When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Ninety-One - Hot and Cold

NINETY-ONE   

Hot and Cold

           

Multiple faux-pas still on her mind, Catherine nervously continues to await the beginning of the mini-contest. The enduring venting of weekend submissives that now oddly accompanies the sight of non-refundables who, for their part, appear content and happy under the master compulsion that has befallen them does not allow Tristan’s female to put out of mind her own recent incompatible soundtrack, nor the worry about what her master will do to punish her for her compilation of those most disrespectful utterances.

Even though his eyes are back to normal, he must be boiling inside, because other masters heard me, and earlier on this weekend, when I wouldn’t undress, he . . . Why did I even become upset in the first place, just because that woman was looking at me? That’s not like me at all, and  I definitely will not be “taking care” of her later. But I saw that extreme in Tristan’s eyes, healer, that fury, so he will most definitely be taking care of me later. And if I don’t get a hold of myself, how astronomical the tab of my behaviour will be, when it must be paid, after this weekend ends.

Catherine lowers her eyes, closes them, and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, they rise and catch yet another woman standing ever so close to her master. “It’s just senseless.”

Tristan’s eyes yet again follow his female’s line of sight. “Because it usually takes, oh, about a year?” He then casually jabs.

That light tone is so not Tristan-right, after what I did, Catherine considers, with much unease.

He’s getting points for patience towards his female, something praised by old masters all weekend long, healer reminds her.

But the only patience that matters to Tristan is mine, as it is applied towards him and towards doing everything that he wants, Catherine, however, does not fall for.

So then, watch your step indeed.

“About a year?” Tristan repeats.

Catherine frowns and turns her face towards her master. “Being forced to do things, to do everything, isn’t conducive to falling in love, nor to staying in love,” she then replies, since Tristan’s repeated words demanded a return. She is able to prevent her tone from being snappy, but unable to check her response altogether.

“But love, however, is never the goal,” Tristan replies, his tone allowing for no contradiction, and his eyes, just as unfeeling, as hard-hearted, even.

Just obedience and servitude, Catherine does not comment out loud, as she maintains her master’s look.

“Power is always the goal,” a master close to the couple speaks up, confirming Catherine’s thoughts, acknowledging them even though they were not shared. “Didn’t Wilde say that everything in the world is about s-x except for s-x, because s-x is about power?”

“Well, non-refundables are unquestionably powerless, and you undeniably made me one this weekend, more than . . . ” Catherine stops when her master’s eyes return from a glance at the master who just spoke. They fall into hers while perched from a most stern expression on Tristan’s face. “And . . .  my . . .  sanity . . . ” She nevertheless manages to softly add before his glare, however, succeeds in quietening her completely.

“You’re not a wh-re, and you’re not going insane. Don’t be stupid. You know I hate stupid.”

The definition of such words are always yours to create and to control, of course. “Wh-re,” and “insane,” and “stupid.” But . . .