When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Twenty-Six - Too Much Quiet

TWENTY-SIX

Too Much Quiet

Twelve hours into the forty-eight hour competition, the first sleep cycle for the masters begins. If a living-canvas can still sit or lie down without smudging her art, then she can rest comfortably, and maybe even get away with more. Most women, however, cannot and will not do either.

At 2 p.m. on the nose, Tristan drops himself onto the cot, sends his hands to support his head by placing them beneath it, and brings his elbows close to it as he stretches all of his body.

Those cots are built strong. They don’t even creak when they’re used rhythmically, Catherine thinks to herself, her eyes on Tristan, in that stretch. His opened shirt allows her to see chest and abs that are fine indeed. But attached to Tristan. Cold, cruel, volatile, devilish Tristan. Should I add outright evil? If that strong upper body of his were capable of just . . .  Some part of Catherine dares to muse, before she quickly shakes the thought away.

“You can sit on the very edge of the chair,” Tristan allows her, when his stretching is over with. He grabbed the chair from of a stack of them when he and Catherine were returning from the buffet room, and his submissive’s mind now dares to replay for her how effortlessly he carried it back to his station, where he just as easily and just as smoothly deposited it between the table and her pedestal. “What’s on your ass should be okay enough.”

Okay enough? Is that good enough? “And if I fall out of the chair, if I fall asleep?”

“Not recommended. Would hurt a lot,” Tristan replies, unsympathetically.

“More than the actual fall, uh?”

His eyes reply in the affirmative, since he would indeed punish her dearly.

“There’s always a lull in the afternoon, so we sleep then. Wake me up if someone goes crazy,” he lightly adds, before closing his eyes. He hears her heels softly click as she steps towards the chair.“I’d let you take your boots off to rest, but something will get smudged taking them off, or putting them back on,” he justifies his not allowing her to do so, before turning his back to her to sleep.

“The deal was that I’d do the whole forty-eight hours on my heels, for you,” she softly replies.

Not long after quiet has possessed the whole of the immense ballroom, Catherine’s eyes study the tiny smudges that her art has suffered here and there during contests, combos, and her circulating in crowds. She has noticed that all canvases have these tiny smudges, and that not a word is said about them.

She soon looks away from the minor imperfections and considers how disqualification from the big contest only means that a canvas cannot win. She will nevertheless continue to participate in every contest, in every combo, and in every master/canvas time, unless she is disqualified for attacking another submissive’s art. 

No master will miss out on enjoying the full experience of the weekend because of a silly submissive’s behaviour, so, another woman will be provided from the pool of extra non-refundables. Would the banned one then be sent on her merry way? It must be embarrassing for the master to be disqualified, no matter what the reason. Otherwise, many men here would disqualify their canvas right off, and then be free to do whatever they want with it all weekend. But the host did say that to make submissives follow the rules, the masters have to set an example by following their own rules. True submissives have to go home with their master, so making him angry’s not a good idea. Not that I have a home. And non-refundables want to get paid, so, being disqualified is not an option either.  So, we all play by the rules.