When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Eighty-Four - Touched

EIGHTY-FOUR

Touched

“Hey, Tristan, come play with us,” an acquaintance of Catherine’s master calls out, as men all around the couple now negotiate combining.

Tristan turns to face the man who has just addressed him. “Uh, some other time. I’m not doing another true-on-true combo this weekend,” he then informs him, his voice and face furthering the message that he wants something simpler.

The grin that was upon the man’s lips disappears from his face. “I, uh, thought you knew,” he remarks, after a moment of silence, in a voice much smaller than the one he first used.

Once Tristan has registered the words, he looks away from the man’s eyes, and down to the floor. The moment of silence that follows between the two feels much longer, since it is measured against the hubbub of the negotiating masters, against the busy backdrop-atmosphere that surrounds the two in the grand play room. Thus, by comparison, the two men seem frozen in time.

From within Tristan’s work station, Catherine frowns slightly, her feelers out in full force. What is the meaning of this intense exchange? She wonders.

“I’m sorry,” Tristan eventually offers the man, surprising Catherine by his genuineness.

Authenticity? Substance? I must surely be asleep . . .

“She died of that recent venom that ended the lives of so many true,” the man adds, not that Tristan needed to hear, because not for a moment did he believe that the woman died because her master tired of her.

A disease passed on to the true by paid whores too empty and too cold and too selfish to care about their murderous ways, about being the mass murderers that their lifestyle makes each and every single one of them, emotionally and/or physically, without exception, Catherine finds herself thinking, the words, however, not hers.

Let them go, healer reminds her.

I don’t understand why I should. Why that’s what you now want.

“She seemed an excellent companion. What a loss,” Tristan adds, seeing in the man’s eyes something that frightens him some.

Companion? Catherine repeats to herself. She must’ve indeed been special. He didn’t use the word submissive or subservient, which, however, at the end of the day, is of course what she was.

To lighten his mood, Catherine’s master reviews some of the intimate encounters that he enjoyed with this man’s true, encounters that always occurred during association weekend events, and always according to the rules pertaining to true submissive bodies and to the sharing of them.

Words spoken by the old master who gave his blessing earlier on this weekend then also return to Tristan’s mind to help diffuse the moment, the feeling nature of it. “This sharing of her body,” he recalls the old man saying, “in addition to being extremely pleasurable for all the masters since it allows them so much variety, also reinforces, in the proper true submissive, in a female with the right stuff to be one, her master’s absolute power, since he controls her body, as he dominates it and her, as he possesses both. The rules, however, must never be broken, as a true must not become a whore, since no whore has any worth that is worth having, and can moreover never satisfy and fulfil a true master, a real man.”