When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Forty-Two - Not Whole

FORTY-TWO

 

Not Whole

           

Just like the women, the masters, away from the curtain and out of hearing range, are also conversing, while they await the first curtain-drop reveal of the body-part-guessing mini-contest.

“What if I know her tits better by touch?” A master in Tristan’s group whines to a contest attendant.

“This weekend’s body art doesn’t allow the fondling,” the attendant evenly replies. “And neither can recognizing your art be a factor in recognizing your subservient’s breasts. From this distance, and with this lighting, you can’t see it.”

“Stop saying breasts. They’re tits. You sound whipped by all of womanhood, using that word when there’s not even a female around. And, it’s a contest, so you could make an exception about fondling,” the master insists. “And we’d wear blindfolds, so we couldn’t see our wonderful come-art. And . . .  if you’d made this contest the first one of the weekend, then we could’ve just felt our way down the curtain, hands up and out, squeezing. Cupped hands to judge size. Feeling and comparing nipple-erection. Seeing how wide we have to open our mouths to suck on ‘em. Tits in a circle, with the blindfolded master in the middle,” the master longingly adds.

“That contest is time consuming because no master in a circle is methodical,” the attendant replies.

“I know. Reminiscing is so sweet,” the master returns.

When the outer black curtain is about to drop, the masters are informed and therefore turn their attention towards it. Seconds later, in front of every man in the room,  breasts simultaneously appear as if out of thin air, as if floaters without attachment.

Once the delightful, delicious sight of the line-up before them is enjoyed, all masters of course turn from the fare served to them in order to see what other masters were served, what more disembodied breasts they can set eyes on. The men, however, soon return their attention to the line-up where their submissive’s fleshy mounds are displayed, since there is guessing to be done. Competing.

The dramatic, rapid drop of the outer curtain moments ago that started the clock on this first guessing round sent a gust of air towards the women, but only their breasts registered its touch directly. The rest of their body was instead grazed by the remaining upright curtain, as it drifted backwards towards their bodies, due to the airflow created by its partner’s fall. An odd sensation instantly surfaced in the women then, both physically and mentally, with the sudden feel of being exposed in the manner dictated by this competition, with the sudden knowledge of having only that one part of them seen, and with seeing nothing but darkness before them, as the black curtain swayed back right against their eyes. That sensation continues now.

Guessing time.

Tristan is quite objective, as he looks at each pair of beckoning female parts. He writes down a number after just one pass of his eyes, and then continues to look, of course, at his curtain and at others, losing that objectiveness then, freeing his imagination to amuse him. The other masters, for their part, are not so fast.