When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Thirty-Seven - We Have Company/Almost Normal

THIRTY-SEVEN

We Have Company/Almost Normal

Even though many masters continue to be away from their stations -- still entertained near the stage by the “elephant" rides there, whether watching or participating -- Tristan nevertheless sets out to negotiate the upcoming master combo. The men currently available to him for talks are the ones who returned to their work area after quickly leaving the whole animal thing behind them, just like he did.

Mere minutes after his departure, Catherine looks up from the ornate floor and sees her master returning with two others and their submissives. His face tells her that he is in no way tired of the cycles, just as none of the men are, and that he is quite satisfied with his recent dealings. Catherine, for her part, sighs, since she could enumerate a hundred other things that she would rather be doing, including things that she does not normally like to do.

As Tristan re-enters his weekend space, she allows her eyes to find his. Cheers, shouts, roars, laughter and hollering, among other sounds, continue to echo in the grand room as the masters still gathered respond to the rides, or to the riding. A particularly loud burst sneaks up on the occupants of the work station as she maintains her master’s look, despite the presence of company.

Well, you led us away from there, and that has to count for something. But the show where women were hurt, but we still had to applaud and to make that stupid ass who hurt them feel better, you liked that one.

Tristan sends a hand into an inner pocket. “Chill,” he then firmly advises her and those eyes of hers, as he allows a pill that he has just retrieved to drop into her now opened palm before him.

I’m just like one of Pavlov’s dogs: you reach into that pocket, and I . . . She swallows the pill. I don’t even like dogs. And I hate monkeys. And I guess that you’re a horse, then . . .

Since it is not time for the combo yet, the masters discuss weekend events, while the submissives remain quiet. The men comfortably lean back on this or that in the station, as they talk, while the submissives stand up straight, slaves to their master’s markings.

The absence of female big mouths soon makes Catherine’s eyes seek the women’s wrists, and a skin-tone bracelet adorning one of each pair immediately confirms to her that the two women will have to be treated with care once the blending begins, since they are true submissives as well. Her master will therefore not be allowed to throw the women onto the cot, or to the floor, nor will he be allowed to handle them restricted only by the location of creative material upon their bodies.

So, this is what it’ll be like, out there, if we meet up with other Dominant-submissive couples? Catherine entertains, her eyes returning to the two women’s now and again. The men will act all normal, and we women will just be there, feeling awkward, mere eye-candy for them, while inactive? But of course, hopefully, we’ll be dressed then. Hopefully, it isn’t some rule of this association that women are to be naked whenever gathered, she adds, before recalling the association evenings that she attended. The women had remained dressed, then. Those evenings were called “ladies’ nights," however . . .

She pauses.

Why does it feel like we’ve been here longer, like I’ve been his, like this, longer? Probably because I’ve been spending every minute with him, and that’s never happened before. So, it feels like weeks have gone by, when this continuous weekend time is compared to the ratio of time that I spent with him during a whole year. Or something. And are we really going to be quiet until the combo begins? In the old days, the women at least got to go to the kitchen and chat there, while their men masterfully took over another room of the house. Of course, the women had to cook. We don’t have to cook. Not that way.