When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Thirty-Eight - True, True, True. But Once Is Enough

THIRTY-EIGHT

True, True, True. But Once Is Enough

After separation of their tongues following more than a minute of a pas de deux, a look into Catherine’s eyes by Tristan’s brings a slight frown to her face.

What do you want? She wonders, before one of Tristan’s hands gestures to her to step towards the other two submissives in his work station. A hint of that frown remains on Catherine’s face as she turns towards the women, whom she refused to consider sexually until now, whom she is forced to see that way now.

Why am I going to them? You usually take the women away to play with, and the men remain with me, to  . . . assault me. I don’t want to deal with the women. Not that I want to deal with the men. Isn’t being forced one way, enough? No. Of course not.

Both guest females have long hair -- one dark blond, the other dark brown -- and, just like Catherine's, their locks have also been forced to confinement in a pony tail due to the gifting on their backs. Both women are slightly taller than Catherine, but since neither is wearing heels, she currently has the advantage there, over them. And both seem nice enough, as gauged by the many looks that Catherine exchanged with them while the masters conversed, leading up to the top of the hour. However . . .

May we go chat in the kitchen now, instead of . . .     

Catherine takes a deeper breath. Since these living-canvases’ art must absolutely not be smudged, Tristan’s subservient wonders what her master desires, what he wishes for her to do with these women.

Their breasts are covered in ejaculate; hers are not. Their genital area is covered as well; Catherine’s is not. Their faces also have creative material upon it, although not abundantly and not in the way, whereas Catherine’s has none yet. As for their rears, the opposite reigns there: theirs have no art at all, like most submissives', whereas Catherine’s does. The middle of her behind, however, has not been touched up yet, and she knows that Tristan will unfortunately take care of that last.

Before she was pushed to that outdoor wall, Catherine entertained the idea that being marked in that area of her body represented Tristan’s subconscious wish to have all of her back door marked in order that she be off limits to masters. However, after he had not cared at all who stretched out hard and tall in her trunk, as he referred to it, she had had to dismiss that odd thought.

Too many words. Too much thinking, she angrily thought, before pleading once more with healer to close files on her, to shut many of them. But none were.

“Kiss,” Tristan orders the women, when Catherine does not take the lead, does not do anything.

After a moment of awkwardness, since, even if silently, the women have been in each other's company in a rather social way while waiting for the combo hour to begin, with their men adding to the effect by behaving in the most “normal“ way that they have all weekend and almost as if out in the world, the three women exchange light kisses, two by two, turning to each other as if taking part in some odd child’s game where palms should be coming into contact while singsong rhymes are spoken, and not lips, as they are now.

“You know what I want,” Tristan reprimands them, when the kissing comes and goes rapidly, and so very delicately. Such a childlike feel does not turn him on in any way.

When the three women kiss once more, they do so with more passion, but two by two still, which means that one is always waiting for her turn, watching, doing nothing.

“True submissives. So . . . ” The word does not come to Tristan.

“It has its charms, how easily jolted many are by the real world,“ a master offers.