Soulmates

SoulMates Part Four: First Times

SoulMates Part Four: First Times

Next Part Five: Learning and Loving: Monique
Previous Part Three: Life and Love Decisions

Chapter 7: Appetizers: Cold Tongue and Hot Rump.

Dried semen does not wash out of lace. At least, dried semen did not wash out of that specific pair of lace panties. I washed them three times in accordance with the directions on the box of "dainty washables detergent", to no avail. Then I tried washing them by hand. They were permanently stained. Not only that, by the time I had reached that conclusion, they had also disintegrated. I tried to decide what to do. That this "little failure" would be used as an impetus for whatever she had planned for Friday night was a given. It was like reading some of the setups in the books she had given me. It would not surprise me at all if she knew this would be the outcome and had set up the little session today for that very purpose, the devious little witch.

It became something of a matter of pride to me to have at least a bit of one-up on her over this. The more I had studied the books she had given me, the more I saw D/S in the same light as Plebe Summer and Plebe Year at the Academy. Essentially an artificially imposed set of games and rituals that, although they supposedly had a noble purpose, could quickly degrade to something cruel and hurtful in the hands of humans. I decided to use what I had learned at the Naval Academy to deal with this situation. In this case, the Honor Code came to mind. It would do very nicely.

On arrival at work, I checked Monique's calendar and found that she was free just before lunch. I penciled myself into the time slot so that Roselie would not fill it with someone else.

About mid morning, I made a quick trip to the local stores, and returned in time for my appointment with Monique. I knocked and entered her office. She gave me a curious look when I walked in. "Yes, Nathan, what is it? You don't usually set an appointment." I handed her a note that I had carefully hand written on parchment stationary, then put into and envelope. The envelope was addressed to Mistress Monique.

She opened it, read the one line missive ("nathan humbly requests a few moments of the Mistress Monique's time.") and set it to one side to look at me thoughtfully. Standing at attention, I still kept my eyes one her lovely face. Curiosity fired green highlights in her hazel eyes. Curiosity, and something else; something that made her look sad. Finally, she reached over to activate the door looks.

She remained quiet for a very long time. Then, she said. "Mr. Evans, what is it you wish to say to me?" She seemed to be preparing herself for unpleasant news.

"Yes, Mistress. It is the custom of my former occupation to admit failures immediately so that they can be handled as simply and as quickly as possible. There is also the Code of Honor, which demands that any offense be reported, regardless of the cost to one's self." She looked thoroughly confused. I handed her a second envelope, which she opened, looked into and then spilled onto her desk. She frowned at the contents, then looked at me oddly.

"Mistress," I began, as fraying black fragments of cloth floated to her desk. "I was unable to clean your panties. When I tried to remove the stains from the seams, it finally fell apart."

She considered the slips of gauzy cloth on her desk. "Why bring them to me, now, Mr. Evans. I would have found out when you did not have them tonight, or you could have shopped and bought an identical or very similar pair. I might never have known."

Oh, you would have known, I thought, somehow, you would have known. "No, Mistress, my integrity is not something I will play games with. I held on to my self respect this long in my life, I won't surrender it now."

Her face was alight with what I chose to interpret as puzzlement and surprise. Whatever she expected, it was not that I would play plebe and confess early. "What is it that you expect me to do with this, Mr. Evans?"

I would have shrugged if I had not been standing at attention. "I frankly do not know, Mistress Monique. As you know, I am a novice at this. It has been my experience, however, that more trouble comes from trying to hide problems, than from facing them directly, and getting on with it."

"And," her voice was somewhat sardonic, now, "therefore, I can expect this type of 'problem facing' in the future, Mr. Evans?"

"Mistress, I am a man first, and I am the man that I was before I agreed to this... experiment in submission. I choose to face problems directly and openly. That" and I nodded towards the pile of scrap fabric on her desk, "is a problem."

She said and did very little for what felt like a very long time. Then she gave a rueful smile and shook her head. The doors unlocked. "Very well, Mr. Evans, that will be all, thank you."

I did not know if I had accomplished anything positive or not. I guessed that I would find out that night.

I already had her home address and phone number. As her assistant, I needed to reach her at any hour of the day or night, just as she needed to be able to reach me. Detailed directions arrived when Roselie filled my in-basket, later that afternoon. Monique's personal cream-toned stationary caught stood out starkly against the stack of white paper and brown intra-office envelopes. Inside was a hand drawn map and orders to be at her door precisely at seven pm.

Her home was in the exclusive and expensive Great Falls area of Northern Virginia. An area of huge houses, large wooded lots and developments built with privacy in mind, only the very well off can afford to live there. I pulled off the Washington Beltway at the last exit prior to the American Legion Cabin John Bridge that would have taken me into Maryland, and headed towards Great Falls National Park on Old Georgetown Road. I was intentionally early, and drove past her driveway and went down to a small shopping plaza on a side road and parked. Pulling out my rechargeable razor, I shaved off the day's growth of beard.

I tried to rationalize what I was about to do. No matter how many ways I looked on the evening ahead, the most optimistic scenario for me was that it was an means to the end I desired. Was I excited? I was anxious, uncertain, maybe even a little afraid. It really did not matter that everything I had learned pointed toward my safety. I had never done anything like this before. My ego, my self image, my pride were being presented on a platter to this woman for her to toy with.

The crux of my problem was that, to me at least, our goals for this evening were so different. Hell, I was not sure I even knew her goals and motivations for this evening. Was this really a "compatibility test", an attempt on her part to ensure that I would and could satisfy basic needs of hers? Or was it an attempt to run me off, to discourage me. No answers presented themselves. I looked at my car clock. 6:45pm. It was time.

I drove back to the entry to her driveway. The paved access was cut out of densely wooded forest, and wound along so that I soon lost sight of the road.

Her home brought me up short. It was huge. The house was a square Victorian style house with a gabled roof, and a circular drive to the front door. Four or five of houses like my own home would easily fit within the dimensions of that mansion. A multicar garage was off to one side of the drive, shaped like a carriage house. I knew Monique was very well-to-do, executives at our company were very well paid, but this place bespoke wealth that I was totally unprepared for. I parked my car in front, as directed in her note, and making one last check of my appearance, I climbed the brick steps to her door. One last look at my watch, 6:58. Taking one last, deep cleansing breath, I rang the bell.

Monique herself answered the door, somewhat to my surprise. An austere British butler in white tie and tails would not have seemed out of place. "Nathan, on time as always. Come in, please." I followed her into the house and gave her the brightly wrapped parcel that held one of my purchases earlier in the day. Her eyebrows rose suggestively. "For me?"

God, I was no good at this at all. "A hostess gift, Monique, in gratitude for the dinner invitation."

A dangerously red fingernail rose to equally vermillion lips in a very provocative move. "Now, how should I take this? I wonder if it might be construed as a bribe?" Her tone was coquettish, teasing, and it grated on my already tight nerves.

"Give me some credit for some intelligence, Monique. It is nothing of the kind!" I snapped. Monique took a step backwards at my vehemence. "It is what I said it was. I already know that there is nothing that I can or will do that will change any aspect of whatever games you have planned tonight in my favor." I took a deep cleansing breath. "I told you I was going to pay court to you. That gift is part of courting. If you fear for one little moment that it might unduly soften you or inhibit you in some small way, then don't open it until after I leave."

Her gaze was calm as she regarded me trying to regain my control. She set the gift aside on a small table on the foyer. "I see." Her voice was no longer teasing or gay. "Well, then we will leave it here and you can give it to me later, if you are still inclined. Please follow me, Nathan." She turned to lead me down the hall toward a lit room on the west side of the house.

Monique was wearing a ankle length caftan made of blue velvet. It was then that I realized that she was easily as tall as me. A quick perusal of her revealed the cause of that anomaly: high heeled, stiletto shoes. Her makeup was more vivid, more dramatic than I had ever seen it before. Her hair was in a shaggy ponytail down her back, the auburn of her hair strikingly dissident with the rich blue of her caftan.

The room she brought me into was a den, with huge glass windows making up most of the western wall. A brilliant spring sunset colored the evening sky and provided what little light was needed. She offered me a seat in a conversation couch facing Nature's light show. "Nathan, we are going to talk before we do anything else tonight. Would you like something to drink?"

I turned in my seat to see her standing by a wet bar on the other side of the room. "Some soda water with a twist of lemon or lime, if you have it, please?" She mixed two of those and glided back to the conversation pit. She handed me the drink, then sat down across from me.

"You are still not into this, are you, Nathan? None of the anticipation or teasing have made it any more appealing to you." her voice and her smile was rueful. I shook my head. "I can't reassure you, Nathan. This is the beginning. By your choice, it may also be the ending, but the route to being my mate goes through my dungeons and my darker fantasies. If you want the softer times, the gentler times, you will have to give me the other times I need; you will have to give me this."

"I told you that I had to try, Monique, and I will try."

She raised her glass to me and smiled. "Very well. As much as I would like to have you on the edge of anticipation for the entire evening, that might be too much for a first time. Besides, I want you to do justice to my wonderful dinner, and I don't want you losing it all over my carpeting. We will see to your punishment and training first. Tonight will be a go-no go test, Nathan. At any point during the scene, you have but to stand up, dress and walk out the door. You will not be bound in any way, except by your own will in adherence to my will. Otherwise, the scene will end when I speak your safeword, followed by your first name. Do you understand, Nathan?"

"Yes, Mistress Monique, I understand. I will do my best."

She smiled slightly and stood to take my glass. "I am sure you will, Nathan. Mr. Evans, Present Yourself." The formal command to start the scene. I stood, and came to attention. "Mr. Evans, I want you to prepare yourself. Go to that corner, and remove your jacket and all your clothing below your waist. Fold your clothes neatly and then stand with your nose in the corner, touching both walls. Do not move until you are told to." Before I could answer, she had spun on those incredible heels and had left the room.

Chapter 8: Breaking His Maiden I

I had never realized how incredibly alone you can feel standing alone and nude, or almost nude, in an otherwise empty room. The corner she had placed me in was directly opposite the windows on the western wall. I knew that the house was isolated, that there was no one except Monique to see my bare ass, and I was there because I wanted Monique to see my bare ass. And knowing all that, wanting all that, I still felt exposed, embarrassed and vulnerable.

New, yet oddly familiar stimuli washed over me, overwhelmed me. The smell of paint irritated my sinuses as my nose pinched into the corner. My ears strained for sound, and picked up nothing but my own heart beating and my lungs breathing. Deprived of light by their proximity to the walls, my mind's eye created its own color. Swirling and flashing, psychedelic patterns formed and grew, making me feel faintly nauseous. Faintly sour flavors filled my mouth, making me grimace and swallow to clear my mouth. Air moving from an air conditioning vent snaked past my perspiring buttocks, causing goose pimples to pop up and chills to shiver up my back. I fought for control, for calm, trying to trust this woman I wanted to spend my life with.

Time began to lose meaning. I seemed to retreat into my mind, trying to ignore the physical discomfort of my legs and my face. I was again reminded of being at the Academy, standing at attention in ranks, waiting for the inspecting officer to make his grand entrance (always late it seemed) and pronounce judgement on hours of preparation.

A line of white fire sketched down my back snapped me back to reality. The sudden change in sensation was nearly agony to my stimulus deprived senses. Only 24 years of discipline kept me from breaking position as every muscle in my body went rigid. Dimly, I realized that she had returned and run a single finger nail lightly down my shirt covered spine; a single, blood red finger nail. My back muscles twitched uncontrollably as after shocks ran up and down my torso.

"Hello, Mr. Evans. I am back." Her voice was a sweet, whispering rasp, her breath was minty as it displaced the chemical odor of the painted walls. "I am impressed, little man. You did not add to your already impressive list of misdemeanors by moving without permission. Now, Mr. Evans, please raise your hands and lock them together above your head. Reach as high as you can." Her hand moved under my shirt to run sharp pointed nails up and down my taut rib cage. I fought with my entire will to maintain her ordered position against the tortuous tickling. Tears formed from repressed laughter and from the strain of holding rebellious limbs in place against the tormenting stimuli. She backed away just before I broke totally.

"Very impressive, Mr. Evans. I begin to think you will provide me the challenge I need to grow. Lower your arms back to your side, then slowly turn to face me. I want to see the body I am about to punish."

The relief of lowering my arms was incredible. I paused for a moment, regaining my composure, then turned about. When I came to face her, I literally gaped in amazement. What I expected, I don't know, but what I saw was not it. She was the most incredibly outlandish, sexiest woman I had ever seen.

Gone was the caftan. In its place were black leather jodhpurs. The calf high cuffs of the trousers were complemented by sheer black stockings with sequined trim and those incredible spiked heels. A black satin top, tightly formfitting, with a low cut neckline presented her lovely breasts to perfection. Black satin sleeves, skin tight and running the full length of her arms , connected to the top at her armpit, but leaving her shoulders beautifully bare. A one inch wide collar of black velvet with an antique cameo attached, emphasized the slim elegance of her neck. Her hair and cosmetics seemed the same as before, yet different. She seemed harder, colder now. Probably because she was those things now.

I shook my head, trying to understand when a stinging sensation across my chest brought my attention back to her right hand, where a black crop stood ready to strike again.

"That impertinence just added to the penance you owe me this evening, Mr. Evans. I am not here for your entertainment. I am your Mistress and you will not look at me in such an insolent manner again, sir. And you were doing so well, too. How disappointing." She did not sound disappointed. The crop reached out and lifted my cock with its rigid tip. "Oh my, what have we here? Are we finally getting excited, Mr. Evans? Your little boy tool seems to be."

I was nonplused to realize that I was becoming erect. Every sense was focused on her. I was aware of her, submerged in her to my most basic level. This was the woman I loved and I was here for her to hurt me, but still the essential sensuality of being with her, one on one, was affecting me, exciting me. Every critical square inch of her body was covered, and I could not have been more turned on by her appearance if she had been decked out in gauze and see through silk.

She reached over and gripped me at the root of my cock. Experienced fingers teased at me, making me harder in spite of my resolve not to let this happen. Involuntary shudders started in the pit of my stomach as she continued her gentle, thorough possession of my manhood. My eyes shuttered closed, half in pleasure, half in concentration to control my response to the delicious feelings she was evoking.

Eye crossing pain snapped my lids open, and started my knees to crumple. Her point of attack had shifted in an instant from my penis to my scrotum, gripping my testicles and squeezing with considerable force. I was paralyzed by the sudden, unexpected pain, but I fought to remain standing. Her grip relented to a firm, but not painful grip, permitting me to stay upright. She moved up close, her face in mine. "I did not say you could get hard, Mr. Evans. Here, while you are presenting yourself to me, that belongs to me. I say when it can be hard. I say when it can cum. If it disobeys, or acts without permission, you, its bearer, will be punished for misuse of what belongs to me. This." She pulled down sharply on my scrotum, bringing me to my knees and following me down, but still holding my balls gently. "is only a sample. I have much more interesting things I can do to a disobedient cock, Mr. Evans. Do you understand?" She punctuated each syllable with a pinching squeeze.

"Yes, Mistress." The words came out on a inhalation of pain. "I.... understand." Instantly, the grip was gone and she was standing above me. I took stock of my condition. Although I was still intensely aware of my balls, I was not really in pain anymore. She had used the minimum force to make her point. Grimly, I tried to stand, but was stopped by a sharp heel on my shoulder.

"No, stay there, Mr. Evans. We have some things to deal with before we go any further. From now on, you will keep your eyes to the floor unless otherwise directed when you are with Mistress Monique. I do not want a repeat of such an insolent inspection of my person by a slave. Secondly, we need a greeting for you to honor me with. Normally, I insist that my slaves kiss the toes of my proffered shoe, however, I like the way you kissed my hand earlier. From now on, sir, at the beginning and end of a session, you will beg permission to pay me homage. When granted, you will kiss my left hand. I will expect you to demonstrate your desire to please me in that kiss, Mr. Evans. Hold nothing back. Show me how much you value me. Do you understand these orders?"

I swallowed around a huge blockage in my throat. "Yes, Mistress. I understand." I took another deep breath. "Mistress, may I please pay you your due homage?"

"Very good, Mr. Evans. I wondered if you would catch that. An intelligent, attentive slave is such a joy to train. Yes, you may."

Gently, reverently, I took her hand and raised it to my lips. I fueled that kiss with my dreams for long nights of love, of days filled with laughter and of years warmed by companionship and shared happiness. She seemed reluctant to withdraw her hand when I ended the caress. Was it my imagination she seemed to swallow hard before telling me that was adequate for a first effort, but that she expected regular and continued improvement in my veneration of her person.

She swirled away and planted herself in a chair that was conveniently just across from me in the room. I had not noticed that 'throne' in my early explorations of the room. Now, that purpose was obvious. "Look up at me, Mr. Evans." She was seated in a languorous position, legs crossed, her arms resting on the arm rests with the crop dangling from its wrist strap. God, she was erotically beautiful. I hoped to high heaven she wanted me hard, because there was no way, short of orgasm or castration, that I was going to soft any time soon.

"Mr. Evans. You have transgressions to pay for this evening. First, is your failure to call me by my honorific on Tuesday. That is five demerits. The second is the wanton destruction of property that I had put in your keeping for cleaning. That is 20 demerits. The third is your insolent perusal of my person. 25 demerits. And finally, you have achieved and maintained an erection without permission. 50 demerits. That is a total of 100 demerits. A not insignificant total, sir, and one you would be wise not to repeat. Since this is, shall we say, your maiden voyage, I am inclined to be lenient. Twenty five demerits will be expunged by a hand spanking, one stroke per demerit. The remaining demerits will be paid out in one stroke of my hairbrush per three demerits, or another twenty five strokes.

She stood and walked over to me. Her hands came down around to loosen my tie, and then slip it around so that the tail was held in her hand like a leash. "Heel, Mr. Evans." She jerked lightly on my tie and started walking back to the conversation grouping. She had me get up and bend over the back of the plush, overstuffed couch. I had to stand on tiptoe to bend over the thick cushions. My head felt incredibly heavy hanging below my body, unsupported by anything but my neck.

I held the position, waiting for the pain to start, fighting to hold my composure. Nothing happened. I stiffened in shock when she sat on the couch beside me. She rested my head in her lap and gently caressed my tightly wound buttocks. Her voice whispered to me. "You are doing fine, dear. Try to relax. Let yourself feel what comes next without prejudice. Look beyond the immediacy of the pain for the strength within you. Meet me halfway here, darling. Find the pleasure that grows in the fertile heat of the pain." With that, she bent down to kiss me on my cheek, and then left my line of vision.

The warmth of her hand rested on my right ass cheek. She was petting me, soothing me. "Mr. Evans. I expect you to challenge your punishment. Do not try and hide from the strokes. I will not permit it. Lift yourself to me for each strike. If you do not, I will order you to "present", indicating that you are not in position. More than one order to present per stroke adds two strokes of that implement to your total. Do you understand?"

God, what was there to understand? "Yes, Mistress, I understand."

"Very well, Sir. I will remind you one last time. This is a go-no go test. You may leave at any time, and the test ends, as will our relationship. Mr. Evans, you are sentenced to twenty five strokes of the hand on the buttocks and upper thighs. You will receive four strokes to the buttocks, then one to each of your thighs for the twenty four. The last stroke is a wild card and will be delivered where I want it without warning. Present, Mr. Evans."

I rose hard up onto the tips of my toes and was met with an explosion of sound, followed by a burning sting to my right cheek. I managed to hold position through the first sixteen, but the seventeenth, a strong blow to my right thigh broke my concentration and I slipped. I fought back onto my toes as the second stroke to my thighs, this one to my left exploded and made me yell for the first time. How could her hand be so small and be so hard? I took the next four to my ass, and was waiting for the next stroke to fall on my right thigh when fire exploded in my left thigh. I again fell off my toes and had to come back up to meet her. Tears were gathering in my eyes, as much from the strain of holding the rigid position as from the burning fire growing in my backside. Two blows, in rapid succession, exploded on my right thigh, and I collapsed again, yelling in pain this time.

A cool hand reached down to caress my cheek. That had to be her non-spanking hand. "Halfway there, Mr. Evans. You are doing well. I have done nothing to prepare you for this, to build up your resistance to this, and you are still taking a very severe spanking well. Only twenty five more to go, Mr. Evans. Come, honor me with your perseverance. Give me your determination to share my life.

"Mr. Evans, you are sentenced to twenty five strokes of the hair brush on the buttocks and upper thighs. You will receive four strokes to the buttocks, then one to each of your thighs for the twenty four. The last stroke is a wild card and will be delivered where I want it without warning. Present, Mr. Evans."

I closed my mind to everything but surviving the next few minutes. I focused on the goal, and I focused on the test. Breathing deeply to clear my head, I rose up on tiptoe, and screamed into the leather of the couch. Nothing had prepared me for the unrelenting overload of that stroke. By the fourth blow, I was crying freely. Each stroke to the thighs broke me, making me scream in pain. She had to order me to present after each of the thigh strikes after the sixteenth. Failure to respond to the first order to present after the next to the last thigh stroke earned two more to my total. Inwardly I cringed. How could I ever hold out if she applied all four remaining strokes to the same thigh. I was unable to answer, except to say that the alternative was unacceptable.

I closed my mind, tried to hide in some deep dark place, and rose to present for the last four strokes. They came in such rapid succession, that I hardly had time to register the first to my right thigh before the fourth had struck.

She did not strike the same spot. In fact, the last strokes, after the two mandatory thigh strokes rotated between my ass cheeks. Tears were running freely, wetting the fine leather. I was sweating like a pig. I was shivering uncontrollably.

I was also, to my utter amazement, as hard as I could ever remember being. Her hand encircled my rigid member while her other gently manipulated my balls and teased a thumb at my anus. "I want you hard, Mr. Evans, yesssss, that's it. good boy." Her whisper was as erotic as her teasing manipulation. Spasms, deep in my gut, pulled at my groin, pulled at my cock. She felt it and sped up her fondling. "Yes! that's it.. come for me, Mr. Evans, Come for your Mistress. Thank me for my loving correction by showing me how much it excited you to serve me and to submit to me."

All thought ended as I emptied my soul into her hand, and down the back of her sofa. I thrust into her hand, against the soft resistance of the sofa, orgasming harder than I could remember in a very long time.

I may have passed out, because my next memory is of soft hands and a cool glass caressing my cheeks and forehead. The hands helped steady me as I stood for the first time in what felt like hours. "Mr. Evans. I am going to leave you now. I want you to take that glass of wine and go stand in the corner until I call you." I tried to lift my head at the mention of the wine. "I know you don't drink much and I will not permit you to drink more than you should, but a glass of wine will do you good and I expect you to drink it. You have pleased me, Mr. Evans." her voice caught, and I realized she was emotionally overcome, too. "You have pleased me greatly. You may just be my soulmate, Nathan."

The end session key. I walked to her and knelt. "Mistress, may I please pay you your due homage?" I heard no answer, but her hand appeared in front of my eyes. I kissed it more fervently than before, then stood, and turned to my corner. The flash I caught of her in that moment showed rivulets of mascara down her cheeks, and a tremulous smile on her lips. I sighed happily and took a sip of the wine. Maybe I had won something tonight. It certainly felt that way.

Chapter 9: Dinner and Desert

I wanted, badly, to eat dinner standing up. Monique insisted that I sit and eat like a civilized person. Frankly, I did not feel very civilized. I felt even less so once I sat on her very hard dining room chairs and I told her so. Her answering laugh sent hot chills down my spine.

Dinner was superb. As with everything she did, Monique was an artist in the kitchen. A light, delicately spiced chicken stir fry that was filling, but not heavy, was served over perfectly cooked rice. She even coaxed me into having another glass of wine with the main course. My compliments were met with a teasing smile. "I will bet you say that to all the ladies who cook dinner for you dinner after they have roasted your bottom for you."

"Well, since you are the only lady who has ever done both, I must admit that you are correct. However, honest compliments are supposed to be accepted graciously, Monique. How am I ever going to move ahead with this courtship if you cannot appreciate the simplest flattery?" I said with a suitably hangdog expression.

That earned a throaty laugh. "Well, just so long as you understand that every gain has its own cost. Care to join me for a drink?"

I did not want to misunderstand her offer. "Monique, I've already had the wine you insisted that I drink earlier and the wine with dinner. I don't drink much anymore in any case and I could not drive home any time soon." Then I considered the opportunity to spend more time with her. "Oh, well, I'll call a cab. Will it be all right for me to leave my car here tonight and pick it up tomorrow?"

She giggled. "Silly man, whatever made you think you were going home, tonight?" She rose regally from her chair, beckoned to me to follow her, and then led the way back into the den. The room looked subtly different now, than it had just a couple of hours previously. It seemed brighter, less inhospitable. Part of the change in ambiance was the cheery fire crackling in the hearth. It might have been summer in Northern Virginia, but the air conditioning was more than adequate for comfort, and the softly flickering light of the fire relaxed me.

The major change, of course, was the difference in Monique. Gone was the starkly attractive, coldly beautiful Mistress who had taken me places I did not want to go and then brought me back safely. Monique had changed into a pretty, feminine jewel-bright blue dress. The skirt was knee length and full. She was wearing matching shoes with moderately tall high heels. Even her cosmetics were different, still vivid, but softer and more classically lovely. She looked for all the world like a woman entertaining her suitor after an intimate dinner for two.

Monique offered me a snifter of brandy, but I declined more to drink since I was already feeling the effects of what I had already imbibed. She gave me a glass of mineral water, and poured herself a brandy. Giving me a wicked smile, she sat down opposite me and asked, "Comfy, darling?"

"You know I'm not, witch. I salute your strong arm and your cruelty."

"I was, wasn't I." she said happily. "But, Nathan, you did so well. I'm so proud of you, darling." I nodded, benignly as a king accepting tribute, and raised my glass in salute.

An easy silence enveloped us. For myself, I was enjoying the quiet lassitude that always follows the completion of a stressful action. That I was with Monique made the quiet time better, somehow more important. I studied every nuance of her, how she held her snifter, where she rested her hands, the way her eyes moved and flashed in the fire's light. So I saw, before she said a word, when something intruded into her reveries, something that she did not quite understand.

"Nathan?" her tone was pensive, "Why did you confront Mistress Monique in my office today? I have thought about it several times since, and I am still not sure why you did that or what you hoped to achieve by it."

"I was angry about the game with the panties. I could not express that anger, since it became obvious to me that it was part of whatever it was you had planned for tonight. I had, after all, promised to go along, no matter how unreasonable I found the whole thing." I smiled ruefully at her grimace. "You surely did not expect whole hearted acceptance of that, did you? Sorry, but I am not made that way. So I fell back on the artificial behaviors that got me through similar situations in the past.

"There was a particularly obnoxious First Classman, that is a college senior for you civilian types, back at the Academy. First Classman, or Firsties, are God and the devil to the Plebes at the Academy, and he was the worst of the lot. He would set me up, put me in no win situations, hoping to catch me in an honor code violation. An honor code violation is where you don't own up to having failed or having done something wrong. It is a quick ticket to having to walk discipline tours, and sometimes even to expulsion. Once I figured out what he was up to, I bailed out as soon as I saw the setup, admitted my failure, and accepted what he could do to me for that failure without complaining to anyone. What he could do in those circumstances was much more limited, since no Code violations pertained, and it frustrated the hell out of him." I grinned malevolently at the remembered anger. That bastard had failed promotion to Lieutenant Commander and had been gone from the Navy in six years.

Monique sat up straight as she made the connection. "You mean that you put me in the same category with that person?" She did outraged disappointment so well I almost laughed.

"Weren't you? Was that not a setup? Before you say another word, I will admit that I did try and find a replacement pair, not that I would have presented them to you as anything but replacements." A smirk greeted that statement. "Well, you will find out, won't you. In any case, what I discovered is that those are very fragile, with special washing instructions, which you so carefully cut from the panty."

"Those labels are so rough on tender parts of my delicately feminine self, Nathan. I have to cut them off." Her moue of dismay at this apparent lack of faith in her made my smile all the wider.

"Oh, I am sure, Monique."

She gave up the pretense and sipped her brandy. "So you are going to be a smart ass sub? One who always tries to disrupt my carefully planned scenes?"

"You already told me that I am not a sub, and I agree. I am not one, but to answer your question. I don't intend to disrupt them all."

Concern filled her eyes. "Then why would you do this? Why are you agreeing to play these scenes out? Tell me. I mean, I understand a sub or someone who entertains some sub fantasies, but why are you doing this? Believe me, Nathan, what you got tonight is only the tip of the iceberg. I need and I will demand much more from you if you are to be the man in my life."

All feelings of humor fled from me. "I told you, Monique. I want to be the man in your life. You have set the rules and you write the tests. I have accepted that. Besides, I may have some fantasies along those lines. Presenting myself to a beautiful woman as I did tonight does have .... piquancy. I cannot pretend that I was not excited and that I did not orgasm, now can I? But, and it is a big but, it is still a game for me, or perhaps, more correctly, a test. It is not what or who I am. However, it is what I will do and what I will accept if that is what is required to be with you, to make you happy."

Her brow furrowed in concentration and she took a sip of her brandy as she considered my words. "And you do not see that as submission? You are, after all, surrendering yourself to me, on my demand, for what ever pleases me to do with you, in order to make me happy. Many would say that is the very definition of submission."

"Not really, because I don't feel it as submission. Mostly, I feel as if it is a contest, and that you are the prize that I must win. It is perhaps more the question if you see it as submissive enough to satisfy you."

"I don't know, Nathan. It is certainly unique in my experience. And I do care for you. It will be fun trying to reach you, to find out if you are, in fact, as you say, testing yourself in challenging me, or if you are fooling yourself and submitting to me."

The discussion of her little panty gambit jogged my memory, and I went to the foyer to retrieve my abandoned hostess gift. I handed her the heavy, cubic, beribboned box, and also, a pink envelope that I had secreted in my inner coat pocket. "These are both yours, Monique." She set the box down, and started to open the envelope. I think she expected a greeting card, because confusion knitted her forehead as she drew forth the cheque like piece of paper.

Her laugh resounded in the room. "A gift certificate, from Victoria's Secret. Why not the real thing, Nathan? I really think you should have to buy my underwear personally, Mr. Evans, since you so callously destroyed them."

I smiled. "No, Monique. I intended what you buy with that to be for Monique to share with Nathan, not for Mistress Monique to torment poor Mr. Evans with."

Her smile was gentle, and a little sad. "We are not separate entities, Nathan. I am Monique and I am Mistress. I cannot turn the domme on and off like that."

"Perhaps not, dear, but for now, I am separate from the entity that accepts your disciplines. Nor, am I up to the level where I can deal with your two persona at the same time. For now, I need to keep those as separate, too. Buy something nice, Monique. Buy a symbol that we can both share in my type of session."

"All right, Nathan. That is fair. But don't think tricks like this will keep you out of the lingerie departments. I like lingerie, and not just on me." The memory of red panties with hosiery, and semen-dampened black lace washed over me, and I blushed in spite of myself. Monique's grin made it even worse. Mercifully, she turned her attentions to the box. "Well, what is in this lovely box. Too heavy to be more dainties..." Her voice trailed off as she lifted the contents from the box.

It was a crystal glass ball, about five inches in diameter. Inside the transparent shell was a single purple pansy; it's velvet perfection locked forever in the crystalline sphere. "My god, Nathan, it's lovely." She held it up to the lamp, and watched the light play on the crystal. "I love pansies. What ever made you think to buy this? I don't think Roselie knows how much I love these flowers."

I recounted the story of the Water Park, and of the lovely woman who had stopped to caress a flower. "It gave me the impetus to make a decision, Monique. Ultimately, a decision that has led me to you. I wanted to share that with you."

Tears ran down her cheeks as she cradled the ball to her breasts. "I don't think I have ever received such a lovely and wonderful gift, Nathan. I will treasure it always. Thank you."

My arms were suddenly full of woman as Monique threw herself into my arms. Her sudden arrival pressed me back into the cushion, driving me forcefully onto my tender backside. I squirmed, trying to relieve the steadily increasing soreness in my gluteus.

Monique missed nothing and immediately saw what I was trying to do. Her eyes danced in wicked merriment at my predicament. Her tongue licked sensuously at her lips, moistening her lipstick and making me ache for a taste, too. She moved closer until I could feel her soft exhalations on my neck as she whispered. "There are things that we can.... that you can do, Nathan dear, that wouldn't be quite so ... uhmmmmm," her voice rose suggestively, and I felt her tongue tickle at my ear, "stressful on certain parts of your anatomy." I saw her smile brighten and her eyes darken. "Things you said in my questionnaire that you are very fond of, and consider yourself to be quite skilled at. I do wonder." Her voice trailed off, becoming soft, intensely seductive.

She stood and moved back to her chair, settling herself on its arm. My eyes followed hers until a slight movement at the bottom of my field of vision caught my attention. She was lifting her skirt with one hand, holding her snifter in the other. The minx had on black panties with no center panel. Her soft curls and the treasures they hid were framed in black lace. "Dessert, darling? I'm sure your knees and your tongue are just fine." A look of purely female devilment was alight in her eyes.

The alcohol and the earlier orgasm had combined to blunt my own urges. Right then, only two things mattered to me. The first was Monique, her satisfaction and that I could provide it for her. The second was that I needed to express my feeling from a position of strength.

I set my glass down back down and moved to where she sat, still holding the glistening blue of her skirt aside. She gracefully shifted position, sliding her bottom closer to the edge of the chair's arm, making her elegantly framed vulva more accessible and more inviting.

A most satisfying squeal of alarm and surprise greeted my ears as I swept her up into my arms and carried her over to the hearth. Some of her brandy spilled, covering her legs with the aromatic golden liquid. With infinite care, I laid her down on the small area rug that rested in front of the fireplace, and I kissed her, deeply, possessively. In that kiss, I tried to possess as much of her, as she had of me during the discipline scene earlier in this same room. She returned my kiss with her own fire and her own demands, meeting my challenge and challenging me in return, much as I had earlier endeavored to answer her.

Shifting down her, I inhaled softly, savoring the combined scent of warm brandy and hot woman. "Mmmmm, maybe I will have that brandy, after all, love." Starting with her knees and working my way up, slowly, teasingly, I delicately lapped at the shiny liquid saturating her hosiery. Every last vestige of flavor was consumed and savored. Her hands moved to my hair, trying to hasten my arrival at her pleasure center, but I resisted, wanting to draw out her surrender and my enjoyment.

Much later, we lay side by side on the floor in front of the fireplace, murmuring and stroking each other, warm in our mutual satiation. "Monique?" She stretched, purred, nuzzled and kissed my cheek. "I want you to know something. I'm going to try to make you happy because I want to spend the good times like this with you for the rest of my life. If that means I have to give you times like earlier, I'll try my best. I don't know how much more I can take, because it hurt quite badly, Monique. Forgive me if, no, when I fail you. It won't be for lack of trying. Please, help me to please you. I need you."

"I think you do just fine pleasing me, Nathan." She silenced any response with a kiss. "I'll help you, Nathan. I want to help us. And I also want more of the times like this. You surprised me, love, and quite nicely, too, once I got over you taking charge as you did. Make sure you don't forget how."

We cuddled and talked into the early hours of the morning. Surprisingly, we never made love that night. I had loved her repeatedly with month, tongue and fingers, but my only satisfaction was in watching her soar under my touch. Her response to my efforts thrilled me to my soul.

Finally, the time came to go home. The departure was keenly felt by us both, and painful in more ways than one. The fine, firm comfortable bucket seats of my vehicle were not so very comfortable when I got in to drive home.

No, not comfortable at all.

Next Part Five: Learning and Loving: Monique
Previous Part Three: Life and Love Decisions