

"You're lovely, and I love you."
~-~

"Ms. O'Hurley," the familiar voice was tinged with excitement. "We have a problem."

Mary looked at the phone in her hand in surprise. For Jack Webb, this was a highly agitated mood, and it got her attention.  "Go ahead, Jack."

"We have a street name - 'Flyer' - that's what the Martin woman called him when she spoke to him on the bugged cell phone."

"What's the problem, Jack?"

"She called this Flyer person and arranged to have him provide her with, and I quote, 'more of that stuff I bought last week'.  From what we can infer, he is a dealer of illegal drugs."

"You think that is what she tried to put in Veronica's drink?"

"It is one possibility, Ma'am, and one we should take seriously. That being the case, we have to ask ourselves who is she intending to drug and why?"

"When is she meeting this fellow?"

"This morning - right before she leaves town to start heading south."

"You have any idea of her itinerary?"

"She's staying at Hilton Savannah Desoto tonight. A non-smoking suite, in fact.  We got that from the taps on her phones."

"The woman does like her luxuries."

"Indeed, but to our purposes, that will allow us to pinpoint her likely whereabouts.  I have already acquired the necessary uniforms for our party to masquerade as hotel staff - bellmen, maids, porters and such - so that much is well in hand."

"What about this 'Flyer', then."

"I have two agents already heading to the meet-location, Ma'am. One will follow Martin to make sure she is, in fact, heading south, while the other will surveille the dealer to ensure he is only selling her a drug, and not taking a more. . . active role in her little schemes."

"I hate drug dealers," Mary snarled.

"Rest assured, Mary," Webb said in a surprisingly gentle voice, "Anything my people get on this fellow will be in the hands of a reliable member of the local narcotics division just a soon as our mission in Savannah is satisfactorily concluded."

"Very well, Jack.  Thank you."

The phone began to buzz, and Mary deactivated it.  "Now," she said to no one in particular, "Do I tell Veronica and Edward about this? Or keep it to myself?"

~-~

Helen Martin sat in the sitting room of her downtown Hilton suite, sipping a stiff drink and contemplating the small amber bottle she'd put on the coffee table.  Flyer had assured her that this bottle contained the real deal - full strength - something so potent that only a regular user could ingest it and hope to survive - and then only in small doses.  She didn't intend that Edward Davis 'ingest' anything like a 'small dose'.  One of the useful bits of information she'd garnered at the library was that this resort had recently experienced an unfortunate rash of drug-related incidents among their clientele.  Mr. Edward Davis was about to become just one more casualty in the war on drugs, and then?  Well, she'd disappear and live off Amelia's money for the rest of her life.  She'd lost her gamble to grab power in the business world - to prove she was more than just a pretty face and a body that looked good in designer clothes - but she hadn't lost the fortune she'd hidden away in all those lovely numbered accounts.

The antique mantel clock chimed twelve times.  She sighed, and decided to go to bed.  She had another long day on the road tomorrow, and she'd need her rest.

The bed was gorgeous - a true dream of a bed with a velvet canopy, diaphanous silk curtains draped about the sides, all on a huge pedestal in the center of the room. The thick satin duvet had already been turned down, and a single red rose laid upon the pillow.  It was like something out of a romance novel.

Enough of a woman to be entranced by the setting, Helen sighed happily - and never felt the prick of the needle at the base of her neck.

~-~

The maid was surprised to see the 'checked out' indicator light on her status board lit up for one of her suites when she arrived for work at 6:45 AM.  Suite-guests usually did not check out until after having been served the breakfast that came with the accommodation.  "Must have express checked out," she told herself. Still, that meant she could go right up and get started - at least an hour before she expected - which meant she might be able to slip out early today and do a little shopping.

And the twenty-dollar tip she found waiting for her on the coffee table of the luxury suite would make that shopping just a little bit more fun, too.

~-~

"It's a new designer drug, Mary," the investigator told her from Savannah.  The use of her Christian name was, Mary mused, an indication of just how upset Jack was at that moment. She could count on one hand with spare fingers the number of times his composure had cracked like this. "This is really bad stuff - a combination of PCP, THC and formaldehyde. It's called flyer on the street because people sometimes don't come down from it. Addictive as hell and toxic on top of that.

"Toxic?" Mary was appalled.

"Especially in the concentration of this sample."

"She was going to try to kill him." It wasn't a question.

"Most likely scenario, Ms. O'Hurley. We did consider that to be a distinct possibility when we developed this plan.""

"Where is the bitch now?"

"On board the yacht, still sedated. The Mary-Marq sailed from Savannah Harbor at first light, and should be arriving at your island in about thirty, maybe thirty-six hours depending on wind and current."

"We'll be there to meet her," Mary said, her voice only slightly colder than her anger.

"My people are going after that drug dealer with the police as we speak, Ma'am. If we want, I think we can make him roll on her."

"She'd just claim it was for personal, recreational use, Jack.  Just get the animal off the streets and we'll leave it at that."

"Very good, Ma'am.  Good luck with the Martin woman."

"Luck no longer has anything to do with it, dear, but thank you, all the same."

Chapter 34: Contracted Deliveries

Veronica broke the connection and set her cell phone down.  "They have her," she told Edward across the breakfast table. "She'll be on Mary's island sometime this evening."

"Then everything's ready to go," Ed replied quietly.

"You're really sure you want to go there?" Veronica asked, carefully. "You have a lot of bad memories from your time there, and what Mary has planned . . ."

"Will visit on Helen much of what she did to me."

"Do you really want to be part of that? What about the personal cost to you, Ed?"

Edward sat back and considered.  Finally, he sighed.  "I'll have to pay it, then, because if I'm not part of Mary's little drama? It may not have sufficient impact on Helen and she might, well, she might decide to try to get back at you or me again.  We don't know what she put in your drink, but if that stuff she had with her in Savannah is potentially lethal? Then, for our own safety if for no other reason, we need to make HER fear for HER own life."

"You think you can do that better than Mary?"

"Maybe not better, but differently.  We have to try."

Veronica sighed, and then nodded. "I have Friday and Monday off.  We're ticketed to leave for Key West on Thursday evening. We'll be met by a boat for the final leg of the trip Friday morning."

~-~

She rolled her back to the door, pretending to sleep - trying in any way she could to delay the start of another day in this hellhole.

"Good morning, Helen," an entirely too-chipper voice called from behind her.  "Wakey, wakey." It was, she realized, the Amazon-tall black slut - the one who seemed to take real personal pleasure in degrading Helen.

Helen tried to ignore the voice, only to be jarred upright by the involuntary clenching of every muscle in her abdomen.  The purple wand device they'd affixed to her pubis, she remembered, at the same moment wondering how she could have forgotten the damned thing.  

"I said," the voice called out again, but now edged with irritation, "Wakey, wakey, bitch!  The next one will be at full power for sixty of the longest damned seconds of your miserable life."

"I'm up, I'm up," she groaned, rolling over and feeling the heavy chains of her leg irons fall to the floor, nearly over-balancing her.  Another jolt hit her, forcing her to remember to add, "Mistress."

"Better - still inadequate, but better.  I suppose that means that when I convince La Marquesa to sell you to some far east slaver, we'll have to implant one of these shocking little toys subcutaneously - it seems to be the only way to get you to obey.  On your feet, Helen!"

Wearily, Helen obeyed.  It wasn't nearly as easy as one might surmise. For on thing, she was physically exhausted after who knew how many days of this torture chamber - a condition which ruined both her depth perception and bodily control. For another, her arms were tightly bound behind her back which thoroughly compromised her muscle memory and balance points.  The six inch-stiletto-heeled ballet-boots didn't help, either.

The black woman unlocked the barred door, and stepped inside.  She curled the strong fingers of her left hand around and under Helen's chin, forcing her eyes up, while her right hand slapped a riding crop loudly against the leather of her thigh-high boots.  "I still see some defiance in those pretty snake eyes of yours, sugar," the woman who'd introduced herself as Lady Shamarra said. "Well, we've got somethin' planned for you today that'll fix that right up for you."  

With no warning, the woman's riding crop licked out like a striking snake, biting into the tender flesh of Helen's inner thigh.  The shock had Helen jumping - a gross error in ballet boots - and she would have fallen there and then had not the taller woman moved to catch her.

"Come along, you - you've just got time for a quick trip to your sandbox for your morning toilette - and then, breakfast.  Fancy Feast tuna this morning. After that?" Tamiqua's smile chilled Helen's blood. "Well, we'll just let you find out about that when it happens. Wouldn't want to ruin your appetite, would we?"

~-~

"You're sure she won't get. . .well, ill?" Ed asked, watching on the closed circuit television monitor.

"Edward, please, I thought I assured you that none of this would have. . . lasting implications," Mary sighed. "It's just plain old Chicken of the Sea that we've put into a sanitized catfood can. Much as she deserves it, I don't intend to poison her as she meant to do to you."

Ed nodded sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Mary. It's hard to be, well, hard enough, I guess. Even after what she did and intended to do."

"Well, I'm not so limited, dear.  Understand this, Edward.  The only reason she will be leaving my island in relative health and freedom after this little learning experience is because she DIDN'T succeed with those nasty little chemicals. Do I need to remind you that it was first Verita she tried to hurt with those?"

Mary saw Edward's features harden, and stifled a pleased smile. "I haven't forgotten," he replied, his voice suddenly hoarse with dark emotions.

The brunette domina nodded. "Then, I think you should go get ready.  It's time for your part in this little passion play."

~-~

"Enjoy the ride while it lasts, slut," the woman called Shamarra purred, as she planted a high-heeled boot between Helen's shoulder blades, and pushed.

The gimbaled frame to which Helen had been bound, began to slowly rotate, taking the rigidly restrained woman head over heels into lazy cartwheels and flips.

Helen tested the bonds that held her to the articulated arms of the rack at her wrists, upper arms, waist, thighs and ankles. The leather restraints creaked, and she might have managed a few millimeters of movement, but that was all. She wasn't going anywhere until one of O'Hurley's damned bitches came to free her from this abomination for their next little torture.  God, she thought, but she wished she had never met Amelia Hereford and her damned Sisterhood of the Delta of Venus!

She'd been affixed to this instrument of torture three times she could remember, and knew that it was designed to do more than simply give her a bad case of vertigo.  The multiply-articulated frame of the rack allowed the victim's torso, arms and legs to be locked in just about any position humanly possible.  So far, Helen had been bent over at the waist - as on a whipping bench - for a whipping, and she'd been sprawled on her back, her legs spread wide for a fiendish variation on a gynecological and rectal examination. She hadn't known it was possible to hurt that much without bleeding.

She didn't want to think about what might happen this time.

But she couldn't stop herself, either, even as the irregular, dizzying motion of the spinning rack threatened to bring back up that disgusting slop she'd consumed for breakfast.

Which would be disastrous for her health with the huge penis gag filling her mouth.
~-~

Helen, and the bondage frame, finally came to rest.  Unfortunately for her still iffy stomach, she was completely inverted - and she could not even move enough to start the frame turning again.

The door in front of her opened.  With what little head movement she could manage, she looked up and saw two female figures, both outfitted in high fashion fetish garb.  Then she recognized one of the women - Mary O'Hurley - La Marquesa.  The woman who, upon discovering Helen's part in Davis' adventure, had ordered Helen's own kidnaping. 

"And here we have a blonde for your consideration, dear," the black-clad brunette said to the other woman.  Mary turned the frame so that Helen was once again right side up.  The intention was to permit her guest to view Helen, but it had the effect of permitting the bound woman to do the same back.  Dressed all in white latex, she was tall - taller than Mary - in part due to the heels Helen had seen before being righted.  She was dark haired and dark-eyed, but that was all she could tell because she wore a full-head helmet.  Her figure was voluptuous, but not overblown - a true Victorian hourglass which led Helen to suspect the white latex catsuit covered a heavily boned and tightly laced corset.

The white figure walked about Helen slowly.  The bound woman felt a stinging pinch beneath her right underarm, a testing squeeze of her left buttock, a weighing of her breast.

"A little. . . on the skinny side, isn't she?" the masked woman asked.

"But she's in excellent physical condition," Mary replied, sounding for all the world like a used car salesman.  "And we could . . . augment her for you.  She could easily carry a pair of D-cup breasts - perhaps even a size larger - without looking TOO artificial. She might have back trouble later in life, but that's not our concern. We'd give you an excellent deal on the surgery, however, should you decide to buy her."

"BUY ME?!?!" Helen yelped, but with the gag forcing her mouth to remain open, that came out "IIII-EEEE?!?"

"Undisciplined, isn't she?" the prospective buyer noted, "and her voice is not pleasing."

"We could fix that surgically, as well, if you want her completely unable to speak," Mary replied, "But we do recommend that you try other. . . less drastic means first.  Sometimes, having a voice-capable slave is useful."

"Perhaps. Still, she is remarkably unattractive, and you say she was a fashion model? Must make up better than most."

"I have a tattoo artist on staff who also does permanent makeup, if you think that would help."

"How about other skin art? Hair removal? Piercings?"

"Any tattoo design you want anywhere on her body. Our hair removal is laser-based, and it can be done anywhere - head, pubis, underarms, legs. And we will pierce her anywhere you want. Whatever it takes to give you your ideal slave."

"I do so loathe blond hair," the customer noted, considering. "How do you think her bare scalp would look?"

Helen's eyes went wild - her HAIR!? Her beautiful HAIR? And they were talking about removing it? Permanently?

"We could shave her first, and then, if that is what it takes to make the deal, it's gone permanently when you take delivery of her following final training."

"Is she. . .sexually skilled? And enthusiastic?"

"She will be, although I must admit, thus far my ladies have found her . . . under-motivated."

"You're not making a very good sales pitch here, Marquesa," the woman said, her voice disgusted.

Mary walked over to the frame and grabbed Helen's hair, pulling it tight in her fist.  "Listen to me, bitch," she hissed, her mouth but bare millimeters from the bound woman's face. "I am going to leave my friend here to play with you.  Unless you want to be sold to some brothel in Thailand as a pain slut, you're going to be VERY motivated to please my friend. VERY motivated, indeed." She let go of the hair with a painful jerk of her hand.

"Have fun," Mary said to the white clad figure, as she made to leave the room. "She's all yours."

Moments later, the door closed behind her, leaving Helen and the customer facing each other.

~-~

Helen watched as her would-be buyer turned away. She heard the rasp of several zippers, and saw the woman begin peeling off the catsuit.  When she turned back, she wore a white all-in-one corset that covered her from her substantial bosom down to her crotch.

"You know, slut, we know each other," she began conversationally, as she kicked off her high-heeled shoes and undid the garters holding up with white silk hose.  "That's one reason that Marquesa thought I might be interested in owning you."

The woman knew her??!? Who could it be? Who did she know who was that tall?

"Bet you're wondering who I am?" she asked, as she began undoing the front hooks down the front of the corset.  She stopped at the last one - the one that would completely release the corset. "Maybe this will give you a hint."

The catch came loose, and the corset snapped open.  It took Helen several moments to realize what she saw there. . .or rather, what she didn't see.  That magnificent bosom came away with the corset! The bitch was flat chested as a boy.

And that was it . . .- the woman WAS a boy. .man, Helen corrected herself.  She had a cock - a REAL one!

"Yes," the MAN said, shedding the corset. "I'm not a woman." He began undoing the laces at the back of the latex helmet.  "And we do know each other."

Hair and helmet came away with a single jerk, and Helen's eyes went wide with shock. She DID know him.  The eyes and mouth were incongruous, made up with cosmetics as they were, but the short hair - all sweaty and spiky from the skull cap he'd worn beneath the wig, and the shape of his face. It WAS him!  "EH A-hih?!?" she squealed around the penis gag filling her mouth.

"Yes, Helen," Ed replied softly, "Ed Davis. The man you set up, and more to the point of our current circumstances, the man who has set YOU up." 

With deft movements, Ed spun and adjusted the bondage frame to reposition Helen's legs, spreading them wide in front of her, leaving her sex fully available and vulnerable. With a dark smile, Ed then stepped between her spread thighs - coming so close to her that his naked sex brushed up against light patch of hair guarding Helen's feminine slit.

"I could take you right now," he said, still smiling, "with no more care or thought than you gave me when you set me up, and you couldn't do a thing to stop me.  More than that, you could do nothing TO me - now or later." Helen squawked indignantly, her tone, at least, negative. "You think not? I think so because Mary would see to that you could never again be a threat to me or mine. You really pissed her off, you see. Using her that way."

Helen felt fear deep inside her. She tried to retreat, to pull back from him, but the frame prevented that.  

"One small problem with that rape idea, though," he continued, sounding almost disappointed.  "I need a hard-on to do it, and you know what, Helen? You just aren't woman enough to arouse me.  Besides, I don't think I want to fall to that level - to YOUR level. So. . ." Ed stepped back and headed for the door. "See you later, Helen. Have a . . . nice day. I'm going to find a real woman instead of a breathing, spiteful clothes dummy with delusions of grandeur." With that, Ed slipped out the door, leaving her alone - trembling with both anger and fear.

~-~

"So, you failed to attract his interest," a thoroughly disgusted-looking Mary O'Hurley said upon returning to the dungeon. Helen's eyes went wide when she saw the frighteningly long hypodermic the Domina carried in her hand.  "Not unexpected.  Mr. Davis is a man who both wants and recognizes warmth in a woman. You have nothing that would interest such a man. Well, I guess that means we're going to have to . . . make you more salable."  Helen felt a sting in her thigh, and then the world went black.

Chapter 35: Partial Payment

The blackness began to lighten into gray, and Helen groaned with the effort required to regain consciousness.  Her eyes opened, and then cleared, but she still wasn't . . .quite there, somehow. She couldn't seem to feel anything - except fatigue.  She groaned again, and then saw a figure step into her field of view.

"About time you woke up, Helen," Mary O'Hurley said, her voice almost triumphant. "We're going to be packaging you up for delivery in a few minutes, but I'm so glad you woke up in time for me to see you react to your . . . improvements."

Helen's mind fought to understand, and somehow managed - at least somewhat. "Immmmm prove mennnts?" she managed to ask. 

Mary's smile was malevolent.  "Improvements - to make you more desirable for our market.  Want to see?"

Without waiting for a reply, the brunette toggled a switch, and the gurney to which Helen was strapped began to rotate her to the vertical.  When the blonde captive was upright, Mary rolled a curtained object, maybe seven feet tall by four feet wide to a position directly in front of the tightly restrained and groggy woman.  With a grand flourish, Mary pulled the curtain aside to reveal a mirror.

Helen stared at the reflected image for five full heartbeats and then began to wail. "No. . no . . NO - it CAN'T be. . NOOOOooooooo!"

A quick slap silenced her.  "Oh, but it most assuredly can be, bitch.  Here, let me make sure you get the full picture."

Helen saw rather than felt a slender hand lift her right breast. "D cup, as promised - and a bit more for good measure. Still, if that size isn't enough for your. . . new station in life, we can . . ah, inflate you even more without further surgery.  The nipple rings are a nice touch, and made of very high grade steel, too.  A similar augmentation process was done to your lips, dear. That isn't collagen, but implants that won't shrink.  I like the ring piercing the septum of your nose, too. Heavens, between that nose-ring flopping down over those huge cocksucker lips of yours, and those surreal tits, you rather look like a cow. Can you say, MOOOO, darling? Oh, and we've pumped you full of hormones so you'll start lactating in the next two or three days, too, bossy."

"Don. . don . . feel. . your hands," Helen said, and realized her tongue wasn't working normally.

"After effects of the anaesthesia, I suspect.  Trust me, you'll be feeling PLENTY when it wears off - not half enough, if you ask me, but painful nonetheless.  Too bad you won't be awake to feel all of it, but that's the breaks."

"Tonnn-gahhhh?"

"You mean your tongue? Pierced, too," Mary said pleasantly. "As are both your labia, your navel and your clitoris." The brunette licked her index finger and rubbed it vigorously over Helen's cheek, before bringing it up for her victim's inspection. It was devoid of color. "Permanent cosmetics - a little tasteless and out of date, if you ask me -I mean, blue eyeshadow went out with the 50's, and those high, thin penciled eyebrows are just so 1930's.  Still, it's not TOO bad a look for you - considering your future career.  Not only that, we added a few. ..other illustrations in strategic points of your anatomy. I'm sure you'll love them. . . or at least, your new owners will. I am particularly fond of the target and bullseye above your pubis. Darts, anyone?"

It was more than a body could take in, and yet, one horror stood out in the mirror's silvered depths - one that seemed to be worse than any other. "Hair?" Helen got out, the metal-filled piercing in her mouth still garbling her speech.

"All gone," Mary said equably, "and quite permanently. Cue balls have more hair than you do.  More than you will ever have again."

The wail Helen let out was music to Mary's ears, and for several moments, she simply stood there, watching this woman suffer.  Finally, she decided she'd had enough, and removed another hypo from her pocket.  "Time to get you packed.  Enjoy Thailand, Helen," she purred as she again drove the needle home and pressed on the plunger.

Helen was out cold within seconds.

~-~

"Well, I think that went well. Ready for stage two, Peggy Sue?" Mary asked as she left Helen's room.

"I guess," a richly southern-accepted contralto voice responded.  "I think we mighta gone a bit over the top with this, Mary," Peggy Sue said, looking at her own reflection.

"I think you're cute," Veronica laughed.

"Right. Then why didn't YOU volunteer for this gig?"

"Not tall enough," was the quick answer, which was true.

Peggy Sue had again transformed herself into Helen Martin's twin - except this time she was the NEW Helen's twin.  Right down to the highly dramatic makeup, the huge breasts and a few tattoos, visible where her. . . somewhat skimpy outfit left uncovered skin.  

"Mr. Webb and his people are gonna be close by, right?" Ed asked, concerned. "Girl looks like that, dressed like that? She wouldn't be safe in church let alone on the streets of Fort Lauderdale."

"Not to worry, sweetie." Mary reassured him, "All Peggy Sue has to do is get checked in to that hotel.  Jack will take care of getting our package in to sleep off the sleeping drug and then getting her out afterwards."

"I look like some adolescent boy's wetdream - all boob and no brain," Peggy Sue groused.

"Ah, but you know it's not permanent," Ed put in gently.  "For you, it's just a costume and a means to an end.  You can take it all off as soon as you have Helen tucked in."

"An' don't think I won't!" the southern belle scowled. "Well, c'mon, Mr. Webb. Let's get this over with."

~-~

Helen again felt the dawning of consciousness and tried to wake up, tried to escape the nightmare.  Finally, she managed to force her eyes open, but when she did, they were greeted by the two huge mountains peaking up through her sheets - mountains where two quite pretty breasts had once been.

The nightmare was real.

Shakily, she tried to get to her feet, and nearly fell. Her feet! What the hell had they done to her feet?  Looking down, she discovered what they'd done. Black boots, she saw, so shiny they looked wet, with heels that had to be seven inches - so tall that her tip-toes were all that could reach the floor.  

"What the hell did they call boots like these?" she wondered aloud, and then remembered. "Ballet boots."  Helen reached down to find whatever held the boots in place and her hand found the padlocks before she saw them.  The damned things were LOCKED on her.  "DAMN!" she cursed, trying without success to open the heavy brass security devices.

Using the bed and other furniture for balance, she managed to get to her feet, and began looking around.  Where the hell was she? Was she in Thailand? If she was, it was an awfully nice room for a whore. Then she saw the envelope, taped to the mirror above several strange bottles and tubes.  She slowly tip-toed over and tore it down when she saw her name typed onto the flap.  It had an odd, chemical odor to it.

She sat down, and opened the missive; afraid to read it, and at the same time, afraid not to.

Dear Ms. Martin - or perhaps I should say - 
Hey there, Baldie-Girl!

Good morning, and contrary to what you see, it is a better morning than you might at first believe. Well, maybe it is better. In the final analysis, that will be entirely up to you.  Be a good little girl, and you just might live through this experience relatively whole and hearty.

The large bottle you see on the dresser contains a chemical that will dissolve the special adhesives that hold the artificial breasts onto your skin.  It will also dissolve the adhesive holding those oh-so-lovely and so-very-full red lips in place, but you might want to be careful there.  The chemical is VERY toxic if swallowed - even in the tiniest amounts - which wouldn't be enough to soften the adhesive, anyway. The adhesive will break down on its own in no more than a week. I'd be patient if I were you, but that's your choice.  You've been warned.

Unfortunately, nothing will dissolve the deep-dye cosmetics that currently have you in such, shall we say, high color, nor the tattoos now decorating various parts of your anatomy.  The cosmetics, and MOST of the tattoos will, however, wear off in time.  Once you get out of your little nest here, and get some cosmetics of your own, you'll find it possible to cover up the relatively light shades we used - except on your lips - but you'll need to be careful to keep your makeup fresh and perfect for the next six weeks or so, unless you want to look like a rejected extra from a bad remake of a Mae West movie.

The hair on your head will grow back. Until then, you can go au naturel - some men do find the bald look sexy, or you can wear a wig. You'll find one in the closet for your use until you can make other arrangements. Brunette, I'm afraid, and not all that attractively styled, but it will have to do until you can purchase something else. Sadly, all the other hair on your body HAS been permanently removed, but on the plus side, you'll never have to shave your legs or underarms, nor tolerate a bikini waxing ever again. Aren't you just the LUCKIEST girl?

Just to prove we are serious, however, the piercings are real, at least the ones that are in YOU and not in the fake breasts.  You'll find that we pierced your real nipples, too, so be a little cautious when you remove the prostheses - you might pull off something important.
Except for your lovely nose ring, you'll find that the barbells and rings decorating your body will be very difficult to remove. In fact, you will need some tools to remove our little adornments to your tongue, nipples, navel and pubis. The devices themselves are made with very strong, rather thick metal while the threads and catches have been sealed shut with epoxy. Be sure to speak slowly and enunciate very carefully as it is difficult to be understood when your mouth is full.

Bolt cutters, perhaps? You'll need those to cut the padlocks we used on those lovely high-heeled ballet boots, anyway.  Good luck finding a hardware store, by the way.  

In any case, the various holes in your body should soon heal and close up quickly once you manage to remove the rings, but do be sure to clean them in antiseptic you'll find on the vanity at least twice a day for the next week or so. You wouldn't want an infection, especially down there - it would be rather difficult to explain at the emergency room, wouldn't it?

The tattooed-on false eyebrows, and that oh-so-sexy little bullseye above your labia - are also permanent - little reminders to you, but hidden easily enough when your real brows grow back or when you are dressed.

Besides those lovely high heels, we've left you some clothing- a thin fifties-style sweater and a poodle skirt with built in petticoats to show off your legs (and your ass if you bend over too much).  Hope you enjoy making a spectacle of yourself because we've left you no lingerie, so those nipple rings should show to advantage through the scratchy wool of that undersized sweater - even on your cup-size-challenged real bosom.

By the way, Helen, we DO know about those numbered accounts. In your purse, along with your identification papers and your credit cards, you'll find a listing of those accounts - complete with bank location and current balances - just so you know I'm telling you the truth. We have decided not to remove the money from them, but we could have, and still can in the future.  Consider it the carrot side of the carrot and stick deal.  If you ever try to cross us - we'll take that money and leave you so poor you'll have to peddle your ass on the street just to make your daily bread.  

And we WILL be watching you from now on.  That's actually to your benefit, for now, because we'll make sure nothing TOO bad happens to you while you're still 'enjoying' the benefits of our 'enhancements'.  But even when you think you're back to normal, we'll still be watching, and we'll still be ready both to defend ourselves and to make real the life which you are currently experiencing only the merest glimpse. It could still be your life, Ms. Martin - for real and forever.

In case you don't quite fully appreciate this threat, let me be very explicit. Should you make or be perceived to make any attempt - ANY attempt at all - on Mr. Edward Davis or any of his friends, you will be back on my island within forty eight hours.  Once there, my dear Ms. Martin, everything you see in your mirror will be made quite real.  The gross breast enlargements, the complete hair removal, the piercings, the tattoos and the permanent cosmetics - it will all be real and very, very permanent.

As will your one-way ticket to a Thailand brothel.  

I very badly WANTED to do all that to you this time - was fully prepared to do it this time, but Ed Davis prevailed on me to change my mind.  So I have.  I think he's too soft hearted and forgiving for his own good, but there you have it. Perhaps I am a bit soft hearted, too, Ms. Martin, but only with people who rate that consideration from me.

In your case, however, I am NOT at all softhearted.  In fact, I find myself fervently hoping you DO stupidly try something against Ed.  I am still very angry with you for your tricking me into violating the most sacred tenets of the Delta of Venus, and besides - selling you to a whorehouse will net me a very tidy profit.

Remember how easily I took Edward and how easily I took you.  I can do it again.

I WILL do it again, unless you are a very, VERY good girl.

Good bye, Ms. Martin.  For your own sake, pray that we never meet again in your lifetime.

Mary O'Hurley
La Marquesa

Shaking, as much from the residual effects of the chemicals in her body as from the threats in the letter, Helen set the note down on the dresser.  Gathering herself, she began to examine the bottles.  She found the container of liquid antiseptic and set that one aside. The other held the solvent. Opening that one, she dabbed a bit of the contents onto a cotton ball and wiped it up and down above her left breast.  A seam appeared where the prosthesis and her own skin met, and the cotton ball came away flesh-toned.

Well, she thought, at least O'Hurley hadn't lied about that. Then, she brightened. And the stupid slut left the letter, hadn't she?  If it wasn't proof of kidnaping, it certainly was of intended malice.  Only it was typed.  Could she link it to the bitch, somehow? Maybe there were finger prints on it or something.  Helen went back to the letter and was reaching out for it when the paper literally burst into flame. It was consumed to ash in mere instants.

A single tear tracked down Helen's brightly colored cheek. In that instant, she realized that she'd lost - completely.  Then, she turned to the chemicals, and began to restore what little she could of herself and her dignity.

~-~

"Mr. Tolivar?" Derrick started at his name, having been deep in thought trying to decide what should be his next step when the secretary stuck her head into his cubicle. Only then did he realize how . . . disrespectful? Yes, that was the word - disrespectful her tone had been.

"Yes, Miss Simmons?" he replied, infusing his words with every bit of cold disdain he could manage, in hope of wiping away the smirk he now saw on her face.

"The Director's secretary just called. You're to report there immediately. . . . sir." The last word had obviously been added as an afterthought, and carried with it a blatant insult.

Well, he'd deal with her later - once he figured out how to take over Helen's position - if he could now that she'd gotten the boot from Veronica. Damn, that had been sudden - here one day, her desk cleared and her gone the next. Hadn't Helen at least SEEN that coming? Couldn't she have given him SOME warning? Just so he could have had gotten himself a little maneuvering room? Somehow, he was certain she could have done so, but she hadn't warned him, had she?

That rankled, for her mentorship and sponsorship of his career goals at the agency had been his price for helping her in her little scheme to take down Davis.  And for all those times he'd abased himself for her perverse little pleasures. Hell, his ass still bore the remnants of the last set of welts she'd raised with that damned cane of hers.  And she couldn't even be bothered to warn him when she left the company under strange circumstances.

Still, whatever the reasons were, they must not include their little setup of Ed Davis - that was accessory to kidnaping, wasn't it? If whoever had given Helen her walking papers had known about that, and by extension, about Derrick Tolivar's involvement in that operation, surely Helen would not have gotten off so easily.  

Suddenly, Derrick felt better.  Of course that HAD to be the case, which meant that HE was in the clear.  And with Helen gone, and assuming the water-cooler intelligence was true that Davis was also leaving the shop, then that meant Veronica Johnson's replacement would be someone from the outside - someone who didn't share the locals' unfair and prejudiced views on the abilities of one Derrick Tolivar.

The more he thought about it, the more things just got better and better, and if the replacement was a woman - even a merely halfway attractive woman? Why, that would be the best of all possible worlds.  He'd have Helen's old job inside of two months.

Smiling broadly, Derrick stood, straightened his coat and tie, and headed for the director's office.  It was only as he approached the desk of the director's secretary that he thought to wonder who had summoned him so preemptorially. Wasn't Veronica still out of town?

~-~

The executive secretary's "The director will see you now, MISTER Tolivar," was, if anything, even less respectful than his own secretary's address had been, causing a frisson of anxiety to curl up Derrick's spine. Suppose that bitch went out of way to poison the mind of the new director against him before he had the chance to demonstrate his undoubted abilities? Secretaries, in his view, often wielded far too much of their boss's power.

Derrick forced his features into a welcoming smile, opened the office door, and froze in shock when he recognized who waited for him behind the executive desk.
"Shut the door, Derrick," Delores - Didi - Conners ordered from behind the desk nameplate declaring her as Managing Director, "And take a seat. We need to have a little talk."

Swallowing hard against his suddenly dry throat, Derrick did as he was ordered. 

Things, he thought, just couldn't get much worse.

But he was wrong.

~-~

"You can't prove I did ANY of those things," Derrick railed, after listening to Didi's quietly delivered recitation of all the things he HAD done to promote Helen at Ed Davis' expense.

"No, I can't," Didi agreed, equably.

"Because I DIDN'T do them!"

"Oh, you did them, all right - I'm convinced of that, and more importantly, the new Vice President for East Coast Operations is convinced of that.  But since I can't prove it, I'll tell you what I can do, Derrick.  I'm placing you on a formal letter of notice and instruction. Your work has not been up to standard, and unless your performance improves and you meet the goals laid out in that letter, you will be terminated.  Your new supervisor, Mr. Alan Edmonds, will evaluate you on a monthly basis. Failure to show adequate progress toward your goals will result in termination."

"Alan Edmonds? But. . but he's GAY!"

"And what has that to do with anything? This is an Equal Employment Opportunity shop and the only thing we discriminate against is incompetence.  As to Alan, besides being openly gay, and much more to the point, he's also highly qualified, an excellent worker and as smart as they come.  Any more questions, Mr. Tolivar?"

Derrick shook his head, stunned, and rose to his feet. Didi nodded, and indicated he could leave.  Slowly, he trudged to the door.  He stopped, just before opening it, and turned back to smile winningly at Didi. "I won't let you down, boss," he forced himself to say.  "Good knowing we have a strong new hand on the reins."

Didi looked at the man, utter contempt radiating from her. "Derrick, your first and only warning. Don't try that suck-up shit with me - it won't work. First of all, you're not my type - I like MEN, and secondly, even if you WERE a man, I wouldn't consider taking up with an employee or colleague. Now get the hell out of my office. My secretary will have your letter ready by tomorrow morning."

Derrick felt more than just a physical door closing behind him as he left the director's. . . Didi's office.  He'd never have a seat on the family board now.

Chapter 36: Closing the Contract

"It went well, then?" Ed asked Mary.

"So Peggy Sue assures me.  She's on her way home, now."

"De-bosomed and de-colored, I suspect," Ed grinned.

"It was the first thing she told me when she called," the dark haired domina smiled back.  "So, all's well, or so the saying goes."

"Ummm, Mary?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"I was wondering . . . "

~-~

Veronica let herself into the rooms she shared with Edward on Mary's island.  She'd spent the late afternoon through early evening walking along the shore, trying to deal with the inner conflict the treatment of Helen had evoked in the petite redhead's soul.  On one hand, they'd had to do something about Helen.  She'd posed too dangerous a threat to ignore.  The woman had tried, on no fewer than three occasions, to cause one or both of them mental or bodily harm.  There was no doubt in Veronica's mind that Helen was spiteful enough, vindictive enough to keep trying until she achieved some form of vengeance for being passed over for promotion at the agency.

On the other hand, what they'd done to her - using the craft of dominance to punish a non-consenting person - was abhorrent to Veronica, both as a person and as a member of the Delta of Venus.  Unfortunately, the more legal path - that of using the law and the courts - had little chance of success. There was, according to Mr. Webb, at best a forty-sixty chance of winning, and even then, Helen would have been free to plot her plots and weave her schemes.
And she'd have been more pissed off than ever, too.

Fear was the only tool that seemed to have a chance of stopping her from taking further steps to hurt Ed without killing her.  Helen had certainly believed Mary's threats.  Heavens, Veronica thought, SHE'D believed Mary's threats, and she was in on the development of their little plan of vengeance and retribution.

Only time would tell if she'd compromised too much of herself in this plan.

Tired from her time in the sun, wind and surf, Veronica reached out and turned on the room lights.  "Ed must have gone to bed without me," she said to herself, and then stopped short when she saw the figure standing in the circle of light she'd just illuminated.

"Edddd?!??!" she squeaked at the white-clad figure. She recognized the shape, and the costume - how could she not? This was one of Mistress Verita's favorite swerves for her sissy subs. The short-haired black wig was a cap of tightly coiled curls.  There were the familiar doll-like circles of rouge, and the spidery false eyelashes around huge, deep-shadowed eyes.  And most of all, there were lipstick-thickened angel-bow lips that made her mouth water.

Mincing up as best she could in the killer heels, 'Betty' then went down on one knee, and held up a small velvet box to Veronica.  Hands trembling, she took the box and opened it - a beautiful ruby and pearl ring glittered up at Veronica's suddenly teary eyes.  "Marry me, Mistress, please?" Betty's squeaky voice begged.

Her heart overflowing, Veronica nonetheless felt the need to ask, "You're sure, my love? Very sure you want all that being mine entails?  I won't be an easy keeper, you know.  I really do love being the Domme."

"I know that, and I also know that I'm sure," Ed's voice answered, before rising. "Let me show you how sure." 

With a sultry smile and hip wiggle, 'Betty' minced her way over to the music system in the corner of the suite. She pressed a button, and music began to play, and then, 'Betty' began to dance - sort of - and began to sing - also sort of . . .

"I wanna be loved by you, just you,
And nobody else but you,
I wanna be loved by you, alone!
Boop-boop-a-doop!

Veronica stood transfixed, watching her beloved put on a silly little show for no other reason than to please her - with obviously no concern whatsoever for any other consideration such as masculine ego, and was enraptured.

'Betty' finished her song with a flourish, but messed up her grand finale by slipping on the heel of her left shoe. In a wild tumble of white satin and silk, she fell ingloriously onto a nearby chair, knocking the black wig askew and thoroughly compromising what insignificant modesty the very short skirt MIGHT have afforded her.  "Boop-boop a gum-droppin' Doop," she finished, quite disgustedly.

Veronica threw back her head and howled with laughter. "Good God above, the man MUST love me," she gasped out between bursts of laughter.

"Well, didn't I just SAY so?" Ed grumped from the chair which seemed determined to hold him in its clutches.

An instant later, Veronica was in her beloved's arms, kissing and being kissed thoroughly.

A very long time later, she said, "Yes, dear, I'll marry you, but there's just this one little thing. . ."

"Oh?"

"I don't think Betty ever sang that song - I think it was Marilyn Monroe. You'll need to try again when you're suitably costumed."

"Marilyn Mon-ROE!? Gumdrops, but MISTRESS! She was a BLONDE!"

The tiny redhead snuggled closer into Betty, and gave a girlish little giggle. "Don't worry, dear, you'll just be SO cute," Veronica assured her soul's mate.

Then she returned her mouth to the much more important business of celebrating and then consummating their betrothal.