[Story] The Phoenix Domme (FemDom, Romance, F/m)

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Subject: [Story] The Phoenix Domme (FemDom, Romance, F/m)
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X-Original-Message-ID: .com The Phoenix Domme
by Tigger
Copyright 1999, all rights reserved This story is intended for the enjoyment of adults who enjoy
erotica involving Female Dominant/Male Submissive relationships
and who live in localities where such materials are legal. If
that does not describe you, please leave. Archiving/reposting of this story is acceptable provided that no
fee (including so called adult checks) are charged for the use of
the archive, and provided that my authorship and copyright are
included unchanged.
The first grey shadows of the February night were beginning to
darken the street when they finally made their vehicle. Michael
reflected that if he needed any verification that Vicky was
exhausted, her silent acquiescence to riding in the chair was all
the proof he needed. Well, three hours in the morning with the
occupational therapist and four hours in the afternoon with the
physical therapist would do that to a body. He was tired just
having to watch her go through all that, but then, it was always
hard watching the one you loved suffer. Had it really been less than six months since that night? They'd
been driving to a party, both of them happily on edge. Michael
was excited because of the small velvet box he had hidden in his
carryall; Vicky was excited for a similar reason, but Michael had
not known that until . . . .until after. . . His eyes closed and once again he saw the glare of headlights
coming around a blind curve heading toward them on the wrong side
of the road. Vicky had tried to dodge, but there just wasn't
enough time or enough road room. The pickup truck had clipped
them just forward of the driver's side door, and then launched
them over the barricade and into the deep, rocky ravine that ran
along the mountain highway. Police reconstruction estimated that the car flipped at least
twice on its way down before coming to a stop almost right side
up. Only the quick action of the truck driver had saved Vicky's
life. He'd called the local rescue paramedics on his CB and ten
minutes after the accident, they were on the scene, doing their
best to save the two victims. Michael had come through it relatively unscathed - a few
scratches, a couple of bruises, but nothing major. He'd been
hurt worse in his last scene with Vicky. Not even a concussion. Vicky had not been so lucky. The initial impact of the accident
had crushed her left leg from knee to hip, and broken glass from
the supposedly shatterproof windshield had all but severed her
right hand at the wrist. The doctors had not been able to save
either. ~-------~ Michael handed Vicky into the car and took care of the wheelchair
before sliding into the driver's side. Vicky had not driven
since the accident, although she'd been capable of doing so for
the past couple of months. She'd pretty much mastered the
prosthetic pincer hand that she'd been fitted with, and she did
not need her left foot to drive the automatic transmission car.
She simply chose not to. As she had with many other things in
her life. Simply stated, Mistress Vicky had not attempted to be in any way
dominant with Michael since the night of the accident. She'd
accepted his assistance and help because she had needed it, but
not once had she done anything more than *ask* for any help she
needed.. Not one phrase that might be construed as an order.
Not a single command, demand or discipline. Nothing. Nor had
there been any lovemaking. Which was the saddest part of all, Michael thought. He'd
discovered the reason Vicky had been so excited during that
fateful trip to the play party when the police had returned her
carryall several days later. It was a collar - black leather,
almost two inches wide with a riveted-on engraved gold plate. _michael - beloved slave of Mistress Vicky_

Evidently, he'd not been the only one who'd planned a surprise
for that evening. The drive home was passed in silence. Vicky had leaned back in
her seat, and closed her eyes. Whether that was because she was
really asleep, or simply did not want conversation, Michael
didn't know. He missed his bubbly, smiling lover and Mistress,
with her almost continuous line of chatter. She'd lost so much -
did she have to lose that, too? He'd lost, too, and there were times he wanted to rail against
God for it, but knew he had no right to such self indulgence. He
was so bloody tired of being strong, but that was part of being
the submissive, too. Sometimes the knight just had to persevere
in silence, without fanfare, without any reward other than what
he could find in a duty well done. But it was so hard, and Michael knew he could not have done it
for anyone other than Vicky. He parked the car in the garage and came around to help her into
her chair. "No, Michael." she said, reaching for her cane. "I
want to walk into the house." Michael said nothing, but stayed close to her as she made her
slow way up to the front door. If she noticed him walking in
lifeguard station, she did not say anything - she just waited for
him to unlock the front door and let her inside. Dinner was another quiet affair. If she hadn't asked him to pass
the salt or pepper, nothing would have been said at all. Michael
had learned quickly enough after Vicky had come home from the
hospital that she would not respond to any of his overtures at
conversation. If she wanted to talk, she'd talk and that was it.
She just didn't want to talk very often anymore. After the meal, she simply took her cane and struggled out of the
kitchen without a word. Michael sighed, wishing it had been
different, but this was the way things had been. He watched her
until she turned into the front room, and then went back to the
table to clear away and clean up from dinner. She was in her favorite chair, staring at the fire dancing in the
hearth. Michael wanted to kneel before her, to ask if there was
anything he could do to give her back some joy in her life, but
knew she'd only close up on him as he had early in her
convalescence. Instead, he moved over to the other chair and
took his own seat. He watched her for several minutes before he noticed her holding
a piece of paper between the pincers of her right "hand". Every
minute or so, she'd shift her gaze from the fire to the paper and
then back to the fire. Finally, she acknowledged his presence and turned pain filled
eyes to him. "I have put this off long enough." she said in a
barely audible voice. "But today, my physical therapist told me
that I had gained about as much dexterity with my claw as I am
likely going to. She is thrilled by the way. Said I was doing
tremendously, and that there was very little I wouldn't be able
to do with it." Her voice broke at that moment and Michael saw
the sparkle of tears in her lovely eyes. "Very little. . ." "Vicky. . " Michael started to get up, but was stopped by a
preempting wave of her left hand. "I also am doing wonderfully well with my walking according to
her. It's just a matter of building up my stamina and I will be
able to walk just perfectly. . . as long as I go in a straight
line. The artificial knee joint won't handle too much side to
side stuff, though. I fall down when I try to do a weight shift
from right to left." A ragged sob broke her. "She said. . .she
said. . I wouldn't be able to play golf." She was crying harder
now, and nothing on God's earth would have stopped Michael from
going to her, and pulling her into his arms. They stayed like that, locked together, for a long time until
Vicky regained control. Stiffly, she interposed her left hand
between them and pushed Michael back. He moved, but reluctantly. Vicky retrieved the paper she'd dropped at some point during
their hug. She looked at the document one last time and then
turned it so that Michael could see what it was that she held. "Our. . our contract?" he asked shakily. A sad smile flitted across Vicky's tear streaked face. "Yes.
Our contract." Then her face went blank and she turned back to
the fire. "I am releasing you from my service, Michael. I want
you to leave me, to get on with your life and let me get on with
my own." Her voice was cold, emotionless, devoid of any life or
sparkle. With a sudden move of her hand, she flipped the piece
of paper toward the fire. Michael moved without thought, throwing himself toward the hearth
and caught the paper just before it would have reached the first
tongues of flame. He landed hard on his side and then rolled
into a sitting position on the floor looking up at her. "Why the hell did you do that?" he yelled. "This," and he thrust
the contract up into the air, "means something. We signed this
in love, dammit. And that hasn't changed, at least not for me." The tears were falling again, silently this time, but no less
heartbreaking. "That contract is between Mistress and slave,
Michael." she whispered hoarsely. "And I can no longer be your
Mistress." "What?" His bellow surprised her enough that her head snapped up and for
a moment, anger flashed in her dark eyes. But it was only for a
moment, and then the bleak despair was back. "I cannot be your
Mistress anymore, Michael." "You don't love me anymore? Is that it?" "Don't be a fool." she snapped. "If I didn't love you, I would
keep you here instead of letting you go find a Mistress who can
give you what you need!" "I need you, Vicky." he said softly. "I can't be what you need anymore, Michael. How can I domme you
in this condition, Michael?" She held up her claw. "I can't
hold a paddle or a crop, and you know I have no dexterity with my
left arm. As for binding you? Isn't that a laugh." she tried to
laugh, but it came out as another sob. "I can't even button my
blouse without a great deal of concentration and effort. And my
left leg buckles when I try to do a swinging motion, even if I
could hold a toy in what now passes for my hand." "Vicky. . " "No! I have made up my mind, Michael. Can you imagine me in my
leathers, Michael? Or how about my latex catsuit? Or . . .or my
lovely high . . . high heeled thigh boots." She broke down
again. "You see? That's what I learned today, when that woman
told me how *well* I was doing. I can do everything I ever did,
except the things that enable me to be your Mistress." "And you think that is important? That those things are
important?" Michael asked, his voice low and harsh. "Michael, you were a player before we ever met. You are a
sensation player, too. Your ideal scene always involves some
corporal." She lifted her right arm again. "Can you imagine me
spanking you with this?" Vicky shook her head. "Of course not.
Neither can I. Michael, I cannot give you what you need."
Vicky's head dropped and her voice fell into a whisper. "I
cannot dominate you like this." *She means it* Michael thought incredulously. *She honestly
thinks that I should leave her because she has decided she cannot
be the domme anymore.* "And if I decide not to leave? If I
decide to stay here? With you?" "Noooooo!" she screamed, "You can't do that. I won't *let* you
do that. I *order* you to leave me and get on with your life." Cold rage filled Michael. "It doesn't work that way, Vicky. You
think any of that matters to me? How *dare* you?" Michael was
literally shaking in hurt and anger. "Wait right there!" he
ordered. "Don't you *dare* move, damn you! I will be right
back!" Vicky watched in stunned dismay as Michael stormed out of the
room. He returned minutes later with his arms filled with a mass
of leather straps, toys and fetish clothing. *Lord* Vicky
thought, *he must have cleared out our toy locker and my play
clothes chest.* Michael threw his load onto the floor at Vicky's feet and opened
a large plastic garbage bag. He snatched up her beloved thigh
boots. "You say you can't wear these anymore? Are these
intrinsic to your dominance?" he tossed them into the garbage bag
before grabbing a cat o'nine tails. "Can't use this anymore?
Well, let's throw away that part of your dominant personality,
too." In minutes, every toy, every restraint, every piece of attire,
had gone into the bulging bag whereupon, Michael spun the bag and
tied off the top. "I have just thrown away everything you say
you need to dominate me, Vicky. Odd that I never realized that
it was all in those props before. How blind of me not to notice
that I was submitting to this trash and not to you." "Damn you, Michael. You might as well toss all those things. I
can't use them ever again." "No, Damn *you*, Vicky. Damn you for thinking my submission is
such a shallow, soulless thing. Since when is your dominance
merely physical? Do you really think I would have given myself
over to some adolescent's fantasy of a human Barbie Doll in
leather carrying a whip? Well, I damn well didn't. I gave
myself to *you* - to Vicky and Mistress Vicky - to the only woman
I have ever met with the strength and the integrity to take my
submission and make it and me her own. To the woman whose love
was strong enough to take me to heaven when I deserved it and to
hell when I needed it." "But I can't do those things anymore, Michael." she repeated
again. "Really? Have you forgotten our very first scene? I do. It was
on our third date. We were at a nice restaurant. We were both
fully clothed and you never so much as slapped me, and yet I was
in subspace so quickly I did not know what happened. Have you
lost that, too? Because if you have, then you've lost more than
a leg and a hand. But I refuse to believe that the woman I love
would *ever* be diminished like that." "How can you say that?" She sobbed. Michael moved back over to her, picked her up and then sat down
with her on his lap. He put his hand in her artificial one.
"Because it's true. Oh, you have taken some knocks and you are
still finding your way, but you are still Vicky, the woman I
love, the woman I kneel to. You may be able to find a way to
leave me, but I will keep coming back." They sat there, quietly holding one another, his hand never
leaving her artificial one. Slowly, gradually, he felt her body
begin to relax. "You would, wouldn't you?" she sighed. "What am
I going to do with you, Michael?" "Love me? Dominate me as you wish, when you wish? Live with me
and be my love?" "I don't think I will ever let you go again, Michael. Tonight I
can, because I know just how much I have lost that gave us both
pleasure. If you don't leave tonight, I will keep you with me
always, even if that is not what is best for you." "*YOU* are what's best for me, Vicky. Besides, I don't think I
could give another woman my submission. It is no longer mine to
give; it and I belong to you, now and forever." With great ease, Michael stood and settled Vicky back onto her
chair. Slowly, with dignity and purpose, he knelt before her,
placing his right hand over his heart, his left hand on the floor
between her feet. "I pledge myself to you, Mistress Vicky,
renewing the vow of fealty and love I made to you the night we
signed that contract." Vicky began to reach out with her right hand, and then stopped
herself. Michael cocked an eyebrow at her in challenge.
Carefully, she moved the metal fingers closer to him until they
rested gently against his forehead. The tears were back, but
this time they shimmered around a smile that lit her entire face.
"I accept your pledge, Michael and renew my vow of love and
protection in my keeping, that I made to you the night we signed
our contract. Stand, Sir Michael." Michael took her right hand, lowered it to his lips and kissed it
before rising. "Michael?" She asked, the uncertainty back in
her voice. "Yes, Mistress?" "I would like to make love with you. The doctor said I could. .
it's just that . . .well, it's kind of ugly . . .down there. .
where my . . ." A gentle finger touched her lips to stop her. "I thought you'd
never ask." he said as he again swung her up into his arms. "I
hope you aren't planning on sleeping tonight, Mistress. I have a
whole lot of lost time to make up for. I have missed bringing
you to pleasure." The next morning, Michael awoke to feel Vicky trying to get up.
He started to help her. "Don't you *dare* move, Michael!" The order was immediate, in a
tone of voice he hadn't heard in far too many months. "But I was just going to . ." Her hand came down on his mouth, and her eyes loomed above him,
icy blue and hard. "I know what you were going to do, and I want
to do it myself. I know you are only trying to help, but you
aren't. Now, I want you on the floor, on your knees until I get
back or until I call for you to assist me. Is that *very* clear,
Michael?" "Yes, Mistress." he replied, hurt warring with pleasure in his
voice. Watching her struggle to the bathroom with her cane was nearly
the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life - harder than the
most painful session he'd ever experienced, harder than the worst
punishment she'd ever inflicted on him. Only sitting in the
waiting room of the hospital that night six months ago while the
doctors fought to save her leg and hand, and then listening to
the grim faced young doctor afterwards had been more difficult
for him. Michael watched in awe as she made her way back towards him. He
could see the strain on her face, could see the sheen of sweat as
she made each step of progress until she reached the bed. After seating herself on the edge of the bed, she prodded him
gently with the cane. "Turn and face me, Michael." He started
to rise and was rewarded with a gentle tap of the walking stick
on his shoulder. "I did not say rise, slave. I said face me." Abashed at his faux pas, Michael spun on his knees, his head
drooping at the reprimand. Vicky reached down and lifted his
chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her eyes were gentle,
loving, but he could also see the old determination back in their
depths as well. "You've gotten used to topping me, Michael." His eyes went wide
and he started to protest, but she cut him off. "It's true,
dear. For one thing, in the beginning, I needed it. I was too
depressed to do properly for myself and would have wasted away,
become a bitter and helpless thing if not for you bullying me,
driving me to therapy, badgering me to practice with my claw.
Once I got past most of that, I let you keep on doing it. It was
easier and it kept you here when I desperately wanted to keep you
here." "I would never have left you . .Vicky . . Mistress. Never." "I know that, fool, now I know that. But that is not the point.
Last night, you told me I was still your Mistress, reminded me
that dominance, like love, is more than toys, more than gimmicky
clothing, more than just the physical things and the physical
expression. True love and true dominance both come from the heart
and from the head, and are defined by the two people involved for
themselves. I understand that now - I'd forgotten for a while,
but thanks to you, I know that once more." "I am glad, Mistress." "I am glad you are glad, Michael, *but* it means that you have to
let me *be* the Mistress again. I know that in your mind,
anticipating my needs, helping me, doing for me was likely an
expression not only of your love, but of your submission."
Michael's eyes went wide at her perception and she smiled at him.
"Thought so, but now it is time for me to do for myself what I
can do for myself. From this point on, Michael, I will consider
any unrequested assistance from you, outside of your regularly
assigned chores, as topping from the bottom, and I will deal with
that accordingly. Do you understand?" "But. . but. . what if you fall, and I could have prevented it. .
or . . or. ." A finger touched his lips. "Then I fall, Michael. People do. I
will try not to, but I probably will. You can assure yourself
that I am not hurt and help me up if I ask you to, otherwise, let
me pick myself up. Got it?" He got it, but he didn't like it. She could get hurt. He had to
protect her like he hadn't be able to that . . . "What is it, Michael?" she snapped. "What is it that made you
look like you were going to cry?" He shook his head, but she was
having none of that. "Tell me, Michael. Let me remind you that
your oath includes complete honesty, sir." "I couldn't protect you, Vicky. You got hurt and I couldn't do
anything and I have lived with that for six god damned months.
No matter what the punishment, I don't know if I can follow that
last order." Vicky thought about that, and then rolled onto the bed. "Up on
the bed, Michael. Hold me." she ordered. Even she was surprised
at how quickly she was wrapped into a bearhug by a voilently
shuddering male body. She let the emotion play itself out before
she spoke again. "You say you did not protect me. All right,
what should you have done? More importantly, What could you have
done?" He was quiet for several moments, but Vicky let the silence drag
on, knowing that he had to answer first. "I don't know." he
finally admitted. "Maybe if I'd been driving . . " "Maybe we'd both be dead. We can't know that. Michael, you have
to let that go. We're both alive, and if not quite as we were,
we can still grow. All right. If you think I am going to fall
where I could get hurt, you may rescue me. *HOWEVER*," she
continued when she felt him start to speak, "If I don't think I
would have fallen, I will punish you for topping. That is the
best deal you are going to get, Mister." She felt his tears on her breasts where she held him to her.
"Thank you, Mistress. Thank you, Vicky." "And another thing, Michael. I want you to see a psychologist.
I'm thinking I am not the only one in this family who needs
therapy." "A head shrinker, Mistress?" his head came up and he looked down
at her with horrified eyes. "I don't need a " "I say you do, dearheart, and I am the Mistress. Consider it an
order." The softness of her tone did nothing to hide the steely
determination. "Yes, Mistress." he said, trying but not quite succeeding in
hiding the resignation in his voice. "Very well. Now, I feel in serious need of some hugs. You
probably need practice after all these months. Remember, hugs
are loving, not sexy unless I tell you otherwise." There was a
smile on her face as he pulled her more tightly into his arms and
they cuddled for a long time. Finally, she spoke. "I hope this works, Michael." "It will, Mistress, we will make it work. From the chewing out I
just got, I *know* it will work." he said grinning. She thought about that and nodded. "I am sure you are right. I
just wish we weren't giving so much up. Dammit, slave, I *like*
seeing those cute buns of yours go red under my paddle, weal
under my crop." Michael thought about it and then a glimmer of an idea hit. "You
know, Mistress, that old-time pirates used to walk on rolling
ship decks with peg legs. They didn't have a joint, but they
didn't buckle when the weight shifted to the side, either." "I suppose." she said, wondering what that had to do with
anything they'd been talking about. "And I bet there are carpenters or other craftsmen who use hand
tools who lose their hands, too. That's why there are
occupational therapists. . . to help folks like that relearn old
skills, or learn new ways to do things." What Michael was getting at finally got through Vicky's passion
fogged mind. "Now wait just a minute, Michael, if you think I am
going to that fuddy duddy old maid therapist and ask her for help
learn how to whip you again. . " "Why not?" Michael asked reasonably. "Suppose you'd been a pro-
domme? She is supposed to help folks with stuff like that, isn't
she?" "But it isn't my job, silly." "So what? It is a quality of life thing." Michael said
stubbornly. "Oh God, I can just imagine the look on her face." Vicky began to
giggle, and then to laugh - a sound that had not been heard in
far too long a time. "Well, it is her job. ." Michael continued stubbornly, only to
have his words cut off by Vicky's mouth ravaging kiss. "Time for the "sexy" part, slave." ~-----------------~ Vicky stood before the mirror and gave herself a last once-over.
She decided she looked . . .dangerous. The white satin, blouse
sleeved shirts was unbuttoned nearly to her navel, disappearing
into a wide waist belt. A red bandana covered her hair, the tie-
off knot hanging off to one side of her head. A black, modern plastic "pegleg" had replaced her more normal
walking prosthetic leg. It had been designed long so that she
could wear her high heeled thigh boot on her right leg. A pair
of black satin shorts completed her "pirate Mistress" outfit.
She considered putting on a sexy little eyepatch but decided it
might ruin her depth perception, and she wanted to be able to see
and judge distances as well as she could tonight. Satisfied, she moved confidently towards the curtain and stepped
out onto the makeshift stage her friends had put up for this
special evening. A smattering of applause greeted her as she
strode over to center stage where Michael was bound over a
hassock. Carefully, she reached down to grab his hair and lift his head.
Bending over at the waist, she pressed her mouth to his. "I love
you, Michael. I adore you, my darling slave." Before he could answer, she moved over to the table that had been
setup beside him. Several odd items were arrayed there and she
picked up one that looked like a fingerless gauntlet with strands
of leather streaming from one end. She slipped this over her
right wrist and snapped the flogger. To Vicky's surprise, embarrassment, and then utter fury, Michael
*had* raised the issue of peglegs and floggings with her
occupational therapist. The bigger surprise was that the woman
had not even blinked at the request and had immediately set about
helping Vicky find workable solutions to her problems. The
utility gauntlet that replaced her claw for play was one of those
accommodations, and she had items from floggers to crops to
paddles to whips that she could swing with her right arm while
braced against the pegleg. Of course, Michael had paid for that bit of anticipatory topping
of her. As he himself had pointed out, dominance was not only a
physical thing, nor, as he quickly discovered, was punishment.
She'd given him an up close demonstration of that truth when
she'd ordered him to take her out to dinner that night . . . to a
sushi bar. One of her beloved's little quirks was an absolute loathing for
seafood of any kind, even the cooked variety. He'd gotten the
message that he'd stepped over the line *big time* when she'd
made him sample every offering on the bar, chewing each bite
thoroughly until she gave him permission to swallow. Even a
couple of items that she wouldn't dream of eating herself. She'd
even purchased some as take out and had fed it to him for the
next few nights in his dog bowl. Michael had spent the week after his demonstration of poor
judgement as "mikkie" the poodle. Except for when he'd gone to
work, her darling had spent his days on all fours - eating
whatever she put in his bowl, doing his elimination in the back
yard and sleeping on the rug at the foot of her bed. He wouldn't pull that little trick *again* anytime soon. It
didn't matter that Vicky was *delighted* with the outcome of his
questioning the therapist, it was the principle of the thing. Checking her gauntlet one last time, Vicky picked up another item
from the table. Walking back to Michael's head, she laid the
special collar over his neck. She pinched the special latch
together with her thumb and forefinger until it snapped together.
"With this collar, I proclaim you my slave and my love forever,
Michael." she intoned. With great pride, she spun the collar so that the latch was now
behind his neck. Looking down at him, her eye flew, as it had so
many times that day, to the ring burning emerald fire on her ring
finger. It was one reason she wasn't wearing a gauntlet on her
left hand to match the wrist gauntlet on her right - so she could
see it anytime she wanted to look at it. So far, she thought as she moved to take her place behind her
lover so she could begin the ceremonial flogging. *We've come so
far from that night when we were both ready to give each other
these gifts, and infinitely farther from the night I tried to
send him away. Thank God he said no.* With that, Vicky began to swing the leather strips in a figure
eight, and once she had the feel of them, struck the first blow
of the rest of their lives. --
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