When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

One Hundred - Speechless

ONE HUNDRED  

Speechless

“What? Now you don’t want to see me try? How typically female not to be able to make up your mind, not to mention being defiant without the power to back it up,” the confronted master snaps at his weekend submissive after Tristan has handed him a tool from his kit bag that could be used to carry out the master’s threat against her, against her tongue, a tool that most definitely does not belong in any designing kit.

Catherine’s eyes have not ceased pleading with her master, and continue to do so even now, even with the tool already transferred to the other master’s hand.

Why has Tristan been carrying that thing with him all weekend, and how did it find its way into a kit bag that was handed to him by an attendant and that should’ve been the same as every other master’s? But if every master had one, then Tristan wouldn’t have had to give that man his, since the man has his kit bag with him. Plus, the master wouldn’t have been so pleased to see it.

“’Love cuts just like a knife. You make the kn-fe feel good,’” Tristan sings to his female as his reply to her non-verbal pleading. His eyes are firmly into hers.

Stop being stupid. Stop him. Isn’t he going to tell on you? You broke an important rule, surely, having that thing with you. What else do you have in that bag? In a compartment that I didn’t know was there, she nervously adds. She is anxious not for her master getting caught, however, but for the non-refundable, of course. 

“You’re truly insane!” The weekend plaything roars at the man before her, as she backs away, all defiance gone from her now, and so small indeed, so utterly without power, when measured against the spectre of male aggression that is threatening her.

When another master grabs the non-refundable from behind her, her art no consideration at all, both the woman and Catherine are startled, since neither noticed this master’s arrival. As the non-refundable’s gasp at being unexpectedly seized echoes in the corridor, Catherine desperately attempts to once more make contact with her own master.

I can’t remain silent! I have to talk, to plead for her, to talk sense into them!

If you do, Tristan’s designs on your face will be ruined. They’re important designs, Catherine. He’ll be furious. You’ll be punished. Severely.

I can’t let them do this!

You don’t have the power to stop them, even if you talk. You have no power, Catherine, healer returns.

No power to talk sense into the utterly, unreservedly senseless! My conscience, if I don’t at least try . . .

What will you tell him? “Please don’t hurt her? This is insane?” Pretend that you’ve told him, and that he ignored you. There. Save yourself.

How cold!

Catherine, there are three of them, and they want what they want.

Which is what? Her pain, her . . .

Don’t say a word, healer interrupts. There’s no point.

With the woman now restrained, it is easy for her weekend master to advance towards her, tool in hand.

“Stop! Please!” The woman begs, as she continues to struggle. “Sir! I’m sorry I said such awful things, sir! Please!”

“You won’t be able to wag that tongue anymore. We’re doing the whole world a huge favour” her master replies, deliciously.