When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Ninety- Heel

NINETY

Heel

Shortly before 9 p.m. on Sunday night, masters and their submissives gather for the mini-contest that will bring to a close the before-last cycle of weekend play. As Catherine awaits the start, despite the part of her that continues to object, to protest and to call her names, she nevertheless remains physically close to her master, the closest that she has stood next to him all weekend, with only an inch or two separating some of her art from contact with his right arm.

It has to be this way because a plot is perhaps being hatched, and because        the behaviour of some of the non-refundables towards me recently has been . . . challenging, she reasons with herself, so very, very conscious of her sustained proximity to Tristan. If I had a choice, if I could stand beside anyone else, then of course I would. And . . . how stupid was that master, to have listened to me, to have obeyed me? Just more proof of the extent of the madness that’s all around me. Or . . . maybe he feared Tristan’s connections, and that fear somehow extended to me, and so, he wanted to please Tristan, by association. No. That makes no sense because I’m Tristan’s subservient. My so-called master must be such a significant favourite of the Talianos, since most men treat him like he is. Pause. Why didn’t he correct me, right then and there? I’m certain that I’m not supposed to speak to masters without first being addressed, and I’m also certain that I’m never, ever to speak to any of them in the manner that I did. And yet, there was no scene, not even once we returned to his station. Not a word he said about what happened, which was most unlike him. What did he think, when that man obeyed me? I couldn’t tell from the look on his face, not when it happened and not when we were back in his station. Could you?

Healer does not reply.

Why won’t you say something? Catherine pushes, most frustrated. My words must’ve annoyed him so much, and that master’s obedience as well, no doubt. So, what’s he doing? Just adding notches to my punishment-owed column?

“It’s really not my fault that men are so stupid over nudity. I mean, their s*x drive, wow, what reckless drivers. Casualties everywhere. But that’s not my fault,” Catherine softly offers.

Tristan turns his face towards her.

“I was just joking, when I told the women not to look at you. I was being sarcastic. And as for that woman saying that she f***ed you, so what? Although, did you actually . . . No matter. When she insinuated it before, I just let it go, but then her tone of voice . . . My words just came out, and then, that man just obeyed my very vague order, because, ‘take her down,’ that could’ve meant anything. But that master interpreted it the way that he did.”

“Yes he did. He immediately did,” Tristan points out.

“Why?” Catherine can then finally ask him, after holding her tongue since the incident. A part of her fears his answer, however, since it is impossible for her not to think of the men who “lost” it after being around her for some time, and, therefore, not to be reminded of the dark potential of her “bad luck.” “Was it because he wanted to please you, even if . . . ”